The Eighth Court (The Courts of the Feyr - By Mike Shevdon Page 0,19

blood soaked into the carpet. That didn’t make sense. Surely you fell first and then bled all over the carpet, so how did the blood get on the wall? The living room didn’t answer the question. It looked like someone had gone berserk, strewing mayhem around the room. But why attack the sofa? What had it done to deserve being hacked to pieces?

The front door was as I suspected. An iron horseshoe was hanging on a hook on the back of the door. I didn’t get too close. It would prevent anyone with fey abilities opening the door, though, which meant that whoever had gained access had come through the back.

I went back through the living room, heading for the bedroom, readying myself for what I might find. An image from my past of a woman lying on a bed with her throat ripped out was at the forefront of my mind. I pushed the door open gingerly. The bedroom looked curiously untouched. The bed was made, the covers pulled over. I checked the far side of the bed, half expecting to find a body. There was only a patterned rug.

That left the bathroom.

I pushed the door open with my foot. There was a shower curtain drawn across the bath, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. The sink was stained with blood. The mirror was streaked with it. The tiles had droplets that had run until they dried. There was a facecloth dyed brown with it. I stepped inside, being careful to avoid treading in the bloodspots on the floor and drew the shower curtain back in one fluid motion.

The bath was empty. Not only that, it was clean. I drew the curtain across again and noted the blood spots on it. They had come into the bathroom and sprayed blood across the sink, the floor and across the outside of the shower curtain, and then left. This made no sense at all. Claire wasn’t fey, and if she’d died her body should still be here. No one was going to carry her body away. So where was she? My mind drifted back the dumpster in the alley. I had stood on top of it to try and reach the fire escape. Had I been closer than I thought?

I stepped carefully out of the bathroom, retracing my steps and went back to the kitchen passage, polishing the light switch to leave no incriminating fingerprints as I switched it off. The welcoming dark hid the stains and the chaos. I retreated to the fire escape and closed the fire-door behind me, finding the chill, clean air welcome after the cloying smell of the flat. Taking the fire escape downwards, I was able to drop from where I had grabbed on to the rail to the alley below.

Hoisting the lid off the dumpster, I expected to see a set of dead eyes. Instead there were plastic rubbish bags. I pulled them apart looking for something that looked less like a bag and more like a body. In the darkness, a flash of bright metal caught my eye. Amidst the bags there was a kitchen knife.

Angling the knife so it caught the light, I could see brown stains smeared across the blade. She had been cutting peppers and tomato, and this definitely wasn’t tomato juice. My assumption was that whoever had found Claire had killed her, but without a body that theory was getting harder to substantiate. This was her knife and it had bloodstains on it.

Maybe she wasn’t dead after all?

When I reached the courts, all was quiet. Amber was watching the Ways. As far as she knew, I’d taken my daughter to visit my ex-wife. I’d returned covered in blood, livid bruises across my face, a gash on my forehead, and carrying a blood-stained knife. She took in my appearance and shook her head once, making no further comment. It made me wonder what would be considered worthy of comment in Amber’s world.

When I reached our rooms I got more of the reception I’d been expecting.

“Niall! What on earth happened to you? And where did you get that?” Blackbird was referring to the knife. She was no longer dressed up for court and looked more like the Blackbird I knew.

“I found it in a dumpster.” It was the truth, but her expression told me it was not sufficient.

“I can’t let you out of my sight for two minutes,” she said. “Angela, bring me a wet towel – with cold water.