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I didn’t know what to say. Delilah and Camille were as tongue-tied as me. After another moment of uncomfortable silence, I cleared my throat.
“Don’t second-guess yourself. There’s no way of knowing, sometimes. And we aren’t positive that she fell prey to harm. It just looks likely.”
“Can you find out? I can pay for your time,” he mumbled. “Whatever it takes.”
Delilah was about to say something when I stepped in. We needed the money, true, but I didn’t want him to feel like we were ghouls, feeding on the dead. “Listen, we’ll take a look around. If it appears that this is going to be cost-intensive, we’ll talk money then. Delilah’s a professional PI, so we’re already off to a head start. For now, the best help you can give us is to tell us everything you remember. Where her favorite hangouts were, what she liked to do, anything you can remember about this Harold guy. Can you get us a dossier by morning?”
Harish let out a soft sigh. “Of course. Give me your address, and I’ll have it sent over tomorrow.” He stood up, looking far older than when he’d first opened the door. “Thank you. I’m praying you find out that she just got bored with me and actually did go home. But you know . . .”
“What?” Camille said.
“I’ve always had a feeling that something was wrong. I couldn’t shake it, but it seemed . . . well . . . like I was overreacting. I finally just pushed it away and chalked it up to a wounded ego.”
“One last question,” I asked. “Do you know why Sabele wrote her journal entries in Melosealfôr? It’s an unusual language for most people to speak, let alone write.”
Harish gave me a soft smile. “When we were young, we were friends with a unicorn. Not one of the Dahns Unicorns, but one from the Golden Wood. He taught us the spoken version, and the sprite he traveled with taught us to write in it. Sabele and I used it as a secret language for many years, a way to keep our thoughts private. I guess she still thought of it as a way to keep the world out of her business.”
“Thank you,” I said, my stomach dropping at the sadness in his gaze.
“We’ll be going, then. Here’s my card,” Delilah said, handing him her business card as we headed for the door. “I wrote our home phone number and cell numbers on the back. Please, get everything together as soon as you can. You can send the information to the Wayfarer or down to the Indigo Crescent bookstore that Camille owns, or to my office, which is just above the store.”
And with that, we said good-bye and headed back to the car.
It was after midnight by the time we got home. As Camille slowly pulled into the yard, I glanced at the wards. Linked to the crystals in our kitchen, they glowed, soft rings of large quartz crystal spikes embedded into the ground. Their ivory light showed all was well. No ghouls for the moment, at least.
As we entered the kitchen, we found Iris sitting in the rocking chair by the stove. Her eyelashes were heavy with tears, and her makeup was streaked. She was clutching a tissue in her hand, and her beautiful dress lay in a pile on the floor. She’d changed into her bathrobe, and her hair flowed down her shoulders.
Rozurial was fixing her a cup of tea. He glanced at us and shook his head, an angry look on his face. Camille and Delilah hurried over to her, while I took the tea from Rozurial and carried it to her chair.
“What happened?” Delilah asked, brushing back a wayward strand of the long, golden locks that Iris was so proud of.
Iris flushed. “Bruce happened. A bunch of his buddies showed up at the restaurant and got us kicked out. Bruce didn’t seem to care, so they all decided to go to a bar. I didn’t want to go, but they complained I was being a party pooper, so I went along. Once we were there—it was Clancy’s Pub—Bruce’s friend Hans vomited all over me. That was after he tried to cop a feel. I slapped him in the face when he groped me. He threw up on me, and that damned Bruce just laughed at the whole thing. I was so embarrassed. I just wanted to fall through the floor.”
The pain in her voice made me want to do a little leprechaun hunting. My fingers itched to find the little creep and smack him around for hurting Iris’s feelings. I forced myself to remain calm.
“What did you do?”
“What could I do? I told Bruce I was leaving, and instead of trying to get me to stay, he just let out a belly laugh. Yes, he was drunk, but did he have to be so cruel?” She started to cry again, and I saw red.
“You want me to have a talk with him?”
Iris sniffed and blew her nose. She shook her head. “Not with those fangs out, you don’t,” she said.
I hadn’t realized my fangs were extended and did my best to rein myself in. “Sorry. I won’t put the bite on him. I promise.”
Camille picked up the dress, wincing as the smell of stale, alcohol-ridden puke wafted up to assault us all. “I’ll see if I can get the stain out. We’ll have it dry-cleaned if need be.” She headed toward the laundry room.
Delilah patted Iris’s hand and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Men can be so damned frustrating. I was ready to kill Chase over Erika.”
Roz settled in at the table with a cup of tea and a turkey sandwich. “We’re not all like that, Iris. Now me, I’ve never, ever been rude to a lady.”
“No, you just seduce them and then dash out the back when they aren’t looking,” I said, glancing at him. But when he grinned at me, I couldn’t help grinning back.
“Of course. That’s my job, love. You know that. But I do my best to leave them happy and without heartbreak.” Without his duster, he was just like every other curly headed pretty boy, though he had that slightly psycho edge that gave his eyes a dangerous appeal. He was wearing black jeans, a black mesh wife-beater, and a matching Australian hat that looked like it was straight out of Crocodile Dundee. It looked good on him, too.
Iris wiped her eyes. “I suppose I’m foolish to cry over this. But it was supposed to be a special night, and look what happened. I just . . . I had hopes . . .” Her voice trailed off as she rubbed the bridge of her nose between her eyes. “I have such a headache. Thank you for the tea, Rozurial.”
He pushed back his chair and knelt by her side. “Don’t give up on him yet, pretty wench. Bruce is a good sort beneath that loutish exterior. Tomorrow, give him a nasty tongue-lashing, and I’ll bet you anything he toes the mark from now on.” Leaning forward, he brushed her lips with a kiss, and she blushed but didn’t protest. “You are far too lovely inside and far too pretty on the outside to be alone for long. Give him a second chance, and if he screws that up, I’ll thrash him for you myself.”
