I didn’t hear the rest, as I headed up the stairs.
I entered my grandmother’s room and paused, taking it in.
Nothing had changed since our conversation. The bed was made, maybe a little dusty, everything was in order. As though she had just left yesterday.
I could feel her presence here. Not in a ghostly way, but in a general way.
I looked over the top of one dresser, where her old jewelry was arranged in boxes and on stands. Modest stuff, not ostentatious. Relatively little jewelry, all things considered.
My plan was to grab a fine chain, if I had to settle for the bare minimum. Something stronger than cord or thread. I didn’t have to settle.
A locket dangled from one of the racks. Simple, unembellished. Only a rectangle with rounded-off edges. I had to move other necklaces to grab it. When I popped it open, I found a sprig of some herb, dried up long, long ago, inside.
I sniffed it.
Lavender? I could see my grandmother wearing it as a precaution against something specific.
I could also see her wearing it for the smell alone.
Very carefully, without touching it, I tapped it against the side of the dresser. It wouldn’t do to poison myself with something I was misidentifying.
I made my way back downstairs, open locket in hand. A classic container for a lock of hair.
When I reached the door to the living room, however, I found both girls looking in one direction.
The front door?
I went, then peered through the window. A moment later, I opened the door.
It was Laird, in plainclothes.
“Hello, Officer Behaim.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t realize it was you?”
“I thought you might,” I answered.
“A declaration of war, Mr. Thorburn?”
“Call it what you will. Retaliation?”
He sighed. The lines in his face seemed a little deeper. A tell? Was he hiding anger or other sadness? Or was he not a morning person?
“I’m disappointed,” he said.
“You sound like my dad used to, when you say that.”
“I’d hoped you would accept the temporary peace I was offering. We didn’t have to be enemies in the strictest sense.”
“But I can be the dimwitted buffoon that you can abandon for the Others to get, after you’d promised me safe passage?” I asked. “You can conspire against me at the meetings? You want me to accept the meager kindness and peace you offer?”
“It would be smarter,” he said.
“That’s called shaking the hand you’re offering in friendship, while knowing your other hand is balled up into a fist and you can’t wait to use it to punch me in the balls.”
“Very colorful, Mr. Thorburn. I’m not, I should stress, in a joking mood.”
“Oh?” I asked. “Did I inconvenience you?”
“Marginally. I’m more inconvenienced by the knowledge that we now have an ongoing dispute.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I said. “You fucked with me, I fucked with you. We can leave it at that.”
“Leaving things be fails to resolve anything. You’re dangerous. Your continued existence puts my family at risk. I no longer believe you’re going to abstain from the darker subject matters your grandmother freely dabbled in. I have no reason to expect you’ll be as discreet or careful as she was. Finally, we do need things settled before the paradigm here changes.”
It might have helped that I was as tired as I was. I was disconnected enough that I was able to look like I didn’t give the slightest shit.
I saw his expression change a fraction, the lines deepening some. “I’m forced to take action.”
“Action?” I asked. The super-apathetic no-shit-giving attitude was still going strong. “You put yourself in an awkward position, setting the bar at ‘killing me’ with our first meeting. Now you’ve got to top that, which means jumping straight to fates worse than death. But where do you go after that? I mean, it’s hard enough threatening fates worse than death without sounding like a deranged fuckwit.”
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I’m tired,” I said. “I’m not talking tired in the sense that I’m exhausted because I’m fighting for my life. I’m tired in the sense that I want to go take a nap. I woke up early to deliver that letter, and I spent some power along the way.”
I’d very nearly mentioned the fight with the Duchamp girl’s familiar, but I’d decided against mentioning that in case it got around and bit her in the ass, then bit me back on the karma front.
“Well,” he said. “Far be it from me to keep you from your nap.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Is that all, then?”
“Two or so things, if I may? First of all, you can expect me to respond. It should be tomorrow, and you’ll notice it, even if the impact isn’t immediately clear. I’m rather confident you’ll regret getting on my bad side.”
And here we went.
“That’s a shame,” I said.
“Second, I see you have a guest. That would be… hm.” He tilted his head a little, then spoke loud enough to be heard in the living room, “Maggie Holt.”
I heard noise. Footsteps followed, with Maggie coming to stand beside me, hands jammed in her pockets to ward off the cold that was blowing in from outside.
“I wasn’t sure if it was clear,” Laird said, “But when my nephews met with you, they were supposed to hint that you should abstain from any contact with Mr. Thorburn and his vestige.”
“They hinted. You could say I didn’t get it.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Ms. Holt.”
“I seem to,” she responded.
He took that in, taking his time with it, as he might digest a very profound statement. His eyes found mine. “Mr. Thorburn.”
“Can we wrap this up? Unless your big plot to remove me from this world involves running up my heating bill.”
“I tell you this with no expectations. I do not want or desire what you have offered in any deals you’ve proposed, and I have sworn not to accept any such offers.”
The words had a bit of substance to them, a care that woke me up a little from my general exhaustion.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Maggie Holt is the one who orchestrated the attack on your cousin, Molly Walker. She had command of several goblins and ordered them to strike her and leave her alive. She did it at our behest, in exchange for small favors, gifts of power and offers of knowledge.”
I was glad for that exhaustion. It kept me from doing anything.
Maggie had gone very still. Eyes wide.
“I see,” I said.
“You swore you wouldn’t tell,” Maggie said. “Everyone did.”
“We swore we wouldn’t take his deal and give him that influence. I’m keeping my word,” he told her. To me, he said, “When it went as poorly as it did, we were upset. The public had taken notice, and they had alerted authorities. We fulfilled the letter of the deal, but did so by offering Ms. Holt the bare minimum we could.”
“Including a lesson on how to use… what is it, paper seals? Japanese name or something.”
“Ofuda would be along the lines of what Sandra Duchamp might know,” Laird said. “I think that was what she offered Maggie for the murder of Molly Walker.”
“Thank you for clarifying that detail.” I reached into the little pocket and retrieved the bit of paper. “With all due respect, Maggie, I’ll be returning this.”