Betrayal Read online

  “Court can be complicated,” I said. “It’s all about ceremony and tradition. It’s formal, and titles matter—all titles. It would be considered a very serious insult not to invite her legal guardian.”

  “I can’t see that insulting Alicia would be a problem for Devanos,” Andy pointed out. “Seems like he would want to insult her.”

  “But Catherine wouldn’t. If her father rejected her aunt, then Alicia would be disgraced. And without giving a reason for it, there would inevitably be gossip about why he excluded her, and some of that could bleed over onto Catherine.”

  “And even if it didn’t, Catherine seems to care for her aunt,” Peasblossom added. “Or if she doesn’t care for her, she’s at least easily manipulated by her. Either way, she wouldn’t take her aunt’s snubbed status well.”

  “If Alicia had the artifacts, would that help her get to court?” Andy asked. “I mean, on her own?”

  “Maybe. There are three things the Unseelie Court value above all else. Bloodlines, power, and talent. Alicia doesn’t have the bloodline, and she doesn’t appear to have any talent to brag about. But if she could get someone powerful enough to agree to help her use the artifacts, then she might get the power.”

  “Or the bloodline,” Peasblossom pointed out. “Remember, the original point of the set wasn’t just about granting magic. It was about creating a family bond. If Alicia could get Devanos to serve her with the set, that would be more than a ceremonial adoption, it would be as good as making her his daughter.”

  “I don’t think it was Alicia,” I said. “Why risk getting caught stealing when all she has to do is keep feeding Catherine’s desire to be part of the court and wait for Devanos to give in and bring them both?”

  “So who’s your favorite suspect?” Andy asked.

  “Simon.”

  Andy’s brow furrowed. “The kid?”

  I stared out the windshield at a group of kids pouring out of a grocery store, laughing and shoving each other, several of them shaking soda bottles and threatening to unleash a geyser at their companions. I watched them and remembered a different bunch of kids.

  “He definitely wants to be part of the Otherworld. I can believe he’d kill for a chance.”

  “You said he wouldn’t remember anything, not after that…woman wiped his memories.”

  I got out my cell phone and stared at it, my thumb hovering over the screen. “That’s right, he shouldn’t remember me. But he did. What if he remembers the rest?”

  “You’re going to call Gertrude?” Peasblossom asked.

  “I want to talk to the piorum that wiped Simon’s memories.”

  Peasblossom shifted uneasily. “She was creepy. You know how I feel about piorums.”

  I did know. Mostly because everyone felt that way about them. There was something deeply unsettling about a being that could eat the emotions from your memories and—if they were really hungry—the memory itself.

  “You think whatever she did failed?” Andy asked.

  “As a general rule, the Vanguard don’t have their people destroy memories unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. Humans rarely remember experiences that had no emotional context anyway, so eating the emotion is generally enough. But if that’s what Crystal did, then Simon’s memories are still there. Someone could have reminded him.”

  “If you’re sure he remembered you, it seems obvious that’s all she did,” Andy pointed out.

  “No, it’s also possible that someone could have told Simon lies about me, accused me of something I never did, just to turn him against me.”

  Andy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel before glancing at me. “I think you’re making this personal. Don’t let your feelings about what happened before cloud your judgment.”

  “I need to know.” I dialed the Vanguard’s number again, careful to add Gertrude’s extension. I was fairly certain I was allowed to have the information I was about to ask for, but I liked to keep my interactions with the Vanguard to a minimum. Old habits.

  “Hi, Gertrude? It’s Sh—Mother Renard.”

  “Mother Renard, how lovely to hear from you again. And here I was worried you might hesitate to call after the…unpleasantness.”

  I winced. For such a tiny creature, the talking flea’s voice could carry a large load of disappointment. “I’m sorry I left the crime scene. But it couldn’t be helped.”

  “Character is what we do under less than ideal circumstances,” Gertrude chastised me. “If you’re going to insert yourself into legal matters, then you’d best stay on the Vanguard’s good side. Leaving the scene of a murder was a most unwise decision.”

  “You’re right, of course, and I’ll strive to do better. Always room for improvement, yes?”

  “I’d say so.” She paused. “I supposed you have a reason for calling?”

  “I need to talk to Crystal. The piorum who helped me last April when I found that elfstruck boy.”

  “Shade,” Gertrude said sternly, “you know you can’t be in communication with someone who’s had their memory adjusted.”

  “Because seeing me might bring it all back?”

  Gertrude huffed. “Crystal is very good at what she does, so getting a look at your face isn’t going to undo all her hard work. That being said, it’s always best not to tempt fate. If you want to avoid having the child become elfstruck all over again, then he needs to stay away from the Otherworld as much as possible. Which means not having a witch poke her nose into his affairs prematurely.”

  “I didn’t go looking for him. I was working a case, and he showed up.” I bit my lip. “I think he recognized me.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.” There was a pause, then a tiny huff of resignation. “Fine. I’ll contact Crystal and have her meet you at Goodfellows. Be ready for her text.”

  “I will, thank you, Gertrude.” I ended the call and turned to Andy. “Do you remember the cafe where we first met Simon?” I asked.

  “Shannon’s Diner?”

  I nodded and put my cell phone away in the side pocket of my waist pouch. “That’s the one.”

  “You think Simon went back there?” Andy started the SUV and checked his mirrors before reversing out of his parking space.

  “He was selling his paintings to Shannon before he encountered the Otherworld. After he forgot about the Otherworld—if he did—then maybe he went back to his old patterns.”

  “You think whoever jogged his memory might have approached him there,” Andy guessed.

  “Exactly.” I stared out the window, watching a river of people stream through a crosswalk. “The question is, why would someone want to do that?”

  Neither of us seemed to have an answer. I turned the question over and over in my mind as we drove. What would motivate someone to risk the Vanguard’s wrath, just to return memories to a human boy? A human boy who, as far as I could tell, had no connections, no innate power—and, if I were honest, an unpleasant personality.

  It was a short drive to Shannon’s Diner. As we walked inside I was enveloped in the dusty scent of napkins and the sharp aroma of silverware. I couldn’t help but stare at the art on the walls and remember the angry young man who’d come here to sell his work. Back then, Simon had been replicating the old masters, turning out reproductions of Monet’s Water Lilies and Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

  There were no such replicas now, but it didn’t take long for me to work out that it was Simon all the same. I tapped Andy on the arm and gestured at a painting in the back corner. The artwork depicted a slender man with pointed ears, smooth pale skin, and long silver hair.

  “That’s Oisean,” Andy said under his breath.

  I nodded, unable to stifle a surge of hatred. Oisean had been Marilyn’s scout, roaming around local homeless shelters during their art shows, picking out the talented young artists he deemed ripe for Marilyn’s slave auctions. It was impossible not to think of a terrified Grayson hours after he’d been sold to the kelpies. Or Matthew lying dead in the morgue
. Or Lindsay…

  A lump rose in my throat, and I watched mutely as a woman came out from the door behind the front desk. She smiled when she saw Andy and me and reached up to tuck a strand of silver-laced black hair behind her ear, leaving a trail of flour like a highlight in its wake.

  “Ms. Renard and Agent Bradford,” she said, speaking slowly as if uncertain.

  I smiled as much as I could, but knew I’d failed when Shannon’s smile wilted. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Andy pointed at the paintings on the walls. “Have you seen Simon recently?”

  Shannon stared at Andy, and I had the sudden impression she was trying very hard not to look at me. “Not recently. He stopped selling me art about a month ago. Why?”

  “How would you describe his…attitude?” I asked. “The last time you saw him? And do you know why he stopped coming?”

  Shannon cleared her throat. She looked around the cafe, but there were only two occupied tables, and they were both eating and chatting away. No one needed her attention. No excuse to walk away. Finally, she forced herself to look at me.

  “Simon’s subject matter…changed. He started doing all original art.” She looked up at the painting of Oisean. “At first the pieces were beautiful, as if he were having the most lovely dreams and remembering them long enough to get them down on canvas.” She brought her hands together and fiddled with the top of her brick red apron.

  She was back to avoiding my gaze. My chest tightened. “How did it change?”

  “His themes turned violent,” she said quietly. “I have three sons, and I know emotional lashing out when I see it. If you ask me, Simon was devastated down to his soul, enraged and hurt. And he put it all on canvas.” She squared her shoulders and forced herself to look at me. “He painted you. And I have to tell you, Ms. Renard, you should stay away from him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but…”

  She trailed off. “I rejected it,” she said finally. “I told him I loved his work, but I couldn’t put something like that on the wall.” She paused, then looked toward the window.

  “What is it?” I asked, following her gaze.

  She hesitated. “It’s just… Now that I’m thinking about it, after I told Simon I wouldn’t buy the painting with you in it, he called someone. He stood just inside the door, there.” She pointed. “Then he waited, like he was meeting someone. About a half hour later, a man showed up.”

  “What did he look like?” Andy asked.

  “Handsome, probably in his mid-twenties, maybe early thirties. Blond, with bright blue eyes. He didn’t come inside. But I remember being worried about Simon—you know, after what happened to the other kids from Constellation House. So I went to the window to watch. Simon showed him the painting, and the man just smiled.” She shivered. “It was not a pleasant smile. He handed it back to Simon, then handed him a card. Then he walked away.”

  “Do you have security cameras?” Andy asked. “Anything that might have caught an image of the man Simon talked to?”

  Shannon wrung her hands, then caught herself and stopped. “No, I don’t. Did something happen to Simon? I haven’t seen him around since…”

  “He’s fine,” I assured her. “I just saw him this morning, and he has a new job.”

  The cafe owner’s shoulders drooped, and she groped for the back of the chair at the table beside her. “Oh, thank God. I was worried, but I didn’t know where to find him, or how to check on him. And I didn’t know if I could even call the police, since I had no way to prove he’d been hurt or was missing…”

  I nodded sympathetically. “He’s all right. I just want to make sure no one is giving him…undue attention. You’re right, he’s going through something right now, and you know how emotional boys can get at his age.”

  Shannon nodded. “I remember going through things like that with my boys—and that’s with a stable home. I can’t imagine how Simon…”

  “We’re going to make sure he’s all right,” Andy promised. “Thank you for talking to us.”

  “Stop in anytime.” Shannon hesitated, then added, “In fact, if you wouldn’t mind stopping by and letting me know how things turn out?”

  I gave her a smile that I didn’t feel. “I will.”

  Peasblossom blessedly waited for us to get out of the cafe before speaking up. “What are you going to tell her if things go sideways?” she demanded.

  I winced. “I’ll lie like a rug.”

  “Sometimes it’s the nicest thing you can do for someone.” Andy opened the driver’s side door. “If there’s nothing she can do about it, then telling her doesn’t serve a purpose.”

  My phone chirped with a text message alert. “That’s Crystal. She’s waiting for us at Goodfellows.”

  Andy nodded and waited for me to climb into my seat before starting the SUV. I tapped a finger on my cell phone screen, staring out the windshield without really seeing anything.

  “What if the man he was talking to wasn’t human?” I asked. “What if he was Other?”

  “I think that’s a safe assumption at this point,” Andy agreed. Suddenly his voice tightened, and he stared at the road with enough intensity I half expected the asphalt to melt into a puddle. “You think the stranger was Oisean?”

  “Could have been. Simon has always been talented, but Oisean ignored him because his art lacked passion. They were all just copies, imitation art. But based on Shannon’s reaction, the painting of me had plenty of passion. Then there was the art we saw last time we found him. Can’t say there wasn’t plenty of passion in that bloody mess.” I took a deep breath. “Either way, we need to talk to Simon again. After we talk to Crystal.”

  It was only a little after one o’ clock by the time we reached Goodfellows, and Peasblossom was hopping on my shoulder as Andy pulled into the parking lot—probably already thinking of the feast of honey to come. Scath showed a distinct lack of excitement, but she ambled out of the SUV with Majesty clinging to her back like some sort of chaos possum. I didn’t even notice she dropped her dog glamour once we were inside until I heard an angry female voice.

  “I was told you wanted to speak to me about the human boy. She was not part of the deal.”

  I halted near the first booth, staring ahead a few seats to where a woman stood. She was average height, with light brown hair that brushed her shoulders. She wore plain blue jeans and a T-shirt with a large graphic of a rose on it.

  She looked pissed.

  “Crystal?” I asked carefully.

  She nodded, once. “Yes. And I don’t appreciate being brought here under false pretenses. Do I need to remind you that this is a safe—”

  “There’s been a misunderstanding,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’m here to ask you about Simon. The boy whose memories you…adjusted. That’s it.”

  Crystal narrowed her eyes. The blue color leeched from her irises, flashing a pearlescent white with a hint of other colors dancing over them like the memory of a rainbow. I forced myself not to tense up. She was brushing her mind over mine—I knew it. Fighting it wouldn’t do any good, it would only make her more suspicious. She frowned.

  “Your mind is…a mess.”

  I sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  I could have explained why my mind was a mess. Spending the majority of your life in a house that existed on more than one plane, in more than one world, did tend to mess with one’s concept of time—and hence, one’s organization of memories. But that wasn’t the point of this visit, and if Crystal was already willing to sit down and talk, then I wasn’t offering more information than I had to.

  “We just want to talk about Simon,” Andy said, reinforcing my assertion. “Please.”

  Crystal still didn’t look happy, but she resumed her seat at the booth. Alexandra was there in seconds, ramiken of honey in one hand and a Coke in the other. She set them on the table, then looked at Andy. “Anything for you?”

  Andy hesitated.

  “It’s a safe place,” I remi
nded him. “No obligations attached.”

  “Water will be fine,” he said finally.

  I took three long sips of Coke before facing Crystal. It said a lot about how nervous I was that it didn’t even bother me when Peasblossom’s hair fell into her honey and she scowled and started wringing it out—into the bowl.

  “I ran into Simon earlier,” I said, getting straight to the point.

  “So Gertrude said. That shouldn’t be a problem. I ate the emotions from his memories of you, and I twisted what remained. The image of you he has in his head is three inches taller, with light brown hair and green eyes.”

  “He recognized me,” I said firmly. “Not only did he recognize me, he hates me.”

  Crystal leaned forward. “Hates you? You’re certain?”

  “I’m positive. And he ran from me.”

  The piorum’s eyes glittered, and her mouth tightened into a flat line. “I am certain I adjusted his memories of you and of the fey he encountered. Even if he had pictures of you—which he did not—or if someone reminded him of you, or told him his memories were wrong, it should not have mattered. Even if he remembered you as you really were, the emotions should be gone. I didn’t simply adjust his emotions, I ate them.”

  “If there’s no way for him to remember on his own, then someone had to spend time and effort to remind him,” Andy said grimly. “And from what you said, whoever did that also made sure he hated you all over again,” he added, looking at me.

  “Someone is using Simon.” I groped for my soda and took another long gulp.

  “Not just using him,” Andy pointed out, “using him against you. But why?”

  Crystal frowned. “An individual who is elfstruck is more likely to become elfstruck a second time. Not only because they were previously exposed, but because some people are simply more vulnerable to the yearning for the Otherworld. But your partner is right. If Simon hates you, then someone fed him that hate.”

  “No one goes to that much trouble for no reason,” Andy said grimly. “But who would benefit from something like that? You haven’t even seen him since the day Crystal met with him, so it’s not like whoever did this is sending him after you. What’s the plan?”