“Nothing in the room to signify a struggle, no evidence of sulfur, just these strange symbols burned into the Phoenix’s belly. That’s all there is.”
“You and I both know there is no such thing as coincidence,” Hunter grumbled, staring down. “But, coincidentally, this Mythic being was the next one on our list to question… a close friend of the redhead. Add that,” Hunter said as he rolled his shoulders, “this charring is still fresh. We’re being stalked. I can feel it in my soul. Something is coming behind us, around us, herding us.” He sniffed the air and frowned.
“Yeah, I picked that up, too, when we were in the cellar. I’ve definitely never smelled it before.”
Hunter shook his head and stooped down to get a closer look. “At first I thought that it could have been the scent of fear coming from the Phoenix before she flamed… has a musty undertone to it. Feral, but not Werewolf or Vampire-just like at Ethan’s. This kicks my ass that I can’t place it.”
“Also not human… or any Fae scents I’ve come to learn.”
“Either it is owned by the killer or related to the aftermath of the burning.” Hunter studied the ashes and then stood.
“You might be right,” Sasha said, nodding. “I need to find out more about this symbol… if Sir Rodney hadn’t outright said sorcery, I would have thought that maybe it could have been something that showed up once a Phoenix flames for the last time. But the Fae know their magick, and if the man said sorcery was involved, I’ll take him at his word.”
“It could be a warning, a marker-something that says ‘keep out,’ ” Hunter said in a low, even rumble. “Tribesmen of all cultures mark territory with fearsome symbols.”
“Yeah…” Sasha said in a faraway voice. “But there’s a link we’re missing between these Phoenix deaths. Why go after the Phoenixes? They played no major role at the trials. I don’t get it. Who would want them dead? Why would Vamps have an axe to grind with them? Even though I can’t stand the rat bastards, it doesn’t completely add up.”
“Fresh air, distance, meditation-we must add this to our arsenal, Sasha,” Hunter said, placing a flat palm on her back. “Let us talk with Ethan and Sir Rodney. Maybe they can shed a little more light on this.”
She nodded and whipped out her cell phone, then cursed. “Damn… can’t get Sir Rod, he’s in the Sidhe. Cell phones don’t work there.” She let out a breath and placed the next call to Ethan. The conversation was brief-it was best to deliver bad news that way, since there was no delicate explanation available. Penelope was dead.
Hunter had already left her side to begin looking for anything they could go on. The living room offered no hints, nor did the small dinette area. Sasha found him going through the cutlery on the counter, sniffing the butcher’s block of knives.
“I don’t think she’d fight whatever was after her,” Sasha said with a half smile. “At least not in hand-to-hand combat. She wouldn’t defend herself like one of us would. We’ve gotta think like a Phoenix, not a Wolf.”
He nodded and raked his hair with his fingers, then stepped away from the counter, clearly frustrated. “Truth.”
Sasha sent her gaze around the tight confines and her line of vision landed on the refrigerator door. It held a small drugstore calendar under several fruit-inspired magnets. Quickly going to it, she read the neat shorthand:
Digging in her pocket, Sasha produced the card she’d gotten from Desidera’s wallet. “How much you wanna bet BO twelve to five is her shift at the Blood Oasis from midnight to five AM, prime Vamp time?”
Hunter took the calendar off the refrigerator and flipped through it. “The entries go back several months. If you’re right, she was working there three to four nights a week.”
Sasha nodded, heading toward the bedroom, and then stopped at the dresser. She glanced at Hunter over her shoulder, motioning toward a jewelry tray. “Seems Penelope had some really nice admirers, either that or she made a fantastic salary at the Blood Oasis. This is the real stuff, not cubic zirconia.”
“She also had a Pixie friend,” Hunter said, lifting a small oval frame off the nightstand. He offered it to Sasha’s inspection as she walked over to take a closer look.
“Desidera, Penelope, and maybe a coworker?” Sasha studied the photo harder. “This is in the gardens at Chaya.”
“Then I guess the teahouse is definitely on the agenda to visit.”
Sasha and Hunter shared a look, and then she averted her gaze, trying to focus on getting the small picture out of the frame and into her pocket. It was obvious that neither of them wanted to discuss the teahouse, much less go there.
But the sound of a vehicle and quick footsteps put them on guard, evaporating any issues between them. By the time Ethan came through the front door, Hunter was in the living room and had taken a stance, and Sasha’s arms were outstretched, one palm under the gun butt, the other ready to pull the trigger.
“Sheesh, Ethan! You know better than to roll up on a couple of wolves in hunt mode! Damn! You could have gotten yourself hurt.”
Sasha uncocked her weapon and Hunter rolled his neck from side to side, clearly fighting adrenaline. When Ethan’s wife came to the screen door, Sasha blew a damp curl up from her forehead.
“Let’s go outside,” Hunter said in a low rumble when Margaret gasped.
“Good idea.” Sasha crossed the room and held open the door for Ethan, and Hunter closed it behind everyone.
The Elfin couple stood on the front steps of the double-wide trailer wringing their hands. Margaret’s face was puffy and red, the result of unrelenting tears, as she twisted a tissue into confetti.
“This is so horrible,” she whispered. “I knew both of them for years… each girl was just a doll. This isn’t any kind of contagion I’ve ever seen in that community.”
Sasha and Hunter just stared at each other for a moment.
“That’s why I insisted Margaret come with me,” Ethan said. “Two girls?
“It’s not a plague,” Sasha said flatly.
Hunter nodded and wiped a thick layer of perspiration off his brow with the back of his forearm. “Both were in the same condition-undisturbed, no signs of a struggle. But two deaths in the same night rules out coincidence. This was definitely foul play.”
“Foul play… as in murder?” Margaret said with a quiet gasp.
“You have to get word to Sir Rodney,” Sasha said, glancing around at the group. “I can’t reach him by cell phone, so you’ll have to do your Fae missive thing.”
“His guards thought it best that he retire to the castle, given the circumstances. As our monarch, with a possible killer on the loose… or a possible disease afoot, his advisors felt it prudent that he remain in the fortress until further notice,” Ethan said. “I will get him word of this immediately.” Glancing around nervously, Ethan held the group enthralled. “Behind the castle walls, human technology doesn’t work… The glamour affects the transmission of cell phones and radios-but with the heightened security, he wouldn’t want a message of this nature being broadcast over the airwaves where it could be intercepted. So, yes, yes, it will have to be sent by way of a Fae missive.”
“Makes sense,” Hunter muttered, walking around the side of the building. “But let’s get one thing straight-you can drop the ruse about it being some sort of contagion. Your monarch said it was sorcery of the worst kind.”
Ethan opened his mouth and then closed it as his wife covered her mouth with her hand.
“Your glamour is also gone,” Sasha said gently, looking at Ethan. “Something is so not right about any of this.”
“Well, given the circumstances,” Ethan said, swallowing hard and lifting his chin, mustering indignation. “That is the least of my concerns.”
Ethan and Margaret shared a look.
“Listen, you both have a
