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“Some of the family weren’t happy about my decision.”
“They aren’t in Chicago, though, are they? Weren’t they in Memphis?”
“Yeah, and I don’t see them traveling all the way out here to make trouble for me. They were pissed, but I wouldn’t say they were invested, if that makes sense.”
I nodded. “It does.”
“Lis, I don’t have any idea why someone would have killed that vampire, or made it look like I did it. I can’t remember what happened, and I’m in this goddamned cell for no reason except, as far as I can figure, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I know, Riley. And I’m sorry. We’re all working to figure out what happened.”
He nodded, but misery swam in his eyes.
“If you think of anything, let me know. Or talk to Connor or Gabriel. Just—tell someone.”
“I will.”
I nodded and turned, guilt following me like a shadow.
“Elisa.”
I glanced back at him. He’d moved closer to the glass, flattened a hand against it.
“Animals shouldn’t be caged.”
The magic and pain and budding fury that swirled in his eyes had me shivering.
• • •
The grounds of Cadogan House were darker than they had been the night before. The party gear was gone and the sky was overcast, the air warm and damp and still, like misery itself had been trapped in the humidity, ready to suffocate. A swag of black taffeta and crepe hung from the front gate and the front door, a memorial to the immortal killed within.
It was quiet inside, too, and the air was still thick with the smell of yesterday’s flowers.
I found my parents in my father’s office. They stood together, watching the screen my mother held out.
“Good evening,” my father said, glancing back when I stepped into the doorway.
“Hi,” I said, moving to them. “How are you doing?”
“We are... concerned,” he settled on. “We had a moment of silence at dusk in honor of Tomas, but that still feels insufficient.”
I reached out, took his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he said. “I was no fan of Tomas. He was pompous and a little paranoid. But that doesn’t excuse murder.”
“Is there any news about the investigation?” I asked, wishing for some smoking gun that would prove Riley innocent—and that I hadn’t entirely misjudged his character.
My mother glanced at my father, then at me. I didn’t take that as a good sign. “We’ve got bad news and odd news,” she said.
“Give me the bad news first.”
“Riley’s fingerprints were the only prints on the knife. And they were in the right place.” She held up a fist like she was gripping an invisible knife, ready to strike.
“The perpetrator could have wiped off the other prints.” Andwould have done just that if this was the setup it looked like. But the absence of other prints still tied the knot in my stomach a little tighter.
“And the odd news?”
“The blip in the surveillance video,” my mother said, “was magical.”
