Grave Dance (Alex Craft, #2)(92)

“Can you get a message to Falin Andrews for me?”

“Can you get a message to Falin Andrews for me?”

His face darkened. “No. Have a good night, Alexis.”





Chapter 26


“Wel , PC, looks like this is our temporary home base.”

I set my purse on the floor, letting PC hop out onto the worn shag carpet that I was guessing had once been red.

“Oh, no,” a voice yel ed from somewhere to my right. One of the cabinet doors under the sink opened and out stormed a little man. He wore a green suit, a pair of green suede shoes, and a smal green hat. White hair escaped from under the hat on al sides. “He says take care of the girl, so I’l take care of the girl. Wipe her snotty nose if I have to. But I wil not have that”—he pointed a large wooden spoon at PC—“in my house. Won’t have it. Won’t have it!”

The brownie swung the wooden spoon like a lacrosse stick, and I scooped PC off the floor before the little man managed to hurt my dog.

“You must be Osier.”

“Must be? Might be.”

I frowned at the smal creature. “Okay, then who are you?”

He crossed short arms over his chest, the spoon tucked under one armpit. “I am much put out.”

Right. “Can he stay one night?”

“Hmph.”

“Just one night. We’l leave in the morning.” I was being run out of a house by a man who didn’t even reach my knees. How sad was that?

The wooden spoon lowered, and I got a begrudging nod from the smal fae. “One night only,” he said. Then he turned and marched across the kitchen, climbed back under the sink, and slammed the cabinet door shut.

“Wel , it’s good to be welcomed,” I said, setting PC back

“Wel , it’s good to be welcomed,” I said, setting PC back on the floor.

“Heard that,” Osier’s voice cried, but thankful y he didn’t venture back out from under the sink.

I took a few moments to explore the house—and it took only a few. The rooms off the hal proved to be a master bedroom just big enough for a ful -sized bed, a dresser, and a couple of lamps, and on the other side of the hal , a second, smal er bedroom that was used as storage and a dated bathroom. PC and I headed to the master bedroom, and I dropped my purse on the bed. Sleep sounded awful y tempting; after al , I had used a whole lot of magic in the last twelve or so hours. But there was stil too much to do.

Digging through my purse, I pul ed out the letter I’d picked up at Caleb’s house. It was a little the worse for wear after having been in the purse with PC. I flipped it over. At one point it had been sealed with crimson wax, but Caleb must have broken that when he read the letter. A smal clump of crimson remained, and I frowned at the buzz of a spel locked in the dark wax. Reaching with my senses, I immediately recognized the magical signature—no surprise that it was the same as the constructs. The spel itself was a simple alarm spel meant to alert the caster when the seal was broken. So they know it’s been read. But not by me yet. I hoped it wasn’t too time sensitive.

I pul ed the letter out of the envelope and unfolded the parchment. Crap. I stil wasn’t actual y seeing with my eyes, and what my psyche saw was badly weathered. I squinted, struggling to read the neat but smal letters. A lot of staring, looking away, and moving closer to and farther from the paper was involved before I final y pieced together the message. Not that it was long.

Alex Craft,

Your friend, while useful, does not have your abilities. If you would like her returned safely to her home, come to the old bridge. Two a.m. Tonight.

There was no signature, but what did I expect, the bad guy to leave a forwarding address? I paced around the smal room, PC fol owing at my heels. “The old bridge” had to refer to the stone bridge below town. And how exactly am I supposed to get there?

My head was pounding. Probably from the mix of exhaustion, expending too much magic too many days in a row, and the frequent rushes of adrenaline that had been flooding my system. I dipped my head, burying my face in my hands as I rubbed my eyes and temples.

If I went to the bridge, I’d be walking into a trap. But what happens to Holly if I don’t? I needed some sort of backup.

An edge. But what did I have? A dagger and a six-pound dog. Maybe a ghost if he popped around.

I wished I knew how to contact Falin. Not that he was likely to agree to my going to that bridge. Digging my phone out of my purse, I cal ed Information, but, of course, Falin had no listed number. I briefly considered trying to cal the local FIB branch. If anyone knew how to reach him, it would be the FIB. But, one, they probably wouldn’t give me a number even if they had one, and two, with my luck they’d figure out who was asking and trace the cal . Wards that protected me from being tracked did little good if I let technology pinpoint my location.

I continued to pace. If I went to that bridge alone, there was no guarantee that whoever had Hol y would release her. I had to go to the police. I cal ed John.

He answered on the second ring. “Alex? Girl, where are you? Actual y, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Did you know the FIB has a warrant out for your arrest?”

“Yeah. It’s . . . complicated.”

“You keep using that word. What the hel is going on?

You’re working for the FIB. Then Andrews shows up, causes a scene, drags you out of the station, and an hour later I find out a warrant’s been issued.”