Grave Dance (Alex Craft, #2)(25)

It was hard to read the kelpie’s equine features, but I think she glared at Malik. After several silent seconds, she turned to me, her large eyes unblinking. That’s as close to permission as I’m likely to get. I asked my question.

“A group of feet recently floated down the Sionan River and washed up in the floodplain to the south. They were tossed into the river sometime in the last four or five days.

Do you remember seeing or otherwise sensing the feet floating through your territory?”

The kelpie’s lips once again curled back from those sharp, predatory teeth. “The grotesque offering? The meat was putrefied by magic. It offended me.”

Offering? That was an unusual way to view body parts dumped in the river, but the feet the police had found were certainly saturated with dark magic, so I guessed we were talking about the same thing. I shuddered at the idea that she’d actual y tried to eat one of the feet, but if I thought about it, that wasn’t real y unexpected.

“Do you know where the, uh, ‘grotesque offering’ was tossed into the river?”

“In the place that reeks of iron, near one of the thundering gates.”

gates.”

Well, that’s as clear as river muck. The place that

“reeked of iron” was probably the city—no fae liked iron and the city had a lot of it. But what were the “thundering gates”?

I didn’t get a chance to ask. A hiccup erupted in my chest, interrupting me. I pressed my fingers over my lips just as a second hiccup hit, fol owed by a third.

The charm. Glamour—and not from the kelpie or Malik.

I whirled around, glancing over the bank, the bridge, and the road as I turned. Nothing. My gaze shot to where the woods encroached on the river. Stil nothing.

Another hiccup gripped my chest, bursting from my throat, and I cringed. Okay, charm, I got the point. There was glamour being used nearby, but I real y wished the charm had a better way of warning me. At least I’d had the foresight to attach the charm with a quick-release clasp this time. I unhooked it from the bracelet and pried open my shields.

My grave-sight snapped into focus, painting the forest in muted shades as the landscape decayed. Several yards away, amid the forest of rotted trees, a trol moved silently through the wilted underbrush. His shoulders were wide enough that he had to turn sideways to step between two thick trees and avoid tearing the dark business suit he was wearing. His hands, each as big as my head, dragged the ground beside bare green feet sticking out under the hemmed legs of his slacks. I thought for a moment his hands were brown with moss green mounds over his knuckles, until I realized he wore gloves, the leather worn away on the top.

He moved slowly, sucking in his gut to al ow more clearance between the tree trunks. But not enough clearance. Bark flaked off the trees as he brushed past.

Beside me, the kelpie’s ears twitched, the skin on her neck quivering as she snapped her head toward the forest. The trol ’s glamour might have hidden his footsteps, but we al trol ’s glamour might have hidden his footsteps, but we al heard the explosion of bark.

Malik wrung his hands, glancing from the forest to me.

“What do you see?”

“Trol ,” I whispered, hoping the trol in question wouldn’t hear. He’d paused when he brushed against the tree, as if waiting to see if we had noticed.

We had.

I’d met only one trol before, and it had been rather slow on the uptake. This one looked much more astute—it was probably the suit. If nothing else, the suit definitely implied that roaming the wilds wasn’t part of his normal routine.

“I’m guessing trol s aren’t common in this area?” I asked, but the only answer I received was a loud splash behind me.

I turned in time to see ripples and the kelpie’s dark shadow fade under the surface of the water. I glanced at Malik—or at least at where Malik had been. Now there was only his retreating back.

I whirled back around, and the movement dislodged smal pebbles, sending them tumbling down the bank to make plink plink sounds as they hit the water. The trol was running now, bounding toward me. Crap. My muscles tensed, preparing to send me bolting away. My car wasn’t far, just on the other side of the bridge. Then the trol reached into his coat, pul ing his sidearm and in the process flashing the badge at his waist.

“Freeze—FIB,” he yel ed as he leveled a gun large enough to be a smal cannon at Malik’s fleeing back.

I froze. For one endless moment, even my heart stopped.

Then the next beat crashed hard, threatening to knock me forward. I lifted my hands slowly, palms open to show I carried no weapon and was preparing no spel . Not that it mattered. The trol never looked at me.

He thundered by, each stride of his tree-trunk-thick legs eating the ground in a massive gait. Stil the distance between him and Malik grew.

between him and Malik grew.

“Malik Shel ycoat, by order of the winter court I command you to stop,” he yel ed, his voice booming but already breathless.

Malik dove into the forest, slipping silently through the underbrush until he vanished among the trees. The trol crashed after him, trees shuddering and bark exploding like shrapnel as he shouldered through.

I remained by the bank, my hands in the air until both fae had vanished from sight. Then I lowered my arms, glancing around. I could stil hear the trol ’s loud pursuit in the distance, and I half expected to spot the trol ’s partner approaching me, gun out and cuffs in hand. But there was no one.