She laid the Elf gently on the shag carpet and turned her attention to Mal. He was staring down at Vetus dangerously.
Maeve’s heart kicked at his expression. She hadn’t seen him kill Kietel. She hadn’t witnessed the revenge in his eyes. The hatred. She had seen him kill, but even in killing his father he was calm and calculated.
Rage resonated from him.
“To sit here, on a pile of gold, and still be so unworthy of possessing it,” said Mal, raising his pointed finger.
The room flashed red, and Vetus lay dead.
Chapter 58
“What do you make of it?”
A camera flashed brightly behind her, photographing Vetus Willus’ crime scene of a house she and Mal had fled only twelve hours before. She had been called there to verify Jema’s confession.
Maeve looked away from Jema and to Doggbind, Head of Magical Law Enforcement. He was a stout man with a full grey beard. Older than her Father.
“She poisoned her,” said Maeve, having just ran through Jema’s mind. Her memory work was perfect. “Would you like to see?”
Doggbind shook his head. “I’ve seen it. She showed me.”
Maeve stood from where she kneeled in front of the short Elf.
“I’m sorry to have caused you any grief, Miss Maeve.”
Maeve looked down at Jema. “You’ve done no such thing. I’m sorry you were treated poorly enough to feel killing her was the only path to relief.”
Doggbind stiffened. Purebloods weren’t the only ones with Elven people for servants.
“Am I excused sir?” She asked.
Doggbind nodded.
Maeve slipped behind him and made for the door.
“Sinclair,” he called after her, his eyes never leaving the photographer and inspector as they made their way around Vetus’ house.
“Sir?”
“Give my regards to Ambrose.”
Vetus’ murder made the front page of the Daily Divination. An unexpected byproduct of their wrongdoings- Clarissa cracked down on every Elf Servent in the household.
Including Zimsy.
Zimsy sat in the corner of Maeve’s favorite reading nook, legs pulled together, the side of her lovely face brutalized with a thin slice. She gazed out the window with a dull, broken expression. Maeve kept her distance.
“Your mother said I needed reminding of what would happen if I ever tried such a thing,” said Zimsy, her voice hollow, absent of all its normal lively timbre.
“Fucking bitch,” muttered Maeve as her stomach turned to acid.
She walked towards Zimsy and took a set opposite her on the window seat, leaning into the wall and curling her legs towards her in a similar fashion.
Zimsy looked at her now. Maeve met her eyes, red and swollen, and cursed swiftly under her breath.
“I promise, Zimsy-”
Zimsy looked away and shook her head. “Don’t.” She tucked her chin on her knees. “Don’t promise me something you can’t keep.”
