Heir of the Dog Page 6

  He rubbed his fingers together as if savoring the sensation. “We’ve already met.”

  “I think I would remember...” A flicker of connection locked my knees when all I wanted to do was turn and bolt. His voice. I should have recognized it. “You collected the Morrigan’s tithe from me.”

  His black eyes gleamed. “I did indeed.”

  Wishing I had my cell to call for backup, I demanded, “Who are you?”

  “I am the Morrigan’s son.”

  I drew up short. “Fae can’t lie.”

  “Fae tell the truth so well it might as well be a lie,” he replied.

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say you are Raven.” I humored him. “What do you want from me?”

  “Come inside where we can talk.” He promised, “I won’t hurt you.”

  I stared past him and shivered. “Was it just me, or did I hear an unspoken you don’t have a choice in there?”

  Short of tossing me over his shoulder, nothing was getting me inside that apartment.

  A wisp of amusement lightened his voice. “I bring news of your father.”

  Except maybe that.

  “That’s why you’ve been hanging around me?”

  “It is a matter of some delicacy, perhaps not best discussed out in the open.” He pushed the door wider and lowered his hand. “Even empty halls have ears.”

  “This isn’t a trick to lure me inside so you can reap my soul and leave my body for the crows?”

  Oh wait. He was the crow.

  “No.” His laughter rang with silky promise. “You are safe from harm with me.”

  What I heard between the lines was that he wouldn’t personally hurt me, which wasn’t the same as protecting me, and it didn’t rule out him enticing me into his apartment so someone else could do it for him.

  He must have understood my predicament. His first real smile knocked the air from my lungs.

  “Thierry Thackeray, I, son of the Morrigan, sworn into service by the Unseelie House, swear that no harm will befall you by my hand or any other’s as long as you enjoy my hospitality.”

  Tempted as I was to nibble, I still didn’t take his bait. His vow hinged on him being the Morrigan’s son. Twice now he claimed to be Raven. Fae were tricky, but there was zero wiggle room in his statement.

  I am the Morrigan’s son is a concrete statement of fact. Okay, so, following that logic, this guy must be Raven. How he got here or what his plans were I wouldn’t know unless I took him at his word and entered his apartment, which had Very Bad Idea written all over it.

  I worried my thumbnail with my teeth. This lead might crack our case and fling open an even bigger one. A Faerie prince here? Without proper documentation? The magistrates would lay golden eggs when they found out.

  “I vow I will return you to this spot, where you surrendered yourself into my most humble care, unmolested, under identical conditions to the ones from which you left. Do these terms please you?”

  Raven offered his hand again, and this time I sucked in a sharp breath and took it.

  He guided me over the threshold into his empty living room and shut the door behind us.

  All the other doors stood open. All the other rooms sat empty. “Can I ask an honest question?”

  “As long as you don’t expect an honest answer.”

  My head whipped toward him. “Was that a joke?”

  “That question is only asked when the joke fails to perform.” Raven snapped his fingers, and a faded couch resembling the one in my living room appeared. He led me to it. “Have a seat. I want you to be comfortable.” He noticed my preoccupation with his sofa. “Your roommate is sleeping. You are away. I see no reason why we can’t use your couch, do you?”

  “I— No.” There was comfort in the familiar, especially under such peculiar circumstances. “This is fine.”

  I sat on the middle cushion, amused when a familiar spring poked me in the butt. Raven perched on the arm closest to me. Despite his posture and casual clothes, he evoked this primal fear response in me. As if death were more hideous because of his beauty, and I had zero doubts Raven was a killer.

  His stillness unnerved me, made me feel like a field mouse trying to outmaneuver a bird of prey who saw the landscape unfurling for miles but afforded me the luxury of running myself to exhaustion before he swooped in for the kill.

  Raven tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Your father is missing.”

  I sank deeper into the sofa. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “He brought balance to the lands of Faerie. Now is a dangerous time for scales to be tipped.”

  “I can sympathize, but I’ve never met my father.” I shrugged. “I have no idea where he is.”

  “We are aware of that. We don’t expect you to find him. It’s more we were hoping you might be persuaded to act in his stead. Only one of his bloodline may take his place, and you are the only known child of Macsen Sullivan.” He paused. “We are not without resources. You will be compensated.”

  Caution lent my voice a sharp edge. “Who is we?”

  “I speak for House Unseelie.”

  Another statement. This one more malleable, but I let it slide. “What is their stake in this?”

  “Balance must be maintained.” Power thrummed in his voice. “It was your father’s duty to serve the fae realm and now, as his only child, I offer you his position. If only temporarily.”

  “You said he went missing. Why are you acting like he’s dead?”

  “When old creatures go missing in Faerie, it is because they do not wish to be found.”

  The pressure in my chest eased. “So he might be taking a vacation from court life?”

  One year in the field and my job frustrated me. After millenniums of casting irrefutable judgments upon those condemned by the Faerie High Court, of which my father was a founding member, I would be ready for a break too.

  Raven cast a meaningful look my way. “He has done so once before.”

  Right. He took a position once with the Earthen Conclave, spent a few months here and met Mom.

  Would she want to know Mac had gone missing? Would she care? Or would she worry he might be here and hadn’t come to visit? Maybe this was what Mac did. Maybe he had a thing for mortal women. He wouldn’t be the first. I might be the only child of his to appear on the conclave’s steps with blood on her hands, but that didn’t mean I was the only child he had sired.

  The thought of having siblings out there... No. Raven said Mac had done this once before, with Mom. Pathetic, I know, but I clung to the childish dream she had been special to him, at least until she got pregnant with me.

  I twisted to face Raven. “Why not wait for Macsen to return?”

  “It’s a delicate time in Faerie, as I have said.” He glanced away. “We can’t afford to wait.”

  Unseelie being concerned over the balance in Faerie struck me as suspicious. They weren’t all bad, just as Seelie weren’t all good, but Unseelie were called dark fae for a reason.

  “I’ll think about it.” I pushed to my feet. “My father left this realm before I was born, so you understand why I don’t feel any particular attachment to his legacy or any concern for its continuance.”

  Raven stood as well.

  “I’m sorry he vanished,” I continued, “but I have to think of my mom, the parent who stuck around and raised me. I’m all the family she has. She needs me.”

  As powerful as my father was, he had cultivated equally lethal enemies. Mom was under conclave protection, but being Mac’s mortal ex-lover, and the mother of his heir, made her a tempting coup for any of them. Especially if I wasn’t here to see the law enforced on her behalf.

  I liked to believe I could handle myself, mostly, but Mom had no means of protecting herself against the fae.

  I couldn’t do this. It would be Mac all over again. I couldn’t leave her for Faerie.

  Raven inclined his head. �
�I can allow you twenty-four hours to consider your options.”

  “Do me a favor while we sort this out.” I didn’t make it a question. “Don’t answer any more of the Morrigan’s summons, okay?”

  “As you wish.” He trailed me to the door, pinching a lock of my hair and twisting it around his finger. “As it is, I have taken enough to sustain me.”

  Unnerved by his familiarity, I glanced over my shoulder. “What happens if I don’t go?”

  He bent to inhale the hairs caught in his fist. “The houses will declare war upon one another.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Raven’s offer left me so keyed up, I decided against returning to the apartment. Mai would be waking up and getting ready for work soon. Opting to let her sleep while she could, I shot her a text and told her I was heading in to the office early.

  I had solved the case. Go me. Fat lot of good it did.

  Any doubts I had about Raven’s identity had gone up in smoke. He was here. He was real. And his plea implied dire consequences for Faerie if I turned down the Unseelie’s offer. I needed to get Shaw’s take on this before I involved the magistrates, and I had to involve them. Soon. Say within twenty-four hours.

  Once inside the marshal’s office, I breathed easier.

  “Hey there, sunshine,” Mable chirped as I passed her desk. “Are you going after that púca? An anonymous tip placed him at Oak Trail Park ten minutes ago.”

  I exhaled on a curse too low for her ears. “Have you seen Shaw yet?”

  “Yes.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “He came by earlier to pick up a search warrant the magistrates wanted executed before sunup.”

  Great. So he would be occupied for a while.

  “In that case, I’ll grab a quick shower and check out the tip on the púca.”

  Her voice trailed after me. “I don’t suppose you—”

  “Catch.” I twisted and tossed her a square jar of lavender honey. “Let me know what you think.”

  Her shocked laughter when she caught my pitch made me chuckle.

  She picked her spoon off her desk and waved it at me. “I’ll do that.”

  The scent of pine cleaner made me wrinkle my nose when I entered the communal showers tucked into the rear quarter of the marshal’s office. It took a few tries, but I managed to remember my combination and pop open my locker where I kept a change of clothes. Five minutes later I was standing under hot spray, ignoring the way my elbow kept banging into the wall of the tiny stall or the knobs jabbing me in the back when I turned to rinse my hair.

  Cold air rushed beneath the sheet of opaque plastic and kissed my ankles, raising gooseflesh.

  “Hello?” A wispy shadow rippled over the curtain. “Is someone out there?”

  A voice in the back of my mind screamed, This is how all horror movies start.

  Naked chick plus a shower stall equaled a bloody horrible death. Always. No exceptions.

  Thanking forethought for getting my glove spelled against water, I whispered my Word and felt the tingle of its magic releasing. Rolling down the material gave me a head start if I needed one. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. I prayed my imagination was in overdrive after visiting with Raven and yanking the curtain open would slam the brakes on my speeding heart.

  One. Two. Two and a half... Three.

  I shoved open the curtain.

  Nothing.

  The room was empty. No shadow. No freaky cold air gusts. Just naked ol’ me.

  “Beware the Rook.” A gruff masculine voice ricocheted off the tile surfaces, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Nails clacked as the rich voice receded. “You are his pawn.”

  “The Rook?” I snatched a towel from its peg. Slipping and sliding, I skidded after the sound. “Wait.”

  My right foot shot forward. I tried to regain my balance, hit a soapy patch and went down hard, cracking my head against the slick floor. The overhead lights blurred and spun in my vision.

  “Thierry?” Mable called. “Are you all right? I thought I heard something.”

  I sucked in air to fill my lungs and croaked, “Careful. It’s slippery.”

  All those whirling lights made me dizzy. Shutting my eyes settled my stomach.

  “Let me have a look.” Mable sounded closer. Her hand eased under my head, searching the base of my skull. “You’ve got one nasty bump, but you aren’t bleeding. Thierry? Dear? What happened?”

  “Who else is here?” I managed.

  Her warm hands pushed the sticky hair from my face. “In the building or on the grounds?”

  “In the building.” I opened my eyes. “Someone was in here. He spoke to me.”

  “He?” Her pencil-thin brows slanted. “There are no male personnel in the building currently.”

  Bracing on my elbows, I raised my shoulders off the floor. “How about civilians? Fugitives?”

  “One fugitive.” Mable stood and helped me to my feet. “A fire sprite Marshal Jenkins brought in earlier, but he’s already been processed.”

  “The Rook.” I snapped my fingers as the voice’s warning clicked into place. “Who is he?”

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell, dear.” She dabbed at the wet spots on her cotton-candy-colored skirt. “You hit your head pretty hard...”

  A borderline growl laced my voice. “I know what I heard.”

  “Maybe it was a sprite.” Careful of the mess I’d made, she picked her way toward the window I had forgotten was there. Probably because someone tacked a dressing mirror over it. “It’s open.”

  Open. Of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be? All hidden windows should be left cracked before they’re covered and forgotten for decades at a time. Whatever. Didn’t matter. I knew what I heard. I also knew someone else I could ask. Raven.

  I didn’t believe in coincidence. First his visit and now this? The two must be related somehow.

  “You’re right.” I cobbled together what I hoped was a convincing smile. “They’re such pests.”

  “They really are.” She shut and latched the window. “I wish that banishment bill would get an approval stamp. Faerie can have the little devils back. I moved here to escape that type of nonsense.”

  Sprites were pranksters. Their idea of amusing ran the gamut from fart jokes to pickpocketing.

  Tiny brains, tiny capers. This stunt was outside their usual scope. Someone else was behind this.

  More fae than I must know Raven was here. As eager as he was to escort me to Faerie, I was equally sure there were those in both houses content with the status quo.

  At the moment, I was too.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sighting a púca meant one of two things. Either you were about to have kick-ass luck, or you were about to get hit with the sucks to be you stick. Call me crazy, but black animals conjure grim tidings in my book, and púcas were extreme luck bringers. Either you got the wicked good or the holy-hella-bad variety.

  Based on the color of their fur, I was guessing they preferred the latter to the former.

  The file on this particular one, Sean Walters, was as thick as my wrist. He was a repeat offender.

  Apparently, he liked mixing his mojo. A touch of extreme luck. We won the lottery! Followed by a jolt of the worst luck ever. What do you mean the ticket was fake? He was just plain cruel. The jerk deserved what he had coming to him.

  Rock music blaring in my bra startled birds from the patch of woods I was investigating.

  Stealth fail. I hung my head. My mind was not in the right place for this today.

  I tugged my phone from inside my shirt, swiped the green icon and whispered, “Hello?”

  “Why are you whispering?” Mai whispered back.

  “Smart-ass.” The wind shifted. I inhaled deeply. Gotcha. “I have to go.”

  “Why?” Suspicion sharpened her tone. “What are you doing?”

  With no small amount of glee, I shushed her. “I’m hunting wabbits.”

  “Fine. Don’t be serious.” Mai huffed.
“But what did you do with the couch?”

  “Um, we’ll talk later. Bye.” I ended the call.

  That feathery bastard kept our couch? After digging a notepad from my satchel, I wrote myself a reminder to hire movers, preferably hunky ones, to wrangle the couch back down to our apartment.

  A whiff of púca hit my nose, and I bared my teeth. Here bunny, bunny, bunny.

  After turning off the phone, I tucked it into my back pocket and crept forward.

  Judging by the abundance of rabbit pellets in the grass—eww—Sean often hunted in the sprinkling of trees bordering the walking track. I got that prowling the track made hunting easier. Most humans were easily duped by the supernatural, and prey ran past you like a conveyer belt of potential victims here.

  I even got why he preferred his bunny form to his horse or goat shapes. Bunnies were cute, cuddly and had no human kills on record. But Oak Trail Park was on the human side of town, and his shenanigans were going to get him caught, skinned and deep fried one day.

  Hunkered down, I crept forward. Pungent magic led me right to Sean in time to see him jump onto the track, rear up on his hind legs and twitch his pink nose at the next person who passed. The elderly woman paused in her power-walking to coo at him. Huh. Most folks had better sense than to approach wild animals. Sean must be using a charm. Or maybe Púcas came equipped with magical lures, like incubi, minus their sexual vibe.

  Wiggling his cotton tail, Sean turned and hopped toward me, attempting to lead the woman into the privacy of the trees.

  A mocking caw had me scanning the sliver of open sky visible to me while I crouched in position.

  The woman’s scream brought me to my feet as a massive black bird swooped toward Sean.

  “Unbelievable.” I burst onto the track beside her and demanded, “Where’s the bunny?”

  She pointed upward.

  The bird, an abnormally large raven, circled overhead with a limp rabbit clutched in its talons.

  “Was he yours?” She covered her mouth. “That poor little fellow.”

  “No, he was—” I bit the inside of my cheek. “Yes. I was walking him when he chewed through his harness and hopped away.” I gestured toward the trees. “I chased him into the open and—”