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“Why would a fairy have killed an ambassador from Europe?” she asked, when the parade wound to a close.
“I don’t know. The fairies were dicks at the first session, and so was Tomas. Both of them railed about vampire and shifter conspiracies.”
“And then a shifter is accused of killing a vampire. That’s convenient.”
I looked at her. “Yeah,” I said slowly. “That is convenient. Maybe they did want to disrupt the peace talks. I mean, that mission was at least partially accomplished by the fairies when they barged in yesterday, but the murder got tonight’s session canceled, too. But it still seems really indirect. Why not just attack the talks themselves—literally, not in the fairy-interruption way? Or takecredit for the murder because you think it will get you some political traction?”
“I don’t know.” She put down the screen, folded her hands on the island, and looked at me. “Maybe we should ask them.”
“Ask who?”
“The fairies. I have a car.” She held up her fists and mimed a steering wheel. “We get into it, go to the castle, and ask them.”
“No,” I said. “Absolutely not. That’s too dangerous.” And a violation of so many rules that even Connor might have balked at it.
“It’s not a risk-free idea,” she admitted. “But what’s the other option? We sit around while Riley’s in lockup?”
“We could end up dead.”
“That’s true for you every time the sun rises. The only thing that matters is what you do in the dark.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “That was really philosophical.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I’ve been reading more since you’ve been gone. I’ve even got a card for the Cadogan House library.”
“How did you get a library card?”
“I’m a friend of the House,” she said dryly. “Supernatural parentage has some advantages.”
“Doesn’t that violate the magic ban?” I asked.
“We aren’t talking about magic,” she said, hopping off the stool and emptying her cup. “We’re talking about murder and a friend of mine. Why do you think I’m painting that mural?”
She walked to the kitchen counter, plucked a key fob from a silver bowl, looked back at me with a dare in her eyes. “Are we doing this?”
I tapped fingers against the granite. I shouldn’t have been considering it. I don’t want this blowing back on my parents.
But I thought of Tomas, of blood spilled at my father’s House. I thought of Riley in his sad gray scrubs and the desperation in his eyes. And I thought of the future. If the perpetrator waswilling to kill at Cadogan and frame a good man, what else were they willing to do? How could I just stand by?
“This has to be low-key,” I said, decision made. “No snark, no sarcasm. We just ask polite questions. I’d really prefer the Ombudsman not hear about this.”
Lulu winced. “Shit. I forgot about that—the deal with Cadogan House.”
“I think I have an out there,” I said, and told her my theory.
Her whistle was long and low. “Your dad is not going to like that—you not being an official Cadogan vampire.”
“No, he is not. And the Ombudsman might not buy it. So we need to be really, really careful.” And when it came to supernaturals, even “really careful” could go bad.
I tried to figure out how to politely phrase the next question without expressly mentioning her magic avoidance. “If things go bad, can you take care of yourself?”
“I’ve been learning Krav Maga. And there’s also this.” She moved to a narrow door, pushed aside a broom and mop that tried to escape, and pulled out a black duffel bag. She brought it back, put it on the counter, and unzipped it.
“Damn, Lulu.”
It was filled with weapons, mostly bladed. Sheathed knives. Throwing stars. Handguns. Even a wakizashi, a smaller sword carried by samurai as a companion to the longer katana.
“Dad taught me a few things,” she said.
