By the couch, Quinn was stepping back from taping down her fingers, surveying his handiwork. “I don’t know if you can do that without your fingers,” he told Sybil, his voice so cold and flat that I felt my own eyes widen. “But I doubt you can do it without a tongue. You got me?”
Sybil paled, and though the anger didn’t lift from her eyes, she nodded.
I went over and sat down on the couch beside her. Quinn stayed where he was, right behind her, where he could play vampire lie detector. We’d done this before and it wasn’t foolproof—if the suspect had enough drugs or alcohol in their system, or was a complete sociopath, they could fool him. But I didn’t think Sybil fell into any of those categories.
“So,” I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt, “you’re the inside man.”
Sybil didn’t answer, but to be fair, it hadn’t been a question. I tried again, starting with something easy. “Did you hand out flyers for Morgan at your mother’s house?”
Sybil lifted her chin, defiant. “Yes.”
I felt myself relax an inch. She was talking. “Why?”
A blink. “Because the witches of Colorado deserve a chance to hear her out and make their decision.”
Well, that sounded like a line Morgan had fed her. “And what about the werewolves you helped her kill? Did they deserve that?”
Confusion flickered over her face for a minute, but she recovered fast. “Probably. But I didn’t do anything to any werewolves.”
Quinn and I exchanged a look. He nodded. She was telling the truth. “How long have you been in touch with Morgan?” I asked, trying to throw her off guard a little.
“A couple of months.”
“That’s a lie,” Quinn said lazily.
“Wanna try again?” I said to Sybil.
Her shoulders hunched. “Fine. The whole time. I give her updates on Saffron and Sebastian. She’s their mother. And I’m not breaking any Old World laws.”
This was true—Maven hadn’t forbidden communication with Morgan, probably realizing it would only make some witches more inclined to contact her. Hazel, on the other hand, had told her own clan not to speak to Morgan, but apparently Sybil wasn’t afraid of her mother’s punishment. “You’d do that, even after she set you up?”
Sybil sneered at me. “She didn’t set me up. She just asked me to do a spell on the ley lines. I’m the one who didn’t ask more questions.”
“Morgan knew we would conclude that you were involved in raising the sandworm,” I pointed out. “And she knew Maven would come for you.”
“And that they can tell when we’re lying,” Sybil countered, jerking her head at Quinn. I had to give her credit, she didn’t seem the least bit unnerved to have a vampire at her back, which was more that I could say for myself in the same situation. “Morgan made sure I didn’t know anything, because she knew Maven wouldn’t hurt me without questioning me first. My sister was protecting me.”
Quinn and I exchanged another look, this one of disbelief. I didn’t know a lot about Stockholm syndrome, but that’s what this sounded like. In Sybil’s eyes, we were relentlessly hunting her sister, who was trying to bring democratic changes to the witch clan system. Fuck.
“I’ve answered your questions,” Sybil spat at me, still seething. “Now where is my sister?”
I stared at her in confusion. “Morgan? I have no idea. That’s what I was going to ask you.”
“Not Morgan,” she dismissed. “She’s in Wyoming. Where is Lily?”
Quinn looked as puzzled as I felt. “Lily is at Simon’s apartment,” I told Sybil.
Now it was her turn to look surprised, like she hadn’t expected me to answer. “What did you do to her?” she demanded.
“I . . . nothing. She’s hanging out with Katia; I think they were going to play gin rummy. Why?”
“Morgan said—” Sybil began, but she caught herself.
“What? What did Morgan say?”
Sybil pressed her lips together—which was Quinn’s cue to rest his hands lightly on her shoulders. He wasn’t hurting her, but Sybil suddenly looked scared.
Morgan had probably told her we were violent psychopaths. I wouldn’t really torture Simon and Lily’s big sister, but I had no moral problem with trickery.
“You took Lily,” she squeaked. “You kidnapped her so Morgan would back off. That’s why . . .” She trailed off, but her eyes flicked to the doorway to the foyer.
“That’s why you came for Charlie,” I finished for her. “Morgan said she was going to trade her for Lily.”
Sybil didn’t actually nod, but the confirmation was all over her face.
“What was the potion for?” I asked, holding up the little plastic vial. “It wouldn’t work on Charlie.” My niece was susceptible to anything nonmagical that might affect a human, like sleeping pills or, God help me, poison—but Sybil’s spells were infused with actual magic, which wouldn’t work on a null.
“For Charlie’s dad,” she said, sullen. “It was my idea, to make him forget. Morgan doesn’t have any vampires working for her in Colorado, so she couldn’t press him.”
Quinn and I exchanged a look over her head, and I could see him thinking the same thing I was: Morgan Pellar was so goddamned sneaky. Maven had literal control over every vampire in the state. Sending vampires into Colorado to undermine her would be the equivalent of Maven sending her people into Wyoming: a declaration of war. So she’d sent werewolves instead, knowing if they got caught, she had deniability.
Still, it would have been easier for Morgan to just kill John. Sybil, in her stupid Sybil way, had been trying to spare him. She might have even saved his life.
Shit. This made things even more complicated. Sybil was gullible and small-minded, but not exactly an architect of evil.
“Your mother sent Lily away from the farmhouse,” I told her, trying to sound calm. “If all the Colorado witch clans turn against Hazel, she wants Lily to present herself as an alternative.”
“That’s what Morgan said you’d say,” Sybil muttered, but she looked uncertain.
“Lily is fine,” I assured her, pulling out my cell phone. “Here, we can call her.” I dialed Katia’s phone and put the call on speaker, so Sybil would know it was not a trick.
The phone went straight to voice mail. Sybil looked a little smug, but I frowned and tried it again. Straight to voice mail again.
In my hurry to get to Charlie, I had completely forgotten about Katia not answering earlier. Katia wouldn’t turn her phone off during a crisis.
I looked at Quinn. “Something’s wrong.”
Chapter 33
It still took another five minutes of planning before we could leave, because we’d need to split up. Maven left first: she would run out to the farmhouse to check on Simon and Hazel and make sure Lily and Katia hadn’t gone back there for some reason. I wasn’t sure how Maven would deal with any wards the witches might have set up, but I had no doubt she could stay undetected. She was a thousand frickin’ years old.
Quinn loaded Charlie’s car seat into the Jeep, and I got the sleeping child secured inside. We considered making Sybil ride in the vampire compartment, but in the end Quinn just picked her up in her duct tape and buckled her into the back seat next to the window. Neither of us really thought she was a threat anymore. “I won’t tape your mouth, as a sign of good faith,” I warned her. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Sybil just gave me a tight nod. She’d gone quiet, and I could tell the wheels in her head were turning. She didn’t really believe us about Lily, but probably realized I wasn’t a good enough actor to fake this much concern. She was willing to let this play out a little.
“I need to blindfold you for the first part of the drive,” I told her. Sybil glared and opened her mouth to protest, but I overrode her. “We have to drop off Charlie, and I don’t want you to know where. This is not negotiable. If you want to argue with me, you can ride in the portable coffin.”
I could see Quinn suppressing a snort, but Sybil just gave me a dark look and conceded. I put one of John’s ski caps on her head and pulled it down over her eyes and part of her nose. “Leave it on,” I ordered.
Quinn drove us straight to Elise’s duplex in Lafayette, which was more or less on the way to Simon’s apartment. He parked on the street and I jumped out, rushing around to unbuckle Charlie and grab her bear. I hoisted her onto my hip and hurried up the driveway.
The security light flicked on, bright enough to make Charlie mumble and bury her head in my neck. I leaned on the doorbell, peering into the glass on the front door.
The lights began to flick on throughout the house, and a moment later Elise came hurrying down the hall. My cousin had the honey-blonde hair and brown eyes that were the Luther trademark, but her cropped hair was currently standing up at all angles. She was wearing a ratty old robe thrown on over a Boulder PD T-shirt, and her right arm was tucked along her side, probably to hide her service weapon. Of all my family members, Elise was the most naturally suspicious—and the most well armed.
Her confused irritation turned to just plain confusion when she saw me through the window. She unlocked and opened the door. “What hap—”
I held a finger to my lips, then pointed at Charlie. Elise nodded. “What the hell happened?” she said in a loud whisper. “What time is it? What happened to your face?”
Dammit, even half-asleep she was good. I had nearly forgotten about the bruises on my forehead and cheekbone. “It’s late. John’s had an accident. Can you watch Charlie for tonight?”
Elise had reached up to rub her eyes, but now she froze. “What?” She was already opening the door wider to let us in. “What happened to John?”
Quinn had offered to go up first and press Elise, but I’d demurred. We were using a story with my parents anyway, and I didn’t want to mess with anyone’s thoughts unless there was no other option. Instead, Quinn had moved to the passenger side and was slumped down with his head in his hands, looking miserable. If Elise glanced outside, she would see him looking badly shaken.
“I was watching Charlie tonight,” I told Elise, as calmly as I could. Human or not, my cousin could practically smell a lie. “John and Quinn were using Quinn’s bandsaw, and John cut his arm. He lost a lot of blood. The ambulance took him to BCH; Mom and Dad are already on their way.”
“Okay.” I saw Elise processing that, knew she was about to ask why I couldn’t keep Charlie. “Was Quinn hurt?”
“No, but the EMTs think he had some kind of minor heart incident—myocardial . . . something.” I was keeping it vague on purpose. “He didn’t want to ride in the ambulance, so I need to take him to get checked out. Can you please take her just until tomorrow morning?”