"He was so hungry. Not for sustenance, though that was part of it, but for the hunt." Samuel the werewolf would understand what I meant. "I think that if Fideal had killed the guard, O'Donnell's death would have been different. He'd have been found drowned, or eaten, or never found at all." Putting it into words made it more than a suspicion. "I'll call Uncle Mike and see what he thinks, but I don't believe it was Fideal." I remembered that I had something else to talk to Uncle Mike about, too. "And that walking stick showed up in my car tonight, again."
I started to get up to get the phone, but my legs had had enough and I fell back. "Darn it."
"What's wrong?" The tired relaxation left Samuel between one heartbeat and the next--I gave him an exasperated glance.
"I told you, I'm fine. Nothing some stretches, Icy Hot, and a good night of sleep won't cure." I thought of all the little cuts and decided to do without the Icy Hot. "Can you throw me the phone?"
He plucked it off its base on the table next to the couch and tossed it to me.
"Thanks." I'd been calling him so often the past few days that I had Uncle Mike's number memorized. It took me a few minutes of wading through minions before Uncle Mike himself got on the phone.
"Could Fideal have killed O'Donnell?" I asked without ceremony.
"Could have, but didn't," answered Uncle Mike. "O'Donnell's body was still twitching when Zee and I found him. Whoever killed him did it while we were still standing on the doorstep. The Fideal's glamour isn't good enough to hide himself from me if he were that close. And he'd have bitten O'Donnell's head off and eaten it, not just torn it off."
I swallowed. "So what was Fideal doing at the Bright Future meeting and why wasn't his scent at O'Donnell's?"
"The Fideal went to a couple of meetings so he could keep an eye on them. He told us that they were more talk than action and mostly quit attending meetings. When O'Donnell was killed, he was asked to take another look. And he found himself a nosy coyote with a death sentence on her head--a nice evening snack." Uncle Mike sounded irritated, and not with Fideal.
"And when did the coyote end up with a price on her head and why didn't you warn me?" I asked, feeling indignant.
"I told you to leave it alone," he said, his voice suddenly cold with power. "You know too much and you talk too much. You need to do as you are told."
Maybe if he'd been in the room, I'd have felt intimidated. But he wasn't, so I said, "And Zee would be convicted of murder." There was a long pause, which I broke. "And then he'd be summarily executed as called for by the fae laws."
Samuel, whose sharp ears had no trouble hearing both sides of the phone conversation, growled. "Don't try throwing this on Mercy, Uncle Mike. You knew she wouldn't leave it alone--especially if you told her to. Contrary is her middle name and you played her into looking further than you could. What did the Gray Lords do? Did they order you and the rest of the fae to stop looking for the real killer? Excepting only Zee's capture, they really have no quarrel with the person who killed O'Donnell, do they? He was the one killing the fae and got killed in return. Justice is served."
"Zee was cooperating with the Gray Lords," said Uncle Mike. The apology that had replaced the anger told me not only was Samuel right--Uncle Mike had wanted me to continue investigating--but also Uncle Mike's ears were as sharp as the werewolf's. "I didn't think they would send anyone else to enforce the punishment and the fae here I have some control over. If I'd known they were sending Nemane, I'd have warned you. But she's issued a stay of execution."
"She's an assassin," growled Samuel.
"You wolves have your own assassin, don't they, Samuel Marrokson?" snapped Uncle Mike. "How many wolves has your brother killed to keep your people safe? Do you begrudge us the same necessity?"
"When they come after Mercy, I do. And Charles only kills the guilty, not the inconvenient."
I cleared my throat. "Let's not get diverted from the point. Could Nemane have killed O'Donnell?"
"She's better than that," Uncle Mike said. "If she'd killed O'Donnell, no one would have known it wasn't an accident."
Once more I was left without a suspect.
Any of the werewolves could have done it, I thought, remembering the speed that ripped O'Donnell's head from his body. But they had no reason to, and I hadn't smelled them at O'Donnell's house. The vampires? I didn't know enough about them--though I knew more than I wanted to. I knew they could hide their scents from me if they thought about it. No, O'Donnell's killer had been one of the fae.
Well, if Uncle Mike wanted me to investigate, maybe he'd answer some questions.
"O'Donnell was taking things from the people he killed, wasn't he?" I asked. "The walking stick--which is in my Rabbit, parked off Finley Road over by Two Rivers, Uncle Mike--was one of those. But there were others, weren't there? The first fae killed, Connora, she was a librarian--she'd have had some of the artifacts, wouldn't she? Small things because she was not powerful enough to keep anything anyone else wanted. The walking stick came from the house of the fae with a forest for a backyard. I could smell him on it. What else was stolen?"
I'd been reading Tad's friend's book. There were a lot of things that I wouldn't want in just anyone's hands. There were some things I wouldn't want in anyone's hands.
There was a long pause, then Uncle Mike said, "I'll be over in a few minutes. Stay there."
I tossed Samuel the phone and he hung it up. Then I got to my feet, and retrieved the book I'd borrowed out of the gun safe in my room.
There were actually several walking sticks--one that would lead you home no matter where you roamed, one that allowed you to see people for what they were, and the third, the one that had been following me, was the stick that multiplied the farmer's sheep. None of them sounded bad until you read the stories. No matter how good they seemed, fae artifacts had a way of making their human owners miserable.
I'd found Zee's knife, too. The book called it a sword, but the hand-drawn illustration certainly depicted the weapon I'd twice borrowed from Zee.
Samuel, who'd left the couch to kneel beside my chair as I paged through the section I'd read, hissed between his teeth and touched the illustration: He'd seen Zee's knife, too.