Chapter 6
Bastian waved his hand and my spilled whiskey vanished from the blanket, the glass reappearing on the side table.
“Surely you see how this looks,” he continued.
“A professor dies. No one knows how it happened. Come to find out, she left everything to you. Someone who supposedly doesn’t even know her.
I find that very interesting, don’t you? ”
My ears were ringing with every word. Because yes, when framed like that…
I licked my lips and said, “You think I did this? That I… That I…” I couldn’t even say the words aloud.
“Like I said, how well did you know her?”
I exhaled, all the fight leaving me. “Am I under arrest or something? Are you an undercover cop? Are the Fae trying to bring me in? Do I need to hire a lawyer? Should I—”
“Enough!” Bastian growled. “I’m a bounty hunter…of sorts. All of this is off record—for now. But yes, I’m looking for Professor Miller’s killer. I admit, you’re at the top of my list.” He set his empty glass on the side table and leaned forward, resting his tattooed forearms on his knees.
My skin itched beneath his severe gaze. When I opened my mouth to speak, nothing but a choking sound came out. “I… I didn’t do it. This is…” A deranged laugh bubbled up from my chest. “It’s ridiculous. I haven’t spoken to Jane in two years.”
“So you do know her.”
“I do—did. Years ago.”
“Uh-huh. And why haven’t you spoken to her since?”
Guilt slipped into my gut, hot and uncomfortable, making my nausea rise. “I… We fell out of touch.”
“Right.” He leaned back, his gaze showing obvious mistrust. “What was the nature of your relationship? How did you know each other? Why would she leave everything to you?”
“I knew her from the university,” I said, my voice faint.
“How so?”
I gave him an idiotic glare. “How do you think? I was a student there.”
This was insane. Why would she leave everything to me? I knew she was somewhat estranged from her family—in that she didn’t talk to them much. But… Why me?
“Right,” Bastian gritted out. “Funny thing about that, when I looked through the university records, there was no trace of Eleanor Rose Kennedy.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit.” Bastian’s expression spoke volumes as his assessing gaze raked over me. Like he’d already made his mind up about me and was merely playing along.
“I can promise you, I was a student there.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You think I’m lying?” The notion burrowed beneath my skin, making my muscles tighten. I didn’t mind being misjudged by people, but I hated, absolutely hated, when someone didn’t believe me. Luke had never believed me. He’d never taken me seriously.
“I’m sure you look at me and all you see is a party girl with pink hair who has no greater ambition than exotic dancing—”
“Woah, woah, woah, sugar.” He held up his hands, placating. “I never said that.”
“—but once upon a time I was a master’s student at WU, working on my thesis.”
Back in those days, I had a passion for art history and archeology—studying what people found beautiful, what survived through the ages. All of it was taken from me.
By Luke.
“A master’s student.” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Look, asshole,” I hissed. “I had no idea Jane successfully removed me from the records. I knew she was going to try. I never followed up.”
“That raises plenty of additional questions. But we’ll table it, for now.” His voice was calm, like my words had no effect. “Let’s say I believe you. Let’s say you were a student at WU and what, got your master’s degree? Then what?”
I swallowed. “I never finished—never got my degree. I left the university.”
“To do what?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” When his expression didn’t change, I tutted, gesturing to my hair and outfit. “You sure you’re the right person to track down her killer?”
He didn’t rise to my bait. “So you’ve been working at Vortex ever since?”
“That about sums it up.”
“Except it doesn’t, sugar. Not really.” He crossed his arms. “Like, for example, why did you leave the university? And why didn’t you stay in touch with Professor Miller?”
My cheeks heated. “My reasons for leaving are private and have nothing to do with Jane.”
“How convenient.”
“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?” I surged to my feet and stalked out of the room, straight for the front door. Shoving my feet into my boots and zipping them up, I decided to take my chances walking home. Better than sitting here accused of murder.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice exuded a level of patience that rankled.
“Home,” I snapped, reaching for the doorknob. It didn’t budge. I twisted and yanked, then swore. “Why won’t the door open?”
He didn’t answer.
A gnawing sensation settled over me. I looked at the nearest window and strode over. Flipping the latch, I pushed upward. It didn’t move. Like it was never intended to be opened.
Magic. It had to be. I’d seen the blue glow surrounding his home. This asshole had trapped me.
“Are you fucking serious?” I rounded on Bastian. He stood in the archway watching me, his arms crossed, casually leaning against the frame.
The corner of his lips twitched.
“You think this is funny?” I cried.
“I think it’s fucking cute, sure.”
I opened and closed my mouth. “Great. I’m glad you get such a kick out of me. I want to go home. I’m done playing your question games. We’re through.”
“Not going to happen. We’re not done here, and it’s almost two in the morning. I’m not taking you home right now.”
I balked. “Seriously? What the fuck else do you want to know?”
“I want your input. If not you, who do you think could have killed Professor Miller? I want to know how exactly you two knew each other. I want to know how close you were. Close, obviously, if she left you everything. You’re my best lead. You think I’ll just let you walk through that door?”
I blew out a breath. All the energy I’d mustered for my tantrum drained away. Until this moment, I’d been on the defensive. I cared about Jane, even if we hadn’t spoken for years. She was the reason I remained safe from Luke for this long. Now she was dead, and someone deserved justice.
Bastian might have wanted her killer for financial reasons—or whatever it was that hunters received in exchange for finding prey. Me? I wanted the killer to pay. This was personal.
I took a moment to study Bastian, really taking him in. He looked like a mean motherfucker. If anyone could make it happen, he could.
“You really want to catch her killer?”
“That’s what I’ve been paid for, yes.”
“But you think it’s me, and I take offense with that.”
“Sugar, I’ve seen lambs capable of ripping a person’s face off.”
A laugh burst from my lips. “I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered. That you think I’m a lamb, or that you think I could rip someone’s face off. I’d like to rip yours off, for starters. And believe me, if I could, I would have done it already.”
The corner of his mouth didn’t just twitch this time, it pulled up into a smile—the first I’d seen from him. My stomach flipped, going all fluttery. It was annoying.
He isn’t even your type, I reminded myself.
“All right,” Bastian said, lifting his hands and taking a step back. “What if I rescind my accusation? Treat you like a partner instead of a suspect. Would you be willing to answer my questions, help me get to the bottom of this?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “Do I get another glass of whisky?”
“Sugar, you can have the whole fucking bottle if it means you’ll get that cute little ass back on that couch and start talking.”
“Fine.” A smirk formed on my lips. I all but sashayed past him, flicking my pink locks over my shoulder, right back into the sitting room.
“Glad you think I have a cute ass,” I purred, then dropped said ass back into my seat.
I lifted my feet, pulling my boots off and chucking them at Bastian’s dumb face.
He caught them effortlessly, lifting his eyebrows before dropping them near the door.
While he poured another two fingers of whisky for me—this time bringing the whole bottle with him and setting it on the wooden tray—I took a deep breath and got started.
“I met Professor Miller while I was doing my undergrad at WU. She taught my art history classes. I knew I wanted to study historical art and cultures, history of things both known and unknown, stuff like that. Most humans don’t know it, but many ancient things have magical qualities—”
“Wait.” Bastian halted me, resuming his seat. “You’re reminding me of another question. You’re human, no? And yet you knew I was a goblin. The same way you know certain things have magic?”
“Not the same, no. I know you’re a goblin because I can see through your glamor.” My hand went to the charm around my neck before I realized what I’d done.
“Ah. They’re both artifacts, aren’t they? Your necklaces?”
I held up the charm. “This one lets me see through glamor. It overlays it with an image of the person’s true self.”
“So, you can see my true form.”
“Not all the time. Just if I blink and focus or whatever. I see a flash of it.”
He hummed, thoughtful.
“We’re getting off topic,” I continued. “Professor Miller was head of the university’s archeological department.
She convinced me to stick around and study there, to get my master’s degree.
She became something of a mentor to me.” He didn’t need to know that my relationship with my mom was strained.
That we’d had problems ever since my dad had died—even before.
That Jane had filled a void my mother failed to.
“As time passed, she became something of a good friend, too. I think she loved me like a daughter. We had a shared passion. That brought us together…”
“And then you left the university,” he finished when I’d let the silence stretch between us. “Why?”
“Right. Yes. I… Something happened. Not between Jane and I,” I clarified, so that he understood there were no hard feelings between us. “Someone…” I awkwardly cleared my throat. “It was something else. So I left. I found a different path in life.”