“Arrest us?” the third boy sneered. “For what?”
“For being a pain in my ass. Since I’m the chief of police around here and this is Trickster Night, that’s enough of a reason.” And it will keep you alive.
He felt something press against his shoulder, felt whiskers tickle his cheek before a low, angry sound resonated through his back and into his chest. And he heard Julian whisper, “Don’t look.”
The teenage fools were looking right at whatever pushed against him—and he watched four swaggering pricks turn into squealing children, losing control of their bladders seconds before they ran down the access road.
A satisfied growl.
Then Vicki, her voice vibrating with suppressed panic, said, “Cougar? That’s a too-scary face for our party.”
Cougar pushed past Grimshaw, disappearing beyond the lit areas.
Conan huffed out a breath that could have knocked down a small child. “Need to get rid of that smell, or everything in The Jumble will be coming by to mark territory and warn off the intruders.”
Grimshaw shuddered at the thought of the Elders who lived on this land marking territory just beyond Vicki’s front door—especially when the main house was full of strangers tonight.
Very quiet strangers.
He turned and studied the partygoers. Humans on one side of the big entrance hall, terra indigene on the other side. Vicki standing in between with Julian’s arm around her for support. And everyone looking at him.
He looked at Julian, who shook his head.
Julian Farrow was an Intuit, a kind of human who sensed things. They didn’t see visions of the future like the cassandra sangue did, but they had feelings about people or places. Julian was a living barometer for the health of a place. He sensed when something was going wrong.
Grimshaw didn’t know if that head shake meant there was nothing he could do or it was already too late to do anything.
Ilya and Natasha approached from the back of the building. They must have come in through the screened back porch and kitchen.
Ilya, too, looked at him and shook his head.
If he couldn’t find the bodies, would he find any identification and be able to provide the next of kin with a Deceased, Location Unknown form?
Almost got through this night without anyone dying. I guess the blood prophet was right about the image of a coffin for us.
Accepting what he couldn’t change, Grimshaw stepped inside and closed the door.
Everyone nibbled on food and drank too much. Understandable under the circumstances, and not a problem for the folks staying at The Jumble, but not so good when it came to getting the four academics back to the Mill Creek Cabins.
When Julian joined him, Grimshaw immediately scanned the room for Vicki.
“She’s in the kitchen with the Crows, putting more nibbles on plates,” Julian said.
“She’s okay?”
“Nervy, but she’s holding it together.”
“You going to stay over?”
Julian hesitated, knowing what Grimshaw was asking. Then he finally said, “Vicki isn’t ready for that kind of guest.”
Vicki had her own efficiency apartment in the main house, a perk of being the owner/caretaker of The Jumble. Grimshaw knew Julian didn’t always go back to the Mill Creek cabin he rented at Silence Lodge, but apparently he was making use of an available room when he stayed over. Not surprising that this romance was like a tortoise race, since both parties had traumatic pasts.
“I’m sober enough to drive,” Julian continued, “so I can drive the minivan two of the academics arrived in, and Ilya says Boris will be over soon and he can drive the other car—if the men don’t end up staying here and sleeping on sofas or in chairs.”
“How many do you figure will vote for a sleepover?”
“Most of them. Having the universities rent some of the Mill Creek Cabins in order to mingle with the Others is a new venture. I have a feeling the people aren’t going to want to see whatever you might find on your way out of The Jumble.”
“Is that a feeling or a feeling?”
“Let’s call it an ex-cop’s intuition, since you know as well as I do that not all four of those boys got away.”
“Yeah.” And there wasn’t a damn thing he could have done about that. Sometimes that was a hard truth to live with.
CHAPTER 6
Vicki
Windsday, Grau 31
Aggie, Jozi, and Eddie shifted back to looking fully human, which helped all the guests relax. Or it was an alcohol-induced relaxation. Julian had poured me a stiff glass of relaxation after those four boys ran away, so I was able to pretend aggressive men didn’t scare me. I think everyone believed that I wasn’t worried that those boys would come back when there were fewer people about. Everyone except Julian, of course. And Grimshaw. And Ilya.
Julian didn’t offer any of the words that sounded kindly meant but were never kind because the words indicated surprise that any leering or lusting would be aimed at someone who looked like me—a short, pudgy thirty-year-old woman whose curly brown hair usually gave the impression it had been styled by sticking a fork in an electrical outlet. Julian doesn’t see me that way, which I don’t understand but am working to accept since he’s a good friend. I think he would like to be more than a friend, and sometimes I think I’d like him to be more than a friend, but every time I wonder what it would be like to kiss him—or be kissed by him—I suddenly hear my ex-husband’s voice telling me to use some mouthwash because who would want to kiss someone whose breath smelled like that? Since I always brushed my teeth at bedtime and Yorick never did, I never understood why it was my breath that smelled bad. It took a long time to realize those remarks were another way to control my feelings and leave me vulnerable to other manipulation, but those memories still got in the way of my exploring anything more than friendship with Julian.
Having had enough socializing, Fred and Wilma Cornley, the almost newlyweds, took a plate of pizza and other treats up to their room. Two of the Owlgard and two Hawks showed up with an almost-human-looking Cougar to help finish off the snacks in the heads-or-tails bowl. Jenna McKay made arrangements with Bobcat to do our donkey-cart tour of The Jumble tomorrow. Ilya and Natasha were holding glasses of red wine—I hoped—and listening to a couple of men talk about . . . Well, I wasn’t sure if they were trying to impress the Sanguinati with their academic credentials or were trying to persuade Ilya to invest in something, but I hustled over to Grimshaw intending to ask him to break up that conversation before one or both men ended up with an extreme case of anemia.
Thump. Thump. Thump.