Dark Currents (Agent of Hel #1)

Dark Currents (Agent of Hel #1) Page 16

As much as I disliked her, I had to admit she had a point. “I’ll do my best to keep my sources off the record.”

The naiad gave me a tight smile. “That may work in the mundane world. In the eldritch community, everyone will know it was a water elemental who gave you this information.”

“Yeah, and most of them will be grateful for it,” I pointed out to her.

She tossed her hair. “It is the ones who will not that concern us.”

Lurine said something foreign and scathing. Her coils stirred, waving me absentmindedly in the air and making my stomach lurch. Remembering my presence, she steadied her coils and switched back to English. “Your concerns are small and selfish, little sister. You do not understand the stakes. If those who did this are not brought to justice, the eyes of the mundane world will turn to Pemkowet.” Her eyes flashed. “There will be talk of rooting out evil. There will be talk of destroying the underworld, of razing the city beneath the sands. If that came to pass, Hel would perish, and the rest of us would follow. As below, so above. Do you understand?”

This time the naiad really did look chastened. “Yes, kyria. I understand.”

“All of you?” Lurine persisted. “And if there is anything else you remember, anything else you learn, you will come forward with it?”

There was a silvery chorus of agreement from the bobbing figures of undines, naiads, and nixies.

“Are you done with them, cupcake?” Lurine lowered me so she could look me in the eye.

“Yeah, thanks.”

She dismissed the assembled water elementals with a foreign word that sounded like a thunderclap. Once again, they scattered like minnows—like scared minnows. I had to admit it was infinitely more satisfying this time.

Thirteen

Back at the river’s edge, Lurine deposited me gently on solid ground before shifting back to her human guise, the imposing millennia-old monster resuming the form of every heterosexual fourteen-year-old boy’s wet dream.

I’d always been fond of Lurine, but I had a whole new respect for her.

“Did you get what you needed, baby girl?” she asked me.

I nodded. “More than I’d hoped. Thanks, Lurine.”

“Anytime.” Lowering her voice, she gave me a serious look. “Sweetheart, if you need backup, don’t you hesitate to call me. You might be getting in over your head here. I’ll keep my promise; I won’t say a word about this, not even to your mother, but it sounds like we’re talking about a murder, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “It kinda looks that way.”

She sighed. “Goddamn ghouls.”

It seemed to genuinely disturb her. I wondered fleetingly about Lurine’s wealthy octogenarian husband’s death, and pushed that thought firmly away. Still really, really didn’t want to know. And then I thought about dark-haired ghouls who were neither young nor old, and Stefan Ludovic’s patient, piercing, ice-blue gaze.

I shivered a bit. Didn’t want to know if he was involved in this, either. Or at least I didn’t want it to be true.

“Daisy, baby!” Mom hurried over to the shore, a pair of clean, dry towels over her arm. “Are you cold? I brought towels.”

“I’m fine.” It was true; I didn’t have a drop of water on me.

“You’re not.” Since Mom couldn’t fuss over me, she fussed over Lurine, who bore it with amused fondness. “Look at that muck! You don’t want to get it all over your pretty sundress.” Picking up Lurine’s discarded dress, she eyed it critically, examining the seams. “Is this a Marc Jacobs? Because you know I could make it for you at a fraction of the price with twice the workmanship.”

“It’s from last season. Don’t worry about it.” Having wiped the river water and clinging bits of rotten plant matter and other unidentified muck from her legs, Lurine held out her hand. Mom hesitated. “Okay, fine. Let’s talk about a commission, but not at a fraction of the price. I don’t want to have this fight again. Can I get dressed now?”

“Yes, please!” Gus’s voice boomed in answer. He was still standing sentry duty, now with his massive back pointedly turned and a ham-size hand shielding his eyes. As it happened, the ogre was a gentleman. “Can she get dressed?”

“Hey, Gus! Can we come out now?” someone called from one of the mobile units, peering cautiously through the curtains. “I’ve got hungry kids and burgers turning to charcoal on the grill.”

I laughed.

Nothing was funny, not really. It was just that the absurdity of the exchange in the midst of some very scary and ominous goings-on reminded me that I loved this place and these people.

“It’s okay, Gus.” I patted his arm, which unsurprisingly was a lot like patting a boulder. “They can come out now.”

“Do you have time for a cup of coffee, honey?” Mom asked me in a hopeful tone.

I shook my head. “I need to touch base with Cody.”

She did her best to look crafty. “Oh, of course.”

Lurine took my mom’s arm in hers. “If it’s no trouble, I’d love a cup of coffee, Marja. We can talk clothes.” She glanced at me, her gaze light, masking her concern. “Don’t worry about me, cupcake. I’ll call my driver to pick me up.”

“Okay.”

In my car, I slid my phone from my purse. No reply from Jen—oh, well. The ball was in her court now. Suppressing the tiniest pang of guilt, I called Cody. He answered right away, sounding disgruntled. “What’s up, Pixy Stix?”

I cradled the phone against my ear. “No luck?”

“No,” he said shortly. “You?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “And it’s a pretty major development. Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to meet?”

There was a pause. “You had dinner?”

“I never even had lunch,” I said, only just now realizing it.

“Me neither. Meet you at Callahan’s in ten.” He hung up.

It turned out to be more like twenty. Parking in downtown Pemkowet is a nightmare in the summer, and I had to circle the block several times before, miracle of miracles, a car pulled out of a space right in front of Callahan’s Café just as I was about to begin another circuit. I whipped into the space and was fumbling for my purse, which had fallen onto the floor, when someone rapped on the passenger-side window, making me jump.

Cody’s face peered at me. I leaned over to unlock the door. He opened it and squeezed his tall figure into the passenger seat.

“Change of plans?” I asked.

“No, I just thought you could give me a quick rundown.” He nodded at the café. “Too busy for privacy tonight.”

I told Cody the gist of what I’d learned. He heard me out in silence, an increasingly dark scowl on his face.

“Damn!” He pounded the dashboard with one fist when I’d finished. My poor little Honda rocked under the impact. “Sorry. I was really hoping this would turn out to be nothing sinister.” His face looked grim. “Now I’ve really got to find Ray D. I don’t suppose your mysterious friend has any pull in the ghoul community?”

“No, sorry.”

“Too bad.” Cody searched my face, his gold-flecked topaz eyes unnervingly intense. “How sure are you about this info, Daisy?”

“Pretty sure,” I said reluctantly. “Those undines really didn’t want to talk about it. None of the water elementals wanted to get involved. They’re scared. They wouldn’t have given it up if Lur . . . if my friend hadn’t made them. I don’t think they’d lie.”

“Undines.” He ran a hand over his chin. I couldn’t help but notice that his stubble was gone. “God help us. That’ll stand up in court.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, Chief says we ought to have the autopsy report tomorrow. Hopefully, that’ll give us something more substantial to go on.”

My stomach grumbled. “Can we still get dinner?”

“Yeah.” Cody’s expression eased into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I think we’d better. I’m starving.”

“Me, too.” Unable to resist, I brushed the line of his jaw with one fingertip. “Plus, you shaved, didn’t you?”

“I might have,” he admitted.

“And you smell good.” I did successfully resist the urge to sniff his neck. Yay for me! “Is that aftershave? What is it?”

“Ralph Lauren’s Polo.” Cody made a face. “It was a gift, okay? No special occasion—I just didn’t want it to go to waste. Don’t read anything into it.”

“I won’t.” I paused. “A gift from a lady friend?”

He wagged a finger at me. “None of your business, Pixy Stix. C’mon; let’s get a bite to eat.”

It was a nice piece of lighthearted banter and a welcome counterbalance to the day’s grave revelations. And on that note, both of us exited the Honda and headed for the door of Callahan’s . . .

. . . just in time to encounter Jen and her friend Greta Hasselmeyer standing on the sidewalk and staring at us, having just emerged from the café.

Oh, crap.

“Hey!” My voice came out overbright and chipper. “Oh, hey, Jen!” I cleared my throat. “I’ve been trying to call you. Did you get my message?”

She continued to stare at me for a long moment, then slowly and deliberately shifted her gaze from me to Cody and back. “Yeah.” Her tone was flat. “Thanks. I got it. Loud and clear, Daise.”

I winced. “It’s not—”

Jen held one hand out. “Whatever.”

“It’s just work!” I protested.

She walked away without a word, her dark, shining hair hanging down her back and swaying like a river. A pissed-off river. Greta Hasselmeyer, who worked alongside Jen in the Cassopolis family industry of caretaking and cleaning for the privileged and wealthy, folded her arms over her chest and shook her head, voicing her disapproval in equal silence.