Chapter 8 #2
Plaster, wood and even furniture now crashed all around me; wood, metal, and glass spun through the air, many deadly daggers that came close but never touched, thanks to the fierceness of the wind that remained wrapped around me.
I was ripped through the living area, into the laundry, and then out through the back door.
I was halfway down the backyard when I finally unleashed myself, and I hit the ground hard enough that a grunt escaped.
I scrambled upright and watched in disbelief as the entire house—every brick, every tile, and everything else that lay within those four walls—disintegrated before my very eyes.
Our thief definitely hadn’t set this trap.
He might be Myrkálfar, but the complete and utter destructiveness of this spell wasn’t in their skillset; not as far as I was aware, anyway.
Their control lay over stone and precious metal, not timber or glass or any of the other manmade items that had lain within that house.
While they could force stone to explode, it wouldn’t have reduced the rest of the building’s contents to splinters.
This had been done by someone else, possibly whoever that faint scent had belonged to. Whoever it was, she’d been very determined there would be absolutely nothing left to find.
My gaze met Sgott’s over what little remained, the relief visible in his expression echoing through me. We’d both been lucky. Very damn lucky.
“You okay?” he asked, raising his voice to ensure he could be heard over the dying sounds of the building.
“Yeah.” I brushed my fingers across my chin, smearing warmth.
Obviously, I’d either cut it when I’d landed, or debris had gotten through my barrier, and I hadn’t noticed.
It didn’t feel particularly bad and certainly wasn’t bucketing blood, so all in all, I’d been pretty damn lucky.
I grabbed an old tissue out of my coat pocket and dabbed the scrape lightly as I walked back to the still-open—and totally untouched—side gate.
Sgott met me at the front corner, his gaze briefly scanning me and coming up relieved. “I take it our thief wasn’t inside, given you didn’t mention him earlier.”
“He wasn’t, but I only just missed him. He dived through the hedge at the back of the yard and went down a tunnel, and I wasn’t fast enough to stop him. There’s clothing threads and likely bits of flesh hanging off the broken branches, though, so we at least have DNA evidence now.”
“I take it you did a search of the rear interior half of the house before you found the trap in the hallway?”
I nodded. “It was only cursory though, and I didn’t find anything. But he didn’t set the trap—someone else did.”
“What makes you so sure? Aside from the fact Myrkálfar magic isn’t capable of the utter destruction that spell entailed?”
“I smelled a scent—orange flower and musk. Feminine, not masculine.”
“Could it have been one of those scent infusers?”
I hesitated. “Possibly?”
His eyebrows rose. “But you think not?”
“I do. No evidence beyond my gut to back it up though.”
“Lass, instinct is good enough for me, given you are your mother’s daughter.”
“Instinct doesn’t help us track the woman down though. What happened to the men in the SUV?”
“They’re currently being examined by medics.”
Frankie—a wolf shifter I’d met a few times now—came through the gate, her gaze on the destruction and her expression shocked. “Man, someone made damn sure there was no evidence to find in that house, didn’t they?”
“Aye,” Sgott replied. “Fetch forensics and get them to look over the hedge in the backyard. He’s left evidence behind in the breakthrough.”
She nodded. “The medics declared the two men fit to be questioned, though they would prefer it to be done after a full medical check has been completed at the hospital. I stressed the urgency and they’re giving us a few minutes. Our suspects, however, are making like clamshells.”
Sgott glanced at me. “I know this is a daft question, but care to make our clams a little more amenable?”
I grinned. “As you said, daft question.”
I followed him out the gate and down the road.
The SUV remained on its roof, but an ambulance was parked close by now, its back doors open.
There were two men—aside from the medics—inside, one on the trolley and one on a seat.
The swarthier of the two had his right arm in a sling, but that aside, it appeared they’d both come through the rollover with little more than a few cuts.
I couldn’t see Henrick—he was likely back at the Merc, arranging for it to be towed—but Mathi leaned against one of the ambulance doors, his arms crossed and his expression less than pleased. I rather suspected its cause was the clams’ refusal to answer his questions.
His gaze met mine, and relief stirred lightly through those blue depths. “Given you remain in one piece aside from that cut on your chin, I take it you weren’t inside the house when it exploded?”
“Oh, she was,” Sgott growled before I could answer. “And if I hadn’t insisted she take precautions, she’d now be little more than another pile of splinters in that mess.”
“Hey,” I said lightly—and perhaps unwisely—“when death comes for me, it won’t find me via a magical bomb, you can be sure of that.”
Sgott frowned. “Suggesting you’ve seen your end. If that’s—”
“I only meant that the knives would protect me from the effects of any spell, be it an explosion or something else.” Which wasn’t a lie and neatly avoided the whole death-ticking-clock thing I didn’t want him to know about yet.
He studied me for a long second, suggesting he suspected there was far more to my explanation than that, but nevertheless motioned me to proceed.
Mathi helped me up into the ambulance, then he and Sgott followed, making for rather cramped conditions.
Both our suspects had been handcuffed, and were studying me curiously rather than with any sort of surliness or hostility, suggesting our thief hadn’t warned them that I might be a problem. Perhaps he didn’t think I would be.
I stepped past them, then turned around and pressed a couple of fingers against the exposed back of their necks, quickly saying, “You will offer no violence or react in any way. You will obey all orders given to you by the IIT and the ambulance officers, and answer all questions asked from this moment on.”
Both men swore, but could do little else as my magic flowed through. I glanced up at Sgott and nodded.
“Right,” he immediately said. “Tell me your names and why you are here.”
“Raul Torrez,” the swarthy man muttered. “SUV driver and backup muscle.”
“Jason Gould,” the blond said. “Muscle. We were both employed to watch and deflect by any means necessary.”
“Deflect being code for ramming your vehicle into mine?” Mathi said mildly.
Raul glanced at him. “Yeah. We were given your license plate and car model and told to stop you getting into that house until we were told otherwise.”
“We weren’t warned you had skills,” Jason added. “I mean, how the fuck did you flip the car like that?”
“I did not,” Mathi replied, cool amusement touching his lips. “Might I suggest that the next time you accept such an assignment, you thoroughly investigate just who and what you’re going up against? Trust me when I say that an annoyed Ljósálfar elf is the least of your problems right now.”
The two men shared a glance. Neither looked happy. “Look, man, we didn’t know—”
“We’re not interested in what you didn’t know,” Sgott cut in, “but rather what you did. Who employed you?”
“Don’t know his name. Best not to with these sorts of jobs, you know?” Jason said.
“Then how did he get in contact with you?”
“He rang us.”
“Then you’ve worked with him before?”
“No,” Raul replied. “He got our number via a broker. We did check and they did recommend us. No contract or fee required.”
“That is extremely unusual,” I commented. “Brokers don’t work for the love of it.”
“No,” Mathi agreed. “But some do sometimes give out contact details, either because they are related to the contractor or because they have a beef against the target.”
“So which scenario applied here?” I asked.
Jason sniffed. “I got the impression it might have been both, but it’s not like I could ask. I mean, she wasn’t going to confirm it anyways, was she?”
She? While there was more than one female broker active within Deva, there was only one who might hold a grudge against me or Mathi—Kaitlyn Avery. And she’d certainly be familiar with the Merc’s registration number given how many times he—and we—had visited her of late.
Except the last I’d heard she was still in hospital recovering from the frost burns she’d received in the ice attack that had destroyed her place of business. Surely even she wouldn’t be running her business from her hospital bed.
“Does this someone have a name?” Sgott asked.
“Obviously, yes.”
“And what is their name?”
Sgott had the patience of a saint. I was ready to clip the fellow over the head.
“Kaitlyn Avery.”
So much for the thought she couldn’t be involved. “And she didn’t warn you about me?”
He frowned. “Why would she have?”
“Because she and Beth have had a few run-ins before,” Mathi said, amused. “But she’s also a high-end broker of services—why on earth would she have recommended two very obviously middle-of-the-range felons?”
“Hey, we ain’t no middle range—”
“Oh, you’re right, forgive me,” Mathi drawled. “Rank beginners could have done a better job than you did here today.”
Both men swore at him, but could do little else given my orders.
“Did you note your employer’s number when they rang?” Sgott asked.
“I’d be a fool not to.”
“And it is...?”
“It’s not like I fucking memorize that sort of stuff, is it now?” Raul seemed to be the mouthpiece of the two.
Sgott drew in a deeper breath. He might have the patience of a saint, but he was also getting a little annoyed. “Is it on your phone? Under what name?”
“Sunday Job.”
I snorted. “Inventive.”
“Hey, it works.”