mother. Our trip to the Outs was good, and it drew me closer to him.
Okay and dating Eli as a whole. That was going really well.
And so was my resolve at the not-having-intercourse with Eli. Honestly I tried not to think about it, but Eli was as damnably perfect for me. I felt treasured, but also satisfied. It was enough to make a rational woman beg to marry him. A lifetime of that? Yes, please.
Unfortunately for both of us, I like Eli far too much to marry him.
I spent a few hours resisting the urge to see him, but I failed over and over—which is why I was sitting at the bar watching Christy free a tourist of the burden of his bank roll. Honestly, if he hadn’t been flashing it around, she would’ve gone easy on him, but flash a thick roll of twenties, and someone will have it by the end of the night. At least Christy’s method wouldn’t involve bloodshed.
When I received a festively-decorated package that was delivered to the bar on ice, I had the good sense to carry it into the back room. Maybe it was fine. Maybe it was edible. But it was delivered by a draugr.
When I saw that it was from Beatrice, I had my doubts that anything good would come of it.
“Butterdrop?” Eli asked.
“Draugr delivery.”
We closed the door and exchanged a look. I held up an envelope. That was easier to make sense of: cash. Beatrice paid me well for my services. I set it aside. I knew it was more than I’d charge, but I wasn’t too proud to accept it. No one else could do the things I did. Sometimes people who realized that paid extra—which meant that when they needed me again, I’d make time for them.
I plopped the silver foil-wrapped box on the counter and untied the bold blue ribbons. “Maybe it’s a toaster or pressure cooker? Rare liquor?”
Eli gave me a look. “And maybe you’ll take up macramé.”
“It could happen. I have hidden depths.” I loosened the lid, not quite ready to face the contents. Nothing involving Beatrice was ever simple.
“You’re stalling.” Eli pointed at the box on the wooden table beside us. It looked festive, and whatever it was, I doubted that it would explode or injure us.
Tentatively, I opened the box. To exactly no one’s surprise, there was no pressure cooker, salad bowls, or even macramé supplies. There, surrounded by ice packs, was the head of Weasel Nuts, the man who’d shot at me at the Cormier job. On top of his severed head, jabbed into the meat of his forehead, was Harold’s ornate broach.
“There’s a letter.” Eli unfolded the paper that had been in the envelope and read: “‘Hunters ought to be rewarded. Harold employed miscreants to discover your abilities. This human expired before sharing further knowledge.’”
“Is it me or are there a lot more brushes with death lately?”
“It is far more frequent than I’d like.” Eli tucked the cash and letter in a pocket.
We’d long ago realized that I’d misplaced far too many things for me to be the one handling deposits. Eli, along with being my partner in the field, had begun to handle my accounting. I trusted him more than myself on this.
“Do you know what to do with that?” I nodded at the garish jewels jabbed in Weasel Nuts’ forehead.
“Sell or store it.” Eli shrugged. “Antique, obviously.”
I wasn’t squeamish often, but unpinning the broach from the dead man’s head was not terribly appealing. I put the lid back on it for now.
“I have a woman who handles gems. I brought a cache with me when I moved here,” Eli said in that uniquely Eli way that was somehow downplaying his connections and wealth. “They covered the bills of a life here—until I established the tavern—and then I sell one now and again.”
He looked at me and stressed, “Bonbon, I would suspect the ruby alone will be between six and thirty thousand, simply due to size and clarity.”
I swallowed. Who in their right mind wore jewels like that? And who pinned them to the head of dead men?
Obviously, Beatrice was not wanting for funds, but her proclamation of familial ties was said so carelessly. I was starting to think my dear, dead, many-times-great-gran truly liked me. It was, in truth, a bit disconcerting.
I shuddered. “Do whatever you think best with it.”
“Shall I dispose of . . . the contents as well?”
“I have no use for the head of Weasel Nuts,