“Well done.” Her other eye, her compassionate eye, opened. “I hope that you do not have need of dauda-dagr, young one, but it is best that you have it in your possession. Order must be enforced, lest we all be imperiled.”
I took a deep breath.
The dagger was heavy, heavier than I had expected. Also bigger. Hey, everything looks small in a frost giantess’s hands.
“Find the truth,” Hel said in an implacable tone. “Find it and report it to me, Daisy Johanssen. If you need to dispense justice, you have my leave.”
Great.
I dropped to one knee, bowing my head. “Thank you, my lady. I’ll do my best.”
Sixteen
Mikill the frost giant drove me home, dripping all the way.
I was quiet, holding dauda-dagr awkwardly in my lap, thinking about what had transpired. For the first time since I’d become an agent of Hel, I felt the full weight of the responsibility vested in me, coupled with the realization that I had a lot to learn. Also, I was really, really tired. It was kind of overwhelming holding a conversation with a goddess who could casually reference having her own freaking cosmology. How did that even work, anyway? Trying to wrap my head around it just made my brain hurt.
By the time Mikill dropped me off in the alley, I was yawning. I thanked him and gave him back his fur coat.
Mrs. Browne was hard at work in the bakery, and her presence and the warm glow of light spilling into the alley from her windows was comforting. She spotted me and gave me a cheery little wave as I skulked past to check behind the Dumpster, where I found nothing. Yay.
That left the stairs to my apartment.
Opening the door gave me a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. Feeling only a little silly, I clutched the leather-wrapped hilt of dauda-dagr tight in my right hand, and used the left to turn the doorknob, jumping back as the door swung open.
Also nothing.
I heaved a sigh of relief.
Upstairs, I hurried into my apartment and locked the door behind me. A scrabbling sound from the screened porch made me jump again, my tail lashing with nerves, but it was only Mogwai, forcing himself through the torn screen and complaining vociferously about his empty food bowl.
“Hey, big guy,” I said fondly, filling his bowl. “You scared me.”
Ignoring me, he chomped at his kibble.
“Long day.” I sank onto my futon couch and kicked off my sandals, fishing my phone out of my purse and checking it. No messages. No wonder. It was late. Having eaten, Mogwai deigned to come over to settle onto my lap and purr. “Hey, Mog?” I showed him dauda-dagr, runes shimmering the length of its blade. “Hel gave me a magic dagger. What do you think of that?”
Unimpressed, he kneaded my thighs with his paws, claws pricking a bit.
I thought about displacing him and going to bed.
Instead, I fell asleep.
I awoke to the sound of my phone chiming insistently and bright sunlight streaming through the windows, a sure indicator that I’d overslept. At least after the past twenty-four hours, I figured I got a pass on worrying about sloth. Glancing at my phone, I saw that the call was coming from the main desk at the station. “Hello?”
“Daisy, where are you?” Patty Rogan sounded harried. “The chief’s having conniptions.”
“Sorry.” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Long day, late night. I forgot to set my alarm. What’s up?”
She lowered her voice. “There’s a detective here from the sheriff’s department. And we got the autopsy report.”
That made me sit up straight. “And?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Daisy, I don’t know.” Her voice took on an irritated note. “Just get down here as fast as you can, okay?”
“Will do.”
I showered at top speed and yanked on a linen sheath dress so I wouldn’t have to take the time to worry about coordinating an outfit, then wolfed down a stale doughnut, eating it over the sink so I wouldn’t get powdered sugar on my dress. Dauda-dagr was a problem. Having been entrusted with it, I was pretty sure it was incumbent on me to carry it. How, exactly, was I supposed to accessorize a dagger as long as my forearm? I settled for switching out my purse for a woven straw satchel big enough to conceal it.
Phone, check. Keys, check. Magic dagger, check.
By the time I reached the station, Chief Bryant was wrapping up a conference with all the patrol officers, of which there were a grand total of six, and a plainclothes detective from the county sheriff’s office whom I vaguely recognized. The chief gave me a dour look as I sidled into the conference room, making me feel unwarrantedly guilty. A late-night summons from the Norse goddess of the dead was a pretty good excuse for being late to work.
Okay, maybe I do have a few daddy issues.
The chief dismissed all the officers but Cody Fairfax and the plainclothes detective. “Daisy, you remember Tim Wilkes from Sheriff Barnard’s office. He’s here to provide assistance and oversight.” His voice was neutral. “Detective Wilkes, Daisy Johanssen.”
“A pleasure.” The detective shook my hand, looking a bit bewildered. He was one of those average-looking Midwestern guys, mid-forties, with mild brown eyes, sandy hair, and a tidy mustache. “May I ask in what capacity you’re involved?”
“You can ask,” the chief said. “Not sure I can give you a satisfactory answer. Unofficially, Miss Johanssen is a special consultant on . . . unusual cases.”
Detective Wilkes processed that in silence a moment. “Chief Bryant, I do have to request your complete cooperation in this investigation,” he said. “And your complete candor.”
The chief nodded. “Understood. And I have to request your discretion, and possibly a willing suspension of disbelief. You’ve been assigned to the region long enough to understand that circumstances in Pemkowet are . . . unusual.”
The detective made a noncommittal sound. “You know I can’t cut any corners for you, Dave.”
“Not asking you to.” Chief Bryant held up one broad hand. “Daisy . . . Miss Johanssen . . . has uncovered a significant development I haven’t divulged yet.”
“Oh?” Detective Wilkes raised his brows.
I fought the urge to squirm in my seat. I was dying to know what was in the autopsy report. Cody, seated at the conference table with an expression of stoic patience, gave me a warning look.
I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him.
“We have witnesses who report seeing the Vanderhei boy’s body dumped in the river,” the chief said.
Detective Wilkes’s mild brown eyes took on a keen spark of interest. “I’ll need to see their statements. Maybe question the witnesses myself.”
The chief cleared his throat. “They’re undines.”
Tim Wilkes looked blank. “What?”
“The witnesses are undines,” I said, unable to restrain myself. “I didn’t take a formal statement because . . . well, they’re undines. There’s no point. It wouldn’t hold up in court.” I shook my head. “You can’t even establish an official identity for a water elemental, let alone admit testimony.”
“I see.” Contrary to his words, Tim Wilkes continued to look blank. “Undines. Yes. Definitely . . . unusual.”
Chief Bryant leaned back in his chair, which creaked. “You see why I’m asking for a measure of discretion?”
“Yes.” The keen spark returned to the detective’s gaze. “I do.”
“If you’re willing, I’d like you to work in conjunction with my people.” The chief gestured at Cody and me. “Officer Fairfax has done a fine job leading the investigation. And I suspect you’ll find Miss Johanssen’s connections in what we call the eldritch community to be invaluable.”
Tim Wilkes scrutinized me. “How is it you come to be so well connected, Miss Johanssen?”
My tail twitched with irritation and impatience. “That’s considered an impolite question in the community.”
Cody coughed, hiding a chuckle.
“You’re one of them.” It was a statement, not a question. At least the detective was shrewd.
I sighed. “Yes, I’m one of them. I’m also the goddess Hel’s liaison between mortal and underworld authorities, and I assure you, she’s very interested in seeing the truth come to light.” I rubbed my left palm. “I’d show you my badge, but you wouldn’t be able to see it. Since you’re here, I assume the medical examiner has ruled Thad Vanderhei’s death a probable homicide.” I glanced at Chief Bryant. “Chief, I’m sorry I was late, but can I please, please know what was in the autopsy report?”
He gave me a slow nod. “Your undines were right. The Vanderhei boy drowned, but not in the river.”
“Where?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Don’t know. But he drowned in salt water, not fresh.”
My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
Taking pity on me, Cody slid a copy of the autopsy report across the conference table. “Read it for yourself, Daise.”
I glanced briefly at it and saw a lot of scientific jargon. Bottom line, there’s actually a physiological difference between the process of drowning in salt water and in freshwater. Also, they tested the fluid in his lungs for saline content. Definitely not river water. Scanning further, I saw other details noted.
“Internal temperature suggests time of death may have been several hours before the discovery of the body,” Cody said helpfully. “Which corroborates your undines’ testimony.”
“He had scratch marks on his back.” I looked up. “And they found scales under his fingernails?”
He nodded.
For a brief, sickening moment, I thought of Lurine. She wouldn’t do that, would she? I was pretty sure she wouldn’t. And if she would, why would she have helped me with the investigation?
Reaching across the table, Detective Wilkes turned a page for me. “The ME’s office consulted with a biology professor at Western,” he said. “He identified them as fish scales, but he couldn’t pinpoint the species. On his recommendation, we’re sending them to an expert ichthyologist. Hopefully, that will help narrow down our search.” He tapped the page. “For now, we’re thinking fish tanks.”