“If you don’t mind sharing, you may borrow it. That way only one of us will be trying to figure out what to do with a wet handkerchief.” She smiled, handing it over when the other woman nodded. “Are you having a good time?”
“As a matter of fact, I just finished two dances with your fiancé, and he has worn me out.” Leila dabbed the wet cloth against her face and neck.
“I assume you’re talking about Caleb. He is a fantastic dancer, but he isn’t my fiancé. Not officially.”
Leila cocked her head. “I thought it was all settled. You’ve been together six or seven years. Don’t you want to marry him?” Leila looked astonished at the thought. “I’d love to have a man like him.”
Kam’s pulse jumped. A man like him or him? This wasn’t the first time her cousin had expressed admiration for Caleb, but Kam had never before found it so annoying. She was tempted to warn Leila off, tell her Caleb was taken. But was he?
“We’re still in the talking stages. It’s a big decision.”
“It would be an easy one for me.” Leila fussed with her hair in the mirror, looking at it from each side. Seemingly satisfied, she turned toward the door and looked back at Kam. “Unless there is someone else, you should make up your mind soon or he’ll get away.”
Kam scowled as the door swung shut. First Caleb, then Seth Lormarc, now Leila. Everyone was irritating tonight. What was wrong with her? Was she coming down with something?
She took a deep breath and returned to the ball. When she saw Caleb talking with Leila, her jaw tightened, but she determinedly went to join them. He immediately took her arm, nodded at Leila, and led Kam toward King Seliwyn to say their goodnights.
“What took you so long?” Caleb whispered in her ear. “I’m looking forward to having you all to myself. The sooner, the better.”
Kam relaxed. She’d been imagining trouble where there wasn’t any.
Two hours later, satisfied and lazy, Kam smiled in the dark. Her legs were still entwined with Caleb’s sleeping form, and she laid her head on his bare chest. Any doubts from earlier in the day were gone. This would be a very comfortable place to spend the next hundred and fifty years.
* * *
Seth Lormarc’s night and morning weren’t half as pleasant. Unable to shake off the brief encounter with the Ryndel woman—the moment of sexual awareness, the natural huskiness of her voice, the unexpected anger in her eyes—he’d gone drinking at the local pub with friends. Afterward he had poured himself into bed, spending the night in Elvenrude. Now in the bright sunlight, his head ached; his mouth was unnaturally dry. He would probably have nursed his headache in bed if he was Cityside, but his grandfather had asked to see him this morning. Not that Seth always did as the head of his family asked, after all, he was twenty-nine now and had spent much of the last five years Cityside, but he was fond of the old man, and his grandfather had seemed worried—even secretive. Harad Lormarc had waited until no one could overhear before asking Seth to visit him. If nothing else, Seth’s curiosity was piqued.
After three cups of tea, his head felt better. Coffee would have been faster, but it wasn’t readily available in Elvenrude, and he’d forgotten to bring some with him. Freshly brewed hot coffee was one of the many human luxuries he thoroughly enjoyed.
At eleven o’clock he climbed the long wooden steps of his grandfather’s skybuilt house, anchored in a forest of oak trees. Lifting the ornate knocker, he was quickly admitted into the two-story tree house. Before Beesom, the elderly retainer, had a chance to speak, loud voices reached them from the study. Beesom raised his nose in disapproval and motioned Seth in the opposite direction.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll want to wait in the sitting room for a few minutes. Hopefully Jermon won’t be much longer.”
“Have they been at it long?” The arguments between the two brothers were nothing new. They rarely saw eye to eye on anything, but Jermon’s attitude had soured as the years passed and Harad, the elder brother, maintained his good health. Jermon’s chances of inheriting the position as head of the family had diminished sharply. In fact, Seth’s father would most likely be the next Lord of Lormarc.
“He interrupted breakfast. They’ve been arguing long enough that my ears are ringing.” Beesom turned toward the door, his rigid back emphasizing his point. “I’ll make a new pot of tea.”
When Seth was alone, he lingered next to the hallway door and listened to the voices. What had set them off this time? All he could catch was a word now and then, which seemed to relate to the export side of the business. He finally gave up the attempt, sank into a cushioned chair, and concentrated on the possible reasons his grandfather wanted to see him.
He stood when he finally heard the study door open. Jermon stalked past, chin jutted forward. He slammed the front door behind him. If he’d realized Seth was there, he hadn’t bothered to acknowledge him.
Beesom appeared, his serenity reestablished. “Your grandfather will see you now.”
Seth crossed to the study and found Harad Lormarc sitting before the fireplace, staring into the flames. Black hair had turned to white, but his gaze was as sharp as ever, and his long form, though thinner than his younger years, was reasonably fit. He still traversed the outside stairs and led his manservant on a walk to the palace and back every morning. A commanding figure despite his approaching one hundred seventy-ninth birthday.
Seth cleared his throat, and the old man looked up.
“Good morning, Seth. Thank you for being so prompt. Not all young people care about punctuality anymore.”
“I would never be late for a chance to visit with you. You’re looking well despite your early morning guest.”
The old man ignored the reference to his brother and peered at his grandson. “I feel better than you look. Hard night?”
“We tipped a few.” Seth settled himself in an armchair. “I’m always happy to see you, but I got the impression last night you had something particular on your mind.”
“In a hurry, eh? Fine.” Harad’s gaze sharpened. “There is trouble brewing. I can feel it in these old bones. Captain Brunic has been snooping around, asking questions about illegal transports to New Orleans. Are you aware of anything?”
“No.” Seth frowned. Why would his grandfather give any credence to such an unlikely rumor? Everything Elvenrude needed was already being imported, and exports were so profitable there was no need to resort to anything illegal. “This must be some Ryndel paranoia. What do they think was transported?”
“Not what, who. A commoner.”
“Cityside?” Startled, his voice rose. “Why would anyone do that?” Agitated, Seth got to his feet and began to pace. “Damn fools. When? Which portal?”
“I don’t know all the details, but an elf with long white hair was observed in New Orleans almost two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks?” He cursed under his breath. He sounded like an idiot with all the questions, but he was baffled by what his grandfather was telling him. “What has been done about it?”
“Apparently, nothing.” Harad’s voice was matter-of-fact. “They can’t find him now. I understand they’ve searched on both ends of the portals and are in the process of questioning every keyholder for information. I take it you haven’t been contacted.”
Seth stopped pacing, his expression thoughtful. “Not directly, but Captain Brunic spoke with our guild master. He made it sound like a routine inquiry.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess it wasn’t.”
“The Ryndels may know more than they’re saying.”
“Always a possibility. What do you expect me to do? I assume that’s why I’m here.”
“I want you to get to the bottom of this.” Harad picked up a pipe from the table and used a thin stick to light it from a well-used candle. “I want to know everything the Ryndels know and more. And find out who this commoner is. If he’s still in the city, get him out. His presence there is bad business for all of us.”
“You don’t ask m
uch, do you?”
“When you have the answers, bring them to me. Only me.”
Seth swung around to peer at the old man. “Why? Are you hiding something?”
Harad took the pipe from his mouth. “I’m not sure I like your implication.”
“You don’t have to like it.” Seth studied Harad’s face. “Are you pulling some fast one that you want swept under the rug?”
The old gentleman humphed roughly. “Certainly not. Those shenanigans were left behind in the days of my youth. But I’m afraid someone has—or is.”
“One of us?”
“How in Hades would I know? They aren’t going to admit it to me. More likely one of those Ryndels. But I want you to find out what’s going on, before we’re all in trouble.”
“Is this what you and Jermon were fighting about?”
“What? No.” Harad frowned in annoyance. “Just our normal brotherly discussion.”
Seth narrowed his eyes. He tried a few more questions but got nothing more out of his grandfather on either topic. He finally gave up and said he’d see what he could do.
The dispute with Jermon could be about almost anything, even something trivial, but Seth was unsure how much Harad knew or suspected about the missing elf. He would have to tread carefully in the coming days. He’d heard all the wild stories about his grandfather’s youth. The personal pranks, the shady business practices. Harad had once locked Sawyer Ryndel in a commoner’s root cellar overnight, so Lormarc goods would reach a potential buyer first. How much of that was really behind him? Seth hoped the old man hadn’t done something worse this time.
As he descended the front steps, Seth’s face creased into a faint smile. The only good part of this mess was the excuse just given him to learn more about the Ryndel woman. Had her fiery spark been a pretense, concealing suspicion or even fear? It wasn’t inconceivable that she could know something about the wanderer, for Seth remembered seeing her once before. It was from a distance, but she was rather unforgettable…and she’d been Cityside on the streets of New Orleans.
CHAPTER THREE
Since returning from the ball, Kam had been more edgy than usual. Nothing seemed to be going right. They had no leads on the missing elf on either side of the portal, the spotters hadn’t turned up any promising artifacts, and Kam had sent the new assistant home after the first couple of days because there simply wasn’t enough to do. No need for two of them to sit around staring at the walls. Waiting for…what?
Her doubts about marrying Caleb had returned to the city with her. Her stomach knotted every time she thought about it. The sex between them was good, passionate, exciting, but was it enough? Why couldn’t she have that and still maintain her independence? Once she married, her husband would have the right by elven law to demand her obedience. Not to mention her property and position in the guild. She shook her head in dismay at elven law.
Kam shoved away from her office desk, venting a small fraction of her pent up energy. She needed to get out of here, do something. It had been two days since she’d visited the shelters. She’d visit again. There was always the off-chance a new resident could tell her something. Anything was better than rehashing the same questions about her life that she’d asked herself a hundred times before.
She’d almost made it to the door, when her phone rang.
“You’re not going to believe this, but there’s another wanderer,” Deni said. “Not the same guy.”
“Oh, no, Deni. Whatever you do, keep this one in sight. I’ll be right there. Describe him, and give me your location.”
“Middle age, hair streaked with gray. He’s wearing a brown jacket, khaki pants. We’re on Ninth Street, headed away from the docks. I’m following on my motorbike.”
Kam sped out the door, ignored the ancient elevator and bounded down the stairs, exiting the building onto Royal Street. Since she’d been wearing her magical wristband every day, she raced through the narrow streets, dodging traffic at speeds it was unlikely anyone would detect. The most observant might see a faint blur, nothing they could define. Out of caution she kept to the courtyards and least inhabited walkways whenever possible, still making it to Deni’s location within two minutes. Slowing to a walk in a deserted side court, she turned onto the next street and stopped under an outdoor cafe awning. The only customer huddled over a cup of hot latté and a basket of warm beignets in the brisk air of the November morning. When it got down to fifty degrees overnight, New Orleanians thought they were freezing.
She scanned the street and spotted Deni’s denim clad figure threading her motorcycle through the crowded traffic near Jackson Square. Vehicles crept along as pedestrians cut across, paying little attention to who had the right of way, as they hurried to the bus and streetcar stops in their rush to work.
Despite the jammed street, Deni had almost edged close enough to the wanderer to touch him. He was walking on the left sidewalk, head down, looking neither direction, and his shirt hung limply on slumped shoulders. The blue shimmer around his head was the only proof he was an elf. Deni moved closer to the curb, and Kam stiffened, pursing her lips. She’d have to talk with the girl about overstepping her part of the mission. She’d been told simply to watch him this time, not tag. But Deni was young, anxious to prove she had the talent to move into a guard position. Not unlike Kam eight years ago. They both knew initiative was encouraged and rewarded.
Well, tagging him would save time and effort. She had to admit the kid was pretty good. A few more feet and Deni would have him within easy reach. A tap on the shoulder with elven dust, and the man would have an overwhelming urge to return to Elvenrude. He would be on his way to a portal like a homing pigeon, and Kam would follow him there.
Careful now, Deni. Don’t overplay you’re hand. Almost…
A figure in a white hoodie stepped directly in front of the motorcycle. Deni slammed on her brakes and skidded sideways to avoid a collision. The hooded figure leaped out of her way and continued across the street without looking back.
Damn. Kam shook her head. What bad luck. She looked to see if the wanderer had noticed the disturbance, but what she saw caused her to straighten and sprint across the street, easily evading the slow-moving traffic, including a horse and carriage full of tourists. The elf was being pulled into a nearby courtyard by the figure in the white hoodie and a second person in a black hoodie.
Kam’s feet barely touched the pavement as she raced through the open wrought iron gate. Sensing something wrong at the last moment, she attempted to pull back, but not soon enough to avoid the outstretched foot that sent her sprawling. She hit the hard brick surface, tucked and rolled to her feet. The man in the black sweatshirt was running away from her and around the courtyard’s fountain, following the white hoodie and the elf. The first two had nearly reached the exit on the next street.
A van drove up on the far side, and four humans leaped out, loud pops emanating from their silenced pistols. Kam drew in a sharp breath, her hand automatically covering her mouth. She’d never witnessed a shooting before, and the mock attacks she’d participated in had never involved guns. The man in the white hoodie staggered and went down on one knee. The wanderer crumpled under the gun fire, but his limp body was dragged into the van. The second hooded figure yelled at them to stop, and they fired toward him. He whirled, as if to escape, saw Kam in his way, and dove behind a stone bench.
When a bullet whistled past her head, Kam’s training finally kicked in; she quit gawking and hit the ground, scrambling behind a raised flowerbed. The van doors slammed shut, and the vehicle sped away.
Heart hammering, Kam raised her head for a peek. She wasn’t armed. She never carried weapons during the day, a habit she would be changing, starting the moment she got out of this courtyard. For now, she had no intention of stepping into the open when she couldn’t defend herself. The hooded assailants might turn on her.
But the figure in black ignored her, raced from his temporary cover, and pulled his injured companion to his
feet. They exchanged a few words, the white hoodie appeared to look in her direction, then they hurried out the far end of the courtyard. The entire incident had taken only seconds from beginning to end. All six combatants plus the elf and the driver of the van were gone, leaving nothing behind in the courtyard except the silent water fountain, a rusted fire escape on one of the side buildings, the hardy foliage that stayed green all year—and Kam.
She slowly came out of hiding. One hand covered her pounding heart. A very clean and neat murder. The wanderer had been shot and killed, but there was no body, no evidence to prove it. Where and why had they taken him?
Kam struggled to slow her rapid breathing before she hyperventilated. Murder. Her fingers trembled. She clenched them and finally noticed the bloody scrapes on her palms. She took a deep breath and walked back toward the street. Her young spotter must be as shaken as Kam was, and one of them had to be the adult.
Deni had stopped her bike at the curb and was sitting with her feet down on the pavement. Her face was pale, her hands gripping the handles so hard her knuckles were white. Kam empathized. No one in Elvenrude shot at each other with anything, especially firearms, which were prohibited. Even during Kam’s combat training, no one had actually tried to harm her. She’d had a couple of drunken elves take a swing, but real violence was a rarity in their homeland.
She walked past the young spotter without stopping and kept her voice low. “Snap out of it, Deni. It’s not safe around here. Move on. Now, before the authorities come. Meet me at the office in fifteen minutes.”
With a tense nod, the teenager revved her bike’s motor and pulled away.
Kam waited until Deni was safely out of sight. Foolish, reckless kid. She might have been killed. Caught in the middle of two groups of thugs. Who were these hooded people anyway? And who were the four gunmen from the van, five counting a driver? Was this some kind of turf war?
Deni almost beat her back to the office. They ended up walking in together, and Deni immediately began asking questions. Who? Why?