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A few months back, Smoky had dragged Rozurial out into the front yard and pulverized him after he noticed Roz copping a feel off Camille’s ass. The resulting bruises had not been pretty. After that, Roz made sure he kept his mitts away from Camille, except when she needed help.
“Come on. We have to book. Roz, you’re on babysitting detail. Maggie’s in bed. Check in on her a couple of times. We’ll be down at the FH-CSI. Dead body problem.” I planted a quick kiss on his nose. “There, consider yourself kissed, so quit whining. And don’t eat us out of house and home.”
As we grabbed our purses and keys and headed out the door, Roz sputtered behind us. Delilah and Camille fell into peals of giggles as we headed for Camille’s car. As Camille coaxed the engine to life, I glanced out the window at the stars. Dead bodies and ghouls notwithstanding, summer over Earthside could be lovely—if a little cool in the Seattle area. I just wished I could see it all in the daytime for once, I thought, as we sped through the musky night.
CHAPTER 8
The FH-CSI building was located right on the edge of the Belles-Faire District in north Seattle, on Thatcher Avenue. The building was large, made of concrete, and illuminated by ground lights that encircled the perimeter. It appeared to be a single story, but there were actually three floors hidden belowground, including an arsenal, an incarceration unit for the rogue denizens of OW, and a morgue and laboratory. The law enforcement headquarters, offices, and the medical unit were on the main floor.
The grounds surrounding the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigations building were landscaped with low shrubs and flowerbeds. There were no large trees nor hedges for escapees to hide behind or for disgruntled gang members to use. The Freedom’s Angels, a group of Earthborn FBH supremacists, had grown in number, especially after the Earthside Supes and Fae began swarming out of the closet. There had been a few very ugly, very bloody incidents, thanks to the gang, and I had the feeling we hadn’t seen the last of them.>CHAPTER 7
I stared at him, gauging how serious he was. He looked pretty damned serious. After a moment, I said, “Who the fuck are you, and what are you and your damned ghoul doing on our land?”
Mr. Nefarious blinked and then shrugged. “Call me Wilbur. As to who I am, I’m a necromancer, that’s my ghoul, and I’ll thank you to leave him in one piece. He wandered off before I realized he was gone and—oh Christ, lady. You broke him.”
I glanced over at the ghoul, who was standing again, his head listing precariously to the left, a lopsided, brainless grin on his face. I’d done a tidy job of crushing the vertebrae at the base of his neck. He looked rather pathetic, actually.
I turned back to Wilbur. “Put the stake away. Your ghoul was on our land, he set off our wards. What do you expect? You let your toys run around without a leash, they’re going to get hurt. Wilbur, you say?” I shook my head. Just what we needed. A necromancer named after a pig who was best friends with a spider. “Where you from, Wilbur?”
He blinked. “I moved in down the street a few months ago. The old London house. I keep to myself, and usually keep him on a tight leash.” Here, he jerked his head toward the ghoul. “But now and then, accidents happen.” He lowered the stake, keeping an eye on me as he did so. “You and your sisters are pretty damned famous. I figured that Martin would head here; your whole place shines like a Kmart blue-light special.”
A noise on the path made us both turn. He raised his spike again, then lowered it as Delilah and Camille came racing down the path. I waited till they reached us, both looking confused as they took in the situation.
“Girls, meet our new neighbor, Wilbur. Wilbur’s a necromancer. Wilbur owns the ghoul, whose name is Martin. Apparently, Martin got away from him.”
“Martin?” Camille was holding the unicorn horn. She promptly stuffed it in her pocket, but not before I noticed that Wilbur’s gaze had fastened on it.
Mental note: Watch this dude, I thought. Necromancers weren’t all that trustworthy to begin with, and if he had any sense of how powerful her weapon was, he might just set about trying to swipe it.
Delilah cleared her throat. “Wilbur? You an FBH?”
He blinked. “Well, that’s rude. But yes, I am. Name’s Wilbur Folkes, and I live down the street.”
“How long have you been a necromancer?” Camille asked, her eyes never leaving his face.
Wilbur shrugged. “A few years, more or less. I need to get back to the lab. I’ve got some potions on the stove and don’t want them to curdle. Now, if you’d let me take my ghoul, I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t bother you again. I just hope I can fix his neck,” he said with a bit of a snarl.
I stood aside as he muttered something under his breath. Martin obediently shuffled over to Wilbur’s side.
Still suspicious, I turned to the others. “I’ll just make sure Wilbur and Martin find their way back to the road.” They nodded, and I led the pair through the woods to the edge of the road.
Wilbur had apparently had enough of our conversation, and Martin could only grunt, so I kept my mouth shut, deciding the less that he knew about us, the better. We were only a five-minute walk from the edge of the road, as the crow flies, and Wilbur was pretty light on his feet for such a big man. He darted over tree roots, around trees and bushes without hesitation. When we reached the road, Wilbur silently yanked Martin across the street by one arm, none too gently. I watched as they headed down the pavement, and before long, I saw them turn in to what was, indeed, the old London house.
Delilah and Camille were gone by the time I reached the spot where I’d tackled the ghoul, and I sped back to the house. They were waiting for me as I burst into the kitchen, both looking alternately amused and confused.
“You tell Iris yet?” I asked.
“Yes they did, and it sounds peculiar to me, let me tell you that. But I need to be getting ready for my date. Bruce will be here shortly.” Iris headed toward her bedroom.
“So,” I said, floating gently into the air where I felt the most comfortable. “What do you make of our new neighbor?”
“I think we’re going to end up in court someday,” Delilah said. “Judge Judy, no less.”
“Heaven forbid,” Camille said. “I don’t trust him. I don’t like the look of him, and I’ll tell you this right now: He’s been practicing necromancy a lot longer than ‘a few years.’ That man has a tremendous amount of power, and he reeks of death.” She stared at the table. “I should know. Morio and I are starting to delve deeper into bone magic. The path is a shadowy one, and the deeper you go, the darker it gets.”
Delilah glanced at me. I gently shook my head. Camille was doing what she needed to do. The Hags of Fate had decreed whatever role Morio was to play in her life, other than that of husband and protector. It wasn’t up to us to question her or him, or their choices.
“You think Wilbur’s lying about anything?” I trusted Camille’s instinct. It was a lot more reliable than her Moon magic.
