“Oh my God!” Imani put a hand to her mouth. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “I’d recognize that scent anywhere. I woke up covered in it—remember?”
“But why in the world would she keep the bloody cloak she was wearing when she, uh, killed Lady Zangelo?” Imani still just couldn’t believe it.
“I told you—she thinks she can get away with anything. I’ve never met anyone more arrogant in my life,” J’are growled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a vid of the murder somewhere around here, too. She’d keep it for a trophy to watch later and laugh at the fact that nobody caught her.”
“Where would that be, I wonder?” Imani looked around the dressing table, which held other things besides the elaborate collection of wigs. There were also a number of pieces of jewelry displayed in a large velvet case. Some of the pieces looked too ostentatious to be real but knowing Lady Bittlebum, they probably were the genuine article.
At random, she picked up a gold ring with a rounded, opalescent stone about as big as a large marble. She stroked the stone with her fingertip and was surprised when the top flipped open and a tiny insect, no bigger than a gnat, came buzzing out.
“Oh! What in the word?” she exclaimed, swatting at it.
“You found a spy fly, I see,” J’are remarked. “Leave it be—it will return to its home when it’s ready.”
“A spy fly?” Imani frowned, but stopped swatting at the nearly invisible insect. “What’s that?”
“A recording device,” J’are explained. “It flies all around and takes pictures which it stores and sends back to its home base. It can be very useful when you want to see what’s going on without anyone knowing you’re watching and recording them.”
“Like a teeny miniature drone,” Imani murmured. “Interesting!”
“It might have some critical information saved on it,” J’are said. “I say we take it along with the cloak and get back to the hotel where we can look at it more carefully.”
“Good idea. Er…how do I get the, uh, spy fly back to his home base?” Imani asked, gesturing to the ring.
“It will come back when it’s ready. Don’t worry about it—they always find their way home,” J’are told her.
“Okay.” Imani shrugged and tucked the gaudy ring into the tiny pocket in the side of her dress. She was glad she had a place to put it—the outfit didn’t leave a bit to the imagination and there wasn’t much hiding space on it.
“Now I just need to find something to wrap this cloak in and we can leave,” J’are remarked.
“Oh, you’ll be leaving, all right. But not with that cloak.”
Imani’s head jerked up and she felt a shiver of fear run down her spine.
Standing in the doorway, flanked on either side by huge, pink morphids, was Lady Bittlebum.
She had a blaster in one hand which she was pointing right at Imani’s head.
Thirty-Two
“I swear by all the Gods, if you try to hurt my female…” J’are took a step forward, putting himself between Imani and Lady Bittlebum.
“Oh, I’m not going to hurt her—you are.” Mistress Bittlebum waved the blaster at them. “Now come out of there, both of you. And drop that cloak, Nightwalker.”
J’are didn’t do as she asked. Instead, he stood there growling, the cloak still fisted in one big hand.
“I said drop it!” Lady Bittlebum said sharply. “And don’t think about trying anything. I’ll blast a hole right through you and then my lovely morphids will tear that sweet little Defender of yours apart—just like they tore apart my dear old friend, Lady Z. Why, they ripped her pretty head right off!”
Imani stared at her.
“So you admit you were behind Lady Zangelo’s murder?”
“Of course I was,” Mistress Bittlebum spat contemptuously. “And I had to do the dirty work myself, thanks to this big idiot.” She gestured at J’are. “When I inveigled Lady Z to buy him, I was certain he’d kill her at once. She was never very kind to her bodyslaves and I knew what a wild brute he was—especially at night.” Her eyes gleamed. “But the weeks went by and still she lived! Also, she was beginning to demand that I pay off my loans to her, which was most inconvenient.”
“Wasn’t that after you stole J’are’s inheritance?” Imani demanded. “Didn’t you have the money to pay her back then?”
“If I’d sold my new house, of course I did. But I wasn’t about to do that.” Lady Bittlebum sniffed. “Keep moving—get out of there and leave the cloak,” she added to J’are, who reluctantly dropped the dark cloak as he and Imani edged their way out of the bedroom with their hands raised.
“So you killed her because you didn’t want to pay her back?” Imani thought it was best to keep the other woman talking—maybe it would also keep her from shooting.
“Well, my morphids did,” Lady Bittlebum said. “I had to be there to direct them, of course—and to smear the blood on that big brute.” She nodded at J’are. “This way now—into this room here.”
She was herding them down the hall and into a vast room much bigger than the grand bedchamber—a room which was completely empty with blank white walls and floors.
It suddenly occurred to Imani that there was no way the wily Mistress would be confessing this if she intended to keep them alive. Maybe she had brought them into this bare room to murder them because the crime scene would be easier to clean up than in the fully furnished bedchamber.
“If you kill us, the Kindred will be after you,” she said quickly. “They won’t stop until they get you!”
“Oh, I don’t intend to kill you—no, no.” Mistress Bittlebum made a shocked face that looked a little too fake to Imani.
“Then why are you telling us all this?” J’are demanded. “Why are you confessing?”
“Well, for one thing, because I’m quite sure no one would believe you—especially now that you don’t have any evidence.” She turned to
