Becka withdrew to the dressing room to change for bed.
“Yes, actually. My brother Calder has always yearned for power. With Tesse out of the way, he’s now Maura’s heir apparent. I wonder if he had any involvement in Tesse’s death?”
“You think he’s capable of killing his own sister? Or just that he would not have been content being next in line to her?”
“Oh, I don’t know. But I definitely feel he‘s hungry for power.”
“What about her betrothed, Alain? How did he come across?”
“He was beside himself with grief, unable to endure with me there.”
“That’s curious. I’ve read the files. I had the impression they hadn’t known each other for very long?”
Becka sighed. “He seems unusually melodramatic, even for a fae.”
He nodded. “Anyone else?”
“No one comes to mind.”
“How about Brent?”
A sinking feeling hit her in the gut. Becka exited the dressing room in her pj’s and grabbed her journal from her backpack. Quinn must have seen them talking? “What about Brent?”
He stared at her, expression horrified. “What is wrong with you?”
“What is it, more cat hair?”
“No. Whatever made you think those rainbow-farting unicorns patterned pj’s would be appropriate?”
Emboldened by her tipsy and euphoric state, she walked up to him and poked a finger on his chest for the second time today. “I am appropriately comfortable in my favorite pjs. What does it matter? No one but you will even see me in them.”
An uncomfortable moment hung in the air, an unspoken tension. Neither of them moved and for a few breaths all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart.
He shook his head, laughed and backed away, breaking contact. “Anyway...Brent. Did you think he’s a threat?”
Becka rolled her eyes. “Brent’s pack has worked security for Vott since before I was born. It was his dad, Barric, leading them back then. The wolves aren’t any threat to me nor to the house. Well, at least not the house.”
“That’s good. And at least he’s not a liar, right?” Quinn raised his brow, his expression tense again.
Becka groaned. “Why didn’t you just say you overheard us?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Replaying the conversation with Brent in her mind, Becka shook her head. “You know I don’t feel you’re fully honest.”
“I think we could quibble about definitions all night and not get anywhere. I did wonder why you criticized me to the shifter.”
“But I also told him I didn’t want you replaced.”
“Why not? I mean, you had every reason to have Brent replace me. He’s well known to you.”
She shook her head. “No, he’s allied with Rowan. With the fae. You’re between the worlds, like me. Kind of, anyway. What I’m saying is it’s a marginal improvement, but I’ll take what I can get.”
His eyes were stormy. Not quite angry. Frustrated, maybe? “No, not like you, but I get your meaning.”
“Plus, working with you I know I’m helping in the hunt for my sister’s killer.”
“That you are, and I appreciate your willingness to help.”
Becka climbed into the large bed, tossing piles of decorative pillows onto the floor. “Where are you sleeping?”
“I bet I could sleep there and you would never notice I was on the same continent.”
Becka pursed her lips. “No, really.”
He chuckled, and then patted the couch across from the bed. “This one. It’s large and has a great vantage point in the room.” He flopped down on the couch, seeking a comfortable position.
Tucking herself under the covers, Becka opened her journal and started jotting down the day. Becka doodled a goat cheese stuffed squash blossom in her journal.
“Do you journal every day?” Quinn asked.
“Yes. I can always find something worth noting and I find it a useful reference tool to recall events and people.”
After a few minutes Becka placed her journal on the nightstand, and she dimmed the light next to the bed. Since fae gifts had come up during dinner with Calder, Becka realized she didn’t know Quinn’s.
“By the way, what’s your gift?”
“You are asking now?”
“Just answer the question.”
“As a member of the House of Oak, we are all naturally gifted with a bit more prowess and strength than the other clans.”
“Right, House Oak is known for producing fierce warriors. But your strength and dexterity are considered innate, like the shifters abilities.”
“That’s correct.”
“But that wouldn’t qualify you as magically guilded, any more than my superior night vision or ability to run marathons. They’re due to my fae heritage, so those are innate skills, not magical.”
“Indeed. In the House of Staves, we are known not just for our physical prowess, but also for magical gifts which enhance social strength and stability. My gift of being able to hear the truth in the words of others is also considered innate as I have had the ability as long as I can remember, versus emerging during puberty, like many other guild’s gifts.”
Lucky guy. Pieces of the puzzle around his failure to disclose facts clicked together in her mind. “Is that why you don’t always answer questions? Does being dishonest lessen your ability to read others?”
“You intuit it correctly. I discovered some time ago that if I lie, my attunement to hearing the truths of others suffers. Therefore it behooves me to be honest, but not always direct.”
“And that also explains why you’re working with the Enforcers. And with the fae love for intrigue, I bet you don’t make a lot of friends?”
He barked out a mirthless laugh. “I do encounter a high degree of suspicion regarding my motives. Since I joined the Enforcers that mistrust has magnified.”
“Quinn?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think telling Brent I’m working on the murder case with you will cause trouble?”
“Likely.”
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“Solve the murder faster.”
Chapter 11
Becka woke up in the wee hours, moonlight gleaming into her bleary eyes. She shifted in bed and tried to settle down again, but to no avail. Something was tugging at the back of her mind. Something roused her from sleep.
Becka sat up and looked around the room.
