involved in Stiofan’s murder and not just easy scapegoats? If they were meant to simply disappear after it was known we were searching for Lunabella, it would have been simple to assume she’d run into hiding because she was guilty.”
“Well, it won’t be definitive, but . . .” Falin walked to Jurin’s body and lifted one of his hands. He carefully removed the dress glove he wore and examined the man’s skin. Then he held the hand up, twisting it so moonlight trailed over the fae’s palm.
His bloody palm.
Jurin was winter court. Falin was the only courtier in winter with sanctioned bloody hands. He hadn’t necessarily taken part in killing Stiofan, but he’d killed someone, and recently. So Stiofan was a damn good possibility. Falin approached Lunabella next, gently stripping off one of her bright yellow gloves. Blood stained her palm as well.
I shivered, tearing my gaze away.
Dugan frowned at me. “You really don’t like dead bodies, do you?”
“No. I don’t. Does anyone?”
He considered that, opened his mouth, likely to mention any number of disturbed conditions people might have, but at my glare he smiled. “It just seems quite detrimental to have such a strong aversion considering your profession.”
I shrugged. “I work through it. And up until about six months ago, it wasn’t an issue. I never dealt with murder scenes, or weird unexplainable conditions with corpses, or having to carry bodies. I met with clients and the bodies were already nicely buried, or in coffins, or occasionally in body bags at the morgue.” I turned to Falin. “You know, it was the day I met you that things all went FUBAR.”
“I hope you’re not blaming me,” he said, but he smiled. Yeah, he was flirting over a dead body. Because this was my life now.
“I blame him,” a masculine voice said behind me, and I jumped.
Whirling around, I found myself face-to-face with Death.
My mouth went dry. It had been over a month since I’d last seen him. Our last good-bye had been mutual but painful. He was a soul collector and I was mortal and it just wasn’t a maintainable relationship. We both knew that. While the logical part of my brain had known it was for the best, my heart didn’t believe me. Also, he’d been my best friend long before he’d been my lover, and losing both in one stroke was the worst part. If I was honest with myself, I was angry with him for not being there to help me heal from the heart he’d broken.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, and then cringed because even I could hear the edge of hurt in my voice.
“Alexis?” Dugan asked behind me, concern tinting his voice.
“She does this,” Falin told him as a way of explaining my habit of talking to beings no one else could see. Then he turned toward me. “Ghost or collector?” He studied my face in the moonlight and scowled before answering his own question. “Collector.”
Yeah, Falin and Death didn’t like each other.
“You’ve been . . . busy,” Death said, looking around. I was standing on a hill with a prince, a knight, and two dead bodies. Yeah, I’d been a little busy. He frowned. “I’ve been looking for you for the better part of the last two days.”
I lifted my shoulders in an awkward shrug as I fidgeted with the skirt of my gown, wishing it had pockets. “I had Faerie stuff.”
“You say this is normal? Who is she talking to? No one is there,” Dugan said behind me.
I twisted around and shot him a glare. “Hey, you talk to shadows. I talk to ghosts and soul collectors. Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”
“You’re hurt,” Death said. “And the old wounds in your soul are inflamed.”
He took a step forward, but I took a step back. It would be way too easy to fall into old habits, but we’d already had this dance and come to the inevitable end. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t go out looking to get hurt.
Death and I stared at each other for a long moment. He was the one to look away.
“Don’t die in Faerie, Al.”
“Not high on my to-do list.” Obviously.
He didn’t seem to know what to say after that. This kind of awkward had never been part of our relationship in the past. But things were different now. I needed something to do with my hands, but there was nothing. No pockets. Nothing to fidget with.