Devil's Gate (Elder Races #4.6)(17)

“Where?” The pharmacist looked avid again.

Duncan gave him a sardonic smile. “That’s not part of our agreement, Wendell. Where’s the best place to find Malphas?”

Wendell made a face but said, “Much as he hangs anywhere, I guess it would be Gehenna—that’s the name of his main casino. Get it? Devil’s Gate—Gehenna. Ar ar ar, right?”

Duncan’s dark gaze shifted to her. He asked the pharmacist, “What do we owe you?”

“You’re not going to ask me how to find Gehenna?” Wendell asked.

Duncan shook his head. “We don’t need you anymore.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to say that,” Wendell said. “With Thruvial dead, things are shifting. People are making a grab for his territory, and a couple of them are strong magic users. You don’t know who to watch out for, or where to go. You still don’t know anything.”

“Now you’re trying too hard,” Duncan told him. He pulled out some cash and laid it on the counter. “I make it just under fifteen minutes. Keep the change.” He turned to Seremela, his expression softening. “Let’s go.”

She nodded and stepped out of the door, and he followed

Wendell called after them, “You’re making a mistake if you think you don’t need me.”

Duncan shook his head. Once they were outside, he offered Seremela his hand. She took it. His grip was like the rest of him, steady, calm and cool. She gripped it tightly and took a deep breath. The smoke scented night air seemed so much fresher than it had before they had stepped into Wendell’s shop.

“What a scurvy little bug,” she said between her teeth.

“I know. I want to squash him.”

He pulled her around to face him, cupping her elbows in the palms of his hands while he watched the crowd behind her. After a quick glance at his face, she did the same, watching what happened at his back. The red-tinged light from various campfires was indirect. Nearby someone laughed, a sharp sound abruptly cut off. Magic tinged the air, mingling with the physical smells of spilt whiskey and other sour odors.

“Would you leave if I asked you to?” he asked telepathically.

She glanced at his shadowed face quickly. He looked as casual and indifferent as if they were talking about the weather. A few choice responses occurred to her, but she saw too many reasons for why he asked what he did.

In the end she just simply said, “No.”

He didn’t look surprised. He nodded and rubbed his thumbs along the sensitive skin at the inside of her elbows, but she didn’t think he was aware of what he was doing.

“The thing that bothers me is the Djinn,” he said and frowned. “Well, there’s more than a few things that bother me.”

“Who was Thruvial?” she asked.

He met her gaze. “Do you remember that I traveled last year with Carling to Adriyel for Niniane Lorelle’s coronation?”

“Yes,” she said.

She wasn’t likely to forget it.

Adriyel was the Dark Fae Other land, and last year had been eventful for the Dark Fae demesne. Dragos, the Lord of the Wyr, had killed Urien, the Dark Fae King, when Urien kidnapped Dragos’s mate. Then the heir to the throne, Niniane Lorelle, who had been living under Dragos’s protection, had to travel to Adriyel to claim her birthright. Along the way, Niniane had survived two assassination attempts in Chicago. Seremela had been the medical examiner who conducted an autopsy on the bodies of the would-be assassins.

The Wyr sentinel warlord Tiago had left his position in the Wyr demesne in New York to travel with Niniane and protect her. As far as the public knew, he now worked for the new Queen as her chief of security, but privately, those who knew the couple also knew that he had mated with Niniane.

Since that time, news from Adriyel had come out in snippets interspersed with weeks of silence. A few months after her coronation, the new Dark Fae Queen had imprisoned several noblemen and tried them for crimes committed against the crown, including treason, conspiracy, the regicide of her father and the murders of the rest of her family. Shortly after the trials, the conspirators had been executed.

A short time after, around January or so, Adriyel had officially opened its borders to tourism and open trade. Still, six months later, it was rare to see Dark Fae in the general public.

Seremela asked, “Did you meet Thruvial in Adriyel?”

“Yes, briefly,” Duncan said. “Thruvial was a nobleman, and I was just a part of Carling’s entourage, so he and I had no reason to strike up a conversation. But I have a good memory for names and faces, and I remember him at the coronation and the celebration afterwards. Why would he come here, of all places?”

Now he had her frowning as well. Urgency pounded in her veins. She needed to get to her niece. Vetta had finally bitten off more than she could chew, and the poor little shit had to be scared out of her mind. Sometimes people had to hit rock bottom before they could change. If that was true, Seremela didn’t think there was any lower Vetta could go than sitting in the dark tonight, all alone, while she waited for her own execution.

But as much as Seremela wanted to barge over to Gehenna, Duncan was right to pause and assess the situation. They needed clear heads and to understand as much as they could about what was really going on, and part of that meant trying to understand the victim and why he had been killed.