Part 6 (1/2)
”Calm down. Kelpies are like sharks with hooves-they can smell blood in the water for miles. A few drops should be enough to get her attention.”
Right, a couple of drops of blood so the kelpie could get a taste for me-because that wasn't creepy. I stared at the rus.h.i.+ng water. The hope that the kelpie had information about the location of the crime scene was the only lead I currently had. I'd bled for worse reasons. Finally I nodded.
”So just a couple of drops in the water?”
Malik rubbed the point of his sharp chin. ”Yeah, but it would be best if you could put them in at the middle of the river.”
Which meant trekking back to the bridge. Well, that was where the car was anyway. If this didn't work out, I had to leave soon. We'd been walking for at least an hour, and I still needed to make it to-and out of-the Eternal Bloom before dusk. Driving after dark wasn't an option with the extent to which grave-sight had deteriorated my night vision.
The walk back was no more companionable than the first part of the hike had been, and by the time I spotted the gray stone bridge, sweat coated my skin. Gee, I'll be pleasant-smelling company when I meet Rianna. I wiped damp curls from my face and followed Malik to the center of the bridge. He turned to me, nodding without a word. Guess I'm on.
Most witches carried fingersticks for activating or personalizing charms, but the only spells I used that required blood magic were healing charms, and, well, I was typically already bleeding if I needed one, so I didn't have a fingerstick with me. I did have two daggers: the ceramic knife I used to cast circles outdoors and the enchanted dagger. I tended to drag the ceramic knife through the dirt, so it definitely wasn't sterile, but I was reluctant to give a somewhat aware dagger a taste of my blood. But I'm willing to give a taste to a man-eating horse? It was probably better if I didn't think about that.
I dug through my purse and pulled out the ceramic dagger. A quick examination of the blade showed a caked-on smear of mud. I sc.r.a.ped off as much as I could with my fingernail and then wiped the blade on the leg of my pants. That was about as clean as it was going to get. I would definitely need a disinfectant when I got home.
After p.r.i.c.king my finger, I sheathed the knife and dropped it back in my purse. I squeezed my finger and blood welled from the small wound. Holding my hand over the edge of the bridge, I squeezed until gravity forced a fat drop of blood to fall to the water below. Malik stepped forward after the third drop hit the water.
”That should be enough,” he said, leaning over the stone railing to stare at the river's choppy surface.
I dug through my purse until I found a tissue. Pressing the tissue against my finger, I waited, watching the water rush under the bridge. Nothing changed.
After several moments, I shook my head and dropped the tissue back into my purse. ”I don't think it worked.”
”No, look. It did.” Malik leaned farther over the edge of the bridge and pointed at a spot near the center of the river, almost directly where my blood would have hit the water.
I squinted at the dark shape. ”That's a turtle.”
He shook his head. ”It's the kelpie. You called her. You need to identify yourself.”
”Uh, hi. I'm Alex Craft,” I said, feeling stupid talking to what I was pretty sure was a turtle or a fish. The shadow began to sink back under the water, and Malik's head snapped toward me. His dark eyes went wide, and his hands fluttered as if urging me to say more. ”I work with Tongues for the Dead, and I'd like to ask you a few questions.”
The small shadow stopped. Then it grew larger. And larger. I could have sworn the river didn't run too deep here, but the shadow grew to the size of a dog and then to the size of a cow. It headed for the bank. Apparently not a turtle. I shouldered my purse and ran toward the bank, Malik at my heels.
A large equine head emerged from the water. The kelpie's coat was a dank grayish brown like the dark silt and seaweed tangled in the slimy mane clinging to her long neck. She lifted one large hoof onto the bank, and then another, not so much as scrambling as she climbed from the water. Her hooves struck the ground like thunder as she trotted toward me, and I stopped short. She was ma.s.sive, each hoof the size of a dinner plate, and even in my three-inch boots, I stood only as tall as her large back.
My hand twitched toward the enchanted bridle in my purse, and I forced my fingers away. I wanted to talk with her, if she was willing, not jump straight to trickery. No use making an enemy if I didn't have to. Nevertheless, it was hard to remain still as the kelpie lowered her head and drew in enough air to make the curls around my face quiver. She let the air out again, blowing her lips and revealing very sharp-and very unhorselike-teeth.
”You smell delicious, Alex Craft with Tongues for the Dead.” The voice that emerged from her horse mouth was surprisingly feminine and her enunciation perfect. ”Sleagh Maith with a mix of mortal? Would you like to go for a ride, little feykin?” She knelt on her front legs to give me easier access, but I backed away.
”No. That's okay.”
”More's the pity.” She turned her attention to Malik.
”Oh, it's you, Sh.e.l.lycoat.” Her lips curled away from those sharp teeth. It was strange to see a snarl on a horse, but the expression was unmistakable. She huffed her breath and as the air rushed out of her the skin on her neck flared. Gills? ”What an unpleasant surprise.” She tossed her head, flinging water and muck from her mane.
I stepped back, but I couldn't avoid the spray. I wiped the muddy water from my cheek with the back of my hand and frowned at the dark spots dotting my top, but there wasn't time to do anything about it as the kelpie turned back toward the river.
”Wait.” I reached out, my hand brus.h.i.+ng her side. Her muscles quivered under my fingers and I jerked my hand back. What I'd originally taken as fur was actually hundreds of small, sticky scales. I stepped back a bit, but didn't move far. ”I need to ask you some questions.”
The kelpie turned and studied me with one large, milky eye. ”Part ways with Sh.e.l.lycoat and come to my home for supper. You may ask me any question you wish during the meal.”
Was that a legitimate offer, or would I be part of dinner? Either way, she lived under the river, and I definitely couldn't breathe water. I shook my head. ”I'd prefer to keep my feet on dry land.”
”Then why should I answer your questions, Alex-Craftwith-Tongues-for-the-Dead-who-prefers-to-keep-her-feet- on-dry-land?”
I blinked at the t.i.tle and glanced at Malik. He rolled his shoulders and stood straight so that he matched the kelpie's impressive height.
”You should answer because Ms. Craft is working to protect the independent fae in Nekros from the grasp of the Winter Queen.”
Pale skin flashed beneath the kelpie's gills. ”And what care I for the troubles of other independents?”
”You'll care if the queen saddles and stables you.”
It was hard to read the kelpie's equine features, but I think she glared at Malik. After several silent seconds, she turned to me, her large eyes unblinking. That's as close to permission as I'm likely to get. I asked my question.
”A group of feet recently floated down the Sionan River and washed up in the floodplain to the south. They were tossed into the river sometime in the last four or five days. Do you remember seeing or otherwise sensing the feet floating through your territory?”
The kelpie's lips once again curled back from those sharp, predatory teeth. ”The grotesque offering? The meat was putrefied by magic. It offended me.”
Offering? That was an unusual way to view body parts dumped in the river, but the feet the police had found were certainly saturated with dark magic, so I guessed we were talking about the same thing. I shuddered at the idea that she'd actually tried to eat one of the feet, but if I thought about it, that wasn't really unexpected.
”Do you know where the, uh, 'grotesque offering' was tossed into the river?”
”In the place that reeks of iron, near one of the thundering gates.”
Well, that's as clear as river muck. The place that ”reeked of iron” was probably the city-no fae liked iron and the city had a lot of it. But what were the ”thundering gates”?
I didn't get a chance to ask. A hiccup erupted in my chest, interrupting me. I pressed my fingers over my lips just as a second hiccup hit, followed by a third.
The charm. Glamour-and not from the kelpie or Malik.
I whirled around, glancing over the bank, the bridge, and the road as I turned. Nothing. My gaze shot to where the woods encroached on the river. Still nothing.
Another hiccup gripped my chest, bursting from my throat, and I cringed. Okay, charm, I got the point. There was glamour being used nearby, but I really wished the charm had a better way of warning me. At least I'd had the foresight to attach the charm with a quick-release clasp this time. I unhooked it from the bracelet and pried open my s.h.i.+elds.
My grave-sight snapped into focus, painting the forest in muted shades as the landscape decayed. Several yards away, amid the forest of rotted trees, a troll moved silently through the wilted underbrush. His shoulders were wide enough that he had to turn sideways to step between two thick trees and avoid tearing the dark business suit he was wearing. His hands, each as big as my head, dragged the ground beside bare green feet sticking out under the hemmed legs of his slacks. I thought for a moment his hands were brown with moss green mounds over his knuckles, until I realized he wore gloves, the leather worn away on the top.
He moved slowly, sucking in his gut to allow more clearance between the tree trunks. But not enough clearance. Bark flaked off the trees as he brushed past. Beside me, the kelpie's ears twitched, the skin on her neck quivering as she snapped her head toward the forest. The troll's glamour might have hidden his footsteps, but we all heard the explosion of bark.
Malik wrung his hands, glancing from the forest to me. ”What do you see?”
”Troll,” I whispered, hoping the troll in question wouldn't hear. He'd paused when he brushed against the tree, as if waiting to see if we had noticed.
We had.
I'd met only one troll before, and it had been rather slow on the uptake. This one looked much more astute-it was probably the suit. If nothing else, the suit definitely implied that roaming the wilds wasn't part of his normal routine.