Victor watched her as if he weren't sure of her balance. He'd probably been as golden as his wobbly son when he was younger, but his hair had faded to white-streaked straw. His eyes were the pale blue of a winter sky, and his face bore a friendly assortment of lines. Right now, the lines drooped with weariness, and he looked older than the sixty Rule had mentioned.
Grief can do that.
"You doin' all right, Merilee?" Chief Mann asked.
"I'm okay." Now that she was closer, Cynna could see that the girl's eyes were red and puffy. "Half the time I can't believe he's gone. He'd be… he was so proud…" Her hand went to her swollen stomach, and her lip quivered.
"Come on, sugar," Sabra said, putting an arm around the slim shoulders. "Staying busy helps, and I've got a bushel of apples that need to be peeled."
As the two women left down the hall, Victor Frey turned to the chief. "I thought we covered everything yesterday, Robert. What now?"
"I'm just here to introduce you to this young lady. Agent Cynna Weaver." He nodded at her. "She and Agent Timms are with the FBI, and they believe it was a demon killed your boy. She needs to talk to you."
The door opened, and in came Cullen.
Victor Frey's face went from tight to furious. "What the—"
"Accipiaris in pace," Cullen said.
The old man looked at him a long moment. The anger didn't so much drain out as get packed up, put away. He smiled a hard little smile. "Accipio in pace. I didn't expect to ever see you on Leidolf land again."
"Life confounds us all," Cullen murmured. "I'm helping our lovely demon hunter—who, by the way, is also the chosen apprentice of the Nokolai Rhej, though not yet formally installed."
Several heartbeats passed while Cynna considered once again the need to kick Cullen's butt. He had no business revealing that. Finally Victor spoke, his tone precise, though his words were oblique. "She's an FBI agent."
Cullen smiled. "Life confounds us all."
Victor turned his attention to Cynna. "Agent Weaver." There was an old-world courtliness to his nod that somehow suggested a bow. He barely glanced at Timms. "Agent Timms. Excuse me for failing to greet you right away."
"No problem."- Dammit, Lily would've known how to talk to this guy, how to use the formal courtesy his manner seemed to require. Cynna didn't. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Frey."
He nodded again. "Our Rhej will wish to meet you. Perhaps after you've fulfilled your official duties, you'll visit her." He gestured at the living room. "We might as well be comfortable. May I offer you something to drink?"
"No, thanks."
"I won't be staying, Victor," Chief Mann said. "You let me know if I can do anything to help, though."
"Thank you. Ah… Agent Weaver?" He waved again at the arched doorway.
The living room was huge, maybe twenty feet by thirty, with an oversize stone fireplace and three big windows that let in what was left of the daylight. It held two couches, a love seat, a piano, and an assortment of chairs. Overall, the decor looked straight out of Leave It to Beaver.
Cynna sat in a big, square armchair upholstered in a nubby beige fabric. "Mr. Frey, I know this is a difficult time for you. I'll try not to take long. I mainly need permission to check out your land. There's a chance that the demon that killed your son is still around."
The Leidolf Rho chose a wooden rocker about five feet away. It creaked gently as he sat. "You're very sure a demon killed Randall." He looked at Cullen, sprawled next to Timms on the closest couch. "Rule Turner's Chosen works for the FBI, doesn't she?"
"Yes."
Frey nodded and returned his attention to Cynna. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm wondering about the designs on your skin."
"I used to be a Dizzy. Now I'm FBI, but things I learned then will help me Find and deal with a demon, if there's one around."
"There isn't."
"I'll have to confirm that, I'm afraid. That young woman— Merilee—she's family?"
"Not the way you would define it. She's carrying my son's child."
Timms quivered with indignation. "She can't be old enough to—"
"She's of legal age," Victor said without looking at him. "Is this what you wished to question me about, Agent Weaver? My grandchild?"
Cynna gave Timms a quelling look and promised herself she'd check with the chief about the girl's age. "I'm told Randall was alone when he was attacked."
"Randall likes—liked—to range for a while in wolf form most evenings. Sometimes someone goes with him, but last night he was alone. It apparently happened very quickly. He didn't…" His breath hitched almost imperceptibly. "He didn't have time to cry out, to call for help."
"The attack took place on Leidolf land?"
"Your consultant keeps you well-informed. Most people would have spoken of it as my land, since it's registered in my name. Perhaps you've begun learning our ways, even though you aren't formally apprenticed yet?"
He was fishing, and she had to decide how to play this. Cullen could have let her in on his intentions ahead of time, dammit.
Keep it simple, she decided—and the truth is usually simplest. But there was no need to offer a lot of details. "I know a little more than the average person, but not much. Think of me as ignorant and you won't go wrong. Was Randall attacked on Leidolf land?"
"Yes. We're careful where we travel in wolf form."
"Understandable. How did you learn about it?"
"He was my heir. When he died, I felt it." His eyes, Cynna realized, were totally opaque. He moved slowly, like a man weighed down by grief; the very lines on his face seemed to sag beneath the emotion. But his eyes gave up nothing. "You may find that difficult to credit."
"That's why she has a consultant," Cullen said. He looked at her. "That part's true. If a Rho loses his heir, he knows."
Either Victor Frey didn't notice the innuendo in Cullen's phrasing, or he didn't care to react. He'd reverted to silent mode. Time for another question. "Did you smell the demon—try to track it? They have a distinctive odor, I'm told."
His eyebrows lifted. He still didn't speak, just looked at her out of eyes that gave back nothing.
"I'm not interested in arresting anyone for failure to report— too much paperwork for damned little result. Besides, it would piss you off, which would make my job harder."
"A practical woman." His smile was small and tight. "I did follow a scent I didn't recognize that led away from the scene of the attack. Perhaps that was your demon. After a mile the trail evaporated. If there was a demon, it's gone."
"I'm hoping you're right. Do I have your permission to search your lands to make sure?"
He sat, thinking. The rocker creaked. "We are a private people," he said at last. "Nor have the authorities been our friends. But you'll get a warrant if I try to keep you out, won't you? Very well. You may look for your demon."
"Thank you. Could I—"
"Leave now."
"What?"
"Time to go," Cullen said, standing.
"I'm not—"
"Yes. You are." He took two steps, tugged her to her feet, put his hand over her mouth, damn him! And spun her to face the Leidolf Rho.
Frey was sitting perfectly still in his rocker, yet she still heard it creaking. She blinked. His eyes were blank, giving up nothing, but his hands gripped the arms of the chair so hard the wood squeaked in protest.
Shit.
Cullen's hand fell away from her mouth. "Thank you," she told the paralyzed Rho again and let Cullen propel her from the room. Timms followed, glancing over his shoulder several times.
"That was weird," she said, low-voiced, in the hall. "What—"
"Shut up. He can still hear you." Cullen reached for the front door.
"You're leaving?" Sabra said.
Cynna jolted. The woman had ditched the flip-flops. Without them, she moved as quietly as a lupus.