Bayou Moon (The Edge #2)(45)
Author: Ilona Andrews

Someone gasped.

Kaldar raised his arms, holding folded documents in a fan. "Copy of original Deed of Sale to Louisiana, signed and stamped. Copy of Senatorial Grant, with Genevieve listed as an heir. Copy of Gustave’s and Genevieve’s marriage certificate. Copy of Vernard Dubois’s and Vienna Dubois’s death certificates. Copy of Cerise Mar’s birth certificate."

He bowed with a flourish and dumped the papers into Clyde’s hands.

Dobe scanned the papers and cackled. It was a gleeful snide kind of cackle, and as he laughed, his eyebrows bounced up and down. "Blondie, you’ve been buggered."

The blonde advocate’s face twitched. "I want to examine the papers."

"Examine all you want. I’m ready to rule. I love them when they’re that simple, don’t you, Clyde?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

Cerise rose.

"The Sheerile family has one day to vacate the Sene parcel. If by the morning of the second day, they fail to do so, the Mar family can use whatever they’ve got to get their property back. If the Mars fail to handle the Sheeriles on their own, they may appeal to the Mire Militia for assistance. That’s it."

Dobe picked up his robe and scurried off.

They had won the right to attack the Sheeriles, William realized. Now there would be a bloodbath.

"Show-off." Cerise slumped onto her chair. He read exhaustion in the curve of her spine.

"Oh, everyone enjoyed it. Let me have my fun." Kaldar patted her shoulder. "You don’t look so good."

"Just really tired," she said. "It’s been a while since I slept. Or ate."

"We should go home," Richard said.

"Yes." Cerise rose and immediately dropped back into her chair. "Emel."

A man in a long crimson robe was making his way to them from the back of the room. He was dark-haired and very lean, and looked a bit like Richard, if you took Richard’s face and stretched it a couple of inches. William riffed through his memory. Emel, her cousin, the necromancer who supposedly would eat a hole in her head over the fish on legs.

"Is there a particular reason you don’t want to meet our dear cousin?" Kaldar gathered the documents. "He’s a bit grim and smells like dead people, but he is family …"

"William killed his eel." Cerise ducked lower, crouching by the seat.

The four Mars stared at him. William shrugged. "It tried to eat me."

"Emel will want money," Cerise murmured. "I can’t handle that right this second."

Kaldar jerked his head toward the door. "Go. We’ll stall him."

Cerise slunk from her seat, melting into the crowd. William tensed, but there was no way to follow unless he threw her cousins aside.

Kaldar turned and stepped forward with a big smile. "Emel!"

Emel looked a bit perplexed. "Cousin."

They embraced.

Kaldar winked at William over Emel’s shoulder. Grandmother Az watched them with an affable smile.

"Congratulations on the battle fought and won." Emel’s voice was surprisingly pleasant.

"Thank you," Kaldar said.

Emel braided the fingers of his hands, in the manner of a pious priest. "Lagar won’t leave peacefully. Kaitlin won’t let him. Let me know if you need assistance. Officially I can’t do anything – the Sect doesn’t wish to be involved – but I can still pull some strings. And, hrhm, I myself am not without some modest skill."

Kaldar nodded. "Thank you, Emel."

Emel’s face took on a mournful cast. "Speaking of needs. I’ve come to see Cerise. There is a certain delicate matter that I would like to discuss with her."

Yeah, a delicate matter of the fish with legs who attacked random peaceful travelers in the swamp. William opened his mouth. Grandmother Az put her hand on his elbow and shook her head. He clamped his mouth shut.

Kaldar nodded gravely. "I’m sorry, she left. But I’ll do my best to give her a message."

"I need to speak to her concerning a certain animal belonging to the Sect . . . Normally I wouldn’t bring this up, but the Sect believes some restitution is in order."

"Lost your pet, did you?" Grandmother Az snapped out of her reverie.

Emel paled. "Why, Meemaw Azan, I didn’t see you there …"

"Serves you right." Grandmother’s eyes blazed with fierce fire. The flow of the crowd around them slowed, as the audience sensed a new attraction. "When she was a little girl, you stole her dolls, stuffed dead things into them, and made them dance! What kind of a person expects a little girl to be happy with a stinky dolly that’s full of maggots? What were you thinking?"

Emel winced.

"I say it’s right that she killed your eel. What kind of a pet is that for a respected man anyway? Couldn’t get a dog or a cat. No, this knucklehead gets himself a bald fish with legs!"

Light giggling pulsed through the crowd.

"Meemaw Azan – " Emel started but she cut him off.

"I don’t care if you’re a necromancer! Coming over here, all important, doesn’t say hello to his granny. Too good for your family, are you, Emel? I know I brought my grandchildren up better than that. I think I’ll have me a talk with your mother!"

A spark of fear flared in Emel’s somber eyes. "I should go," he said softly.

"It’s for the best," Kaldar murmured. "I’ll give Cerise your message."

Emel bowed to his grandmother and took off toward the door amid the cackling audience.

Grandmother Az put her tiny fists on her hips. "And don’t you walk away from me, Emel Mar! I am not finished with you! Emel!"

The necromancer grabbed his robe, broke into a run, and escaped through the door. Grandmother Az waved her arm around and poked William in the shoulder. "Can you believe that child? Well, doesn’t that just sink my boat! And he was such a sweet baby, too."

LAGAR pulled the boat to the shore, threw the reins on a cypress knee, and stepped on the wet grass. A lake of ferns rustled before him.

"Peva?"

No answer came. He took a step into the ferns and saw a trail of broken stems leading away from a pine. A small bag of tracker’s mix lay on the roots, the nuts and raisins scattered on the ground. Above it, a circular black mark, the kind a flare arrow made, glared at him from the pine’s trunk.

Peva had no flare bolts. The hair on the back of Lagar’s neck stood on its end.

He unsheathed his sword in a single fluid motion and searched the ground.

Twin puncture marks, two wounds in the dirt, marked the spot by the pine root. Someone had shot at his brother and lived to retrieve the missiles. Unless Peva took them for his own.

Lagar jogged to the edge of the fern field. Several stems lay broken on the ground. His gaze snagged on a bolt protruding from a cypress trunk. A green glyph marked the shaft. One of Peva’s. Too low for a target. Besides when Peva aimed, he always hit. He’d shot to distract someone’s attention from himself. Lagar crouched, pointing the tip of his sword in the direction of the bolt, and turned the other way.