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“Some sicko put bird heads in a box.” I shrugged, not willing to show anything else here. “Someone knows I work with you all? Maybe they knew the owner’s son wasn’t in his grave so they expected me?”
“Looks like a threat.” Gary looked at me like he wanted to say more, but then he glanced back. Minnesota was eavesdropping.
“Must be a day that ends in ‘y.’” I shrugged. “Plenty of threats. What can you do?”
Eli was silent at my side, but I saw him nod to Gary. Maybe it was man-code. Maybe it was to verify that Eli understood Gary’s implications.
“I’m okay, Gary.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “No worries. I’ll see you at the NOPD meeting, but unless you need me here . . . I have things to do.”
“Sure, kid,” Gary said.
“Suzette.” I nodded to her. “Stay safe.”
“Kid? You arelegallyallowed to bring him”—Gary nodded to Eli—“to the meeting. Or me. Or both.”
Then he turned away and began ordering the forensic techs and the Con Crew in a combination of evidence gathering and corpse awareness.
Chapter Nine
Eli openedthe passenger door of his little convertible. “We are near enough the ghost zone that it might be simple encroaching.”
“And the box?”
“Well, that changes things.” Eli looked around, as if the killer was out in the open watching us like on some television program. “Although, I suspect you do have enemies in the ghost zone.”
I snorted. The cities were where living folks clustered, and the immediate space outside that—the ghost zones—were wheredraugrgathered. Admittedly, there was mingling, but in a sort of perversion of city-suburb-rural, the ghost zone—formerly the suburbs—was now the most dangerous place most living folks would encounter. Sure,draugrstill roamed the city proper, but if people went inside at dusk, they could mostly guarantee a long, relatively safe life.
“We should talk to Beatrice,” I admitted out loud. “Tell her about . . . all of it.”
“Already going that way, bonbon.” Eli steered us onto the bridge, taking us out of the edge of the city and into the ghost zone. The Hebert house was at the border, but it was still, technically, in the city. If not, the police wouldn’t have come. No one patrolled the ghost zone.
It was eerie in the way of many a ghost town. The occasional tourist or scavenger went there, since the former inhabitants left their homes without taking most of their possessions. Entering the houses meant that the risk ofdraugrencounters was high.
“Should we see your mother, too?”
I glanced at him. “I’ll address that with Beatrice.”
“We could warn her, bonbon. Three crow heads. Do not think I am not drawing the same conclusions you are.” Eli reached over and squeezed my hand. “If the NOPD knew about Lady Beatrice . . .”
I sighed. My relationship with thedraugrqueen was new and still something I’d rather not share widely. Once upon a time, Beatrice had been a witch who had woken as adraugr. Before her death, she had a child. Over a fair number of generations, Beatrice had watched her descendants—until my mother. Mama Lauren knew Beatrice, knew ofdraugr, knowingly conceived a child with one, against Beatrice’s wishes.
And that was me.
My mother followed her own path, a mix of Judaism and paganism. Beyond the ghost zone was the Outs, where I grew up. Nature. Wild West law—shoot first, ask if you got around to it. It was the new frontier, and my mother, Mama Lauren, was still there.
“Another day,” I said. Eli had met my mother last month and part of me liked how easily they got on together. Another part, one I was not examining, was ill at ease with it. “Let’s see Beatrice. I still need to follow up with Madame Hebert, locate Christophe Hebert, and meet with NOPD. I can leave Beatrice to warn my mother. I cannot spend the night there.”
Instead of pressing me, Eli drove us into the Outs. No utility services. No law. It was wild nature, and even I wasn’t going to travel here after dusk. And staying over in my childhood home with Eli was a sort of “welcome to the family” that I wasn’t quite ready to handle. Hell, we still slept in his guest room. If I couldn’t welcome him into my apartment that way, how was I to manage overnighting at my childhood home?
“I wasn’t rushing you about seeing her.” Eli stared straight ahead. “We areengaged, Geneviève. We spend between fifty and sixty percent of our nights in bed together. Your clothes carry the scent of my skin. Your mother was threatened. It is perfectly reasonable to see her.”
“She would shoot anyone not welcome, and Beatrice likely has guards there already.” I crossed my arms. “I cannot deal with her emotionsandyou overreacting to me doing my job today.”
“Does no one worry over you? Want to ease your stress? Dream of your safety?” Eli’s voice made me feel embarrassed. “Am I to love you but not worry?”
I squirmed at the topic. My friends, my assistant, Gary, my mother, they all worried if they knew too much. So, I kept a lot of secrets. It was easier. I wasn’t great at letting anyone know everything. I hedged, “I tell you more than I share with anyone else, but you can’t worry like this just because—”
“I worry because you are precious to me, Geneviève.” Eli took my hand. “And I will not ignore that.” He paused. “I’ve hired a part-time bar manager. I’ll pay her profit share and a salary. Say ‘yes’ to the bargain I offered you. Let me stay your partner.”
