Spin the Shadows (Dark and Wicked Fae #1) - Cate Corvin Page 0,55

eyes, when a shrill voice cut above the muttering Garda.

“Jack! Jack Frost, would you be willing to have a word with the SPR? We would love to get an Unseelie perspective on the most recent killing.”

It was Oriande Snowdrop, her perfect face tense with the desire to have the first inside scoop, autumnal hair perfectly coiffed and wearing a suit of gleaming indigo silk.

She was practically clambering over the wall of Garda, a microphone gripped in a pink-manicured hand. Behind her, the Seelie Public Relations van idled at the curb.

Jack glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at me and rolled his eyes. “I need to placate the harpy,” he said quietly. “Briallen, if you ever need anything… you can talk to me. Remember that.”

With that, the Unseelie Queen’s Left Hand turned to the reporter with a cold smile, practically dripping frost with every step.

Gwyn slid a comforting arm around my shoulders. This time I was grateful for it; having seen Fionn’s face alive and vibrant only days ago, now a burned ruin, had formed a sinking pit in the middle of my abdomen.

The fear of the Ghosthand was so much more real having seen the victims up close. I’d heard Fionn screaming through the oak tree’s memories, tasted his blood…

Gwyn released me as I darted around the tree, shielded by trunk and shrubbery, and was quietly sick.

“There’s no shame in this,” he said, holding back my hair. He stroked my back, his fingers tracing my spine. “No matter how many times you see it.”

I wiped my mouth, cheeks burning with shame. “How many times have you seen it, Gwyn?”

He was quiet for a moment. “We ride with death,” he finally said. “It’s become an old friend.”

I sat back on my heels. “Do you still puke when you see dead bodies?”

“Not anymore.” He kept stroking my back. “But I did the first couple times.”

The next breath I drew in shuddered, but calmed me. “Sisse tells me it will get easier. Someday the sight of a corpse will be second nature.” My forehead was beaded with cold sweat. “If I want to do this, I have to get used to it. Puking in bushes doesn’t help catch anyone.”

Gwyn’s hand rested on my shoulder. “There’s a difference between forcing your heart to harden and understanding that death is part of the cycle of life. Don’t force it, or you end up like some of the Hunters: cold and dead inside, with no feeling left at all.”

“But what does it say about me, that I’m happy he’s dead?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet despite the vicious anger in it. “And I’m glad it hurt. I know he’s raped other girls.”

The Hunter at my back squeezed my shoulder gently. “It says nothing about you, except that you can feel. And that the gods were watching and found nothing worth saving in him.”

His low voice was so hard a shiver went down my spine. Was that the voice the lost souls heard before judgment, before he ripped them out of life and dragged them to the Otherworld?

“Gwyn, did the Wild Hunt harvest his soul?”

He frowned, looking around the tree at a bit of ash clinging to a blade of grass. “We didn’t. Which means there was no soul here to take.”

I frowned. Fionn was a disgusting excuse for a Fae, but… no soul?

I stood up and dusted myself off, and Robin separated from the Garda and approached, his black coat flapping behind him.

“Are you feeling well, Miss Appletree?” He sounded concerned, but that cool wall of distance was back between us again.

“I’m fine,” I said shortly. It was like last night had never happened.

I wished I was as good as he was at separating emotions from reality. Or one night from the next morning.

He stepped closer, reaching out to touch my arm, and dropping his hand before it made contact. “The Garda will be looking into Fionn’s movements, and I’m going to need to accompany them. We’ll need this information later.”

I knew what he was trying to tell me. Was it coincidence that the Ghosthand had found Fionn? What would he have been doing wandering around the Mainway at night, if not working for Brightkin?

I nodded, feeling chilly despite the warm sun.

He hesitated, warmth in his eyes as he looked at me, but I could see the moment the shutter slammed down, bringing it back from personal to professional. “Take today off, Miss Appletree, and I mean it. We’ll reconvene in a day for