Grave Dealings (The Grave Report, Book 3) Read online

  The facts I did have weren’t adding up to much. There was only one thing to do: gather more.

  My body had healed during the siesta, but phantom aches plagued my lower back as I braced myself against the wall. I pushed off the back of my heels as I shimmied to stand. A series of cracks rang out from the base of my neck and I turned towards the alley’s mouth.

  Daniel’s gallery gave me a bit of insight into the man’s life and work, but nothing stood out as a reason for killing the fella. If I was right about the state of security in the gallery, some form of alarm had been tripped by the troll. The cops had likely paid a visit after we’d tumbled through the Neravene.

  They’d be looking for Daniel. And I’d been napping the morning away after a break-in.

  Oh crap!

  I pushed off the wall, racing down the alley. Returning to the gallery wasn’t an option. I had to get back to his place and fast. The police had likely tried to get a hold of him somehow.

  I maintained my frantic pace as a notion crossed my mind. My hand went into my pocket and closed around Daniel’s phone. I plucked it free and held it before my face. The screen was a spider-web of cracks. It was a small miracle the phone hadn’t shattered completely given the beaten I’d taken. My thumb pressed against one of the buttons. The screen flashed. I squinted to make out a symbol informing me that Daniel had indeed missed several calls.

  Great. Moving around with the discretion and autonomy I needed was going to be a chore now the cops were involved.

  I crossed a busy intersection, giving no regard to passersby or the traffic signs. Street signs blurred, but a distant part of my brain managed to recognize them. I sorted out where I was and asked more from my legs as I hammered along.

  Scenery and thoughts melded together to become a blur I had to bury. I focused on breathing. Even I’m susceptible to fatigue after a certain point. I didn’t have the option of caving into it.

  Thankfully, Shum wasn’t the complete trolly tool I’d made him out to be. The alley he’d dumped my spirity keister in wasn’t too far from Daniel’s apartment.

  I rounded the corner of a block, and it came into view. My pace slowed to a crawl, allowing me a moment to double over and place my palms on my knees. It’d been a hell of a run.

  There weren’t any police cars parked along the block. That was a good sign. If they had visited Daniel’s place, they were long gone. I swallowed. But if they did check it out, they could have found and collected something I might have needed. My stomach felt like a bundle of rope balled into knots.

  I cast a wary eye to both sides of the street before crossing. Nothing stood out. But then, nothing stood out before I had been assaulted by two creatures from the Fair Lands.

  “Fucking faeries.” I opened the door as my grumbling morphed into incoherent muttering. People passed by, and I paid them no mind. I fixated on what to do in the event an officer had remained behind to check out Daniel’s pad.

  It would be an interesting predicament having to explain to a cop what was going on. An explanation I wasn’t keen on giving. I crossed my fingers as I passed the doors leading to Daniel’s. My hand fell onto the knob, and I froze.

  Using the outside of my palm, I rolled it, giving the knob a light jostle. There was no click of resistance. It was unlocked. Someone, or something, was inside. I took a breath and turned the knob. The door opened just enough for me to slip a credit card through. I pushed a bit more, easing it as I peered through the crack.

  I blinked several times as I examined what I could see of the apartment. It didn’t look like the police had stopped by at all. Hell, it looked like a cleaning crew had come through. I released my hold on the knob, letting the door drift open. My jaw hung slack as I scanned the place.

  It was perfect. The apartment could have been used in magazines featuring cleanliness. You hear about places that are tidied up to the point they nearly sparkle. I looked to his countertops and the windows. They fit the description.

  “What in the...” I trailed off and stepped further into his place, brushing my hand against the door. It shut as I moved to the center of the room.

  “Ackh!” My throat tightened and the insides of my nose followed. The scent of pine freshener barraged my senses. It was overpowering, like someone had snuck in and doubled up on it.

  Someone had definitely come through here.

  A sound like someone letting air out of a balloon came from the bathroom. It lasted a split second.

  Or...someone’s still here, Graves.

  I took another whiff and thought about the cleanup. Things clicked into place. The stench of pine intensified as I drew closer to the bathroom. It was thick enough to taste when I leaned against the door. I grasped the handle and twisted. The second it unlocked, I stepped back and pulled a knee to my chest. My leg snapped out sending my heel crashing into the door.

  The bathroom was empty. I brought a hand up to mask my mouth and nose as the stink threatened to choke me. The mirror shone like it’d just been cleaned. White tiles glistened under the light in a manner that homeowners wished was possible. The tub and metal framing were the same. It took more than expensive cleaning supplies and elbow grease to make this kind of clean happen.

  I stopped and homed in on the potted plant sitting at the outside corner of the tub. A simple thing of clay nursing a slender stalk of green. It was devoid of flowers. Green, pointed leaves like oak sprouted from its sides. It was nice.

  Except Daniel didn’t have a plant the last time I checked his bathroom. I thought back to the door and smiled. The tip of my right shoe ground against the tiles. I pulled it back, dragging a bit of street dust and grime against the clean tiles. My eyes remained fixed on the plant.

  One of the leaves twitched. Any sane person would have attributed it to a stir of the wind. Great theory if we were outside or the air conditioning was blowing.

  My smile widened. I lashed out with my foot. The front of my shoe struck the pot, sinking into it like it was a pillow.

  A high-pitched scream tore through the bathroom. I fell to my knees and pressed a hand to the creature’s mouth. “Jesus, shut it!”

  The little freak struggled. He was about three feet—tops.

  “Ow!” I yanked my hand back, shaking it as a row of crimson droplets formed over my index finger. It felt like I had brushed it against a cactus. The little shit bit me.

  I glared at him, giving him a look to settle down, otherwise my foot would lodge itself firmly up his faerie ass. I rolled up the sleeves of my jacket to make the point.

  He stared back at me. His eyes were a shade of green that could only be found in nature and were tinged with hints of white. It was like looking at pine needles. They stood out against his sun-bronzed skin. “What was that for?” He puffed up his bare chest.

  I shook my head. I didn’t know what it was with some faeries and their aversion to clothing. At least he was wearing a pair of leather breeches. “You’re in my home, and you’re asking me why I kicked you?”

  The creature deflated, running a hand through his comical hairdo. It was styled like a paintbrush. His hair was the same shade of brown as you’d find in the bristles, and it stood up nearly a foot. It was ridiculous.

  I reminded myself I was dealing with a supernatural creature. Ridiculous was part of the job.

  He jabbed a slender finger at me. “You kicked me after I cleaned this filth. Was a chore too, I’ll say that much, ungrateful, lousy....”

  I tuned out as the little monster rambled on.

  He vibrated and shook his head. “Wait a tick, mortal, why aren’t you surprised to see me here? You should be terrified! I am of the fae.” He raised his arms above his head, spreading his fingers out like they were menacing claws.

  They weren’t. But it was a cute act.

  I fell back against the door, pressing a hand to my stomach. The rolling laugh filled the bathroom and caused him to shrink. “Creature of the fae? You’re a puck. You’re a paranormal maid sans the outfit
and cleaning supplies. Come on, you...” I blanked out for a moment. “Wait a second. Why are you cleaning my place?”

  He snorted. “Your place? You’re not the owner. He died.”

  What?

  It’s always a possibility that I could run into someone or something that knows the person I’m wearing is dead. The amount of times it’s happened, though—well, that’s something else. It makes things easy.

  My hand snaked out, fingers digging into the puck’s throat. I grunted and heaved. The creature’s feet dangled near my waist as I pressed him against the wall. “How do you know that?” I bared my teeth.

  There’s something lodged in the back of every living creature’s brain when it comes to flashing your teeth like that. Be it a wolf, a man, a monster—there’s a silent message that comes across. It’s a threat. I didn’t have impressive fangs or a handful of chipped and stained troll’s teeth. I didn’t need to. My action accentuated the point, and the puck got it.

  I felt his throat harden against my fingers as he swallowed. I shook him. “Speak!”

  He didn’t.

  I sighed. Pucks are a far cry from trolls and the scarier creatures out of Faerie. They’re honestly nothing more than neurotic neat freaks. Torturing one for information wasn’t something I wanted to do, but I needed answers. I grimaced and pulled my fist back.

  The puck’s body tensed. He winced and raised his hands to cover his face.

  I turned and swung my arm behind me. The back of my fist struck a glass container of liquid soap. It flew through the air, shattering as it struck the wall. Gel trailed along the bathroom as it slid to the floor.

  The woodland spirit’s eyes bulged. “What are you doing?” He squirmed and batted my arm.

  I gave silent thanks that he didn’t have supernatural strength. I flashed him a feral grin. “I’m redecorating.” The sole of my shoe sank into the puddle of soap and I pulled my foot back. Liquid cleanser dragged with it, leaving a thin, translucent layer of the slippery substance over the polished tiles.

  The puck bucked harder. His throat burbled with sounds like those of an upset stomach.

  It was working. My grin widened as my fingers fumbled with the latch on the medicine cabinet. I flung it open, stifling a laugh as I spotted all manner of goodies. The confines of the room made it easy for me to lean over without relinquishing my hold on the little fae. I plucked a can of shaving cream free from a shelf. It was too hard to resist. A maniacal smile stretched across my face. I made sure the puck noticed it.

  His eyebrows rose to the point where it looked like they’d touch his hairline. “You...monster!”

  I snorted. “Monster? That’s rich considering you’re involved with this guy’s death.” I lowered my head, touching my chin to my chest to make the point.

  The puck sputtered and shook his head.

  “Save it. I know you didn’t kill him.”

  He froze, managing to turn his head just enough to shoot me an oblique stare.

  I had his attention. “Come on, murder isn’t the MO for a puck. Having a fit because someone did this...” My grin widened, and I thumbed the cap off the can and depressed the nozzle. A white torrent of cream looped and squirted through the air. It struck the tub’s frosted glass screen, trickling down. I shook the can and pointed the nozzle at the floor.

  The puck sucked in a breath. His lip curled, and his breath escaped as a whimper.

  I pressed down again. Cream collected into a small pile over a section of the tile. First soap, now this. Fireworks must have been going off in his brain. The little fella would short circuit if I kept it up. I was sorely tempted.

  “Stop!” The puck shimmied and beat the back of his heels against the wall. “Stop, stop, just stop!” Tears formed along his eyelids. A few beads dribbled down his face.

  Wow. I had really struck a nerve. A fist-sized pang went through my heart and gut. I felt a hint of guilt for hurting the little guy. It could have been worse. I could’ve pummeled him. I buried the guilt. “You ready to talk?”

  He bobbed his head so fast I was afraid he’d damage his spine. “Yes. Yes-yes-yes. Just....” He whimpered again and nodded to the can.

  I bowed my head and released my hold. The can struck the floor, bouncing before coming to rest. “Talk.”

  The puck glanced down to my hand then to me.

  I sighed and released my grip.

  He crashed to the floor, wobbling as he fought to stand straight. “What do you want to know, you sociopath?”

  I blinked. Sociopath? Me? The hell I am! I glared and reached for the zipper on Daniel’s pants. “Keep talking crap and I’ll take a leak all over the just-scrubbed floor.”

  His face went blank for a microsecond before his jaw dropped. He looked like I’d threatened to burn down an entire forest. Pucks are among the biggest tree-huggers you’ll find, literally.

  Maybe my threat was a bit over-the-top. That didn’t make me a sociopath, did it? I shook my head and cleared away those thoughts. “How do you know the owner of this place died? Why were you here at all? I smelled your scent twice. Once before when this place was a mess, and now.”

  His eyes looked like they were going to spin any second under the barrage of questions. They settled a moment later. He cleared his throat and looked around the room as if searching for an escape. His shoulders sank when he realized there was none. “I was asked—no—compelled to be here.” The puck’s brows touched at the center of his forehead as it crinkled. His eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as well.

  Something pushed him to this, and it didn’t sit well with the forest fae. Many supernatural creatures have their own nature. It’s something beyond a personality. Older, deeper things take root inside them and compel them to be the way they are. Little to large, many creatures don’t like being forced or tricked into doing something outside their nature. That anger was something I could use.

  I motioned with a lazy roll of my hand for him to continue.

  He took a deep, calming breath and nodded more to himself than me. “Yes. I was enticed to come here and...” The words froze in his throat. He swallowed the lump with a shudder. “Forced to make a mess.” His hands pressed to his biceps as he squeezed and rubbed them in a reassuring self-hug.

  I tried not to smile. It would be an asinine thing to do. The little guy was distraught over the disarray in Daniel’s apartment earlier. It was sort of pathetic and adorable at the same time. I smiled.

  I’m an ass.

  I bit my lower lip, breaking the smile until I could look like I was serious. It took me a moment. “Okay, something made you do this. I get that. Sorry about that by the way. I know it’s hard going against your nature like that. It must’ve hurt.” The sympathy card is hard to play with some members of the supernatural. With others, it’s easier.

  The puck looked me in the eyes with an expression of mild relief.

  There isn’t much to relate humans to magical creatures, but all of us have feelings. Whether we’re in control of them or not. Whether we’re in good states of mind and mood or not. Whether we act on them or not. Just because there’s a world of differences in our looks doesn’t mean we’re without our similarities. Sometimes all that separates a man from being a monster, and a monster from being a man, is what they’re willing to do and act on. It’s a thin line and a rather fragile thread. A connecting thread that’s useful. Tugging on it for information is a delicate art.

  Too much pull, and something breaks. Not enough and no info. If I went heavy on the act, he’d lock up and leave me with squat.

  I held up a hand, gesturing that it was okay for him to take a moment.

  He sniffed and nodded.

  So far, so good.

  The puck cleared his throat again. “I didn’t want to, of course.”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “It didn’t give me a choice.”

  “What didn’t? It threatened you?”

  “Yes. Don’t ask me what it was. All I know is that it’
s pulled from mortal nightmares.”

  I swallowed, hoping it wasn’t audible. That wasn’t good news. Something straight out of our nightmares. Those are bad enough to endure when they’re just figments of your imagination. Not counting the actual bad memories. Trust me. I’ve lived through enough to have my fair share of those.

  My thoughts flashed to an asylum where shadows skulked across the walls. I smacked my palm against the side of my head. It brought me back to reality. That wasn’t a case I wanted to think about.

  Here. Now, Graves. Focus.

  I sank to my haunches, getting eye level with the little faerie. “Can you tell me anything more?”

  His eyes darted from side-to-side like he was worried someone was nearby and would reprimand him for speaking. “It’s not anything from the Fair Lands. It’s old and one of your devils, not ours. When it passed into my woods, the air stank of a burning orchard.” He shuddered.

  I filed that away for future reference. “Did you see it?”

  He shook his head. “It was wrapped in a cloak of darkness, and it was smart.”

  I arched a brow. “What do you mean? It conjured something? Glamour—no—you said it wasn’t fae. An illusion? Myrk?”

  The puck blinked rapidly as I rattled off more questions. “I don’t know. Quite possibly. No, not glamour. Possibly? Possibly?”

  I stared at him, debating whether to call him out on being a smartass or not. Instead, I exhaled and shut my eyes as I thought. “Fine. Fair enough. You couldn’t see much of it. How exactly was it smart?”

  “The fiend plucked me from unclaimed land.”

  I eyed him. “You’re neutral? No affiliation to any of the courts?”

  He shook his head and grinned. “Wild, free, and proud.”

  I frowned and wriggled my nose. Being a free fae had its advantages. It also had its downfalls. “That means you can’t go to a queen or anyone with a measure of power with your grievances.”