Flesh and Blood

Mal sneered. ‘Not even the voices in my head are that insane.’

Mortalis laughed. Katsumi didn’t. With frost in her gaze, she stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

Mortalis didn’t wait for Mal to speak. ‘We need to talk.’

‘No, we don’t.’ Mal headed for the exit. He didn’t have time to make nice or buddy up.

Mortalis grabbed his bicep. ‘You can’t just go barreling out there and hope it all works out.’

Smoke trailed up from where the fae’s silver rings connected with Mal’s skin. He yanked his arm out of the shadeux’s six-fingered grip. ‘Watch me.’

The fae stepped into his path. ‘Katsumi’s hiding Ronan. I don’t have proof, but I can feel it. No one else claims to have even seen him in the holding cells after the fight.’

Mal shrugged. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ Katsumi couldn’t let him kill Ronan when there was money to be made. What else did Mortalis know? ‘What about Chrysabelle? I know she was here. There was blood on the balcony railing.’

‘She cut her hand, but she’s fine. She went home.’ Mortalis frowned. ‘That was yesterday, by the way. You’ve been out for a while.’

‘All the more reason I need to talk to her.’ Mortalis might think she was fine, but what did the fae know about comarré? Mal wanted to see her. Had to see her. And he’d had enough blood these past few days that he could face her without dropping fang and salivating like some newly turned vampling.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Duly noted. Get out of my way.’

Mortalis didn’t budge. ‘No. There’s more to this. I know it. The fringe have started to organize. There’s talk of putting Ronan in charge.’ He exhaled like the weight of a thousand secrets lay on his back. ‘Something’s going on and I may be your only ally right now, so either listen to me or don’t, but I’m willing to help.’

‘You work for Dominic.’ Mal planted his fingertips on Mortalis’s chest and pushed to emphasize his point, causing the shadeux to sway. ‘And he’s just as guilty as the rest of them, so your help’ – he pushed a little harder – ‘I can do without.’

Mortalis stood firm. ‘Dominic doesn’t know about any of this.’

‘He tell you to come down here and feed me that line of bull?’

‘No, because he’s not here, and he hasn’t been since Maris died.’

That slowed Mal down. ‘Where is he?’

‘I’m not at liberty to divulge.’

Chump. Mal shook his head, disgusted. ‘You’re such a company man, Mortalis. Your clan must be so proud of you.’

Mortalis lifted his head, aiming the tips of his horns in Mal’s direction. ‘My choices are not yours to judge. I certainly don’t judge yours.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You know what it means. You drank her blood.’

Mal cooled a notch. ‘Which is why I need to talk to her. To explain.’ To stop screwing up his already chaotic life.

‘Then I’m going with you.’

‘No.’ He pushed past Mortalis, headed for the door.

‘Tell Velimai I said hello. You know, from one deadly fae to another.’

His hand stopped on the knob. Son of a priest. ‘You’re driving.’

Chapter Nine

This time of night when the dying sun dusted the sky lavender and the early stars emerged, everything seemed draped in magic. Not the kind that waited around corners or bared its teeth when startled, but peaceful, benevolent magic. The enchanted dusk muted imperfections and smoothed rough edges. Chrysabelle could almost imagine that Maris was still alive, that the humming coming from the kitchen belonged to her. Chrysabelle knew it didn’t, but a strange compulsion made her lean up from the poolside chaise and check.

With a smile, Velimai stepped out of the house through the wall of sliding glass panels that were opened to the evening air. In her hands, a tray holding a flute of pineapple juice. She walked forward, almost floating in that way wyspers had of gliding like leaves on water. Chrysabelle’s imaginings faded in her wake.

With a wistful sigh, she lay back against the chaise, the journal she’d been reading closed against her chest. Not her mother. And it never would be. Meeting Creek had reminded her how very alone she was in this world. Yes, she had Velimai, but Velimai wasn’t human, and on the days when she ached for the counsel of someone who understood what she’d been through or might grasp what it meant to be comarré, there was no substitute.

The journals came close at times like this. She could hear Maris’s voice when she read. Sometimes, though, reading Maris’s thoughts overwhelmed Chrysabelle, especially the little notes written directly to her. Those … those tore at her heart, gnawing on the parts that were trying to heal, keeping the pain fresh. And so the reading went slowly.

Velimai set the tray down, lifted the flute, and placed it on the small table beside the chaise. She tucked the tray beneath her arm and tilted her head to look at Chrysabelle.

Chrysabelle recognized that look. ‘I’m fine.’ She lifted her bandaged hand without wincing. The scratch on her elbow was almost gone. ‘Even my wounded bits.’

Velimai’s brows rose. Clearly, she didn’t believe that.

‘I’m fine, really.’ Chrysabelle tapped a finger on the journal. ‘Just missing her.’