Soul Taken (Mercy Thompson #13)(78)

Adam hissed through his teeth. “That’s a lot of bodies to dispose of,” he said. “Or people to stash.”

Larry jerked his head in agreement. “Bodies, I’d think. They weren’t interesting enough for anyone to go to the bother of keeping them prisoners.”

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and put it on the table. On it was a neat list of names, designations (things like “witch” or “half-blood fae”), dates (presumably the dates they disappeared), and how they vanished. “This is in time order,” he said.

“It’s your fault the newspaper got the story so fast?” I asked as Adam began reading through the list.

Larry nodded. “One of the goblins I set out searching is no friend of the fae. When she found out the numbers of people missing, she decided you were sacrificing those people to the fae or the witches or the vampires to maintain the safety of the Tri-Cities.”

“Sacrificing?” I murmured.

He glanced at me. “That’s the word she used. She took the names with her to a friend at the newspaper.” He grimaced. “At least her friend is more restrained. The article doesn’t accuse you of being the reason the people are missing—just not doing the job you claimed to be able to do.”

We had been, I thought, lucky that it had been Ms. Chin doing the piece.

“If fifteen people were snatched under our noses before we figured out something is going on, we aren’t doing our jobs,” said Adam.

“You don’t seem upset about the article.” Larry looked inscrutable. “Just the missing people.”

“Publicity is pretty far down the list,” I said.

“Publicity sparks mobs,” Larry said.

“We need to deal with whoever is taking our people first,” Adam said. “Then we can manage publicity.”

Larry nodded. “All right. All right. I agree.” He looked at me. “You said Marsilia warned you. But I thought she told you that you needed to find Wulfe before people started to mistrust you. Not that you needed to find out who is making the vulnerable members of our community disappear.”

“I told you about the witch who was killed on Monday,” Adam said. “The boy at the grocery store Tuesday night—Wednesday morning—was a half-blood fae.”

Aubrey hadn’t made the news yet, but Larry would know about his murder. Larry’s people traded in information. I think Adam was going to tell Larry that we knew Wulfe was the killer—and that was why Marsilia sent us after him—but Larry’s shocked reaction distracted him.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, clearly processing information.

“It’s Bonarata,” he said. “My people told me last night that he was still in Italy, but it’s Bonarata.”

I nodded. “That’s what I was going to say,” I told Adam. “Earlier when we were talking about the seethe.”

Adam nodded. “My people say he’s in Italy, too. But he’s a vampire, and people believe what Bonarata tells them to believe. Once we knew Wulfe’s role, it had to be Bonarata.” He was watching Larry. “But you didn’t know about Wulfe. What is it about the last two deaths that tells you it’s Bonarata?”

“I’d assumed that the gray witch had killed the fortune-teller,” Larry said. “I have photos. I have photos of the boy, too. But I didn’t connect them because I thought he was human.” He paused. “And that stupid movie—The Harvester.”

“You know about the Soul Taker,” I said.

“How is it connected to Bonarata?” Adam asked.

“Well, he’s had it for a long time, hasn’t he?” said Larry. “Centuries. He likes to collect things, does Bonarata.”

He leaned back in the chair and stretched out, crossing his feet at the ankles. Those boots were definitely custom-made, too. Larry’s feet were too oddly shaped to fit in shoes built for human feet.

“I had a call last night from Uncle Mike. Did I know how a dead body and an artifact that resembled but was not the Soul Taker ended up on his front door forty years ago? Zee wanted to know.” He looked a little indignant. “I was in Iceland forty years ago, didn’t come to the US until 2000.”

“So you don’t know?” I asked.

“Of course I know,” he said, sounding even more indignant. “I didn’t connect Uncle Mike’s inquiry with our current problems. Zee has been looking for that damned artifact off and on for nigh on a thousand years. Possibly two thousand years. It has been one of the driving forces of my people to keep it out of his hands.”

I opened my mouth to ask why, but Adam asked his question first.

“How did the dead boy and a ringer for the Soul Taker get left for Uncle Mike to find forty years ago?”

Larry’s eyebrows shot up. “One of my goblins put them there.” He tapped a finger on the table and gave Adam a look. “Not something we’d do now, but the goblins here were without protection. They worked for the seethe, perforce, and hid from the fae. But they watched. And they knew things.” Larry flashed his sharp teeth. “Just as we watch and know things now.”

“What did they know?” asked Adam.

“Bonarata exiled Marsilia to the New World as soon as travel was practical. And once he found out there was a desert, a sunny place with few people—he made her move her people here. You know this much.”