My gaze scanned the cramped living room. Someone was sleeping on the sofa, which had been folded out, blankets piled on top of it. Everything else was spotlessly clean, the faded carpet recently vacuumed. On the floor near the TV, a bowl of cream or milk sat, proving that Vicky Hanson knew how to ensure the brownie would stick around.
“How is it that you came to work here?” I asked.
Typically, only the wealthiest human families could afford a brownie. The brownies themselves weren’t paid, of course, but the dark fae hired them out.
“The unseelie king has made recent efforts to improve his… reputation,” the brownie said. “He has created a charity to benefit the humans, and has tasked some of my people to go to work for those less fortunate than we would typically work for.”
The brownie glanced at the sofa and despite myself, I felt sorry for him. Cleaning, keeping a home tidy, they were compulsions for brownies. Whoever was sleeping on that sofa had asked the brownie not to touch it, and the poor thing must have been on edge all day every day.
Samael stepped forward, something like pity in his gaze as he glanced around the tiny house.
“Where is your master?” he asked.
The brownie puffed his chest out. “Mrs. Hanson is very unwell. I’ll ask you not to upset her,” he said to me, ignoring the demon completely. My lips trembled at the brownie’s affronted tone, as he pretended Samael was invisible.
“I’ll try my best,” I said.
Vicky Hanson was lying in bed, an oxygen mask strapped to her face. Her eyes whirled as we arrived.
“My son. Something happened to my son,” she croaked out, attempting to sit up. Her gaze slid past Samael, obviously not recognizing him. I couldn’t blame her. Who would expect him to be hanging out in a human neighborhood?
“As far as we know, your son is fine. We just need to ask you a couple of questions.”
Sitting up a few inches had exhausted her, and her face was pallid. There was no way this woman was getting behind the wheel of a car.
“Ask,” she croaked out.
“When did you last see your son?”
“Two days ago. I’ve had the brownie contact the police, and I’ve called all his friends, but no one’s seen him.” Her voice hitched and I took a deep breath.
“Your car was involved in a hit and run.”
“But that’s impossible. Peter is the only one who would’ve been driving my car. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Was your car stolen recently?”
Tears filled her eyes as she slowly shook her head. “Peter hasn’t come home. Oh god, he had an accident and he didn’t want me to know.”
How exactly did I break it to her that her son was a murderer? Samael placed his hand on my shoulder and stepped closer to the bed. “Your son killed a witch. He jumped the curb and aimed for her.”
Vicky gasped for oxygen, tears rolling down her face. When she’d caught her breath she shook her head. “He wouldn’t have done that. Peter’s a good boy. He volunteers at the hospital whenever he has a chance. You’re lying. You’re lying about my son.”
Pity welled, even as I took a step closer. “Which hospital, Mrs. Hanson?”
“It’s none of your business. He’s a good boy. He works so hard to pay for my treatments.”
My stomach churned sickly, but I had to find him before he targeted another witch.
“You know what will happen to him if the High Coven finds him. If we find him first, we can negotiate for leniency.”
Tears fell in a steady drip and her breath hitched. “He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.” She closed her eyes, steadying herself in long, slow breaths.
“If he did anything, it was for me. Seeing me like this… it was breaking his heart.”
“Where would he go?”
“He was seeing a girl. Lori. If he’s not with her… we used to visit Emporia when he was small, to see my mother. I always wanted to take him back as a teenager, but I was sick by then. Leave me. Leave me now. Please.”
