Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,4

her, and pulled out a small jar. “Basswood honey.”

“Basswood, you say?” She clasped her hands together. “I haven’t tasted that variety in years.”

“I’m glad you approve.” I passed it to her. “I’ll bring avocado next time.”

Despite being employed by the conclave, tradition dictated a price be paid for the services of the bean-tighe. Mable loved her honey, the more exotic the better. Sucking up to the lady who handed out case assignments was always a stellar idea, but Mable was like family. Spoiling her with rare honey made me happy.

“You are too good to me.” She unscrewed the lid, her eyes closing as she sampled it by dipping her pinky into the jar and licking honey from her finger. “Divine.”

I dropped into the spare chair and leaned forward, propping my elbows on her desk. Two more cookies vanished while she filled out my bonus voucher and printed the necessary paperwork. Chasing O’Shea must have worked up an appetite. “What do you know about the Morrigan’s son, Raven?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. I don’t involve myself with Faerie’s politics when I can help it.” Mable capped her honey and placed it in a desk drawer. “Why do you ask?”

I licked my fingers before remembering where my hands had been. Ick. I gulped Mable’s lemony sweet brew, swishing it around in my mouth. Brushing my teeth with a palm full of sugar would have had the same scouring effect. “Someone claiming to be Raven showed up when I summoned the Morrigan earlier.”

I had been working cases solo for over a year now. Factor in five years of education in the fae private school system, plus sixteen weeks of marshal academy, and my summoning skills should have been topnotch. When I summoned the Morrigan, I expected the Morrigan. Not her next of kin.

“Give me a moment.” Mable cleaned her hands with a wet wipe then clacked a few keys on her computer. “I don’t see any cross-realm travel paperwork filed under his name—or hers.” She glanced up at me. “Did you get a good look at him?”

“No.” The cookie turned sour in my mouth. “He appeared as a floating glob of energy.”

“Hmm. That sounds like a scavenger to me.” She clicked a few more keys. “I’ll file a report and let the magistrates know there was a poaching incident. That’s the fourth one this week.”

“There have been more?” Poaching from the Morrigan was suicidal, so understandably rare.

“Oh, yes.” She bobbed her head. “Territorial disputes happen to us all from time to time, and she holds the monopoly on conclave business. I can’t imagine the other death dealers are too pleased about that.”

I sat back and drummed my fingers on her desk. “So there’s no way it was Raven?”

“No.” She printed out an incident form and slid it over for me to initial. “It’s not possible.”

“Are we talking no-way, no-how possible—” a curious note entered my voice as I signed off on an official version of the event, “—or unlikely?”

Breaches rarely happened, but where there was a will, and a powerful fae, there was usually a way.

“Princes are physically bound to Faerie.” She took the paper, folded it and stashed it in an envelope. “They have other means of visiting. Astral projection. Cognitive illusions. Those sorts of things.”

“I wonder who answered my summons.” I swirled the cubes in my glass to hear them clink.

“I can send you copies of the other reports, if you’d like.” She reached for her notepad. “If a bounty is placed on him, I’ll let you know.”

Figuring the sum would be tidy, I grinned. “That would be much appreciated.”

“There is particular interest in these incidents,” she hedged.

Competition for the higher bounties was to be expected.

“Oh?” I sipped on my tea to get one last cookie down. “Who else wants it?”

“Shaw.”

Despite the drink, my tongue turned cotton-ball dry. “Shaw?”

“Oh dear. You didn’t know.” Her brow wrinkled. “Of course you didn’t. Why would you?”

“Is he—? Shaw’s back?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well. All right.” I set the glass down before my jittery hands dumped it in my lap. “That’s good. Great even.”

Mable cast me a doubtful look.

“I wonder if the Morrigan knows about the poacher,” I blurted to have something halfway sensible to say.

“If she did, she would have killed him by now.”

“If he can be killed.” Not all death-touched fae could be ended.

“There is that.” Mable turned pensive. “You two might consider working the case together. You’re the best suited pair for the job.”

“For old times’ sake?” I asked softly, wincing at the grit in my