Osgood shook his head. “The younger kids cleared out early. Even the home parties are done by now. No calls about any adult parties getting out of hand.”
“Anything about the people in the camper park? No trouble there?”
“No, sir.” Osgood waited a beat. “Were you expecting some trouble?”
If those teenagers were on the road, they were someone else’s problem by now, but he’d like to be sure. “In the morning, you go over to the camper park and knock on every door. I want to know who’s renting the campers and how long they plan to stay. If anyone doesn’t answer the door, you roust the park’s owner and find out who he has listed on the rental agreements.”
“You looking for someone in particular?”
“Four boys. Teens. They were looking to cause some trouble at The Jumble this evening. If they are renting one of the campers, I want to know if all four of them made it back. Right now, I want you to call Doc Wallace and tell him I’m picking him up in ten minutes. Then call Sheridan Ames and tell her we need her facility to examine some crime scene evidence, and Doc Wallace and I will be there shortly.”
Sheridan Ames and her brother Samuel ran the village’s funeral home. It was the only place to access the equipment to examine a body without driving to the mortuary in Crystalton or Bristol.
“You have a body at The Jumble?”
“Part of one.”
“Gods,” Osgood breathed. “Do you know what did it?”
This past summer, Osgood was one of the four police officers who had been left at The Jumble when Vicki DeVine had been brought to the station to answer questions about a dead body. He had been the only survivor when the other men ignored the boundaries the Others had heard Vicki establish.
“No,” Grimshaw said. “I don’t.”
CHAPTER 8
Ilya and Aggie
Windsday, Grau 31
Find out who is still here and who has returned to their own dens,> Ilya said, using the terra indigene form of communication, when he and Natasha stepped into the main house and closed the door. <And tell Boris that the youngsters should stay inside the lodge tonight.>
<I already did that,> Natasha replied. <Are you going to continue thinking that being mated to you has deprived me of the ability to use my brain?>
He wrapped a hand around her wrist, stopping her as he watched one of the academics bearing down on them. He could almost taste the man’s excitement. What he didn’t understand was the reason for it.
<I’m . . . concerned. The Sanguinati are in charge of the land around Lake Silence as well as the village of Sproing. Different forms of terra indigene have their territories within that land, especially around the lake itself.>
<The north end of the lake is exclusively terra indigene who have as little contact with us as they do with the humans.>
<Yes. But the Elders and other forms who live there are known to us. At least the feel of them is familiar. This was . . . different. Unknown. I think it’s terra indigene, but it didn’t acknowledge my authority. Didn’t acknowledge me at all.>
<An Elder?>
<Maybe.>
<You really are concerned.>
<Yes.>
<For me?>
<For all of us.> But now, especially you.
Natasha gave Ilya a full-fanged smile that stopped the academic two steps before he reached them. <Then you deal with the excited human, and I will deal with our kind.>
She glided away, leaving him to deal with the excited academic.
“Did you see it? Did you see?”
“Who are you?” Ilya asked. “We weren’t introduced earlier.”
“What? Oh. Professor Rodney Roash. I’m writing a book about urban legends, folklore, and myths, human and Other. I was hoping to interview some of the terra indigene about their myths and folktales to try to establish how such things come into being, but I never thought to see . . .” He reached for Ilya’s arm.
Ilya showed fang and snarled a warning. Not very proper for an attorney who was usually so good at mimicking human behavior, but he didn’t want to be touched and he didn’t want to be mistaken for human tonight.
Professor Roash took a step back but didn’t give up. “I’d like to interview those Crows about what they saw that frightened them so much. And why it frightened them.”
“Not tonight,” Ilya said. “If I think there is anything that would be of interest to you, I will tell you.”
“But . . .”
“If you persist in being a pest, I will shove you out the door and let you find out for yourself what is out there in the dark.”
Roash’s expression was one of offended dignity. “Being enthusiastic about one’s field of study is not being a pest.”
“Do humans have a word for someone who exploits another being’s fear?” Ilya asked.
A flicker of something in the man’s eyes. Had this human been waiting for something to happen? And did it happen as he’d intended?
Something to discuss with Grimshaw in the morning.
“You’re staying at the Mill Creek Cabins?” Ilya asked.
“Yes, but I think I’ll remain here tonight. Several of my colleagues are planning to do the same.”
That flicker in the eyes.
“No,” Ilya said. “A driver will be along soon, and we’ll take you and your colleagues back to the Mill Creek Cabins.”
“You can’t decide that.”
He showed a hint of fang. “Oh, but I can.”
He walked away before he gave in to the urge to shift to his smoke form and drain the fool enough to make sure no trouble would come from that direction. Getting drunk from consuming alcohol-infused blood wouldn’t be prudent tonight.
An academic interested in urban legends, folklore, and myths. Nothing strange about someone like that coming to The Jumble to observe Trickster Night. But Ilya couldn’t shake the feeling that the man knew more about what had happened tonight than he and Grimshaw did.
And that made him wonder if Roash would be surprised by anything Grimshaw was transporting in the body bag.
* * *
* * *
Aggie held the skillet in one feathered hand and held on to Miss Vicki with the other. There were feathers on her face, feathers in her hair. Feathers, feathers, everywhere.
Jozi hadn’t been able to hold the human form and had shifted completely to Crow, needing Julian’s help to get untangled from her work outfit.