TWENTY-ONE
“Have you eaten?” Calum strode into the kitchen. His head felt as though it was filled with a swarm of bees, their vibrating bodies pressing against the sides of his skull. “I’ll make soup,” he said, before either woman had time to reply.
He pressed open the timbered door to the kitchen, summoning half a dozen globes of light to float over the table as he pulled vegetables out, arranging the lamps until the surface of the table was bright.
Few people cooked at home in the winter in Mossburgh unless they had someone at home to do all the chopping and get the meal started before dusk—or they were wealthy enough to have plenty of illumination to do it after dusk.
The kitchen door thumped against the doorjamb behind Aly and Sorcha.
“I’m impressed,” Aly said, eyeing the lights. “I’d lose the light as soon as I started paying attention to not slicing off my fingertips.”
“It’s his party trick,” Sorcha said. “He likes to show the rest of us up.”
Calum ignored them, chopping onions and carrots and sliding them to the side of the scrubbed ash table before moving on to the potatoes and sprouts. The repetitive motion helped soothe his nerves, the strain of keeping enough light quelling the storm in his mind.
“Need any help?” Aly was resting her elbows on the edge of the table, her slender hands clasped together.
“You cook?” he said, surprised.
Aly shrugged. “Used to. At my mum’s house. Can’t exactly afford fuel or a pot these days.” The lamplight glinted off the web of scars on her cheekbone. Calum felt a sudden urge to run his fingertip over the fine ridges. He pressed his hands against the table to dispel the notion.
Calum slid the knife, handle first, towards Aly. “Well, if you want to help, you can finish chopping the vegetables.”
Aly took the utensil, and Calum filled his small iron pot with lentils and water. His fingers trembled as he reached for his salt pig and he closed his eyes, steadying himself.
“You all right?” Sorcha’s voice was low next to his ear.
Calum glanced at Aly. Her grip on the knife was too tight, her shoulders tense as she chopped. She was tangled up with a fae, and he couldn’t protect her.
He let out a sigh. “I will be.” Once they put Grant in prison.
“Vegetables are ready,” Aly said, her voice straining with false levity.
Calum pushed the pot down the table to her so she could add the vegetables, then turned to the herbs hanging from the ceiling by the window.
The fragrant, earthy scent of the rosemary and thyme helped calm him as he tossed a few sprigs into the soup along with the salt, before sending a thread of will into the soup to heat the water to boiling.
One of his lights flickered with the exertion of keeping them all lit while heating the water, and he cringed at the thought of how Caoimhe would react.
He clenched his jaw, allowing them all to snuff out as he hung the pot over the fire and ignited the beeswax candles on the walls to give them some dim light.
He felt suddenly unmoored. The soup would take an hour to cook, and he had Aly standing in his kitchen and not a thing to say to her.
There wasn’t a rulebook for socialising with one’s informant in one’s own home, because it wasn’t supposed to ever happen.
She gave him information, he gave her food; that was their relationship.
And sometimes, rarely, she smiled at him in a way that warmed him like tea on a cold day.
“I got the letter,” Aly said now, reaching into her pocket.
Calum turned to Sorcha, seated in the chair next to the hearth. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m not here. Remember? I never saw Aly and have never heard of her in my life.”
“I could get in serious trouble if anyone found out you listened in on a conversation about a case.” He fought the urge to grind his teeth together.
Sorcha smirked. “You could also get in serious trouble if anyone found out you were still investigating these missing people.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
Aly was watching the pair of them, her eyes darting from Calum to Sorcha and back again.
Her expression was shrewd, like she saw more than she was letting on.
Then she pulled not just one piece of paper, but a whole pile of them out of her pocket.
“Look, I don’t care if Sorcha’s here or not. I have news.”
She set the letter with the Wulver’s seal on it on the table. “I have the blackmail letter Grant sent to Edzan here. And I checked; the seal matches.”
Sorcha snatched it up, fast enough that Calum couldn’t stop her. “Wait, is this the Edzan Lewis has been working for?”
Shit. “Aye.”
“Who’s Lewis?” Aly asked, her brow furrowed.
“He’s . . .” Calum started, but didn’t know how to explain any further.
“A friend,” Sorcha finished. “He’s a journalist and he’s been working undercover as Edzan’s assistant for the last couple of months.” She frowned at the letter, peering at it in the low light. “You said this is from Grant? The Grant you just told me is demi-fae?”
Calum nodded, a sickening sensation crawling up his throat as everything clicked together. He’d been planning on telling Lewis about Grant as soon as he found out Grant was the Wulver, but that was before he’d learnt Grant was fae.
“You have to tell him,” Sorcha said. “Everything.”
“I can’t. Not about—that.”
“You have to,” Sorcha said. “If you just tell him Grant’s a dangerous crime lord, do you think he’ll back off? Or do you think he’ll push further so he can expose him?”
The bottom tumbled out of Calum’s stomach. She was right. Of course she was; she knew Lewis almost as well as he did. “Well, why don’t you tell him, then? Seeing as the pair of you are so close these days.” He spat the last words, anger pouring in to smother his fear.
Sorcha’s eyes flashed. “He needs to hear it from you.”
“Do you think I haven’t thought about how to tell him?” Calum turned away from her, pacing in the small kitchen. “Do you think I haven’t gone over it thousands of times in my head, trying to think of a way to explain everything?”
Sorcha threw the letter down on the table, her eyes narrowing.
“If you’re not going to warn someone you love about the danger he might be walking into because you’re afraid it’ll reflect badly on you, well, I really don’t know what the fuck to say to you.
” With that she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Calum stood there in silence, the crackle of the fire painfully loud in his ears.
“You’ll want to see this.”
Calum jumped, his hands raising in fists before his body caught up with his mind.
He’d forgotten Aly was there. With a forced exhale, he dropped his hands, summoning a globe of light to hover over the piece of paper Aly had laid on the table.
His grip tightened on the edge of the table as comprehension dawned.
“Edzan and Gibson were having an affair?” He checked the date on the letter. “And he only ended it a few days before his death.”
Aly nodded. “I grabbed some of the others as well.” She set another pile of paper on the table. “They go back years. These were from the middle of the pile.” Calum checked the date on the topmost letter. It had been written three years previously.
“And Grant had these?” Calum said. “How did he get hold of them?”
Aly’s eyelashes fluttered over her cheeks as she dipped her gaze to the floor. “Well, uh, that is, I nicked them from her.” Her chin snapped up, guileless eyes meeting Calum’s. “I didn’t know what they were! Grant just asked me to get the box.”
Calum gave a snort. “Aye, the fact you didn’t know what you were stealing makes it so much better.” He couldn’t help the smile that crept to his face as he said it.
Aly skelped him on the arm with one of the letters. Her fingertips brushed his elbow, sending a jolt of heat up to his shoulder. “Have you spoken to the widow yet?”
Calum leant against the table, careful to keep space between himself and Aly. The air between them seemed to pulse with the beat of his heart. He swallowed sharply. “Aye. She was in Ardstede when he died.”
Aly frowned. “What about Edzan?”
“Aye, I went to her office a few—” His gut lurched as he remembered. “She wasn’t there the day the body was found. Her colleagues said she was off sick, so I didn’t get to interview her until later.”
Aly’s face had gone very pale. “So, her lover breaks up with her—in a letter, no less—and the day his body is found she’s conveniently at home sick.
” She frowned. “She was definitely home, though. That was when Grant sent me with the blackmail letter, just after— just after I got out of the police station.”
“Aye, that’s what Lewis said. He went round to take notes for her.”
Aly was leaning on her elbows, her fingertip tapping against her lower lip. “You should check and see if she was ‘sick’ earlier that week, too. I know if I got a letter like this, I wouldn’t want to go in to work with the person I wrote these to.” She pushed another one in front of Calum.
Calum scanned through the letter, reaching the rather detailed description of what Edzan was hoping to do with Gibson.
“Is that—is that even possible? It sounds uncomfortable.”
Aly flashed him a grin. “It’s possible.”
Calum’s skin went hot and prickly, warmth rising to his cheeks. He peeked at Aly, hoping she couldn’t see in the gloom. She still had that wicked grin on her face.
Calum cleared his throat. He was only uncomfortable with the conversation because she was his informant, nothing more.
“You’re right. I should ask Lewis if she was off in the days between the last letter and Gibson’s death.
If she was skiving because she didn’t want to face him, then she didn’t know he was dead. ”
Aly picked at a hangnail, her eyes intent on her hands. “You should also tell him about Grant.”
“That’s none of your business.”
Aly lifted her chin to glare at him. “No, it’s not. But in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who’s put up with Grant for the last four years and I know how dangerous he can be. I wouldn’t want my enemy facing him unaware, let alone someone I cared about.”
“It’s not that simple.” Calum clasped his hands together so tightly his knuckles went white.
“Why not?” Aly’s jaw was set, a challenge in her eyes. “I believed you, and I have little reason to trust you. This is someone who’s apparently a friend of yours.”
Calum looked down at his callused hands.
“It’s more complicated than that. I—I could tell you because I knew you’d understand.
You know Grant, after all, and I knew that if I pressed enough, you’d eventually make the connection yourself.
And you did, with his true face.” He looked at Aly, her pupils bleeding into her dark irises in the dim kitchen.
He’d known from their first meeting, in a sense.
He’d not realised Grant was fae, of course, but he’d recognised the survival strategies of one who was used to being manipulated by those more powerful, and nobody manipulated as well as the fae.
The way she’d been so calm, despite the fear lurking behind her eyes, and how she’d so quickly turned the situation to her advantage—they were the skills of one who was used to managing the moods of a dangerous person.
She knew Grant’s most fae tendencies, and she was so used to working around them she likely didn’t even realise it. But Calum realised, and it had made it easier to tell her, to trust that she would believe him.
He smoothed his hands over his kilt. “You asked me about those axes, if it was normal in the Highlands for people to see fae. It is, but—but not the way I have.” Aly said nothing, her expression intent.
“I was—taken by one, when I was fifteen. I escaped four years later.” He stared at the calluses on his hands.
He’d never told anyone this before, anyone but his family.
He’d never been able to tell anyone in case they thought he was fae-touched, his mind playing tricks on him and convincing him of things that weren’t there.
Aly’s fingers curled around his, her touch warm and comforting. “And you’re afraid that if you tell him that Grant’s fae, he won’t believe you, and that means he’s not believing something horrible that happened to you?”
Calum’s throat was tight. “Or worse. I could tell him and he does believe me, and he’s understanding and kind and listens to me.”
Aly’s brow furrowed. “Why would that be worse?”
“Because we were together for over a year, and our relationship ended because I could never trust him with the truth.”
“Ah.” It was such a small sound, but she managed to imbue it with so much understanding and sympathy.
“I don’t really have any friends, and I’ve never had a relationship that was anything more than physical, but .
. . but if I did, I don’t think I’d have told anyone about Grant and—and about what he’s done.
” She shifted, adjusting her sleeves. “You don’t—you don’t want people to look at you differently when they know.
” She straightened, sweeping her hair out of her face.
“But your sister’s still right. Lewis could be in danger, and you’re going to have to tell him enough for him to understand how much danger he’s in.
If it helps . . .” She laid her hands on the table, fingers splayed.
The ring and middle fingers on her left hand were crooked, bending slightly towards each other, while the pinkie on her right hand curved outwards.
“If it helps convince him, then you can tell him what Grant does to thieves, and that Grant’s definition is very flexible.
” She wet her lips, her lower lip trembling.
“I pawned a set of earrings he gave me, and when he found out, he broke three of my fingers to account for the three pounds they had cost him. And he made sure to do two of them on my dominant hand.” She curled her fingers in towards her palm. “What he does to spies is much worse.”
Calum’s stomach flipped over, nausea rising in the back of his throat.
“I still think you should tell Lewis that Grant is demi-fae,” Aly said, her voice soft. “He should understand about Grant’s glamour, if nothing else. But Grant doesn’t need to be fae to be evil.”