Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,23
from sharp cheekbones by a black, trident-shaped, and very dangerous-looking hairpin. His features bordered on effeminate, and he was unmistakably from Okoro stock, even though his eyes were as blue as summer skies. But it was his skin that gave his true origins away—it had a grayish tint. His ears were also pointed.
When Henry had described him, he’d used the feminine pronoun rather than masculine. I wasn’t sure why; despite his effeminate features, the man below clearly identified as male. But then, halflings were hermaphrodites and able to switch between functioning as a male and a female. Perhaps he’d taken on a more feminine look when he set out to murder my cousins. It would certainly explain how he’d gotten unchallenged into the house—Gareth had been a ladies’ man. Maybe he’d quite literally invited death into his home …
Winter slammed the car door closed and stalked into the house. I shifted uneasily, wanting to see what he was up to but knowing full well moving from my hiding spot could lead to disaster. These people—this man—had been two steps ahead of us from the get-go. If we wanted to reverse that situation, then we—or rather I—needed to proceed cautiously. I shifted shape and called Mo.
“What’s up?” she said without preamble.
“The halfling who killed Gareth and Henry—the one called Winter—just turned up.”
“Don’t you dare go in after her.”
“He identifies as a male from the look of it, and I don’t intend to.”
“Promise me.”
“Mo, he’s going into a possible nest of creepy-crawly half-human things. There’s no way known I’m going in alone.”
She grunted, somehow managing to sound unconvinced. “It’s going to take us a good fifteen minutes to get over there. Sit tight, and let me know if the situation changes.”
“I will.”
I shoved the phone back into my pocket and then resumed my other form. I had no idea if anyone was home in the houses opposite, but they were more likely to notice—and report—a strange woman huddled on a rooftop than a bird.
The minutes ticked slowly by, and it began to rain again. I fluffed out my feathers and huddled closer to the chimney; while it at least protected me from the worst of the wind, it nevertheless was damn cold and uncomfortable.
Winter came back out a few minutes later, jumped into his Merc, and quickly left. I ran across the roof to see which direction he went and then slid back, changed form, and called Mo.
“How far away are you?”
“Five—why?”
“Winter’s just left. I’m going to follow him, but I can’t take my daggers—they’ll just slow me down.”
“Where are they?”
“Sitting in the gutter of next door’s shed. I’ll ring as soon as I have a location.”
She didn’t say be careful. She didn’t need to. I shoved my phone away, then shifted shape and leapt skyward. The speed limit around these parts was low, so it didn’t take me very long to catch up. If there was one thing to be thankful for about this damn storm, it was the fact that my light plumage made it harder to pick me out against the sky. While there’d been a slight chance the Aranea didn’t know I was a whitewashed blackbird, those odds were nonexistent when it came to Winter.
He drove past Ainslyn’s main Hospital and Urgent Care Center and then turned left onto the highway. He left it again after a couple of kilometers, continued on for a few more, and then turned into a tree-lined country lane surrounded by farmlands. Eventually, he pulled off the road and parked in front of a field gate. I swooped down and perched on the branch of an ash—and not a moment too soon. Winter looked around as he climbed out of his car and then looked up, studying the skies for what seemed like an extraordinarily long time. I made like a rock. The ash’s foliage was fairly thick, but one wrong move could easily reveal my plumage.
With a satisfied grunt that was barely audible from where I was perched, Winter locked his car and then walked down the road to an open water drain. After another look around, he ducked under the old wooden barrier, then jumped down and disappeared from sight. I hesitated, well aware that I was alone and without my weapons, then mentally smacked myself. Unless he had a gun, he couldn’t actually hurt me—not when I was on the wing, anyway. I leapt out of the tree and swooped toward the drain.