Then a sudden gust of wind lifted Natasha’s hair—and a dense fog obscured the parking space. Just that space.
“Air says you owe Fog a carrot,” Natasha said before she stepped away from them to meet Ilya as he got out of the car.
“I have a couple of carrots at the bookstore,” Julian said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Julian returned with a small bowl of carrot chunks. Seconds after that, a chubby, misty gray pony with clompy feet stood next to Grimshaw, clearly expecting his payment. Grimshaw fed him the carrot chunks, thanked Fog for his assistance, and watched the pony wander down Main Street, covering other parking spaces—and wondered how the pony had learned to fog between the lines.
Grimshaw looked at Ilya and tipped his head before walking into the station. When Ilya followed, Grimshaw went to the supply room, opened a drawer in a filing cabinet, and returned with the game board and all the extra pieces of the altered Murder game.
“When Osgood comes in, I’ll go over to the store,” he said, handing the game to Ilya. “I’d like to be there before you start playing, but there’s no reason not to start setting up.”
He hesitated, sure that the village’s human government wouldn’t be happy about his including the Sanguinati in the investigation of a crime. But this crime was connected with humans as well as the terra indigene, and he needed all the help he could get.
Besides, his paycheck might come out of the village’s budget, but Ilya was the person who had hired him.
“I printed out all the photos I took last night. When Doc Wallace and I unwrapped that bundle of feathers, we found a head.”
Ilya stiffened. “One of the terra indigene?”
He removed Fewks’s photo ID from his pocket and held it out. “Not one of your people. He’s one of mine.”
CHAPTER 15
Vicki
Thaisday, Novembros 1
Soon after Julian and Natasha drove off to meet Grimshaw and Ilya in Sproing, I heard the outer porch door open. Thinking it was the guests in the lake cabins coming for breakfast, I didn’t look up from making butter curls and berry balls before I said, “Come on in. The coffee is fresh and hot, and there’s . . .”
In hindsight, it was more than foolish to invite anyone in without knowing whom I was inviting in, although I hadn’t met anything in The Jumble that needed an invitation to enter a building. Having locked doors and windows—or walls or a roof—wasn’t much of a deterrent to something big enough that it could huff and puff and blow your house down.
I looked up and stared at four Sanguinati youngsters, all neatly dressed in black.
“Good morning,” the gorgeous teenage girl said. “I am Kira. This is Lara.”
The younger girl gave me a full-fanged smile and seemed delighted to be standing in my kitchen.
I really hoped she wasn’t hungry.
“I am Viktor,” the next generation’s Mr. Yummy said. “And this is Karol.”
Karol was the other Sanguinati male I’d seen last night. He seemed to be in that age bracket of young teen who wanted to look and act mature, especially around the gorgeous girl, but also wanted to run off and explore every room in the main house. I had a pretty good idea how the Cornleys would react if they suddenly found a teenage boy standing next to their bed asking questions about their morning aerobics.
“Does Ilya know you’re here?” I asked. “Or Natasha?”
None of them had a poker face.
“They didn’t say we couldn’t come and visit,” Kira said.
A chill ran down my spine as I thought about the partially eaten donkey that had been found too close to the main house, and the weirdness that had spooked the Crows last night. The Crowgard were noticeably absent this morning, but the Hawks were outside keeping an eye on things—including my potentially delicious guests.
I heard laughter and voices, male and female, heading toward the house. Jenna McKay was doing the donkey-cart tour with Bobcat this morning—assuming there was another donkey in The Jumble’s small herd that was tame enough to pull the cart. Conan was confident that the guests would be safe, but Cougar would follow them. Just in case.
Immediate problem first. “How did you reach The Jumble?”
“We crossed the lake in our smoke form,” Lara said, sounding pleased with herself.
“Does anyone know you’ve come to visit?”
Really, there wasn’t a poker face in the bunch.
“You want us to leave?” Kira asked, clearly disappointed by my unenthusiastic reception.
“No.” I blew out a breath. Besides being my attorney and CPA, Ilya and Natasha were friends and had done a great deal to help me maintain my claim on The Jumble during the trouble this past summer. Now they needed me to step up to this particular line. “It may be different among the Sanguinati, but when human youngsters leave their house to visit friends, they tell an adult where they are going and who they are going to see. Otherwise, adults worry.”
What was that saying about asking for forgiveness rather than permission? I had a feeling the young Sanguinati were operating on that principle.
“An important tip,” I said as the outer porch door opened. “You should never stand between a human and the coffeepot first thing in the morning.”
Three adult humans opened the kitchen door and stared at four Sanguinati youngsters before the Sanguinati stepped out of the way with a politely murmured good morning.
“Help yourself to breakfast,” I said, waving toward the partially prepared offerings. I looked at Viktor, who appeared to be the oldest teenager. He gave me an amused smile and nodded to indicate message received.
No snacking on the guests.
I hurried to my office, figuring this needed to be a private conversation. I unlocked the office door, stepped inside, then called Silence Lodge.
“What?” The male Sanguinati who answered the phone snarled at me, and I flinched. It was an ingrained response to male aggression that I was working to overcome. At least I hadn’t slid into a full-blown anxiety attack, so that was progress.
Reminding myself that he wasn’t mad at me—yet—and that he was on the other side of the lake, I braced one hand on my desk. “This is Vicki. They’re here and they’re fine.”
A beat of silence. Then . . .
Maybe the Sanguinati don’t have their own swearwords. Or maybe they’ve decided that human swearwords are more . . . fulfilling. Either way, it was like listening to someone play building blocks with short, pithy words while my anxiety kicked in and rose toward meltdown.
Then the male voice disappeared and a female voice that sounded slightly calmer said, “Ms. DeVine? Our fosterlings are with you?”
I let out a shaky breath. “They came over for a visit and forgot to leave a note for the grown-ups.”
“One moment, please.”
While I waited for whatever she was doing on her end, it occurred to me that the youngsters could have used terra indigene communication to tell the adults at Silence Lodge about their destination. They could have received communication telling them to come home.
Of course, if you don’t answer, no one can prove you heard.
“Ms. DeVine? If it would not inconvenience you, could the youngsters stay with you this morning?”
“I’m not sure what they’ll find of interest to do over here, but they can stay.” A thought occurred to me. “One of my guests is doing the donkey-cart tour of The Jumble this morning. Could they do that too?”
Another pause, probably for discussion. Either the adults at Silence Lodge didn’t remember their youth or they did remember their youth and that was why they were all panicking now.