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He was silent for a few moments, just watching her face in the low light of the street. Then he sighed. “That someone is me, Maelin.”
His words seemed to have caught her by surprise, and she just stared at him, as if struggling to make sense of them.
Taking advantage of her silence, Cyrus turned to Bram. “We’ll go to the Lantern, Bram. Take the shoe. See if we can find anyone missing who wore shoes like that.”
“Little Gearella.” Bram nodded.
“What?”
“Little Gearella. Lose shoe.”
Maelin cleared her throat. “He’s referring to the children’s story, Cyrus. Little Gearella was kept locked in the cellar of a lovely palace. She managed to get out and attend a ball, wherein she lost her shoe. But...”
“Handsome prince find it,” interrupted Bram enthusiastically. “He find Little Gearella. Put her shoe on, and happy ever after.” He turned to Maelin. “Good story.”
“A very good story, Bram. I loved it.”
Cyrus simply shook his head at them both, turned aside, and began walking down the street. This situation was complicated enough without the addition of a know-it-all young woman, who was probably right, and the sudden realisation that his right hand man read fairy tales and apparently enjoyed them. A lot.
The fact that they followed him, should have been reassuring, but at this point he was quite ready to visit the nearest place that served liquor and order a very large bottle of Crown Foundry brandy.
Silence fell as they walked, which allowed his thoughts to settle. This could well have been a victim from the Crimson Lantern. A Velvet house offering vampires the chance to be themselves in safety, and ensuring their privacy.
Which made some sort of macabre sense, given that he’d already seen a Fae victim and a shifter, killed in the same sort of untidy fashion.
He stopped short, and Maelin almost bumped into him. “What?”
“Bram,” he said quietly. “Was anything missing?”
While Bram frowned, Maelin moved to his side. “How do you mean missing?”
“Was there any body part missing?” He looked at her. “In these killings, there seems to always be something missing. A hand, two ribs...”
“A souvenir?” She frowned.
“Could be. I don’t know. If he’s from the Crimson Lantern, he’s a vampire. Or a vampire-addict.”
Maelin thought for a few moments, remembering the treatise on various creatures, and the humans who became obsessed with them. Then she straightened.
“Cyrus. The skeleton. The skull.” She closed her eyes, reconstructing the image in her mind. “The upper teeth were there, but the fangs weren’t.”
He frowned, remembering. “You’re right. There should have been fangs. Coggles, I’m an idiot. The fang sockets were empty.”
“No fangs, Mr Cy. I saw the head. No fangs.”
Cyrus sighed. “Right then. Now I know. Someone is indeed collecting things. Souvenirs, maybe. Treasures for some unknown reason. I can’t imagine why, but it gives me a place to start.”
Maelin touched his arm. “You’re not alone in this, Cyrus.” She nodded at Bram and then pointed at herself. “It gives us a place to start.”
*~~*~~*
Cyrus and Maelin walked quietly along the darkened street toward the Crimson Lantern. Bram had left them to summon the cleaners, and with luck the street would be cleared as soon as possible. Nothing would be left but a few bloodstains, which—given this was Gloamtide—wasn’t out of the ordinary at all.
When Maelin’s hand crept up and tucked itself around his arm, he sighed quietly, knowing he should never have brought her down to this dark place, but oddly glad she was here with him.
He covered her cool fingers with his own. “All right?”
She nodded. “Yes. Just learning that even in Caelemar, there are terrible things going on.” She glanced at him. “We manage to ignore so many of them, don’t we? Up there?” She nodded her head toward what could be seen of the sky.
