A Little Street Magic (16 page)

T
he wall around the vault, and the door of it, had borne the brunt of Jeharin’s death. His body had been completely vaporized, no partial corpse, or even recognizable bits, left.

For some reason, that made not throwing up easier, though I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get rid of the charnel stench in my nasal passages.

Gloves on and shoes covered, I took advantage of everyone being busy to teleport into the open vault. No sense tracking through elf goop if I didn’t have to. To my disappointment, there wasn’t much to see.

The vault’s interior was a long space maybe fifteen feet wide. I couldn’t estimate how long, because I couldn’t see the far end. Both walls were covered in metal doors in a variety of sizes. Safety deposit boxes for magical objects.

Only one was open, or rather, its little door had been forced opened, leaving it hanging by the bottom hinge.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Miss Jones.”

I jumped and uttered a squeak, turning wide eyes on Thorandryll. Jaws clenched and icy blue peepers narrowed, he appeared ready to murder somebody. Wasn’t going to be me. “My sympathies on your loss.”

His face tightened and then his expression softened. “Thank you.”

Already back to studying the open deposit box, I asked, “What was in here?”

“Your tendency to focus on business is often annoying.”

I just looked at him. Seriously, what did he expect? For me to start weeping and pulling out my hair? Or perhaps for me to embrace him, smooshing his face into my breasts, all the better to comfort him as he wept small, manly tears?

“Very well.” Thorandryll sighed. “A ring with the power to mesmerize any living being.”

Hm. “Doesn’t work, does it?”

“
Au contraire
, my skeptical lady. It does work, if one knows the proper word to use it.”

Turning to him, I smiled. “And you don’t.”

Up went his left eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”

Because he would’ve used it on me. A mesmerized Cordi was a married-to-an-elf-prince-and-under-control Cordi. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Your low opinion of me is quite wounding, Miss Jones.” His smirk said something way different than his words.

Rolling my eyes, I turned my back to him in order to look down the vault room. “Are you certain that’s all they stole?”

“Yes.”

All those doors, hiding away who knew what, and he’d pitched a hissy fit over my destroying one measly grimoire? What a greedy little elf. “If I find your ring and learn the right code word, I’m not telling you what it is. Just sayin’.”

His laughter rang and echoed, rolling away from us in gradually softer repeats. “I’d expect nothing less. Though should you ever tire of being in Lord Whitehaven’s employ, I believe you’d discover solving such minor mysteries to be extremely lucrative.”

Maybe he couldn’t use most of what he had hidden down here. In fact, maybe a lot of people couldn’t use the magical artifacts they had, if the common failsafe was designing them to be used with code words. I liked that thought a lot. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Obtaining hard-to-locate items would be another option.”

I snorted. “I’m not going Dark Side to steal stuff for you.”

More laughter from him. I shook my head and went to the vault’s entrance, to see what was going on in the corridor.

A
s it turned out, not much was going on. Photos were still being shot, and evidence collection was underway. Not that there’d be much to collect. My team members stood together on the other side of the splatter and smear area. Looking at them, I realized only Damian and Stone stood with Logan. No Dodson or Schumacher. Damian was the shortest of the three men, and possibly, the shortest supe present. I doubted it bothered him.

I teleported over, again avoiding elf goop, and turned to look at the door. It was metal, more than a foot thick, and there wasn’t an obvious handle or locking mechanism. However, it had been wrenched out of true, the top angled slightly forward. “I guess magic locking spells don’t hold their own against telekinesis.”

“No,” Damian agreed. “Doesn’t look that way.

“Where’s Dodson?” I knew where Dane was, and guessed Schumacher was out by the cars, or had begged off on this one. He seemed to be losing his stomach for the results of supernatural murder, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d never really had the stomach for it.

“Anniversary dinner for his parents. Schumacher had already left for the day, but Mr. Stone was still there.”

Lucky them, getting to skip this mess. I exchanged a nod with the dhampyr, who stood at the warlock’s left shoulder. Either Damian didn’t care Stone was in his personal bubble, or he was too preoccupied to realize it. “What do you want me to do?”

“Are you up to touching the victim’s weapons?”

I took another look at the mess, and saw a sword and bow off to the right of vault’s opening. Both were liberally covered in elf goop. “If they’re cleaned off first, sure.”

Damian nodded, his eyes moving over the scene. I wondered if he was committing it to memory, or maybe, looking for something beyond the obvious. “I’ll make the request.”

Kethyrdryll was standing a few feet away, and cleared his throat. “I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you.” The warlock continued to visually rake over the scene. “Something’s not adding up for me. It’s like we’re missing a puzzle piece, but it’s on the table in front of us.”

“Actual motive and viable suspects to hunt down?” I crossed my arms, watching Thorandryll exit the vault. He used the somewhat clearer path the door’s forced opening had made in the mess.

His shiny black boots looked silly with shoe coverings, and I regretted missing how he’d taken being told he had to wear those and gloves. Reaching us, he began peeling off the gloves. “When will your people be finished?”

“Another hour or so, sir.”

“Good. We need to gather as much of our fallen warrior’s remains as possible, to properly lay him to rest.” The prince focused on me. “It slipped my mind earlier, but we need to schedule a meeting, Miss Jones.”

“Why?”

“A small matter, though perhaps not one to discuss publicly.”

Now what in the hell was he talking about? I wracked my brain, but the only thing that came up was our becoming officially allied. “Sure. How about four tomorrow?”

“Acceptable.”

I hoped it wouldn’t take long, because I’d need time to get ready for Derrick’s party. “I’ll let you know if I can’t make it for some reason.”

A couple of elves in gray uniforms arrived, pushing a cart holding buckets and cloths. Thorandryll frowned. “The police aren’t done here.”

“I called for them. The detective has asked Lady Discord to handle Jeharin’s weapons,” Kethyrdryll said. “She prefers to do so after they’ve been cleaned.”

“My permission was not...”

I interrupted him before his snootiness got the better of him. “We’re hoping they saw the killers.”

“Ah. Very well, you may proceed.” Thorandryll gave his Royal Nod.

“So gracious of you, Your Highness.” The sarcasm dripping from my voice didn’t escape his notice, earning me a glare. I suddenly wondered if I could take him, should we ever go toe to toe magically.

No lie, it’d be pretty satisfying to rub his nose in the dirt a few times. But not exactly beneficial to my future, either personally or professionally. After all, Thorandryll could be mayor one day. I gave that slim odds, but it could happen.

Thorandryll’s glare had become a thoughtful gaze, and I realized the others were watching us stare at each other.
Ack.

I broke eye contact and looked at Logan, who had a faint smile on his face. I hoped he didn’t think I’d been fantasizing about the elf. Okay, I kind of had been, but not in the sexy way. “Will you need us after I’ve done that?”

Damian startled, and pulled his eyes from the mess to look at me. “Only if anything useful results.”

“Cross your fingers.” The two servants were washing the sword first. I glanced around the scene before asking, “Jeharin wasn’t wearing armor?”

“I seldom require my internal security to wear it.” Thorandryll scowled. “It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Probably not, but a hunk of shiny metal facing the killers could’ve been useful. My eyes wandered in Stone’s direction. “What kind of warding do you have?”

The prince didn’t look at the dhampyr. “The warding worked. An alarm sounded. Unfortunately, the filthy little bastards acted too quickly, and were gone before reinforcements arrived.”

“I see. Better add teleportation to the list of the killers’ abilities.” Elves could teleport too, but it wasn’t quite the same thing I did. They sort of...melted between places. It wasn’t instantaneous like my ability, but took a second or two.

Damian had his notebook out, adding the note. Stone cleared his throat. “That’s another rarity among our people.”

Good to know. “Might want to update Derrick then.”

He pulled out his cell phone and asked Damian, “If I may?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Did an alarm sound when they arrived?” I flipped my hand at the two.

“No. They came openly, through the front gates.”

Hm. “Does one sound when I pop in?”

Thorandryll smiled, not answering. Freaking elf. Oh, but wait. The first time I’d popped in without an invitation—albeit by accident—Logan and I had been surrounded by armed elves. But none had appeared the next day, when I popped in to collect belongings we’d left behind. And none had appeared the day I popped in to talk to him, okay, kind of blackmail him, about Leglin.

Seemed to indicate he’d tweaked his wards or something, to allow me free passage. Yet, that didn’t mean his sidhe wasn’t somehow signaling him when I arrived. Just him, not everyone.

I smiled back, realizing I may have just solved the minor mystery of there always being the right number of chairs when I came visiting. Logan could probably confirm my theory, having helped design the clan’s pocket realm. “Sneaky.”

“It’s fascinating to watch you think, Miss Jones.”

“I’ll work on my poker face.” The sword was clean. Skirting the Jeharin Explosion, one of the servants carried it to me and dropped to one knee. He bowed his head before looking up, the sword lying flat across his raised palms. “My lady.”

I wasn’t his lady, or his prince’s, but arguing over the form of address had proven futile in the past. “Thank you, but you’d better hand it to someone else. Damian’s not ready.”

The servant blinked, his pale lilac eyes moving to Thorandryll. I realized he was just a boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Most elves seemed frozen somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, so he was the first teenager I’d seen.

“Your Highness?” The kid’s voice quavered.

“Good of you to notice,” Thorandryll said, his lips flattening into a thin line.

The sword-bearer flinched, the tips of his ears turning pink. “M-my apologies, Your Highness.”

Oh, he’d screwed up, speaking to me first. I had the feeling a scathing reprimand was on the way, and did my best to divert Thorandryll. “Get your phone ready, Damian.”

“Just a sec.”

Both elves looked at me, the teen with open-mouthed surprise. Guess no one dared to interrupt when Thorandryll was in a mood. “New protocols. We have to video when I use psychometry on police cases.”

“For what reason?” The prince’s brows drew together, but at least he wasn’t glaring the kid into a puddle of submission.

“Chain of evidence.” Damian moved closer, fiddling with his phone. “And it’ll prevent Cordi from having to appear in court as much.”

I actually didn’t go to court often, but kept my mouth shut. By the time a police case was closed, there was usually enough evidence that having a psychic appear was overkill.

“I see.” And Thorandryll didn’t like it, judging by his scowl. I wondered why, since the jerk hadn’t had a problem parading me before cameras not quite two weeks prior.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Damian held up his phone. “If you would?”

“Discord Jones, natural mage.” I didn’t miss the prince’s tiny startle. “I’m going to use psychometry on this sword and a bow. One, two, three.”

Placing my hand on the sword, I received a quick response. A thrill of rage clenched my teeth, drawing my lips back into a silent snarl. The elf teen’s eyes widened, white showing all the way around his irises. I jerked my hand back. “Whoa. It’s mad. Really, really mad.”

“The emotion is Jeharin’s, yes?” Thorandryll edged into my personal bubble.

“Well, yeah. Inanimate objects don’t have emotions. They’re like batteries.” I needed to touch the sword again, and hoped it would offer something less rage-fueled, and more useful. “I’m going to try again.”

My second attempt wasn’t exactly productive either. A feeling of surprise, darkness becoming light, and nothing else. “They surprised him, but we already knew that.”

About to lift my hand, I paused when an image of me appeared. Not the me currently touching the sword, but a me standing next to a huge black tiger, surrounded by snow. Voices whispered, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Strange. Why would we make such an impression on Jeharin that he retained that memory and passed it into his sword?