Cody looked startled. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You’re welcome. And, um . . . thank you.”
We watched him get into his pickup truck and drive away.
I glanced at Jen. “A beautiful wolf, huh?”
She folded her arms across her chest, looking slightly defensive. “I just wanted him to know I was okay with it. That I wasn’t freaked-out. You okay with that?”
I smiled wryly. “I don’t know. Are you ready to hug it out yet?”
Jen’s expression softened. “Duh. Daise, you were awesome. You totally kicked ass today. And I so totally owe you. If we hadn’t gotten there in time . . .” She shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it. Let’s just say you rock, girlfriend.”
“Deal.”
We hugged.
“You’ve really got to go?” Jen asked. “No chance of staying for a cup of coffee?”
“No. I wish.”
She blew out her breath, wisps of hair rising from her brow. “Okay, but when this is over, we seriously need to talk.”
I nodded. “You have no idea.”
Besmeared with muck and mire, I drove home and parked the Honda on a side street, padding barefoot to my apartment, dauda-dagr hanging in its scabbard from my new belt, tourists staring as I cut across the park. Mogwai emerged from beneath a rhododendron bush to greet me with a plaintive howl.
“You think you’re hungry?” I said, scooping him up ignominiously beneath one arm. “I don’t even remember my last meal.”
Dangling, Mogwai wailed.
Upstairs, I plunked him down and filled his bowl with kibble. I removed my belt and set it carefully aside, then stripped off my filthy clothing and climbed into the shower, letting hot water pelt me.
Clean and restored, I checked the time and realized I was due at the station in ten minutes. Scavenging in my refrigerator, I found a lone hard-boiled egg. I couldn’t remember how long it had been there, but it smelled okay when I peeled it, so I doused it with salt and pepper and ate it standing over the sink. When this was all over, I really needed to do some major grocery shopping.
Believe it or not, I actually do know how to cook. Mom taught herself from books she got out of the library, and she let me help from the time I was old enough to control my temper in the kitchen. But for now, a hard-boiled egg would have to do.
On the whole, I felt okay.
Yeah, I was tempted by my father’s scenario. Yeah, I liked the image he had shown me. But I didn’t need bat wings and a fiery whip. I was Hel’s liaison, dammit. That was enough. And she trusted me. That meant a lot.
I put on jeans and a scoop-necked T-shirt, buckling Cody’s belt through the loops, dauda-dagr hanging from my left hip, its leather-wrapped hilt at the ready, waiting for my hand. It felt good. It felt right.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. Damned if I didn’t look kind of badass. A magic dagger definitely went better with jeans than a miniskirt. And I’d used it. I’d actually wielded dauda-dagr. Okay, it wasn’t exactly in a major ending-the-life-of-the-undead way, for which I was grateful, but I’d done it. I’d drawn blood, or ichor, or whatever sticky green sap ran in Meg Mucklebones’s veins. I’d backed down a marsh hag and saved a kid.
“Yay, you,” I said to my reflection in the mirror.
My feeling of well-being lasted for as long as it took me to walk the few blocks to the station. There were half a dozen protestors outside the doors today, marching with their placards. Tourists were giving them a wide berth. This was definitely some bad publicity for Pemkowet.
Inside, the news got worse.
Detective Wilkes had come to inform us that the county sheriff’s office had issued an ultimatum. Come Monday, Sheriff Barnard was going to announce that his office was taking over the investigation in its entirety, and would no longer be collaborating with the local Pemkowet police department.
“So he’s throwing me to the wolves,” the chief said, his face impassive. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“I’m sorry to tell you.” Tim Wilkes sounded sincere. “He’s under a hell of a lot of pressure.”
“Exactly how does he plan on getting the eldritch community to cooperate?” I asked indignantly. “They won’t talk to just anyone. They’ll just make themselves scarce.”
Wilkes glanced at me. “He’s not planning on following up on that angle. He’s trying to shift the focus back to the human element. He thinks it’s the best thing for Pemkowet and everyone involved.” He shrugged. “The autopsy results prove the Vanderhei boy’s friends were lying. We’ll charge them as accessories if we have to.”
“Ross Barnard can shift the focus all he likes, but it’s not going to change the truth,” Chief Bryant said. “Is he calling for my resignation?”
The detective hesitated. “Not yet.”
I looked around in vain for a calendar, and counted days on my fingers instead. “But today’s . . . Friday, right?”
Cody stirred. “Right. So we’re not finished yet. We have three days before the case gets yanked.”
“Correct.” Tim Wilkes nodded. “And until then, I’m still authorized to share my findings.”
The chief leaned forward, an alert glint kindling behind his deceptively sleepy gaze. “Which are?”
Wilkes slid a piece of paper across the conference table. “Ichthyologist’s report on the scales found under the vic’s fingernails. Says he’s never seen anything like it. Says the closest living relative would be the coelacanth. You know what that is?”
“Yeah,” Cody said. “I watch the Discovery Channel. It’s a prehistoric fish, right?”
“Right.”
I shivered.
The chief drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “We’re not talking about a hobbyist’s aquarium here, are we?”
Lost in reverie, I didn’t hear the reply. My thoughts chased one another. I examined all the pieces of the puzzle.
Jerry Dunham, the dead-eyed former carny from Seattle, his connection to Dr. Midnight’s Traveling Sideshow, and his collection of expensive vintage motorcycles. Matthew Mollenkamp, Van Buren slacker alumnus extraordinaire and self-proclaimed Master of the Universe and true son of Triton. A pair of ghouls in love, locked in an unsustainable loop of closed feedback, requiring a hostage to survive. A dead boy, a callow young man drowned in salt water, with a bellyful of booze, scratches on his back, and impossible fish scales lodged under his nails.
My own words, echoing Lurine in the car. But you’re right. It all comes down to sex.
It so often does, cupcake.
One by one, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place like cards. Mom had told me it was likely the reading was unusually literal. I should have seen it before. According to rumor, Dr. Midnight’s circus had one true thing—one true thing that fulfilled the requirements of Triton House.
La Sirena, upside down. An alluring woman in distress, that was my mom’s interpretation. But the card didn’t just depict an ordinary woman. It depicted a woman with a scaled fishtail bobbing in the saltwater sea.
In other words, it depicted a freaking mermaid. It had been right in front of me the whole time.
I inhaled sharply. “It’s a mermaid. We’re looking for a mermaid.”
All three men stared at me.
“It fits,” I said impatiently. “It fits with what Lurine and I learned at Triton House last night. That whole Masters of the Universe thing, it’s about having sex with an immortal, preferably of the aquatic variety. That’s how you get to become a Master of the Universe and a true son of Triton. Mollenkamp admitted as much. He tried to play it off like Thad drowned trying to seduce a naiad, but he was lying.”
“Miss Johanssen . . .” Detective Wilkes seemed at a loss for words.
I threw up my hands. “Is it any more unlikely than a coelacanth?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I’m telling you, we’ve been looking into this, and there’s no one in the area with an aquarium that size. It’s not something you can hide easily. They require maintenance and upkeep.”
Cody leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his chin, rasping against his stubble. “What if Jerry Dunham brought it with him from Seattle?”
I eyed him. “You think?”
He shrugged. “He had to hire some sort of moving truck or trailer to transport those bikes. Why not an aquarium? If that’s what he was in charge of in the circus, he might be doing the maintenance himself.” He gave Wilkes an inquiring look. “Think we can get a search warrant for his house, Detective?”
“Based on this? No.”
“Based on suspicion of trafficking in stolen motorcycles and parts,” Cody said. “Hell, I saw the evidence with my own eyes. It’s in the report.”
The detective stood. “I’ll see what I can do. But as far as we can tell, Dunham holds legal title to those bikes. If I were you, I’d go with reasonable suspicion and worry about the paperwork later.” He glanced around at all of us. “Good luck to you. You’ll need it.”
With that, he made his exit.
Chief Bryant sighed. “A mermaid, eh?”
“It’s a guess,” I murmured. “But I think it’s a pretty good one, sir. And if it’s true . . .” I swallowed. “I’m guessing she’s in a pretty bad way. And that’s not a priority the county sheriff’s office is interested in pursuing.”
He met my gaze. “No, it’s not. But I am.”
“So do we bring this Mollenkamp in for questioning, or do we cut to the chase and go back to Dunham’s?” Cody asked me, his upper lip curling to reveal a hint of gleaming white incisor.
I shook my head, successfully fighting the urge to say, Down, boy! “No, I mean, yeah, of course, let’s check it out, but if she exists, I don’t think she’s there, Cody. I could be wrong, but I don’t think Jerry Dunham gives a shit about anything but collecting his fancy motorcycles. I don’t think he ever has. He doesn’t care. He’s not interested in suffering except as a means to an end.”