Chapter Four
Iona
I called in Lapis Swift and Jill and Ken Riley to help process the crime scene. The mayor told me she’d do a deeper magical autopsy of Baareo, conjured a body bag around him, and left, the bag floating after her.
“I’m going to have to notify the next of kin,” I told Dearg, mentally running down the checklist of things I’d have done had this been a Chicago homicide.
This was Summerwood’s first murder, so I had to fall back on the procedures I’d used then.
“The ‘taur king banished him, but his parents will want to know what happened.”
“I can ask my father to send a messenger,” Dearg offered.
“He and the Centauri king aren’t on good terms, but Bloodhoof will probably allow a courier with the notification.
The clans may view Baareo with contempt, but centaur families are close.
For one thing, they’ll need to do the rites to avoid being haunted by his ghost.”
“Actually, I need to talk to his parents myself. Given he’s on the outs with his people, one of his family could have committed an honor killing.”
“Yes, but would this family member have had the power to go toe-to-toe with a dragon matriarch?”
“We don’t know that he could have killed the mayor.” I sighed and cast a spell to tamp down my building tension headache. “But I’d prefer hunting a centaur assassin to, say, a god with a grudge. Either way, we need to check out the family.”
Dearg grimaced. “And they’re not going to take it well. I’m not exactly popular with the clans -- we’re on the edge of war as it is. I’d rather not tip us over if I can help it.”
And I’d be taking a Sidhe prince into a meeting with grieving, pissed family members. I’d done enough notifications to know they could go violently sideways, even with mortals. How much worse would it be with a centaur clan? “Maybe I should go by my --”
“No.” The word was so cold and implacable I knew he wouldn’t be moved. His sword spat sparks at me as if to back him up.
I sighed. This wasn’t going to turn into a clusterfuck. Not at all.
* * *
Dearg
I worked a communication spell to call my father and brief him on Baareo’s murder and the need to notify his family. Dad swore and said he’d take care of getting Bloodhoof’s cooperation.
Iona and I then spent the next two hours interviewing Baareo’s neighbors, who were surprised and shaken to learn of his murder.
No, none of them had seen his house following the killing, or they’d have called the police.
I could buy that, since the neighborhood yards were huge and screened by trees.
And no one had seen any strangers lurking around.
Next, I’d shifted to my four-legged timber wolf form. Ken Riley, the werewolf cop, took one look and muttered, “Fuck, somebody crossed a Dire Wolf with a grizzly.”
I ignored him, having heard variations of that joke for the past decade and a half.
With Iona at my heels, I quartered the house, the yard, and the woods around it.
There were the expected scents -- Baareo, his neighbors, Vildra, and the film’s director, Sidney Hurst. But there’d also been one or two faint whiffs of a seriously odd biped who was half Sidhe, half Cachamwri-knew-what.
Whoever -- whatever -- the assassin was, their scent made me cough as if I’d inhaled bleach.
“The killer is using some kind of blunting spell that keeps him from leaving much of a scent trail,” I told Iona when I’d shifted back to human.
“He did leave magical traces twice -- I suspect he was conjuring something. I can’t say what because he partially erased the scents.
Probably thought he’d eliminated all of it.
You can’t get rid of a scent trail you can’t detect to begin with.
” The Sidhe sense of smell was no better than human.
“Underestimated your nose.” She rocked from foot to foot, one long thumb tracing back and forth over her lush lower lip.
Damn, I wanted to taste that mouth. Find out if it was as lush and soft as it looked. Then find out if the rest of her matched.
No. Absolutely not. The last thing I need on this job is to get distracted.
It is not a distraction, Dragon’s Breath said. Necessary.
Since when do you care who I make love to?
Those females did not matter.
But Iona does?
You saw.
Do you mean “saw” or “Saw?”
It didn’t answer. At least it wasn’t hissing or chewing on my hip, so I counted that as a win. I still wasn’t going to try to seduce her. Iona would make one Egg-scrambling distraction I didn’t need.
At that, the sword hissed, spitting a torrent of sparks that made the leg of my slacks smoke.
Dammit, Breath! I slapped at the little flame and repaired the fabric damage with a spell.
You must court her.
I’ve got to make sure she survives first. I can’t court a corpse.
Sparks flew. You should at least kiss her.
My pants were smoking again. I put it out. Breath, you’re a sword, not a matchmaking pyromaniac.
A tongue of green flame shot from the pommel. I jumped, barely jerking my arm away in time to avoid a burn. “All right, all right, you yolk-sucking bastard!”
“Do I need to conjure a fire extinguisher?” Iona stood rocked back on one heel with her arms folded, as if she’d been watching the show. “Fireproof your pants? Call a couples counselor? Or can you two quit fighting and work?”
I gave her an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”
She walked over and dropped to one knee to give Breath’s pommel a cold cop glare. “I don’t need you setting my bodyguard on fire, asshole. Keep it up and I’ll have my granny turn you into a paperweight. A nice, round, smooth paperweight that can’t stab anybody.”
Dragon’s Breath quit sparking and smoked sullenly.
She sighed and stood. “After we inform his next of kin, we should drop by my grandmother’s. Maeve knows damn near every species of immortal who’s ever existed, and she’s got an amazing library. We could get lucky there.” She dropped her hand. “But we need to check in with the mayor first.”
* * *
Iona
With the investigation of the scene complete, we headed for our meeting with the mayor.
Vildra lived in an enormous stone cliffside on the outskirts of Summerwood.
The massive crag had a cave opening near the top big enough to accommodate her takeoffs and landings in dragon form.
Another set of double doors in the base of the hill provided access to the system of smaller caves where she entertained us mammals.
Dearg peered around as we entered, taking in the assorted treasures, furniture and magical items the dragon had collected over her long life. “Wonder if this is spelled against hobbits?”
“Do not make Smaug jokes to the mayor. She doesn’t like them. Anyway, how do you know about hobbits?”
He shrugged. “Werewolf cousins, grandparents, and my mom.”
In the lab where Vildra worked major magic, we found Baareo lying on a slab, his huge body now protected from decay by a stasis spell that would hold until we returned him to his people.
“It was definitely the throat wound that killed him,” Vildra said.
She was dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt that read, “If you can’t take the heat, don’t piss off the dragon.
” She had a ton of tees like that, all of them with death threats.
“No defensive wounds -- I don’t believe he had time to react to his killer’s presence at all. ”
Which was what I’d suspected. “Probably broke in and slit Baareo’s throat while he was sleeping.”
“That sounds like a professional using an invisibility spell.” Dearg rubbed a thumb over his lower lip. “Sneaking up on a centaur isn’t easy, even one who isn’t a warrior. ‘Taurs may be half human, but the rest is prey animal, and they’re paranoid as hell.”
Vildra eyed him with some amusement. “Do a lot of sneaking up on centaurs, do we?”
He shrugged. “The Two Kingdoms have been at war with the Centauri off and on all my life.”
“Yeah, they’re charming bastards. I ate one I caught raiding my collection once. And you’re right, they do have a wide streak of prey animal. Not horse, though. More like moose -- big, mean as hell, and fully capable of killing a dragon if they get sufficiently pissed off.”
“Let me guess,” I said dryly. “You discovered that through the clan of the one you ate?”
“Hey, he fucked with me first. You don’t steal from a dragon and get away with a slap on the hoof.
” Vildra’s eyes narrowed and took on a dangerous glint.
“Speaking of pissed off, you haven’t told me why the Blade is playing bodyguard to a police chief.
How did you get the dragon god’s attention?
” Her voice dropped. “And I can’t say I’m happy about that. ”
“I’m not either. Especially under these circumstances,” Dearg told her, and once again projected his memory of the vision.
When he was done, Vildra cursed in an impressive roll of draconic profanity, some of which I’d never heard before. I’d ask her what they meant when she wasn’t so pissed.
“You should have told me about this when you first found out,” she snapped when she finally wound down.
“What part of ‘I’m a dragon’s best friend’ don’t you get?
I don’t want that fucker eating you, crushing you, throwing you off a damn cliff, making chicken-fried Iona nuggets, or whatever other sick shit he’s got in mind.
From now on, I’m going to be on you like fleas on a werewolf. ” She added to Dearg, “No offense.”
I glowered, only to realize Dearg looked relieved. It must be bad if the Blade wants dragon reinforcements. “But what about the shoot? You’re playing the primary villain, and that movie is a big chunk of Summerwood’s income for the year. You can’t just blow it off.”
Dearg frowned. “Are they still making it with the star dead?”