Dead Heat (Alpha & Omega #4)(76)

Anna thought that from now on, whenever the air was warm and still and smelled like leather and dead things, she would remember these children. She pressed against Charles, and his hand touched the top of her head to comfort them both.

“Is Amethyst up there?” That was Leeds.

“Yes,” said Charles. He moved then, toward the bed. Brave Charles.

Amethyst was silent, no breathing, no heartbeat. Anna whined at Charles. If he touched Amethyst, he’d be contaminating the scene. The other children were decades dead. Amethyst was the Doll Collector’s most recent victim. The one most likely to provide clues.

“Is she alive?” asked Marsden.

“She’s not breathing and her heart isn’t beating,” said Charles.

“I take that as a no,” said Marsden. “Damn it. Just once I’d like to be in time.”

“Don’t be too hasty.” Charles drew his boot knife. “It’s hot up here. She isn’t rotting. All the putrefaction I can smell is old. Death and heat equal rot. Either he killed her less than a half hour ago, or she’s not dead.”

Or she’s dead and the fae has found a way to preserve her body.

Charles nodded at Anna, but he didn’t relay her comment to anyone else. He used the blade of his knife to push the fabric aside, petals falling down like leaves in autumn, leaving Amethyst exposed. He put the back of his hand against her skin and pulled it back with a hiss, shaking it out.

“If the Doll Collector didn’t know we were here before, he does now,” said Charles.

“What’s going on?”

“I touched Amethyst and tripped some sort of magic,” Charles told them. “I’m going to try something.”

“Wait,” said Leeds. “We have an expert in fae magic who is flying in from Oakland tonight.”

“Might be too late,” Charles said. He rolled his knife in his hand.

Anna had had it custom-made for him last Christmas. It was a san mai knife, high-carbon steel sandwiched in stainless steel. The high carbon meant that it held an edge better, and should be effective against fae magic because it was closer to “cold iron” than straight stainless steel was.

He pressed the edge of the knife against Amethyst’s arm. It rested against her skin for half a breath and then cut through. As the first drop of red smeared the knife, Anna’s ears popped as if the air pressure dropped. Then Amethyst sat up and screamed in terror.

It wasn’t a pretty sound, raw and pitched like nails on a chalkboard. It hurt Anna’s ears. She hadn’t been happier to hear anything in a long time.

Charles gathered the girl into his arms and held her, face pressed against his shoulder. Anna wasn’t sure that was a good idea. A stranger, a male holding her? Who knew what the fae had done to her in the months since he took her?

“Shhh,” said Charles as the other three came boiling up the ladder. “Shh. It’s over. It’s done. We won’t let anyone hurt you again. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

And, perhaps because it was Charles, the little girl grabbed his T-shirt with both hands and buried her face against him. Her screams became sobs that were even worse than the screams. Anna whined, remembering the garden fae, the wearden, saying that the child the people in Scotland had saved had died anyway.

Leslie took a good look around and climbed back down out of the attic. After a few moments she said, “Hey, Hemmings, this is Fisher. Can you go pick up the Millers and bring them to this address in South Scottsdale”—she read them the address—“tell them we found her, but not until you have them in the car. I don’t want any tragic traffic accidents on the way here. There are enough dead people haunting this place already. Tell the team—FBI, Cantrip, and Scottsdale PD. Tell them to get down here ASAP: we have a crime scene to process. And tell someone to find out who owns this damned place.”

“Will do,” said a man, presumably Hemmings, on the other end. “And I have good news on the ownership. We have a name. A dozen officers are at his address as we speak. Sean McDermit. He’s mostly retired, but he works ten hours a week at Sunshine Fun Day Care.”

Charles took one good look around, skipped the ladder altogether, and jumped down to the main floor. He absorbed the fall by bending his knees. Anna was pretty sure Amethyst never noticed their descent at all. Anna jumped down after him. It was easier for her to jump than to climb down in the wolf’s body.

She followed Charles out of the house. Watching his body language, she suddenly was reminded of something she already knew. Alphas fancied themselves responsible for the safety and well-being of everyone around them. Charles wasn’t an Alpha—he ceded that rank to his father—but he was more dominant than any Alpha other than his father. The way he held Amethyst Miller said that he felt responsible for her.

At that moment something clicked, and she understood his reluctance to have children of his own. She’d noticed it herself, hadn’t she? That the people he cared about he could count on the fingers of one hand: herself, Bran, Samuel, probably Mercy. This trip had allowed her to add one more person to that list: Joseph. Five people, because he could not keep any more than that safe. And Joseph was dying.

Oh, Charles.

Charles held Amethyst until her parents came to claim her. It was a little like holding a puppy. Hot and wet and shivering, she breathed in ha-ha-ha jerks. He sang “Froggy Went a-Courtin’” because it was long, repetitive, and something his father had sung to him when he was Amethyst’s age. He didn’t know what parents sang to their children these days, but there was a fair chance that she might find it familiar.