House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City) (20 page)

“Your boss put you up to this?” It reeked of Roga.

“Maybe. Do you know anything?” She angled her head again, that silky sheet of hair—the same as their father’s—shifting with the movement.

“Yes. Tertian’s murder was … the same as Danika’s and the pack’s.”

Any trace of a smile faded from her face. “Philip Briggs didn’t do it. I want to know what the Viper Queen was up to that night. If the Aux has any knowledge of her movements.”

Ruhn shook his head. “Why are you involved in this?”

“Because I was asked to look into it.”

“Don’t fuck with this case. Tell your boss to lay off. This is a matter for the Governor.”

“And the Governor commandeered me to look for the murderer. He thinks I’m the link between them.”

Great. Absolutely fantastic. Isaiah Tiberian had failed to mention that little fact. “You spoke to the Governor.”

“Just answer my question. Does the Aux know anything about the Viper Queen’s whereabouts on the night of Tertian’s death?”

Ruhn blew out a breath. “No. I’ve heard that she pulled her people from the streets. Something spooked her. But that’s all I know. And even if I knew the Viper Queen’s alibis, I wouldn’t tell you. Stay the fuck out of this. I’ll call the Governor to tell him you’re done being his personal investigator.”

That icy look—their father’s look—passed over her face. The sort of look that told him there was a wild, wicked storm raging beneath that cold exterior. And the power and thrill for both father and daughter lay not in sheer force, but in the control over the self, over those impulses.

The outside world saw his sister as reckless, unchecked—but he knew she’d been the master of her fate since before he’d met her. Bryce was just one of those people who, once she’d set her sights on what she wanted, didn’t let anything get in her way. If she wanted to sleep around, she did it. If she wanted to party for three days straight, she did it. If she wanted to catch Danika’s murderer …

“I am going to find the person behind this,” she said with quiet fury. “If you try to interfere with it, I will make your life a living Hel.”

“The demon that murderer is using is
lethal
.” He’d seen the crime scene photos. The thought that Bryce had been saved by mere minutes, by sheer drunken stupidity, still twisted him up. Ruhn continued before she could answer. “The Autumn King
told
you to lie low until the Summit—this is the fucking opposite, Bryce.”

“Well, it’s now part of my job. Jesiba signed off on it. I can’t very well refuse, can I?”

No.
No one
could say no to that sorceress.

He slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “She ever tell you anything about Luna’s Horn?”

Bryce’s brows lifted at the shift in subject, but considering Jesiba Roga’s field of work, she’d be the one to ask.

“She had me look for it two years ago,” Bryce said warily. “But it was a dead end. Why?”

“Never mind.” He eyed the small gold amulet around his sister’s neck. At least Jesiba gave her that much protection. Expensive protection, too—and powerful. Archesian amulets didn’t come cheap, not when there were only a few in the world. He nodded to it. “Don’t take that off.”

Bryce rolled her eyes. “Does everyone in this city think I’m dumb?”

“I mean it. Beyond the shit you do for work, if you’re looking
for someone strong enough to summon a demon like that, don’t take that necklace off.” At least he could remind her to be smart.

She just opened the door. “If you hear anything about the Viper Queen, call me.”

Ruhn stiffened, his heart thundering. “Do
not
provoke her.”

“Bye, Ruhn.”

He was desperate enough that he said, “I’ll go with you to—”

“Bye.”
Then she was down the stairs, waving in that annoying-as-fuck way at Declan and Flynn, before swaggering out the front door.

His friends threw inquisitive looks to where Ruhn stood on the second-floor landing. Declan’s whiskey was still raised to his lips.

Ruhn counted to ten, if only to keep from snapping the nearest object in half, and then vaulted over the railing, landing so hard that the scuffed oak planks shuddered.

He felt, more than saw, his friends fall into place behind him, hands within easy reach of their hidden weapons, drinks discarded as they read the fury on his face. Ruhn stormed through the front door and out into the brisk night.

Just in time to see Bryce strut across the street. To Hunt fucking Athalar.

“What the actual Hel,” Declan breathed, halting beside Ruhn on the porch.

The Umbra Mortis looked pissed, his arms crossed and wings flaring slightly, but Bryce just breezed past him without so much as a glance. Causing Athalar to
slowly
turn, arms slackening at his sides, as if such a thing had never happened in his long, miserable life.

And wasn’t that enough to put Ruhn in a killing sort of mood.

Ruhn cleared the porch and front lawn and stepped into the street, holding out a hand to the car that skidded to a screeching halt. His hand hit the hood, fingers curving. Metal dented beneath it.

The driver, wisely, didn’t scream.

Ruhn strode between two parked sedans, Declan and Flynn close behind, just as Hunt turned to see what the fuss was about.

Understanding flashed in Hunt’s eyes, quickly replaced by a half smile. “Prince.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Hunt jerked his chin toward Bryce, already disappearing down the street. “Protection duty.”

“Like Hel you’re watching her.” Isaiah Tiberian had failed to mention
this
, too.

A shrug. “Not my call.” The halo across his brow seemed to darken as he sized up Declan and Flynn. Athalar’s mouth twitched upward, onyx eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge.

Flynn’s gathering power had the earth beneath the pavement rumbling. Hunt’s shit-eating grin only spread.

Ruhn said, “Tell the Governor to put someone else on the case.”

Hunt’s grin sharpened. “Not an option. Not when it plays to my expertise.”

Ruhn bristled at the arrogance. Sure, Athalar was one of the best demon-hunters out there, but fuck, he’d even take Tiberian on this case over the Umbra Mortis.

A year ago, the Commander of the 33rd hadn’t been dumb enough to get between them when Ruhn had launched himself at Athalar, having had enough of his snide remarks at the fancy-ass Spring Equinox party Micah threw every March. He’d broken a few of Athalar’s ribs, but the asshole had gotten in a punch that had left Ruhn’s nose shattered and gushing blood all over the marble floors of the Comitium’s penthouse ballroom. Neither of them had been pissed enough to unleash their power in the middle of a crowded room, but fists had done just fine.

Ruhn calculated how much trouble he’d be in if he punched the Governor’s personal assassin again. Maybe it’d be enough to get Hypaxia Enador to refuse to consider marrying him.

Ruhn demanded, “Did you figure out what kind of demon did it?”

“Something that eats little princes for breakfast,” Hunt crooned.

Ruhn bared his teeth. “Blow me, Athalar.”

Lightning danced over the angel’s fingers. “Must be easy to run
your mouth when you’re bankrolled by your father.” Hunt pointed to the white house. “He buy that for you, too?”

Ruhn’s shadows rose to meet the lightning wreathing Athalar’s fists, setting the parked cars behind him shuddering. He’d learned from his cousins in Avallen how to make the shadows solidify—how to wield them as whips and shields and pure torment. Physical and mental.

But mixing magic and drugs was never a good idea. Fists it would have to be, then. And all it would take was one swing, right into Athalar’s face—

Declan growled, “This isn’t the time or place.”

No, it wasn’t. Even Athalar seemed to remember the gawking people, the upraised phones recording everything. And the red-haired female nearing the end of the block. Hunt smirked. “Bye, assholes.” He followed Bryce, lightning skittering over the pavement in his wake.

Ruhn growled at the angel’s back, “Do not fucking let her go to the Viper Queen.”

Athalar glanced over a shoulder, his gray wings tucking in. His blink told Ruhn that he hadn’t been aware of Bryce’s agenda. A shiver of satisfaction ran through Ruhn. But Athalar continued down the street, people pressing themselves against buildings to give him a wide berth. The warrior’s focus remained on Bryce’s exposed neck.

Flynn shook his head like a wet dog. “I literally can’t tell if I’m hallucinating right now.”

“I wish I were,” Ruhn muttered. He’d need to smoke another mountain of mirthroot to mellow the Hel out again. But if Hunt Athalar was watching Bryce … He’d heard enough rumors to know what Hunt could do to an opponent. That he, in addition to being a prime bastard, was relentless, single-minded, and utterly brutal when it came to eliminating threats.

Hunt had to obey the order to protect her. No matter what.

Ruhn studied them as they walked away. Bryce would speed up; Hunt would match her pace. She’d drop back; he’d do the same. She’d edge him to the right, right, right—off the curb and into
oncoming traffic; he’d narrowly avoid a swerving car and step back onto the sidewalk.

Ruhn was half-tempted to trail them, just to watch the battle of wills.

“I need a drink,” Declan muttered. Flynn agreed and the two of them headed back toward the house, leaving Ruhn alone on the street.

Could it really be a coincidence that the murders were starting again at the same time his father had given the order to find an object that had gone missing a week before Danika’s death?

It felt … odd. Like Urd was whispering, nudging them all.

Ruhn planned to find out why. Starting with finding that Horn.

17

B
ryce had just succeeded in nudging Hunt into oncoming traffic when he asked, “Do I get an explanation for why I’ve had to trail you like a dog all night?”

Bryce shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a piece of paper. Then silently handed it to Hunt.

His brow furrowed. “What’s this?”

“My list of suspects,” she said, letting him glance at the names before she snatched it away.

“When did you make this?”

She said sweetly, “Last night. On the couch.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “And you were going to tell me when?”

“After you’d spent a whole day assuming I was a dumb, vapid female more interested in getting my nails done than solving this case.”

“You
did
get your nails done.”

She waved her pretty ombre fingernails in his face. He looked half-inclined to bite them. “Do you know what
else
I did last night?” His silence was delightful. “I looked up Maximus Tertian some more. Because despite what the Governor says, there was no fucking way Danika knew him. And you know what? I was right. And you know how I know I’m right?”

“Cthona fucking save me,” Hunt muttered.

“Because I looked up his profile on Spark.”

“The dating site?”

“The dating site. Turns out even creepy vamps are looking for love, deep down. And it showed that he was in a relationship. Which apparently did nothing to stop him from hitting on me, but that’s beside the point. So I did some
more
digging. And found his girlfriend.”

“Fuck.”

“Aren’t there people at the 33rd who should be doing this shit?” When he refused to answer, she grinned. “Guess where Tertian’s girlfriend works.”

Hunt’s eyes simmered. He said through his teeth, “At the nail salon on Samson.”

“And guess who did my nails and got to chatting about the terrible loss of her rich-ass boyfriend?”

He ran his hands through his hair, looking so disbelieving that she chuckled. He snarled, “Stop with the fucking questions and just tell me, Quinlan.”

She examined her gorgeous new nails. “Tertian’s girlfriend didn’t know anything about who might have wanted to murder him. She said the 33rd did vaguely question her, but that was it. So I told her that I’d lost someone, too.” It was an effort to keep her voice steady as the memory of that bloody apartment flashed. “She asked me who, I told her, and she looked so shocked that I asked if Tertian was friends with Danika. She told me no. She said she would have known if Maximus was, because Danika was famous enough that he’d have been bragging about it. The closest to Danika she or Tertian got was through two degrees of separation—through the Viper Queen. Whose nails she does on Sundays.”

“Danika knew the Viper Queen?”

Bryce held up the list. “Danika’s job in the Aux made her a friend and enemy to a lot of people. The Viper Queen was one of them.”

Hunt paled. “You honestly think the Viper Queen killed Danika?”

“Tertian was found dead just over her borders. Ruhn said she
pulled her people in last night. And no one knows what kind of powers she has. She could have summoned that demon.”

“That is a big fucking accusation to make.”

“Which is why we need to feel her out. This is the only clue we have to go on.”

Hunt shook his head. “All right. I can buy the possibility. But we need to go through the right channels to contact her. It could be days or weeks before she deigns to meet with us. Longer, if she gets a whiff that we’re onto her.”

With someone like the Viper Queen, even the law was flexible.

Bryce scoffed. “Don’t be such a stickler for the rules.”

“The rules are there to keep us alive. We follow them, or we don’t go after her at all.”

She waved a hand. “Fine.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw again. “And what about Ruhn? You just dragged your cousin into our business.”

“My cousin,” she said tightly, “will be unable to resist the urge to inform his father that a member of the Fae race has been commandeered for an imperial investigation. How he reacts, who he contacts, might be worth noting.”

“What—you think the Autumn King could have done this?”

“No. But Ruhn was given an order to warn me to keep out of trouble the night of Maximus’s murder—maybe the old bastard knew something, too. I’d suggest telling your people to watch him. See what he does and where he goes.”

“Gods,” Hunt breathed, striding past gawking pedestrians. “You want me to just put a tail on the Autumn King like it’s not a violation of about ten different laws?”

“Micah said to do whatever was necessary.”

“The Autumn King has free rein to kill anyone found stalking him like that.”

“Then you better tell your spies to keep themselves hidden.”

Hunt snapped his wings. “Don’t play games again. If you know something, tell me.”

“I was going to tell you everything when I finished up at the
nail salon this morning.” She put her hands on her hips. “But then you bit my head off.”

“Whatever, Quinlan. Don’t do it again. You
tell me
before you make a move.”

“I’m getting real bored with you giving me orders and forbidding me to do things.”

“Whatever,” he said again. She rolled her eyes, but they’d reached her building. Neither bothered to say goodbye before Hunt leapt into the skies, aiming for the adjacent roof, a phone already at his ear.

Bryce rode the elevator up to her floor, mulling everything over in the silence. She’d meant what she said to Hunt—she didn’t think her father was behind Danika’s and the pack’s deaths. She had little doubt he’d killed others, though. And would do anything to keep his crown.

The Autumn King was a courtesy title in addition to her father’s role as a City Head—as for all the seven Fae Kings. No kingdom was truly their own. Even Avallen, the green isle ruled by the Stag King, still bowed to the Republic.

The Fae had coexisted with the Republic since its founding, answerable to its laws, but ultimately left to govern themselves and retain their ancient titles of kings and princes and the like. Still respected by all—and feared. Not as much as the angels, with their destructive, hideous storm-and-sky powers, but they could inflict pain if they wished. Choke the air from your lungs or freeze you or burn you from the inside out. Solas knew Ruhn and his two friends could raise Hel when provoked.

But she wasn’t looking to raise Hel tonight. She was looking to quietly slip into its Midgard equivalent.

Which was precisely why she waited thirty minutes before tucking a knife into her black leather ankle boots, and placed something that packed a bigger punch into the back of her dark jeans, hidden beneath her leather jacket. She kept the lights and television on, the curtains partially closed—just enough to block Hunt’s view of her front door as she left.

Sneaking out the rear stairwell of her building to the small alley where her scooter was chained, Bryce took a swift, bracing breath before fitting on her helmet.

Traffic wasn’t moving as she unchained the ivory Firebright 3500 scooter from the alley lamppost and waddled it onto the cobblestones. She waited for other scooters, pedicabs, and motorcycles to zip past, then launched into the flow, the world stark through the visor of her helmet.

Her mother still complained about the scooter, begging her to use a car until after the Drop, but Randall had always insisted Bryce was fine. Of course, she never told them of the various
incidents
on this scooter, but … her mother had a mortal life span. Bryce didn’t need to shave off any more years than necessary.

Bryce cruised down one of the city’s main arteries, losing herself in the rhythm of weaving between cars and swerving around pedestrians. The world was a blur of golden light and deep shadows, neon glaring above, all of it accented by pops and flittering shimmers of street magic. Even the little bridges she crossed, spanning the countless tributaries to the Istros, were strung with sparkling lights that danced on the dim, drifting water below.

High above Main Street, a silvery sheen filled the night sky, limning the drifting clouds where the malakim partied and dined. Only a flare of red interrupted the pale glow, courtesy of Redner Industries’ massive sign atop their skyscraper in the heart of the district.

Few people walked the streets of the CBD at this hour, and Bryce made sure to get through its canyons of high-rises as swiftly as possible. She knew she’d entered the Meat Market not by any street or marker, but by the shift in the darkness.

No lights stained the skies above the low brick buildings crammed together. And here the shadows became permanent, tucked into alleys and under cars, the streetlamps mostly shattered and never repaired.

Bryce pulled down a cramped street where a few dented delivery trucks were in the process of unloading boxes of spiky green fruit and crates of crustacean-looking creatures that seemed far too
aware of their captivity and oncoming demise via boiling pots of water in one of the food stalls.

Bryce tried not to meet their googly black eyes pleading with her through the wooden bars as she parked a few feet away from a nondescript warehouse, removed her helmet, and waited.

Vendors and shoppers alike eyed her to glean if she was selling or for sale. In the warrens below, carved deep into Midgard’s womb, lay three different levels just for flesh. Mostly human; mostly living, though she’d heard of some places that specialized in certain tastes. Every fetish could be bought; no taboo was too foul. Half-breeds were prized: they could heal faster and better than full-humans. A smarter long-term investment. And occasional Vanir were enslaved and bound with so many enchantments that they had no hope of escape. Only the wealthiest could afford to purchase a few hours with them.

Bryce checked the time on her scooter’s dash clock. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the black leather seat.

The Umbra Mortis slammed to the ground, cracking the cobblestones in a rippling circle.

Hunt’s eyes practically glowed as he said, in full view of those cowering along the street, “
I am going to kill you
.”