“Providing for the girls will be no easy task. Charlene will have to work, of course; children need food and clothing, and what government aid she’ll receive wouldn’t keep a cat in cat food.”
“She’ll have whatever they need.” Conal stared down at the body, his strong jaw taking on a determined jut. “She’s about to discover a wealthy relative has named her in a generous will.”
Maeve arched one green eyebrow. Miranda was starting to wonder if the color was natural after all. “How fortunate for her.”
“If you want to call it that.” His fists opened and closed in an unconscious gesture that shouted of rage. “Vela Greer shouldn’t have ended her life like this. This was not her war. Her children shouldn’t suffer because she happened to walk by my building when a monster came hunting me and mine.”
“And your security guards?” The question held an elaborately casual note, as if Maeve tested him. “The Beast killed two of them as well, did he not?”
He raked a hand through his dark hair in an unconscious gesture, pulling it free of its neat tail to straggle around his face in disordered curls. “They were both good men. I’m not looking forward to breaking the news to Amilo’s partner and Daren’s wife. Sheila and Daren’s son Gabe is only seven.” Conal sighed. “At least he still has his mother, and the insurance policy I maintain for my people is generous enough to take care of their needs.”
Belle frowned. “But what cover story are you going to use? ‘They were eaten by a dinosaur’ is not the kind of thing you put in a police report.”
“Perhaps a drive-by,” Maeve suggested, the modern jargon sounding odd spoken in that curiously ancient accent. “The police will investigate, of course, but there’ll be nothing to find.” She flicked her fingers. Vela’s body was engulfed in a cloud of swirling green fireflies. When they vanished, the body was whole again, a plump, pretty woman whose expression was oddly serene. She wore jeans and a red knit shirt with the restaurant’s flying pizza logo on one breast. The huge blood splatter that had surrounded her had vanished. Her only apparent injury was a gunshot wound in the temple.
Belle blinked. “That’s impressive. I’ve cleaned up bodies with magic, but conjuring the upper half of someone you’ve never even seen . . .”
“Her blood told me how she should appear.” The Sidhe contemplated her work with a certain grim satisfaction. “And this will haunt her children less than the truth. They will be left with a bitter mystery, but there is no help for that.”
“Warlock has a lot to account for.” Conal glanced at Tristan. “I’ll give you whatever help I can. Somebody needs to stop that bastard before he makes any more orphans.”
* * *
Andrew Vance made a very good spy. He’d Shifted to human formed and doubled back, wrapped in a shielding field so thick, not even the Sidhe goddess sensed he stood fifteen feet away. He’d even taken the extra precaution of standing behind a Dumpster, since the spell wouldn’t stop the Slut’s lover from seeing him.
This was a very big risk. If the wind shifted and the werewolves scented him, he was a dead man. Given that blazing power signature, the goddess could burn him to a cinder with one flick of her fingers. He wouldn’t have a prayer of defending himself; she was far beyond his power class.
Christ, what an utter goat fuck this little adventure had been. The General had ordered him to kill his whoring daughter and her lover before they could fulfill this prophecy of theirs. Which he’d at first thought so ludicrous, Vance had wondered why Warlock was worried.
Then the goddess arrived, and suddenly the whole thing seemed a lot more believable—and dangerous.
To make matters worse, Vance had failed. Failed despite the spell Warlock had laid on the Slut, designed to make her freeze in terror the moment she heard her father’s voice. That crucial instant
“She’ll have whatever they need.” Conal stared down at the body, his strong jaw taking on a determined jut. “She’s about to discover a wealthy relative has named her in a generous will.”
Maeve arched one green eyebrow. Miranda was starting to wonder if the color was natural after all. “How fortunate for her.”
“If you want to call it that.” His fists opened and closed in an unconscious gesture that shouted of rage. “Vela Greer shouldn’t have ended her life like this. This was not her war. Her children shouldn’t suffer because she happened to walk by my building when a monster came hunting me and mine.”
“And your security guards?” The question held an elaborately casual note, as if Maeve tested him. “The Beast killed two of them as well, did he not?”
He raked a hand through his dark hair in an unconscious gesture, pulling it free of its neat tail to straggle around his face in disordered curls. “They were both good men. I’m not looking forward to breaking the news to Amilo’s partner and Daren’s wife. Sheila and Daren’s son Gabe is only seven.” Conal sighed. “At least he still has his mother, and the insurance policy I maintain for my people is generous enough to take care of their needs.”
Belle frowned. “But what cover story are you going to use? ‘They were eaten by a dinosaur’ is not the kind of thing you put in a police report.”
“Perhaps a drive-by,” Maeve suggested, the modern jargon sounding odd spoken in that curiously ancient accent. “The police will investigate, of course, but there’ll be nothing to find.” She flicked her fingers. Vela’s body was engulfed in a cloud of swirling green fireflies. When they vanished, the body was whole again, a plump, pretty woman whose expression was oddly serene. She wore jeans and a red knit shirt with the restaurant’s flying pizza logo on one breast. The huge blood splatter that had surrounded her had vanished. Her only apparent injury was a gunshot wound in the temple.
Belle blinked. “That’s impressive. I’ve cleaned up bodies with magic, but conjuring the upper half of someone you’ve never even seen . . .”
“Her blood told me how she should appear.” The Sidhe contemplated her work with a certain grim satisfaction. “And this will haunt her children less than the truth. They will be left with a bitter mystery, but there is no help for that.”
“Warlock has a lot to account for.” Conal glanced at Tristan. “I’ll give you whatever help I can. Somebody needs to stop that bastard before he makes any more orphans.”
* * *
Andrew Vance made a very good spy. He’d Shifted to human formed and doubled back, wrapped in a shielding field so thick, not even the Sidhe goddess sensed he stood fifteen feet away. He’d even taken the extra precaution of standing behind a Dumpster, since the spell wouldn’t stop the Slut’s lover from seeing him.
This was a very big risk. If the wind shifted and the werewolves scented him, he was a dead man. Given that blazing power signature, the goddess could burn him to a cinder with one flick of her fingers. He wouldn’t have a prayer of defending himself; she was far beyond his power class.
Christ, what an utter goat fuck this little adventure had been. The General had ordered him to kill his whoring daughter and her lover before they could fulfill this prophecy of theirs. Which he’d at first thought so ludicrous, Vance had wondered why Warlock was worried.
Then the goddess arrived, and suddenly the whole thing seemed a lot more believable—and dangerous.
To make matters worse, Vance had failed. Failed despite the spell Warlock had laid on the Slut, designed to make her freeze in terror the moment she heard her father’s voice. That crucial instant
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