Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(41)

I’ll take that as a no.

“Ask how the drug was ingested,” John said. He’d pressed the notepad against the back of the camera and was writing at a vertical angle. Every move of his pen caused the camera to bob, and I hoped whoever reviewed the footage wasn’t prone to motion sickness.

I repeated his question to the shade.

“We drank it. The drug came in little glass vials. The kind cologne samples sometimes come in.”

I glanced at Falin, who nodded to indicate something that met that description had been bagged as evidence. From the corner of my eye, I saw the two ghosts float toward the bathroom. Roy clearly wasn’t done playing detective for Icelynne yet.

“We need to establish a timeline,” John said, looking up from his notebook.

I nodded and turned to ask the shade to recount the order of events, but froze when Roy burst back out of the bathroom.

“Alex,” he yelled. “Alex, we need you.”

I make it a rule not to talk to people no one else in the room can see. It was easier before my planeweaving went into full gear and I heard ghosts only when I tried. These days I actually had to work at ignoring ghosts. But the pitch to Roy’s voice was equal parts excitement and concern, not the type of thing I should ignore. He’d found something. Or at least he thought he had.

But I couldn’t just stop questioning a shade midritual and mosey to the bathroom. I turned toward him, hoping my expression was enough of a question for him to tell me what he’d found.

“The vials? The ones the shade said the drug was in?” he said, and I nodded for him to continue. “Icelynne recognizes them. She said they are what the alchemist used to store the glamour he stole.”





Chapter 12





I stared at Roy. The killer in Faerie kidnapping fae and draining their blood to distill their glamour was then creating a drug with it that was somehow making it to mortal hands? Why?

I glanced at the bodies at my feet. Both teens had imbibed Glitter and now their shades were weak, exhausted. The first victim we knew of, Jeremy, had also taken the drug and had a weak shade. There had to be a connection. The drug somehow burned them out to their core. And it had something to do with pure glamour. And snakes, which Jeremy was terrified of, and a clown from a horror movie. But again, why?

How did murder of kidnapped fae and seemingly randomly chosen mortals relate? What could a fae gain out of the deaths? Fae who lived in Faerie rarely cared about mortal currency, and besides, with both cases involving Glitter, the shades claimed the drug had been given to them, not sold. So what did the alchemist want? And how can we find and stop him? I did not want to see any more horrific scenes like this or like the grotesque display of Icelynne’s body.

I turned to Falin. I guess I expected him to be thinking the same thing, but all that was written across his face was cautious concern. John was similar. Jenson just looked impatient. Of course, they couldn’t hear Roy. As far as they knew, John had asked me to question the shade. I’d turned, and then stared off into space.

I opened my mouth to tell them what I’d learned and then stopped. It was fae business. Falin needed to know, obviously. Jenson was debatable. He was feykin, and a cop, but he was independent. Once the FIB knew the connection, he’d likely be off the case. John was plain vanilla human. The queen might be annoyed if I told a mortal cop someone in Faerie was releasing a drug made from glamour to humans. Still, he was a friend, and a cop on this case. Didn’t he deserve to know?

“The drug is from Faerie,” I said, and the expressions around me went from concern, to confusion, and then the two faes’ features turned toward dismayed anger. I decided it was best not to add any specifics.

Falin’s features returned to neutral annoyance in the blink of an eye, and he turned toward John. “This is now officially an FIB matter. Clear out your men.”

John huffed and stood straighter. John was by no means a small man. In fact, I’ve used the phrase “grizzly bear” to describe him before. But Falin was the freaking assassin and knight of the winter court. Even if John didn’t know those particular facts, Falin had a badass aura to him. When you met his gaze, something inside you knew that he wasn’t someone you wanted to meet in a dark alley. It didn’t hurt that he was taller as well so he literally stared down at John, making the detective look up at him.

“Unless Alex has some proof for that statement, I intend to finish the interview with this shade,” John said, and then looked at me.

I looked to Falin. He scowled. The queen would be royally pissed if I discussed Icelynne and what was happening inside the winter court—she’d been trying pretty hard to conceal it. Continuing the interview seemed the better plan. When Falin didn’t stop me from turning to the waiting shade, I assumed he agreed.

I asked the shade John’s timeline question, and he laid out the events of his evening. Most of the events we already knew or guessed, but confirmation was always good. The couple had arrived at the hotel and checked in just after eleven. Bruce had shared the Glitter with Shannon soon after they arrived. They’d gotten comfortable—aka clothes had been removed—and then Bruce had cued up the horror movie. The movie was less than halfway through when the clown had climbed out of the screen.

His description of the nightmare clown chasing them around the room was delivered clinically, the shade detached from the story, even as he described the first stab to his back. How he’d stumbled into the bed. I shivered and wondered why no one had called the police, or at least the front desk. Surely the teenagers were screaming? The story wrapped up soon after that, Bruce’s death not far behind the stab to his back. Shannon was still alive in his last memory, but she clearly hadn’t been for much longer.