Crowbones

CHAPTER 54

Grimshaw

Watersday, Novembros 3

Grimshaw removed his duty belt and laid it on the rolltop desk’s chair, but he took his service weapon and set it on the table where it would be close at hand. Then he double-checked that the safety was on and tucked the weapon into his waistband at the small of his back. He was alone. The doors and windows were closed and locked. No one knew he was in the apartment above Julian’s store. He still wanted his weapon where he could reach it.

He opened the filing cabinet. Knowing Julian, he started with the bottom drawer and removed a stack of hanging files that had odd designations. A code of some kind?

Some of the files had a single sheet of paper, typed. Others had several sheets. Each sheet had a heading that began CS and a number.

After reading a couple of the files, and chilled by the realization of what the headings meant, he looked at the folder name, then at the regional map, and followed the location markers. J7. M12.

Something was wrong with the locations, since they weren’t indicating towns or villages the way they should. At least, they weren’t indicating any towns or villages that would show up on a human map. In fact, the first location would put someone in Lake Tahki, and he was pretty sure you wouldn’t find an island at that spot.

CS. Cassandra sangue. Blood prophets who saw the future—or at least a possible future—when their skin was cut.

The files were confirmation that Julian had been involved in transporting some of those girls to safe, and secret, places. The files would be worth a fortune to someone who wanted to get his hands on even one of those girls. Would be worth torturing a person to get the locations where those girls could be found.

Remembering some of the scars he’d seen on Julian’s body, Grimshaw didn’t think Julian had ever been caught—the man was too canny and skilled for that. But wounded while getting a girl to safety? Grimshaw could imagine that easily.

He glanced at the computer, then shook his head. There might be a memory stick hidden somewhere, but Julian would have scrubbed the information from his computer—if he’d saved the files to begin with. More likely, the information was being stored somewhere else, with someone else.

More than that . . . Advance and retreat. One letter forward and two numbers back? Or two letters forward and one number back? Maybe. Getting to the correct reference points might even require using a specific map. Trust Julian to be so cautious.

Grimshaw returned those files to the filing cabinet and checked the next drawer. Nothing cryptic about the labels on these files. Towns. Villages. Cities. All in the Northeast Region, which made sense, and not all that many.

He took everything in that drawer, spreading out the files to keep them from spilling off the table. Then he picked up his beer, opened a file, and began to read.

Places where Julian had lived—or at least stayed, although sometimes the stay wasn’t more than a few days. Healthy towns, decaying villages. The first hint of rot under a pristine surface, a rot that pushed Julian away, had him moving on.

Choosing differently colored dots, Grimshaw had marked a handful of towns on the regional map when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Casually, he set the bottle of beer on the table. Casually, he began to reach behind him for the weapon secured at the small of his back.

Black smoke curled around his wrist. Became a strong hand . . . that was attached to an arm covered in the black sleeve of what looked like a very expensive suit.

“If I wanted you dead, you would be dead.” The voice was educated, calm, polite. Chilling.

He felt another hand at his back remove his service weapon before the Sanguinati released his wrist and stepped away.

Grimshaw didn’t know all the Sanguinati who lived at Silence Lodge, but he was certain he would have heard about this one, because all his instincts told him this one didn’t take orders.

Suddenly he wondered if Ilya was still alive.

“Does Ilya know you’re here?” Grimshaw asked.

“He’s the only one who knows I’m here. The only one who can know I’m here.” The Sanguinati smiled, carefully not showing any fang. “But he didn’t know this place would be occupied, or he wouldn’t have suggested I stay here.”

“If you’re supposed to be a secret, where does that leave me?”

“That depends, Chief Grimshaw, on whether or not you can be trusted.”

So. This stranger knew who he was—and didn’t care. “I’ve held a secret or two. Whether I hold this one depends on if the people I swore to protect would be at risk if I kept this secret.”

“Not all of them would be at risk.” The Sanguinati set the service weapon on the table, out of reach. “I am Stavros Sanguinati. I’m currently the leader of the Talulah Falls Courtyard. Previously I was the Toland Courtyard’s problem solver.”

Problem solver. A specialist in killing? He wouldn’t have thought any kind of terra indigene needed such a being, but that was before Crowbones had come to Lake Silence.

“Someone thinks Ilya can’t handle this?” Grimshaw asked.

“Oh, Ilya could handle this,” Stavros replied. “He wouldn’t be the leader of Silence Lodge if he couldn’t. But Grandfather Erebus felt it was better to have someone . . . transient . . . deal with the problem. Whatever happens, I will return to Talulah Falls, and you can continue to pretend that the Sanguinati you deal with are . . . tamer.”

Gods above and below.

“Besides,” Stavros continued, “Grandfather doesn’t want The Jumble’s caretaker to develop a fear of the Sanguinati living around here, so it is best if she doesn’t appreciate the depth of what Ilya is.”

“Why not stay at Silence Lodge? Why hide out here?”

“As I said, no one but Ilya can know that I’m here—including the rest of the Sanguinati.”

Grimshaw nodded as pieces started coming together. “You’re another hunter. Crowbones for the Crowgard. You for the Sanguinati.” Another piece fell into place as he thought about the Murder game. “Who’s the other hunter? Me? Or Julian Farrow?”

A beat of silence. Then Stavros gave him a slow smile. “You’re human, but you have a bit of wild country in here.” He tapped his chest. “You, I think, although Ilya is of the opinion that Mr. Farrow can be quite dangerous if provoked.”

Stavros took a step closer to Grimshaw, then looked at the map. “Your thoughts?”

“Connected killings.” Grimshaw pointed to the dots on the map. “Crow’s feet tied to one victim like a signature—or a warning. At least two bodies in each place, one of those bodies being a crow or Crowgard. I’m guessing that someone who is involved with all those killings has ended up around Lake Silence and is trapped.”

“And these?” Stavros picked up a file.

“I wanted to see if the places Julian felt had become unhealthy matched up with any of the killings, whether those killings were before or after he was there.”

“Then let us begin.”

As Grimshaw added colored dots to the map, Stavros read Julian’s notes out loud—and a grim pattern began to take shape.