Ilya laid one photo on the table.
“Gods above and below,” Vicki breathed. “Was that . . .” She looked at Grimshaw and mouthed, at Ineke’s?
He nodded.
“That was one of the Crows talking to the humans,” Eddie finally said. “I don’t know if it’s Civil or Serious.”
He bolted out of the dining room.
Ilya put the photo back in his briefcase. Grimshaw slipped Fewks’s student ID into his own shirt pocket.
Vicki pushed back from the table. “I’ll . . . We’ll . . .” She gathered up Jozi and the bundle of clothes and staggered out of the room, Aggie still clinging to one of her arms.
Grimshaw pulled out his mobile phone. Ilya laid a hand on his arm before he could make a call.
“I’ve told Natasha that Victoria is having . . . difficulty . . . right now. She’ll alert Mr. Farrow.” Ilya gave him an assessing look. “Unless you were calling someone else?”
“No.”
“Feathers of the fallen. Bones of the taken. There is a distinction. Last night Aggie mentioned that the fallen are the innocent, and the taken are the ones who prey on the innocent.”
Grimshaw thought for a moment. “And feet left with a body tells everyone there is a connection between two deaths? Is this a Crowgard vigilante meting out a savage brand of justice?”
“Perhaps.”
“But no description of Crowbones. So why did Adam Fewks make up a mask that looked so skeletal? Because it was Trickster Night? Or because someone else had more information about this piece of Crowgard folklore?”
“Right now, fallen or taken is the question that needs to be answered,” Ilya said quietly. “Clara Crowgard has been found.”
CHAPTER 26
Vicki and Aggie
Thaisday, Novembros 1
By the time I settled Jozi on the porch with Eddie, who was wearing trousers and nothing else in order to accommodate feathers and Crowy feet, and reached the library with Aggie, I wasn’t sure if I felt disappointed or relieved that my guests hadn’t depleted the stock that Julian had brought. Ben Malacki and David Shuman, my academic guests, had a condescending “it’s not lit’rature, so I can’t bother with it” look on their faces, which seemed strange since they claimed to be interested in knowing about the Others, and you wouldn’t find some of these books anywhere but in a terra indigene Courtyard or a bookstore like Julian’s. However, Jenna McKay more than made up for the academic fart-faces by looking through the selection of books with undiluted glee. I’d seen that same glee on Lara’s face when I passed the social room where the Sanguinati fosterlings were looking over the hoard of Wolf Team books Natasha had brought for them.
“Until yesterday, I hadn’t heard of authors like Alan Wolfgard, let alone read them,” Jenna said excitedly.
Julian smiled. “I brought copies of Wolfgard’s books as well as books by other authors that I don’t think you’ll find in human-controlled towns.” He handed me a book. “I don’t think you’ve read him yet.”
“Michael Stern?” I stared at my guest, who had casually placed himself on the other side of the table. “You’re this Michael Stern?”
“You don’t have any of Michael’s thrillers here since you usually pick up gently used books,” Julian said. “But I know you’ve read a couple of the romances he writes as Margaret Shaw.”
I channeled the bit of Grimshaw’s personality that I’d acquired during the blood transfusion last summer. Everyone told me that personality isn’t transferred with the donated blood, but sometimes channeling some Grimshaw is useful, so I choose to ignore science and facts—at least about that.
“Ship’s captain.” I gave Michael a narrow-eyed stare. “Female stowaway. Danger on the high seas.” I’d had a very strange dream while reading that book, and the golden-haired pirate captain on the cover—whose face in the dream had morphed into other faces—could have been Grimshaw’s less trustworthy brother.
“Uh . . . yeah.” Michael looked a little wary.
Then Julian smiled in a way that included everyone in the room. “I’m sure Michael wouldn’t mind signing any of his books that you purchase today.”
Poor Michael. Jenna McKay, Natasha, and I fixed our sights on a cornered author.
I wondered if deer had the same look when cornered by a pack of wolves.
Julian pulled out a chair and asked—politely—if Michael needed a pen.
Based on the look Michael gave Julian, I think he wanted something more stabby than a mere pen, but he sat while the book-buying frenzy took place. Julian taped slips of paper with our names to the table so that we could stack our selections.
Ian Stern wandered over to check out authors and titles, and he and Natasha compared notes about which genres they enjoyed. Turned out Ian wasn’t as keen on the bloodthirsty stories as my CPA. Go figure.
Malacki and Shuman finally came over to purchase a token book, which, really, was all that was left. Aggie was guarding the Wolf Team books I’d purchased for The Jumble’s residents, and Natasha, Jenna McKay, and I had claimed just about everything else.
Ian handed a book to Malacki and said, “A terra indigene author. I think you’ll find the story . . . educational.” He gave both men a smile that held some kind of warning.
Julian pulled a cash box out of one of the boxes he’d brought and tallied the sales. Michael dutifully signed all the copies of his books, including the Margaret Shaw romances I already owned. Natasha smiled at Malacki and Shuman in a way I’m sure would give them erotic dreams . . . that would turn into terrifying nightmares of fangs and bloody feasts.
The book binge was so satisfying, it was another hour before I realized that Grimshaw and Ilya had left at some point to go to do cop stuff.
* * *
* * *
Aggie stayed in the library and shelved the new Wolf Team books in their proper order. They wouldn’t stay that way. Human guests would take the books off the shelves and put them back any old way, but she checked the shelves each morning and put the books in their proper places.
Normally, she liked to have this little bit of alone time with the books, but today being alone didn’t feel so good. Bad things had happened in The Jumble a few months ago, but this was different. Something . . . old . . . had come here to hunt. To kill. Something even the Sanguinati didn’t want to challenge.
Something that even the Elders around Lake Silence hadn’t interfered with. That was a warning all by itself. The Crowgard wouldn’t get any help from the rest of the terra indigene, but Miss Vicki would help Aggie and her kin figure out who had done the bad thing that had brought Crowbones here—and then they would find a way to deal with it.