Grave Dance
Page 13The small shadow stopped. Then it grew larger. And larger. I could have sworn the river didn’t run too deep here, but the shadow grew to the size of a dog and then to the size of a cow. It headed for the bank. Apparently not a turtle. I shouldered my purse and ran toward the bank, Malik at my heels.
A large equine head emerged from the water. The kelpie’s coat was a dank grayish brown like the dark silt and seaweed tangled in the slimy mane clinging to her long neck. She lifted one large hoof onto the bank, and then another, not so much as scrambling as she climbed from the water. Her hooves struck the ground like thunder as she trotted toward me, and I stopped short. She was massive, each hoof the size of a dinner plate, and even in my three-inch boots, I stood only as tall as her large back.
My hand twitched toward the enchanted bridle in my purse, and I forced my fingers away. I wanted to talk with her, if she was willing, not jump straight to trickery. No use making an enemy if I didn’t have to. Nevertheless, it was hard to remain still as the kelpie lowered her head and drew in enough air to make the curls around my face quiver. She let the air out again, blowing her lips and revealing very sharp—and very unhorselike—teeth.
“You smell delicious, Alex Craft with Tongues for the Dead.” The voice that emerged from her horse mouth was surprisingly feminine and her enunciation perfect. “Sleagh Maith with a mix of mortal? Would you like to go for a ride, little feykin?” She knelt on her front legs to give me easier access, but I backed away.
“No. That’s okay.”
“More’s the pity.” She turned her attention to Malik.
“Oh, it’s you, Shellycoat.” Her lips curled away from those sharp teeth. It was strange to see a snarl on a horse, but the expression was unmistakable. She huffed her breath and as the air rushed out of her the skin on her neck flared. Gills? “What an unpleasant surprise.” She tossed her head, flinging water and muck from her mane.
I stepped back, but I couldn’t avoid the spray. I wiped the muddy water from my cheek with the back of my hand and frowned at the dark spots dotting my top, but there wasn’t time to do anything about it as the kelpie turned back toward the river.
“Wait.” I reached out, my hand brushing her side. Her muscles quivered under my fingers and I jerked my hand back. What I’d originally taken as fur was actually hundreds of small, sticky scales. I stepped back a bit, but didn’t move far. “I need to ask you some questions.”
The kelpie turned and studied me with one large, milky eye. “Part ways with Shellycoat and come to my home for supper. You may ask me any question you wish during the meal.”
Was that a legitimate offer, or would I be part of dinner? Either way, she lived under the river, and I definitely couldn’t breathe water. I shook my head. “I’d prefer to keep my feet on dry land.”
“Then why should I answer your questions, Alex-Craftwith-Tongues-for-the-Dead-who-prefers-to-keep-her-feet- on-dry-land?”
“You should answer because Ms. Craft is working to protect the independent fae in Nekros from the grasp of the Winter Queen.”
Pale skin flashed beneath the kelpie’s gills. “And what care I for the troubles of other independents?”
“You’ll care if the queen saddles and stables you.”
It was hard to read the kelpie’s equine features, but I think she glared at Malik. After several silent seconds, she turned to me, her large eyes unblinking. That’s as close to permission as I’m likely to get. I asked my question.
“A group of feet recently floated down the Sionan River and washed up in the floodplain to the south. They were tossed into the river sometime in the last four or five days. Do you remember seeing or otherwise sensing the feet floating through your territory?”
The kelpie’s lips once again curled back from those sharp, predatory teeth. “The grotesque offering? The meat was putrefied by magic. It offended me.”
Offering? That was an unusual way to view body parts dumped in the river, but the feet the police had found were certainly saturated with dark magic, so I guessed we were talking about the same thing. I shuddered at the idea that she’d actually tried to eat one of the feet, but if I thought about it, that wasn’t really unexpected.
“Do you know where the, uh, ‘grotesque offering’ was tossed into the river?”
“In the place that reeks of iron, near one of the thundering gates.”
Well, that’s as clear as river muck. The place that “reeked of iron” was probably the city—no fae liked iron and the city had a lot of it. But what were the “thundering gates”?
I didn’t get a chance to ask. A hiccup erupted in my chest, interrupting me. I pressed my fingers over my lips just as a second hiccup hit, followed by a third.
I whirled around, glancing over the bank, the bridge, and the road as I turned. Nothing. My gaze shot to where the woods encroached on the river. Still nothing.
Another hiccup gripped my chest, bursting from my throat, and I cringed. Okay, charm, I got the point. There was glamour being used nearby, but I really wished the charm had a better way of warning me. At least I’d had the foresight to attach the charm with a quick-release clasp this time. I unhooked it from the bracelet and pried open my shields.
My grave-sight snapped into focus, painting the forest in muted shades as the landscape decayed. Several yards away, amid the forest of rotted trees, a troll moved silently through the wilted underbrush. His shoulders were wide enough that he had to turn sideways to step between two thick trees and avoid tearing the dark business suit he was wearing. His hands, each as big as my head, dragged the ground beside bare green feet sticking out under the hemmed legs of his slacks. I thought for a moment his hands were brown with moss green mounds over his knuckles, until I realized he wore gloves, the leather worn away on the top.
He moved slowly, sucking in his gut to allow more clearance between the tree trunks. But not enough clearance. Bark flaked off the trees as he brushed past. Beside me, the kelpie’s ears twitched, the skin on her neck quivering as she snapped her head toward the forest. The troll’s glamour might have hidden his footsteps, but we all heard the explosion of bark.
Malik wrung his hands, glancing from the forest to me. “What do you see?”
“Troll,” I whispered, hoping the troll in question wouldn’t hear. He’d paused when he brushed against the tree, as if waiting to see if we had noticed.
We had.
I’d met only one troll before, and it had been rather slow on the uptake. This one looked much more astute—it was probably the suit. If nothing else, the suit definitely implied that roaming the wilds wasn’t part of his normal routine.
“I’m guessing trolls aren’t common in this area?” I asked, but the only answer I received was a loud splash behind me.
I turned in time to see ripples and the kelpie’s dark shadow fade under the surface of the water. I glanced at Malik—or at least at where Malik had been. Now there was only his retreating back.
I whirled back around, and the movement dislodged small pebbles, sending them tumbling down the bank to make plink plink sounds as they hit the water. The troll was running now, bounding toward me. Crap. My muscles tensed, preparing to send me bolting away. My car wasn’t far, just on the other side of the bridge. Then the troll reached into his coat, pulling his sidearm and in the process flashing the badge at his waist.
I froze. For one endless moment, even my heart stopped. Then the next beat crashed hard, threatening to knock me forward. I lifted my hands slowly, palms open to show I carried no weapon and was preparing no spell. Not that it mattered. The troll never looked at me.
He thundered by, each stride of his tree-trunk-thick legs eating the ground in a massive gait. Still the distance between him and Malik grew.
“Malik Shellycoat, by order of the winter court I command you to stop,” he yelled, his voice booming but already breathless.
Malik dove into the forest, slipping silently through the underbrush until he vanished among the trees. The troll crashed after him, trees shuddering and bark exploding like shrapnel as he shouldered through.
I remained by the bank, my hands in the air until both fae had vanished from sight. Then I lowered my arms, glancing around. I could still hear the troll’s loud pursuit in the distance, and I half expected to spot the troll’s partner approaching me, gun out and cuffs in hand. But there was no one.
Time to get out of here.
I grabbed my purse from where I’d dropped it when the troll appeared and snapped my shields closed. I hadn’t had my grave-sight active long, and I hadn’t actually reached for the grave or used my power, but darkness still swam over my vision. I dug the glasses I often needed after the ritual from my bag and blinked, giving my sight a moment to adjust. It did, and after a couple of still-rushing heartbeats, my vision cleared enough that I was confident I’d be able to drive. Then I made my way over the bridge, not exactly running, but just barely not.
The FIB was an official law enforcement entity—I probably should have waited to see if the agent’s backup would arrive. There would definitely be questions about what I was doing out in the middle of nowhere with a person of interest in a homicide case. I’m not fleeing the scene, I told myself, but I was. And I knew it.
I’d just crossed the bridge when I noticed the shadow leaning against my car. I stopped short, squinting to make out the figure. I groaned and started walking again when I finally recognized the woman.
“Agent Nori,” I said as I approached.
“Miss Craft. You have a tendency to show up where you shouldn’t.” She flashed some teeth. “It seems you found the fae who was harassing you.”