CHAPTER 7

I stared at him, gauging how serious he was. He looked pretty damned serious. After a moment, I said, “Who the fuck are you, and what are you and your damned ghoul doing on our land?”

Mr. Nefarious blinked and then shrugged. “Call me Wilbur. As to who I am, I’m a necromancer, that’s my ghoul, and I’ll thank you to leave him in one piece. He wandered off before I realized he was gone and—oh Christ, lady. You broke him.”

I glanced over at the ghoul, who was standing again, his head listing precariously to the left, a lopsided, brainless grin on his face. I’d done a tidy job of crushing the vertebrae at the base of his neck. He looked rather pathetic, actually.

I turned back to Wilbur. “Put the stake away. Your ghoul was on our land, he set off our wards. What do you expect? You let your toys run around without a leash, they’re going to get hurt. Wilbur, you say?” I shook my head. Just what we needed. A necromancer named after a pig who was best friends with a spider. “Where you from, Wilbur?”

He blinked. “I moved in down the street a few months ago. The old London house. I keep to myself, and usually keep him on a tight leash.” Here, he jerked his head toward the ghoul. “But now and then, accidents happen.” He lowered the stake, keeping an eye on me as he did so. “You and your sisters are pretty damned famous. I figured that Martin would head here; your whole place shines like a Kmart blue-light special.”

A noise on the path made us both turn. He raised his spike again, then lowered it as Delilah and Camille came racing down the path. I waited till they reached us, both looking confused as they took in the situation.

“Girls, meet our new neighbor, Wilbur. Wilbur’s a necromancer. Wilbur owns the ghoul, whose name is Martin. Apparently, Martin got away from him.”

“Martin?” Camille was holding the unicorn horn. She promptly stuffed it in her pocket, but not before I noticed that Wilbur’s gaze had fastened on it.

Mental note: Watch this dude, I thought. Necromancers weren’t all that trustworthy to begin with, and if he had any sense of how powerful her weapon was, he might just set about trying to swipe it.

Delilah cleared her throat. “Wilbur? You an FBH?”

He blinked. “Well, that’s rude. But yes, I am. Name’s Wilbur Folkes, and I live down the street.”

“How long have you been a necromancer?” Camille asked, her eyes never leaving his face.

Wilbur shrugged. “A few years, more or less. I need to get back to the lab. I’ve got some potions on the stove and don’t want them to curdle. Now, if you’d let me take my ghoul, I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t bother you again. I just hope I can fix his neck,” he said with a bit of a snarl.

I stood aside as he muttered something under his breath. Martin obediently shuffled over to Wilbur’s side.

Still suspicious, I turned to the others. “I’ll just make sure Wilbur and Martin find their way back to the road.” They nodded, and I led the pair through the woods to the edge of the road.

Wilbur had apparently had enough of our conversation, and Martin could only grunt, so I kept my mouth shut, deciding the less that he knew about us, the better. We were only a five-minute walk from the edge of the road, as the crow flies, and Wilbur was pretty light on his feet for such a big man. He darted over tree roots, around trees and bushes without hesitation. When we reached the road, Wilbur silently yanked Martin across the street by one arm, none too gently. I watched as they headed down the pavement, and before long, I saw them turn in to what was, indeed, the old London house.

Delilah and Camille were gone by the time I reached the spot where I’d tackled the ghoul, and I sped back to the house. They were waiting for me as I burst into the kitchen, both looking alternately amused and confused.

“You tell Iris yet?” I asked.

“Yes they did, and it sounds peculiar to me, let me tell you that. But I need to be getting ready for my date. Bruce will be here shortly.” Iris headed toward her bedroom.

“So,” I said, floating gently into the air where I felt the most comfortable. “What do you make of our new neighbor?”

“I think we’re going to end up in court someday,” Delilah said. “Judge Judy, no less.”

“Heaven forbid,” Camille said. “I don’t trust him. I don’t like the look of him, and I’ll tell you this right now: He’s been practicing necromancy a lot longer than ‘a few years.’ That man has a tremendous amount of power, and he reeks of death.” She stared at the table. “I should know. Morio and I are starting to delve deeper into bone magic. The path is a shadowy one, and the deeper you go, the darker it gets.”

Delilah glanced at me. I gently shook my head. Camille was doing what she needed to do. The Hags of Fate had decreed whatever role Morio was to play in her life, other than that of husband and protector. It wasn’t up to us to question her or him, or their choices.

“You think Wilbur’s lying about anything?” I trusted Camille’s instinct. It was a lot more reliable than her Moon magic.

“Oh, he’s telling the truth about his name and the fact that he’s an FBH. But there’s a lot hidden behind that thicket of fur he calls a beard. I don’t pick up any strong demonic aura, but anybody who’s raising the dead and creating ghouls has to be doing something shady.”

“Great, just one more thing to concern ourselves with. I’m losing track all over the place of what the hell we’re—oh that’s right. Kitten, call Tim and check on Harish?” I frowned, trying to remember what we’d been talking about before the wards had interrupted us.

Camille poured herself a glass of wine, then searched out a package of Oreos. She settled in at the table while Delilah picked up the phone.

“Hey Jason, is Tim there?” Kitten leaned against the wall as she talked. Athletic, Delilah was tall—an inch over six feet. Her shoulder-length blonde shag was starting to grow out. After a moment of silence, Tim must have come on the line, because she said, “Listen, I know you’re up to your ears with wedding plans, but can you run a quick check for me off the Supe Community files? I don’t have the full roll call on my computer, and we need to find out if there’s an elf from OW registered. His first name is Harish; I don’t know his surname. Yes, that’s right . . . H-a-r-i-s-h . . . Thanks, call me when you find out.”

As she hung up, I asked, “So when are Tim and Jason getting married? I know we got an invitation the other day, but I forgot to look at it.”

Camille crossed to the bulletin board where we kept notes and messages and removed a creamy-colored envelope from the pushpin that had been holding it there. She handed it to me. I opened the flap and slid out the thick, textured paper. Beautiful work, I thought. The paper had to be handmade. As I opened the invitation, a rich calligraphy announced:

Mr. & Mrs. Simon and Virginia Winthrop cordially request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their son, Timothy Vincent Winthrop, to Jason Alfonso Binds, son of Mrs. Petti-Anne Binds.

We would love for you to join us at Woodbriar Park on the 19th day of June at 9:30 P.M., as Timothy and Jason pledge their lasting love and commitment under the stars. The Reverend Monica Trent, a pastor from the United Worlds Church, will be presiding. Reception and late-night buffet in the park to follow.

Attire: Semiformal

Gifts: In lieu of gifts, the couple is asking that you make donations to the Harvest of Gold Food Bank.

A handwritten note had been included, indicating that the invitation extended to Camille’s husbands, Chase, and guests, should Iris and I choose to attend with dates.

“Are we all going? What about Iris?” I smiled softly. Tim and Jason had been together for several years. They had a solid relationship, and it was nice to see them formalizing it. A part of me loved the ritual and pageantry of weddings.

“Of course we’re going. I asked Roz to watch Maggie that night, and he agreed.” Camille grinned at her.

I blinked. “Roz? Rozurial is back?”

An incubus, Rozurial had been helping us for some time against the demon menace. He was a mercenary, a bounty hunter, totally unethical when it came to women, and just about as gorgeous as you could ever hope to want in a man. He was also a good friend. We’d made out a little, but I hadn’t let it go any further than that. So far. About three weeks back, Queen Asteria had called Roz back to Elqaneve—the elfin city—for some brief mission she wanted him to complete.

“Yeah. He showed up last night.” Delilah frowned.

My mood lightened, and I realized just how much I’d missed Roz’s irreverent nature. The phone rang, and I reached for the receiver. “Probably Tim,” I said. But it wasn’t. It was Chase. “Listen, I have some news about the Clockwork Club and Claudette. But I imagine you called to talk to Delilah?”

“No. Put me on speaker, please.” He let out a long sigh, and I knew that whatever the news was, it wasn’t good.

I punched the speaker button and replaced the receiver. “Go ahead.”

“I need the three of you to get over here right now. We’ve got a problem.” He sounded unusually tense.

“What’s wrong?” Delilah asked, a look of concern washing over her.

“I’ve got two dead bodies with no possible reason why they should be dead. But they are. Both of them are Fae—one’s from OW, one is Earthside-born.” He coughed. “Can you be here in half an hour?”

I glanced at Delilah and Camille, who both nodded. “We’ll be there,” I said. As I punched the speaker button to hang up, Iris entered the room. My jaw dropped.

Iris had always been pretty, but tonight she’d taken it to a whole new level. Her hair was glowing, woven into a plaited chignon, and a beaded, low-cut halter dress the color of the evening sky showed off her figure. The crowning effect was a sparkling gold and black shawl draped around her shoulders.

“Oh my gods, you look stunning!” Camille stared at her. “Bruce is going to be panting in his boots when he gets a glimpse of you.”

“Iris, you’re gorgeous,” I said. “But we need a sitter for Maggie stat, because Chase just called. He needs us over there.”

Iris grinned. “Not to worry,” she said, staring over our shoulders. “We have company.”

I glanced around. Roz had just walked in the door.

“Roz, you’re on Maggie duty tonight. Bruce just called. The limo’s on its way up the driveway.” Iris checked her purse. “I have money, my keys, and my cell phone. If the world ends, you can call me. Otherwise, I may not be home till dawn.” She blew us a kiss and headed out the door, squeezing past Roz, who gave her a long glance over his shoulder as he let loose with a low wolf whistle.

Iris stopped in her tracks, turned, and said, “Excuse me?”

Roz just grinned. “Can’t blame me, can you? You want to blow off your date and go out with me?”

Though he was laughing, I knew that he meant it. You could dress him up in a black leather duster and stick a miniature Uzi in his hand, but beneath all the curly long hair and weapons lay the heart of a sex fiend. A very pleasant and helpful sex fiend, but a sex fiend nonetheless.

Iris just fluttered her lashes, blew him a kiss, and sailed out the door.

“Damn, the woman’s looking sharp tonight,” he muttered before turning around. Camille let out a snort, and Delilah began whistling an aimless tune. Roz narrowed his eyes. “What? None of you will sleep with me, no matter how much I beg. And you—” he pointed to Camille. “Your husband’s a maniac, so don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

She saluted and gave him a snarky grin. “Aye, aye, Cap’n Lovegun.”

A few months back, Smoky had dragged Rozurial out into the front yard and pulverized him after he noticed Roz copping a feel off Camille’s ass. The resulting bruises had not been pretty. After that, Roz made sure he kept his mitts away from Camille, except when she needed help.

“Come on. We have to book. Roz, you’re on babysitting detail. Maggie’s in bed. Check in on her a couple of times. We’ll be down at the FH-CSI. Dead body problem.” I planted a quick kiss on his nose. “There, consider yourself kissed, so quit whining. And don’t eat us out of house and home.”

As we grabbed our purses and keys and headed out the door, Roz sputtered behind us. Delilah and Camille fell into peals of giggles as we headed for Camille’s car. As Camille coaxed the engine to life, I glanced out the window at the stars. Dead bodies and ghouls notwithstanding, summer over Earthside could be lovely—if a little cool in the Seattle area. I just wished I could see it all in the daytime for once, I thought, as we sped through the musky night.

CHAPTER 8

The FH-CSI building was located right on the edge of the Belles-Faire District in north Seattle, on Thatcher Avenue. The building was large, made of concrete, and illuminated by ground lights that encircled the perimeter. It appeared to be a single story, but there were actually three floors hidden belowground, including an arsenal, an incarceration unit for the rogue denizens of OW, and a morgue and laboratory. The law enforcement headquarters, offices, and the medical unit were on the main floor.

The grounds surrounding the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigations building were landscaped with low shrubs and flowerbeds. There were no large trees nor hedges for escapees to hide behind or for disgruntled gang members to use. The Freedom’s Angels, a group of Earthborn FBH supremacists, had grown in number, especially after the Earthside Supes and Fae began swarming out of the closet. There had been a few very ugly, very bloody incidents, thanks to the gang, and I had the feeling we hadn’t seen the last of them.