“Not teeth.” I examine the impressions of incisors and blunt teeth. I cannot see how even the longest sample incisors could be responsible for beheading a man. “Unless someone is using one as a sword? Could they mount a tooth on a hilt? Why?”
My own encounter with the beast tells me that its teeth are not long enough, and I saw no blade hefted in hand. Teeth are not the right weapon. I turn, then, to the mounted fist impressions of varying sizes. The hands of several creatures are webbed, and a few are massive. One has six forward-facing fingers rather than the normal four forward facing that humans—and the most humanlike faeries—have. “Not fists.”
The thought of something simply swiping the head off a man is not impossible. I think about the spiraling claws, but the cut from such oddly twisted things would not be smooth or straight. I picture them and think it would be more likely to tear—but tearing leaves a different skin pattern than slicing.
I turn then to study the weapon prints. The wounds I’ve seen were as if one strong blow had severed almost the entire head of the victims. That seems to indicate weapons. And the beast was strong—I felt that myself. A sharp blade in a strong creature’s hand could do the damage I’ve seen, but I’m not sure that clawed beasts would use blades. That’s the best guess I have, though.
The plaster casts show each blade line, varying thicknesses, and lengths, but this is still not illuminating. The casts don’t highlight thestrengthof the blade’s wielder. At best, they show width and length of the weapon.
Frustrated yet again by the lack of new information, I make my way to the microscopes and boxes of samples that line several drawers. In these samples are venom, thin hairs, fur, scales, saliva, and even blood sections from several dozen faery species. Though I haven’t brought the samples from the murder sites, I have stared at them long enough that I know what they look like. Unlike a lot of things tied to faery beasts, wherein the contaminants were green, some of the taints left behind from this creature are a hue of purple leaning toward black.
Over the next hour, I slide sample after sample under the lens, make note of the lack of match, and then note it on a piece of paper I’ve brought in my pocket. The purple appears to be faery blood with an additive, as if the faery who bled was contaminated with something.
“What causes that change in the blood?” I ask myself aloud.
The soft clatter of lenses adjusting, samples sliding across platforms, and drawers opening and closing is regularly interrupted by the scratch of my pen tip on the paper. The work, as always, is immersive. The results, unfortunately, are not encouraging.
“Any clues?” The queen’s voice startles me, and I turn with a hand already on my hilt.
Morag’s attention drops to the weapon I quickly release.
“Your Majesty.” I stumble to my feet too slow, curtsy, and face her. “I’d not heard the door open.”
“I came through the passages.” Queen Morag gestures toward the east wall, where a curtain hangs.
Beyond that curtain is a network of hidden passages that can lead to the door into the queen’s rooms, or to another tunnel through which one can wend her way under Regina Centrum. The passages have only one maid assigned to their cleaning, so no one else on staff knows of the route or the access points. Aside from that maid, the only one who could startle me here is the queen.
Yet startled I am. “I saw Isabeau earlier. I heard you mention the curse ... when she was at the vow ceremony,” I begin.
“I am aware.”
“Is sheactuallycursed?” I watch the queen’s expression grow even more placid.
Whatever she knows, she’s not sharing.
“I want to help her. I care deeply for her,” I say. “Did the monster that’s killing men curse her? Is that a clue? Does it kill some victims and curse others?”
“No.”
“No to which?”
“You are misunderstanding the evidence,” the queen says in a low voice, even though we are the only people in the room.
“Are there creatures not in the Hunter’s journals? Not listed in the archive?”
“I would suspect so. I do not visit their lands, but I know that a great many faeries are banned from our world. In truth, we do not enforce it as much as perhaps we should.”
The queen walks over to a small window that is not visible from the street. The angle is such that someone in the archive can stare into the city, but no angle will allow a citizen on the street to see into the archive.It’s notcitizenswe want to prevent, though, is it?I’ve thought about all the faeries that live in Alveus. I still have no species that is the clear suspect.
“Are there dangerous faeries you know are hidden in the city?” I ask. “I am trying to ascertain if the killer is something recently arrived from Faerie, or if it was already here.”
The queen spears me with a look. “You have so many questions I cannot answer.”
“Cannot? You havesecretsthen,” I clarify.
“The nature of being a queen, I fear. Ask direct questions, Hunter. I will neverlieto you.” Queen Morag looks like she wants to share more words.
I have no idea what questions to ask, so I settle on the most direct one. “Do you know what’s killing men?”
