Winter (The Manhattan Exiles) (22 page)

Aine’s eyes widened in indignation.

“I’m not frightened of ghosts, tall or wee. Haven’t I proved it so?”

“
Something’s bothering you,” I returned.

“
While the silly woman gossiped, she gave me this.”

She held out her hand, fingers spread, thumb jutting.

“A Band Aid?”
Bran asked, obviously baffled.

“
A fresh bandage.”

I wasn’t baffled.

“You’re still bleeding.”

“
Aye. From the glass. You remember? Yesterday.”

“
I remember.” More precisely, I couldn’t forget the fear I’d felt in the Folio Room when the
sluagh
loomed over Aine. “Looks like you’re losing your super powers, princess. No more speed healing.”

She wrinkled her nose like an affronted cat.

“This world poisons our kind.”

Bran laughed.
“You’re preaching to the choir, Aine. Winter’s heard that tune all his life. I’ll bet it was the first lullaby Siobahn sang over his cradle.”

Lewd hand signals aren’t really my style, either, but I gave Bran the oldest one in the books. He only laughed harder.

Sometimes I could almost agree with Aine. Mortals are insects.

But then I remember it was my own kind that maimed me, and I figure I’ll take insects over vipers any day of the week.

The funeral home was named after a dead president and resembled a shrunken Taj Mahal. Beneath the arches and flourishes the parking lot looked ridiculously out of place. Someone had cut corners and spread gravel instead of asphalt.

Cars filled the spaces. I couldn’t help but notice they were all late model and high end.

Bran pulled against a curb painted bright yellow for loading, and cut the engine.

All three of us stared doubtfully at the building.

“
Nice
,
”
said Bran, meaning the opposite. “
Someone has real spiffy taste.”

He checked to make sure his badge still hung on his belt. Then he pulled a pair of stylish horn rimmed glasses from his coat p
ocket and balanced them on the bridge of his nose. They made him look almost cool.

“
Speaking of spiffy taste,” I said. “Now who looks ready to beat the bad guys to death with a book?”

He ignored me.

“Stay out of trouble. And be back in the car as soon as the service is over. Or you’ll be taking the train back into the city.”

I gave him a mocking salute, this time without the rude gesture. He shut the passenger door behind him with enough force to shake
the car.

“
You make him angry,”
Aine said, thoughtful.

“
I make him nervous,” I corrected. “He knows I know he’s reporting back every time I so much as sneeze.”

I watched her consider this bit of information, then dismiss it as unimportant.

“Come on.” I hoisted my pack and slid into the afternoon. It was drizzling unpleasantly. “Let’s take a look around.”

Aine followed more carefully. I couldn’t help but notice she cradled her bandaged thumb gingerly, like it was a mortal injury. Lolo would have teased her mercilessly, and Richard would have been overly solicitous.

“Hold this, will you?”

Before she could object, I passed her my pack. She took it without thinking. I watched her brow wrinkle and then smooth as she decided not to be frightened by the twinge in her hand.

“You’ll get used to the idea of damage,” I said. I turned my back, skirting the edges of the funeral home, heading for a handy clump of plantings near the back of the foundation. “Because if you don’t, you’ll do something stupid like attack a
sluagh
with a piece of pipe, and surprise yourself by ending up dead.”

Aine didn’t answer.

The shrubberies proved to be hydrangea, which made things easier.

“
Perfect.” I tossed a grin over my shoulder. “Pass me your knife.”

She bared her teeth
in a hiss, but drew the knife from under her shirt. She dropped it into my waiting hand, careful not to brush my fingers.

It was a cheap knife, but solid. I reached into the bush, found a promis
ing branch thick with leaves, and carefully pruned it free. Aine watched silently.

I offered her the knife, hilt first. She snatched it back.

“No point in me keeping it,” I said gently. “You’d just steal another, now you’ve discovered they’re on the shelf in every truck stop. It won’t protect you from a ghoul, but it may help you gauge Smith’s eyes from his head.”

Her jaw unclenched.

“Will you teach me to use it?”
she demanded.

I rolled the hydrangea cutting between my palms, warming the sleeping stem.

“I’ll think about. Now, shall we see what color the blossoms are?”

None of my other little tricks had phased Aine, but when the hydrangea burst into flower, she jumped back almost half a foot.

“Blue,” I said, pleased. “I’ve always preferred the blue. Siobahn used to plant them in pots on our balcony. There’s a ribbon in my pack, dig it out, will you? We’ll tie up a pretty sympathy bouquet for Darlene’s niece.”

“
Her auntie’s been murdered,”
Aine replied, prickly.
“Why add insult to injury?”

“
It’s a cultural tradition.” Since she didn’t seem inclined to help, I dug for the ribbon myself. “Flowers for the dead.”

She ran a small hand through her curls.

“They’re without sting?”
she asked, exasperated.

I tied a nice bow around the stem, decided the bouquet looked a little thin, and encouraged more blossoms from the green.

“They’re harmless. Do flowers sting in Gloriana’s Court?” It seemed a waste, but it wasn’t really surprising.

“
Aye.”
Aine crept forward.
“Some. The prettiest have the longest, sharpest sting. Not here?”

“
Not here.”

I broke a smaller stem from my branch. The cluster of blue petals quivered.

“For you. Take it.”

“
Nay.”

But she wanted to, wanted the flower with the same eagerness she’d felt when she tasted Doritos. Her genuine curiosity was a soothing balm against the raw nerves in my skull.

“Here.” Before I could prevent myself, I’d tucked the sprig into her hand. “They don’t have much of a scent, and without water they won’t last more than a few hours, but they’re pretty. Almost the exact color of your eyes,” I realized.

She didn’t blush at the compliment. She smiled, taking it as due.

“I will keep them safe
,
”
she promised, pleased. Her smile grew wider.
“Shall we go honor the body?”

“
What? Oh, aye. I mean, yes.”

Caught staring, I turned quickly away. Shoving my
bag behind the shrub with the toe of my shoe, I tossed a simple Glamour to keep it hidden.

“
Let’s go. We’re probably late already.”

Someone had shelled out more than the usual bit of dough for Darlene’s final goodbye. Probably the brother, because the mini-Taj had the feel of male overcompensation. So did the two ushers in coat and tie standing just inside the front doors. They were both wearing cheap dark glasses and handing out programs, and they both scowled at my shabby clothing.

“
Private ceremony
,
”
said the one on the right. He liked the look of Aine. I was tempted to punch him for it, but I’m not one to waste an advantage.

“
I’m sorry.” I took Aine by the shoulders, nudging her forward. “My sister and I used to be Ms. Francis’ neighbors, before Mom and Dad divorced.” I couldn’t squeeze out fake tears, but I knew how to look dejected. “Aine used to play in her garden, and she taught us about earthworms and composting and stuff. Before we had to move away.”

Apparently Aine did know how to produce false tears.

“She used to make us cakes and cordials.”
Aine took the bouquet from my hand and held it up.
“We’ve brought flowers. To honor her.”

I thought she had them. Damp
glittered delicately on her long eyelashes, and the blue hydrangea against her cheek brought out the bright color of her hair. I didn’t have to read minds to know the usher on the right was wondering if she was legal.

“
Fine,”
the usher on the left said, honestly sympathetic.
“Darlene did love her flowers. But you’d better sit in the back. Hannah insisted the invites said coat and tie, and you’ve got holes in your sweater.”

I let my shoulders slump in shame, trying my best to look humble. We’d almost made it through the door, and I was mentally congratulating Aine on her chops, when the mobile phone in my coat pocket began to dance insistently.

Honestly, I’d forgotten it was there. I hate the thing. It’s of no use to me, unless it’s family on the line. Which is why it’s in my pocket. Because if Siobahn texts and I don’t answer, she’ll make sure Gabby rips me a new one.

The right
-hand usher stiff-armed us.

“
No phones
,
”
he said.
“Absolutely no phones. Hannah will have a fit. Take your call and turn it off, then you can sit in the back. But hurry. They’re about to start and we’re supposed to close the doors when they start.”

“
Sure,” I said, wondering if Hannah was the brother’s wife, impressed that she’d managed to turn two solid men into quivering minions. “Whatever.”

Swallowing an annoyed sigh, I fished the phone out of my pocket, intending to
turn it off.

14
. Family

The kid was whiter than Darlene’s casket when he stumbled through the door. Bran half rose on his pew, thinking maybe Smith had followed them after all, and Winter had tangled with the magic sword.

But he couldn’t see any blood. The
fay boy shot him a quelling look, grey eyes wide. Bran sat down again. As he watched, Winter seemed to pull himself together, although he still tilted sideways like a drunk. Aine slipped under the boy’s arm, supporting, and drew him across the aisle. The girl held an impressive bundle of flowers in her free hand.

“
Poor boy,” the woman on Bran’s right murmured. “Death’s always such a shock, especially to the young. Do you know him?”

“
No,” lied Bran. He deliberately put Winter out of his mind. Turning to his companion, he summoned a polite smile. “Actually, I don’t know many people here.”

The woman was old enough to be his mother. Her dark hair was pulled back in a thick bun, her face smooth and unlined. But her hands were twisted, clawed like a bird’s.

She wore a faint, sweet-salty perfume that reminded him of the sea.

“
I thought that might be the case.” She nodded. “You’re not Hannah’s type. Were you a friend of Darlene’s?”

Something about her soft blue eyes made Bran decide on the truth.

“I didn’t have the pleasure,” he said. “I’m sorry for that.”

She nodded again, satisfied.
“You’re with the police, then. I thought so. We’ve spoken to a lot of police. I suppose you’ve a badge?”

Bran shifted slightly so she could see the shield on his belt.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“
Then I won’t ask you to leave.” She set her crooked hands carefully on the folds of her skirt. “Have you found Darlene’s killer, yet?”

“
No, ma’am. Not yet. We’re working on it.”

“
What’s your name?”

“
Detective Healy.”

Although she sat straight, she was a small woman, and Bran had a clear view into the rest of the crowded room across her head.
Up on the stage, near the casket, half a dozen people were rising to their feet.

“
I’m Willa Francis.” She patted his knee, malformed fingers light as a moth’s wing. “We’ll talk, after. They’re about to begin. Listen carefully. Darlene deserves that much.”

“
Yes, ma’am.” Feeling like a chastised ten-year-old, Bran stopped counting heads. He pinned his attention to the stage.

He’d walked by Darlene’s casket once already, noting
the primo hardware and top-of-the-line lacquer. Someone had laid a real nice blanket of pink and white roses over the top of the coffin. More arrangements bloomed in clusters on the stage. A large gold easel held an honest-to-goodness oil painting of the victim in a full length ball gown and dangling diamond ear-rings.

Darlene stood alone in the painting, against a mantle loaded with silver candlesti
cks. She was pretty, and had one of those ageless faces framed in a simple blonde bob. The artist had painted her eyes the color of the sky, and given her a Mona Lisa smile.

Still, Bran thought the whole painting thing was a bit weird. He knew from experience that most people settled for a tasteful 8 by 10 glossy and a few candles.

Willa Francis made a sound, either of distress or amusement. She leaned forward a little as if to catch a better view of the stage.

Bran, f
rom his greater height, watched a man in a coat and white collar approach the casket. The man fluttered his hand over the blanket of roses while reading quietly from the book he held in one hand.

A child in white robes followed the
man, ringing a silver bell and swinging an incense pot so that smoke wreathed about the casket.

“
Hannah’s always loved a good show,” Willa whispered. “But it’s Lewis who wanted Jeremiah. Hannah only gave in for appearance’s sake.”

Lewis, Bran guessed, was the portly fellow following an exact three paces behind the
boy. Lewis had Darlene’s nose and mouth, worried brow. He also had a double chin and a decidedly pained wrinkle across his forehead.

“
Lewis thinks his sister’s murder reflects badly on the family.” For someone who’d shushed him, Willa was doing quite a lot of whispering, which was fine with Bran. “Hannah’s just frightened people will start to wonder.”

Bran supposed Hannah was the girl on Lewis’ arm. She was tall and slender, black hair braided into elaborate coils and pinned at the nape of her neck. She wore a simple, floating white dress. The diamond ear-rings from Darlene’s portrait swung gently on her ears, showcasing a delicate, swan-like neck.

She looked about seventeen. She clung to Lewis’ arm for support.

She was also
fay.

“
Ah,” murmured Willa when Bran stiffened. “I thought so. You’re not the usual sort of cop, Detective Healy. And you lied to me.”

Bran glanced sideways across the aisle, but Winter and Aine were buried in crowd.

Up on the stage Jeremiah finished reading from his book. Lewis and Hannah stopped beside the gleaming white casket, turning to face the pews. Lewis’ pursed lips were trembling. Hannah stood straight, chin lifted.

Lewis cleared his throat and spoke.

“Good afternoon. Thank you for coming.”

He must have been miked, because his voice echoed from the rafters, made deep and hollow by the sound system.

“Darlene would be honored to see so many friends and family here. My sister was such an important part of this community.”

Bran heard muted sniffling from the front pews. He was too far in the back to guess if Lewis was shedding tears of his own.

“None of us who loved Darlene can believe she was taken from us in such a horrible, violent, and ungodly fashion.” He cleared his throat on a cough. “None of us can believe she’s gone.”

Next to Bran, Willa Francis wiped damp from her cheeks with a sharply pressed linen handkerchief.

Lewis cleared his throat again. The mike reverberated in the rafters. Willa winced.

“
Well,” said Lewis. “We all know Darlene wasn’t the sort to stand on ceremony, and we all know she hated to have a huge fuss made.”

More sniffles from the pews, along with several quiet, appreciative laughs. Darlene might not have been the sort to stand on ceremony, but Bran thought her funeral was nicely choreographed.

Lewis spoke: “Hannah and I thought we’d open the stage to friends and family. Anyone who would like to come up and say a word or two. Please do.”

Instead of the usual awkward pause Bran had come to expect in the face of similar requests, the crowd stirred immediately. People rose in wa
ves from the pews, until solemn-faced ushers were forced to shepherd a polite queue down the center of the room.

Willa didn’t move to join the line.

“I’ll say my piece later, after she’s laid to rest,” she explained, although Bran hadn’t asked. “I’m not welcome up there.”

The pew was becoming uncomfortable quick
ly, and by the looks of things Bran figured he’d be stuck for a while. He tried stretching out his legs, and rolling his shoulders, but his butt was already going numb.

“
You’ll be thinking Darlene’s murder has something to do with the fairies, then.”

Willa was folding her pressed hanky into halves and then
fourths. Her crooked fingers made it look a difficult job.

“
Beg your pardon, ma’am?”

“
Oh, stop.” She shook her head. “Nobody’s listening. Everybody’s too busy wondering if Lewis is going to lock his knees and faint, and whether Hannah will let any of Darlene’s church gardening club speak. They weren’t invited, but they sure did show up, all of them. Betsy Price is probably wearing her weeding clogs.” She laughed sadly. “Won’t that drive Hannah nuts.”

“
Ma’am,” Bran began cautiously. “Mr. Francis is your son?”

“
You must be good at your job, Detective Healy. You play stupid very well. I’m thinking you know Lewis is my eldest. Darlene was my baby. But,” she creased her mouth in a more lady-like version of Lewis’ fish pucker, “I’m not answering your questions until you answer mine. We’ve plenty of time. Everyone who thinks they’re anyone will want to speak.”

“
Yes, ma’am.” Bran could pretend to be meek as well as stupid. “What is it, exactly, that you’d like to know?”

“
Did a fairy murder my Darlene, or not? The real policemen said she was cut apart and burnt. Cut apart by a sword. That’s not a human sort of thing to do. At least not in the south. We prefer straightforward bullets.”

Her eyes were leaking again. Since she’d folded her hanky into a wad, Bran offered her a tissue from his coat pocket.

“I am a real policeman,” he said gently. “I just happen to take notice when it comes to odd and unusual crimes.”

“
Odd and unusual, is it? They say this Smith madman set her bones afire in the D.C. Metro. Darlene would have hated that. Ever since she lost Hannah in the Cornwallis Cave, she’s hated to be underground. The other police said they weren’t sure how he moved her body. Does that fall under ‘odd and unusual’, Detective Healy?”

“
He ditched his vehicle somewhere. We just haven’t found it, yet.”

“
Fairies don’t drive, Detective. The iron makes them itch.”

Up on the stage Lewis was now
loudly weeping. Hannah appeared to be comforting an elderly couple, but she was looking past their bent heads, into emptying pews.

Bran followed her stare and found Winter.

The kid still looked a little green about the gills, but he slouched on his bench like it was the most comfortable Lay-Z-Boy in the world, jacket pulled up around his chin, ugly cap yanked down past his burnt eyebrows.

Aine was pressed close against
the boy’s side. Winter stared back at Hannah. Bran couldn’t read his shuttered expression, but Hannah’s was clear enough.

She was furious, and not hiding it well.

Maybe it was just the ugly hat at a funeral pissing her off, but Bran was pretty sure it was finding an unexpected fay guest at her party.

“
Are you saying Darlene found Hannah in the Cornwallis Cave, Ms. Francis?”

“
Call me Willa. And I’m saying Darlene
lost
our Hannah in the Cave. The babe she came back with had nothing to do with me then, and still prefers not to, now. Are
you
saying that Darlene’s killer stole my daughter from her garden and then drove her all the way to D.C. to cut her and burn her in the Metro?”

Bran looked down at the tiny old woman with the faded blue eyes.

“My consultant will probably tell you no mortal vehicle was involved.”

“
Your consultant looks sick to his stomach.”

“
He's realizing he’s stepped into a stinking pile, and it’s not the shit he expected. Pardon my French.”

“
If this were a church and not a funeral home, Detective, I’d lecture. But Hannah won’t step into a real church, so we had to pay Jeremiah extra. My grand-daughter looks like she’s stepped into the same pile. Shall we see what happens when we bring them together?”

Bran hesitated. Several interesting ideas were beginning to click together in his head, and he wasn’t sure he wanted Willa following where they led.

He was saved from having to make a decision by Winter’s hand on his shoulder.

“
Hi,” Winter said. Most of the color had come back to his face, and he looked less like he’d suffered a punch to the solar plexus. “Line’s getting shorter. Time to pay our respects?”

Bran looked past Winter. Aine was nowhere in sight. Which meant the kid was probably thinking the same thing he was.

Even more likely, Winter had known or guessed the truth from the very beginning.

“
Sure.” Easy as pie, Bran climbed to his feet, glad to be free of the hard pew.

Willa followed with surprising agility.

“Introduce me to your friend,” she said.

Winter frowned. Obviously he didn’t want to waste time on pleasantries. Bran bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

“Sure,” he repeated. “Willa, Winter. Winter, meet Willa Francis, Darlene’s mom.”

If Winter was taken off guard, he covered his surprise masterfully. His grey eyes narrowed, but his smile was full of regretful charm.

“Nice to meet you.” Instead of taking the woman’s crippled hands, he executed a small bow. “Sorry it’s not under happier circumstances.”

“
Me too,” Willa said, blunt. “I see that it was too much to hope my grand-daughter is one of a kind. Where did they find you, young man, and whose family did you ruin?”