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  “What kind of Other is she?” I asked. “Renee, I mean.”

  “She’s a hatif. Not very powerful, from what I’ve seen, but she does seem more vibrant after spending an afternoon in the sun.”

  Liam gave me a quizzical look.

  “A hatif is a sort of nature spirit,” I explained. “An ancestor of the djinn.”

  “She certainly has a fire elemental’s…spirit,” Nikolaos mused. He smiled. “You’ll see, I’m sure.”

  On that note, we left the Great Room and exited into the garden. I let Liam lead, since his nose would probably guide us in the right direction. Following absently behind him let my mind wander over what Nikolaos had said. After hearing that Jamila had gone to Arianne to help her sister avoid the same man she herself had dealt with—and knowing how her deal had ended—I’d been expecting the worst. Forced prostitution, domestic slavery. The stuff of nightmares. As much as I wanted to believe what Nikolaos had said about this trade-school like arrangement, I couldn’t help but hold my breath, waiting for the second shoe to drop.

  As expected, Liam found them easily enough—a perk of being a shifter with a fantastic sense of smell. There was a small stone bench near the side of the house, sandwiched between two giant rhododendron bushes. A woman with olive-toned skin and wavy brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail sat on the bench, and Mr. Moghadam stood beside her. They spoke in hushed tones, but just loud enough for me to notice it was Arabic.

  Moghadam noticed us first, and he held up a hand to stop Renee from talking, glaring at Liam, Scath, and me in turn. “This is a privileged conversation.”

  “I’m sorry, but this is a murder investigation,” Liam said. “We need to ask Ms. Renee a few questions, that’s all. We won’t take long.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Moghadam, I don’t mind,” Renee said, standing and meeting Liam’s eyes with grim determination. “How can I help you…?”

  “Detective Sergeant Osbourne. And this is my consultant, Ms. Renard, and her partner Ms. Scath. I’m not sure if Mr. Moghadam told you, but I’m afraid we have some bad news about someone you know. Jamila Samaha?”

  Renee lifted her chin, but a thin shine of tears made her eyes glitter in the late afternoon sunlight. “He told me. Have you found the person responsible?”

  “Not yet,” Liam said. “We were hoping you might be able to tell us what was going on with her this last week. Maybe you know someone who might have wanted to hurt her?”

  Renee shook her head. “No. Jamila was a fravisha. She was kind, always kind.” Her shoulders drooped, but she immediately stiffened, forcing herself to stand straight and lifting her chin. “She certainly didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

  “Did she seem different at all lately? Upset about anything? Was anyone bothering her?” Liam asked.

  “Jamila always seemed a little…sad. She’d come out here and just sit and stare. She never really felt like talking. I thought she was praying, but one day I asked her about it, and she said she wasn’t praying—she was listening.” Her voice wavered on the last word. “You know what she was listening for, don’t you?”

  Peasblossom crept out from under my hair, her sadness pulsing through our link. No one here was human, so I didn’t bother to check if she was still invisible.

  “She was listening for prayers.” Renee sniffled. “She was waiting to see if she’d ever be needed again.”

  “Again?” I asked gently.

  “Didn’t you know? Her charge was killed a year ago. Back in Syria. It’s why she came here. To get away from all the reminders that she’d failed.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “She didn’t go to mosque anymore. She said she didn’t feel worthy. Which was ridiculous, of course she was worthy. But she didn’t see it. One mistake, and she was ready to give up. On everything. Everyone.”

  My heart tightened. If Jamila didn’t feel worthy of a new charge, then she wouldn’t hear any more prayers. She wouldn’t get a new charge until she felt she deserved one. A vicious circle that would keep feeding her self-doubt.

  “Jamila was kind.” Renee repeated, snatching a pair of gardening shears off the grass and turning to the closest bush. “She didn’t deserve to die.”

  “Renee, have you ever heard of Arianne Monet?” Liam asked.

  Every muscle in the gardener’s body froze, her shears closing with a final snick of metal on metal, lopping off a healthy section of the rhododendron. “Who?”

  “Arianne Monet. She owns the hotel Suite Dreams.”

  “No, I’ve never heard of her.”

  A blatant lie. It was almost refreshing after dealing with the fey for so long. I took a step forward, moving close enough that I could send a wave of purple energy over the woman next time I spoke. A little charm to chase the suspicion from her mind. “I think you do know her. You can tell me.”

  She shook her head. “You need to leave. Now. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

  “Renee—”

  “Why don’t you and the detective go for a walk and let me talk to her?” Detective Stafford suggested.

  I whirled to see Stafford and Nikolaos in the open gap of the sliding door. Nikolaos narrowed his eyes at Stafford, then slammed the sliding door behind him. The detective arched an eyebrow in his direction, but Nikolaos ignored him and marched toward Renee.

  “Ignore him, Renee,” he told her. “He’s just leaving.”

  Renee’s expression darkened a little more, but again, she didn’t say anything.

  “All right, that’s enough,” Moghadam said, stepping between me and Renee. “She said she’s done talking, and she’s answered your questions. If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue with the business you interrupted?”

  I turned back to the gardener. “Renee, Mr. Sideris says you and Jamila both come from the same company. A place called Foundations? If you’re afraid they’ll be angry you talked to us, we can work around that. I can make sure they don’t find out.”

  “Or we can offer you protection,” Liam added. “A place to stay.”

  “No.” Renee turned her back to us, letting the shears fall to the ground so she could hug herself. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Please leave.”

  “We don’t care about your legal status,” Liam said. “We just want to find the person who hurt Jamila. We think it had something to do with the people who brought her here. The people who might have helped you come here too?”

  Renee stiffened. Her head tilted to the side, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. Her jaw tightened and she closed her eyes, but only for a second.

  Renee moved faster than I would have given her credit for. One minute she was standing there with her eyes closed, the next her eyes were wide open, and she spun like a battling top, one arm swinging out, aiming for my face.

  Scath dove forward at the same time as Moghadam, both of them trying to get between us. Moghadam hit Scath and bounced off, flying back into Nikolaos’ arms. They both hit the ground, and I had just enough time to register Liam grabbing Stafford, keeping him away from everyone as the detective lunged at Renee, then my attention was all on the hatif.

  Renee’s fist sailed through the air, aimed at my forehead. Scath caught her arm before her knuckles made contact with my skull, and she growled as she flexed to throw the hatif backward.

  But it was too late.

  Renee’s fist hadn’t made contact, but it didn’t matter. The attack hadn’t been physical. Energy, as real and sharp as any blade, had protruded from her fist, invisible to my eye, but very, very real.

  Pain exploded between my eyes as psychic force drilled into my third eye. I went down.

  Chapter 5

  “Shade!” Peasblossom screamed.

  I tried to blink, but my brain didn’t want to work. As I lay on the ground muddled colors melted in front of my vision, blobs of different hues shouting and scurrying around. I didn’t open my third eye often. There’d been a time I had no control, when my third eye opened on its own. Those mem
ories still haunted me. But now, with the pain rolling through my head, the psychic energy fading amidst the ruins of my third eye, I could feel that vision dying.

  And it hurt.

  “I’m okay.” My voice came out louder than I’d meant it to. I blinked faster, but the swirling kaleidoscope remained stubbornly before me.

  Liam knelt on the ground beside me, facing the other people gathered around, keeping an eye on them while I recovered my bearings. His energy burned against me, and I didn’t have to see his face to know how angry he was. Nikolaos and Moghadam were on the ground too, both of them just starting to rise, hands to their heads.

  A loud feline snarl dragged my attention to my sidhe companion, and my vision returned enough to show me Scath holding Renee. It would seem the gardener hadn’t surrendered peacefully. Her gauzy white shirt was torn, baring most of her right shoulder, and there was a cut on her right cheek. She stood frozen, her brown eyes wide.

  Renee’s mouth moved but no sound came out.

  “Renee, what’s wrong?” I tried to stand, but a sudden rush of blood to my head sent me back down to the ground, my hands clasping both sides of my head, trying to keep my brain from exploding out my ears. “Blessed Goddess!”

  “Don’t stand up so fast,” Liam admonished me. He took my arm, helped me to slowly rise. “Easy.”

  “Get away from her!”

  I remembered—barely—not to make any sudden moves, instead rolling my eyes toward the direction of Moghadam’s angry voice.

  The lawyer lurched off the ground, one accusing finger pointing at Scath. “Let her go or I’ll have you charged with assault.”

  “Renee attacked Shade,” Liam said, his voice surprisingly calm compared to the heat rolling off him. “Scath will let go when Renee assures us she doesn’t intend to do it again.”

  “I what?” Renee said, her brow furrowing as she glanced at me. “I didn’t—”

  Moghadam put himself between me and the gardener. “Don’t say anything, Renee. She’s not saying another word. She told you she doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. She has the right to remain silent, or did you miss that part of the law?”

  “I’m not pressing charges,” I said, meeting Renee’s gaze when I said it. I gestured for Scath to release her. The sidhe didn’t look happy about it, but she let her go. “I’m only interested in finding out who killed Jamila,” I continued. “Renee, I need your help.”

  “If her help is so important, then it’s worth bargaining for,” Moghadam snapped. He straightened his suit and approached Renee, still standing protectively between me and the hatif. “She’ll talk to you. In exchange for full immunity, and a green card.”

  “I can’t make that kind of deal when I don’t know what information she has for us,” Liam said.

  “Let’s all just calm down,” Nikolaos said, holding his hands out as if he could physically smooth all the ruffled feathers. “We all want the same thing, right? Jamila’s murderer brought to justice.” He looked at Moghadam. “Perhaps if Renee tells the detective what he wants to know, he’ll be better able to tell you what he can offer in return?”

  The mention of detective made me look for Stafford. I found him standing off to the side, watching the events unfold with a calculating look that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. For a second—just a second—I had the distinct impression we’d underestimated the psychic.

  “First I want to know what you did to her,” Liam told Renee, pointing in my direction.

  He sounded incredibly calm considering his aura was threatening to roast me like a marshmallow.

  “I—I didn’t do anything,” Renee sputtered. “I mean, I didn’t mean—”

  “Renee, don’t say anything!” Moghadam looked at Liam. “Your partner upset her. I told you she was finished speaking and Ms. Renard pressed on anyway. Renee suffers from PTSD, she lashed out in self-defense. If you intend to charge her, do it now. But she’s not talking to any of you until you have the green card paperwork in hand. And a guarantee of immunity.”

  “I told you, I’m not pressing charges,” I said evenly.

  Moghadam looked past me at Detective Stafford. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. I’m familiar with what the police will do to get what they want.”

  I stared at Renee. If she was a hatif as Nikolaos had claimed, then it hadn’t been her that attacked me. I knew psychic energy when I felt it. And the ruin of my third eye was proof that whoever attacked me had psychic ability—and the control to use it like a weapon. I glanced back at Stafford, wondering if psychometry was his only gift. Then again, Nikolaos was a sorcerer. He could have lied about his lack of interest in magic disciplines. A determined sorcerer was more than capable of honing psychic energy into a weapon. And then there was Moghadam. I didn’t even know what he was.

  I looked at the lawyer, instinct making me flex my magic to send it toward him to feel out what magic he might possess.

  The migraine of all migraines sent me to my knees. My third eye spasmed, and I swallowed a scream, sucking in breath through my nose as I gritted my teeth. Blood and bone, that hurt.

  “Shade, what’s wrong?” Peasblossom hissed against my neck.

  I didn’t want to answer in front of the crowd. Instead, I tapped my forehead, over where my third eye was.

  “Your third eye?” Peasblossom’s voice shot up an octave.

  Everyone looked around, even Moghadam. I cleared my throat.

  “My eye,” I said weakly. “I think I got something in it when I fell.” I stood and cleared my throat. “Mr. Moghadam, if you’ll forgive a somewhat personal question… May I ask what your heritage is?”

  “Arabic,” he said coldly. “Syrian, if you’re one of the few who realizes not all Arabic countries are the same. Is that a problem?”

  “No,” I said weakly. “I didn’t mean that. I meant your Other heritage.”

  Moghadam’s jaw tightened, and I thought I saw Nikolaos hide a smile.

  “Oh, tell them,” Nikolaos prompted.

  Moghadam straightened his spine. “I’m a tasseomancer.”

  Liam looked at me quizzically.

  Stafford chortled and slapped his thigh. “He reads tea leaves!”

  Moghadam’s eyes narrowed. I almost pointed out that tasseomancers could read a variety of things, including tea leaves, coffee grounds, and even wine sediment. But now didn’t seem to be the time.

  The lawyer took a deep, slow breath, then reached into his pocket. “Take my card, Detective Sergeant. And when you have the necessary paperwork, call me. Renee and I will be waiting.”

  I swallowed a groan, but didn’t argue further. It was obvious that Moghadam wasn’t going to let us talk to her if we weren’t going to offer her something in return. I looked at Liam, but he shook his head.

  “Fine.” I unzipped my waist pouch and peered inside. “Bizbee? Could you hand me one of my cards?”

  The grig popped out of the pouch, his beady eyes squinting in the bright light. A scowl twisted his mouth and he used the card to block the sun. “Ach, ye couldn’t have warned me?”

  “Sorry,” I said, wincing as I grasped the card between my thumb and forefinger. “Could I…?”

  With one last grumble and a head shake that sent his fuzzy tipped antennae bobbing, he released the card to me and vanished back into the pouch.

  I handed Renee my card. “Please call me if you think of anything that might help me find Jamila’s killers?”

  Renee hesitated, then stuck out her chin in defiance. She snatched the card away from me. “Fine.”

  I turned to go.

  “Ms. Renard?” Renee asked suddenly.

  I looked back at her over my shoulder. “Yes?”

  Renee stared at me, looking into my eyes with the intensity of someone trying very hard not to look anywhere else. “Do you think desperate people deserve choices, or should they settle for what they get?” She took a step forward, then forced herself to stop. “For example, if s
omeone offered to pay for your schooling, but only if you got a degree in pediatrics, instead of the degree in forensic anthropology you really wanted. If you couldn’t afford any schooling at all on your own, should you accept their offer and be grateful?”

  The question caught me off guard, not the least due to the curious specificity of her example. But my answer came easily anyway. “Everyone deserves a choice.”

  Renee glanced in Scath’s direction, and the skin over the pulse in her neck twitched as if her heart had skipped a beat. I shuffled to the side, putting my hand on Scath’s shoulder and pulling her back.

  “Renee,” Moghadam began.

  “Renee asked Shade a question,” Liam interrupted. “Let her get her answer.”

  I didn’t take my eyes off Renee. “Everyone deserves a choice,” I repeated. “And not just a choice between two evils. A real choice. Sometimes you just have to look a little harder for the alternative. I can help you find it. If you’ll let me.”

  Part of me really hoped she’d talk. But I wasn’t surprised when she just nodded, pocketed the card, and retrieved her shears. She turned back to the bushes without another word.

  “Thank you for your time, Renee, Mr. Sideris.” Liam nodded to each of them. “Mr. Moghadam.”

  “Anytime, Detective Sergeant Osbourne.” Nikolaos nodded back, gesturing for us to follow him back into his house. “Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”

  “You can call me if you find Jamila’s paperwork,” Liam reminded him.

  “Yes, of course.”

  As we walked through the Great Room, I couldn’t help but notice the floor pattern again. “If you’ll forgive the observation, I can barely walk across this floor without feeling anxious, as if I’m being tricked into entering a salt circle. You’re a sorcerer. Can I ask what made you choose this pattern?” I asked.

  Nikolaos sighed and looked down, nudging part of the pattern with the toe of his shoe. “Not my choice, actually. I had this floor redone when I moved in because I prefer ceramic to carpet. The man who put the floor in had a… Well, let us say that he was not fond of sorcerers.”