She shook her head, platinum white hair catching the dappled light like spun webs. “I have an inkling, but nothing solid as of yet.” She pressed a finger briefly to her temple, the gesture oddly human. “Without any evidence, there is little I can do.”
“But when you find proof of who was responsible? Will you turn them over to the police?”
“No,” she answered. “The laws of youmuritorsmean next to nothing to us. The freshly formedPax Tacere, however, carries significant weight.”
“Obviously,” I said.
Truthfully, though, I knew next to nothing of thePax Tacere—some secret pact formed between the supernaturals before the veil fell—because it was already ancient history by the time I was born in my first life. Of course,shedidn’t know of my ignorance, and I wasn’t about to parade it around.
But I made a note to look into it. Knowing it was recent meant there could be information hidden somewhere in the libraries Charlie and I ventured to. It was something.
She shifted on her branch, her ivory dress whispering against bark. “Even if Ididhave evidence that proves who killed that boy, I doubt I would bother to take it to my father. Neither he nor the other kin wish to ruffle the veil, and I do not blame them. Not when gods are roaming.”
That got my attention. “The veil is a physical thing? And which gods?” I met her eyes, curious whether she’d answer, knowing I was pushing my luck. She was being oddly forthcoming with information, more than I’d expected from a creature notorious for hoarding secrets.
“I’m surprised you have to ask that question, handsome. You seem so,” she bit her lip as she pondered her words, “well informed.” Her fingers traced the embossed title on her book’s cover, the gesture almost nervous. “All I will say is that no kin nor clan wants the scales tipped either for or against them right now, lest they suffer the attentions of the current reigning gods. . . gods who are ever so insecure on their thrones.”
Classic immortal politics. Everyone is jockeying for position while pretending to maintain the status quo. It’s not much different from my first life.
“It sounds as if you are in a tight spot, then. Are there any kin specifically giving you. . . trouble?” It was no business of mine what went on between supernaturals and gods. However, considering I had cheated Death once after dying to The Library’s Hunter, I felt it was in my best interest to understand the current political landscape.
She regarded me with a dissecting stare, her head tilting at an angle wrong enough to remind me she wasn’t human. “Why do you ask,muritor? Are you offering your aid?” She laughed as she said it, as if the very thought of my help was hilarious to her.
This is a stupid thing to say, I thought as I said, “And if I am?”
She laughed harder, the sound like silver bells mixed with breaking glass. “And if you are what? How couldyoupossibly helpme?”
I knew this was a gamble, but I’d already come this far. I took a deep breath before I said, “You said you have a suspect for the murder, but lack evidence? What would you do if I found that evidence?”
Her laughter died down. “Oh, you were being serious?” She sat straighter, and as she spoke, her voice carried the weight of centuries, coloring each word. “Between the Strega’s Nine Sins and Death’s ire,nobodywishes to have attention drawn to them in this moment. . . lest they desire to join a Grim on their journey to the beyond.”
Nine Sins? That was something else I should look into, but her comment on Death is what had me curious.
“So even you immortals fear Death?” That tidbit of information was fascinating. I knew supernaturals could die, having hunted a few myself in my previous life. But immortals? This was gold. And while I had seen depictions of Grims in lore, I had no desire to meet one in person.
She snickered. “Some things are worse than dying,muritor. All things end. That is the way of things.” Her eyes held mine, ancient and knowing. “Even those who evade a Grim or cheat Death itself come to learn that lesson before the end. The finality of Time greets them. . . eventually.”
“Unless you manage to cheat even that,” I said quietly.
“An interesting choice of words,” she mused. “I only know of two that have escaped Death and Time’s grasp.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I would be careful if that is the information you seek.”
I took note of her warning, filing it away with all the other dangerous knowledge I’d accumulated. “Thank you. I will remember that.”
Her gaze was steady, scrutinizing, peeling back layers I’d rather keep hidden. “Tell me, what do you plan to do if you find out it is one of our kind? Banter until they confess, or simply offer your neck with your stupidity?”
“Vampyress,” I said, my tone grave and sincere. “I would never insult the intelligence of your kind.”
“You insult it by seeking me out when it should be the other way around.” There was no heat in her words, just observation.
I stood, brushing bits of bark from my dark jeans, and turned my back to her. A clear sign of trust among predators—exposing the throat, the spine, all the vulnerable places. “I merely wished to know if it was you.”
“And you trust me?” The question carried genuine curiosity.
I waved as I walked away, my footsteps silent on the grass. “You have given me no reason not to.” I looked back at her, still perched in her tree like some ethereal creature from a fairy tale. “If it is one of your kind, I pray they know the old ways and will adhere to them like you do.”
“Do not pray,muritor. You will only be disappointed.” Her voice carried across the distance between us, clear as crystal. “Were I any other of my kin, you would have been dead the moment you stepped near.” She hesitated, seeming to consider her next words carefully. “What I heard through my connections was that the boy’s body had been ravaged, similar to a wild animal. . . do with that what you will.”
That gave me weighted reassurance. Our acquaintance was etched in a thin line of trust, built on hidden stories neither of us wished to disclose.
