Chrysabelle smiled at the woman. “Are you ignus fae?”
Beatrice grinned. “You mean like his last girlfriend? Yes. But unlike her I’m here to stay.” She winked at Khell as she stood. “I’m going to freshen up while y’all chat.” She tipped her head at Chrysabelle. “Thank you for what you did for him.”
“Sure.” Chrysabelle waited until Beatrice left. “She’s a little different than your last girlfriend.”
“Why do you think I’m marrying her?” Khell sipped his beer.
“I’m a little surprised you’re here. I thought being Guardian would keep you busy.”
He shrugged. “It does, but I have lieutenants who run patrols, that sort of thing. This place has become my unofficial office.” He tapped his thumb against the side of his bottle. “But I’m sure that’s not what you came to talk about.”
A multitude of scars and water rings marked the old wood tabletop. She traced one with her finger. “I need a favor. A big one.”
He leaned in. “Name it. Anything I can do to help, I will.”
She took a breath. “I need entrance to the Claustrum.”
He sat back. A bead of condensation rolled down his beer. “Anything but that.”
Barasa and Omur flanked a barely controlled Remo across from Doc’s desk. He knew this whole scene could turn bloody in a flash if he didn’t play it right. Just getting Remo from the holding cell in the basement to his office this morning had taken half of the on-staff security force. “I want you to know that I intend to put the full weight of the pride’s capabilities into this issue.”
Remo’s chest rose and fell with emotion. “This issue is a murder. I want the police involved.”
Barasa looked at him. “In a pride matter? That’s not how we handle things.”
Remo never took his eyes off Doc. “Perhaps I should call my father and tell him what’s been going on. Tell him that his daughter was actually murdered and that upon discovering this shocking news, his son was treated to a night in the pride’s jail.”
Doc growled softly. “You attacked my mate. You’re lucky a night in the basement is all you got.”
Remo stayed quiet a minute after that. When he spoke again, the edge of anger was gone from his voice, leaving only the gruff sternness and fresh pain of finding out the truth about his sister. “I want the police involved because I want an impartial third party heading up this investigation.”
“So you don’t trust us?” Omur asked.
“Would you if the situation were reversed?”
“He’s got a point,” Doc said. “If I consent to that much and allow the police to investigate, will you give me your word to let them do their job and abide by their findings while not endangering anyone else in this pride? That means no fighting, no accusations, nothing that is outside the lines of acceptable behavior for a council member.”
Remo snorted softly. “Now you sound like my father.”
“Then I must be doing something right. Your father didn’t get where he is by making wrong decisions or bad deals.” Doc sighed. Why on earth had Fi kept that vial of sand? But then, she had no idea what it held. What damage it could do. “So, your word?”
Slowly, Remo shook his head. “On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“I will be a part of every discussion with the police or this council. I want to know everything that’s going on firsthand. I find out something’s gone on behind my back and I bring my father in.”
“Agreed.” Doc nodded at Omur. “Get Chief Vernadetto in here as soon as you can.”
Chrysabelle stood on the wide wraparound porch of Augustine’s home, the curved insets of leaded glass in the massive double doors sparkling in the late-morning sun. Khell’s reaction to her request had sucked all the hope out of her and now, looking at this big beautiful place, she knew in her heart that Augustine wasn’t about to risk any of this for her, either. He hadn’t helped her the first time she’d been here, so why would this time be any different?
Fi nudged her side. “This place is huge. Like, crazy big. This fae must be loaded, huh?”
A new voice answered. “It’s not his house, darling.”
They both turned to see an older woman coming through the front yard, a basket of freshly cut flowers dangling off one arm. The other hand gripped a crystal-topped cane. More crystals decorated her velvet and fringe caftan.
“Holy crap,” Fi breathed. “You’re Olivia freaking Goodwin. The vampire queen.”
The woman laughed, her amber eyes sparkling in the light. “Only in the movies, cher. And those days are long past.” She climbed the steps to stand beside them, her gaze coming to rest on Chrysabelle. She leaned her cane against her side, then reached out and clasped Chrysabelle’s hand. “I remember you. You came here a while back with that handsome vampire. I like him.” She looked behind Chrysabelle. “Is he with you?”
“No, Ms. Goodwin, he’s—”
“Call me Livie. I told you that last time.” She brushed past and opened the door, leaving it open as she traipsed into the hall. She set her basket of flowers on a bench in the foyer before heading deeper into the house. “Augie, get your lazy bones up! We have visitors, so put clothes on before you come down.”
Fi’s eyes rounded and she looked at Chrysabelle like she might explode.