Special Agent Damian Brent pointed at my overnight bag. “Going somewhere?”
“I was going across town for a few hours.”
His gaze shifted to focus past me. “Do you have a permit for that gun?”
“I do,” Maxine said.
I’d jerked the door open and, as usual, she had her gun out. I could have at least checked before opening the door, or waited until she’d retreated out of sight.
“Concealed carry?” Agent Brent asked.
“Yes. May I see your identification?”
I stepped out of the way so she could move forward. Her gun was lowered but still available as she drew closer to the screen door to make her inspection of his credentials. A moment later she said, “I’ve never heard of the S-S-T-I-X.” She spelled it out, letter by letter. “What’s it stand for?”
“I’m not surprised you haven’t heard. SSTIX”—he pronounced it like the famed river Styx of Greek myth—“is a newer and little-known task force.”
We all waited; he didn’t go on. “And the acronym stands for what?” Maxine pressed.
“Specialized Squadron for Tactical Investigation of Xenocrime.”
“Xenocrime?”
“As in crimes committed by those members of society deemed … strange.”
“Nonsters,” Clive added with a twisted smile.
It had been only a matter of time until nonhumans had a task force devoted to their crimes. This should have been a good thing, as law enforcement officers increasingly had refused to investigate crimes involving vampires and wærewolves for years. Insurance companies and governmental agencies had lost numerous lawsuits brought by families of slain or disabled police officers whose attorneys had cited circumstances “far superior to normal risk.” Based on Agent Brent’s vibe, I was betting the federal government had found a solution … and that it might not be all good.
Maxine removed the cell phone from her pocket. She still hadn’t holstered her weapon. “With so many freaks able to make realistic documents, you’ll of course understand if we verify your credentials before talking to you?”
“Of course, but it’ll take you longer to make that verification than it will for Ms. Alcmedi to answer a few simple questions.”
“The number?” Maxine insisted. She dialed as Agent Brent rattled off a series of numbers.
I stepped forward. “What do you want?”
“I have questions about the death of Xerxadrea Veilleux and the break-in at the Botanical Gardens.”
A pang of loss resonated in my chest at the mention of her name. Keeping my expression blank, I said, “Xerxadrea was a friend. I mourn her loss. Someone told me the authorities thought she lost control of her broom and crashed.”
“May we come in?”
“Not until she verifies you.”
He took a small notepad from his pocket and flipped it open. “The alarms went off at the Botanical Gardens at eleven-twenty-six P.M.” He tapped the notebook. “Local television stations broadcast live coverage of you from eight-twelve P.M. until eight-thirty-eight P.M. A ceremony of some kind, and you wore a red hooded cape.”
He took a breath, so I said, “I’m not sure of the exact times, but I have to assume you’ve done your homework and that you are correct.” Nothing about my installation as Menessos’s court witch was criminal. Although I would arrest Menessos for making me wear those boots if I could.
“I also have sources that say at approximately nine P.M. you were seen leaving the area of the vampires’ haven with a man on a motorcycle. The motorcyclist drove on the sidewalk for a short distance.”
That was illegal. At least for the “motorcyclist,” Johnny. My mouth stayed shut.
“So where did you go when you left in such haste, Ms. Alcmedi?”
“To see me,” Maxine said, shutting the phone and tucking it away.
“And you are?”
“Maxine Simmons.”
He asked for her address and wrote in the little book as she answered. “May we come in now?”
“No,” Maxine said firmly.
“How long did you two ladies stay together?”
Maxine shrugged as if unsure. “I don’t remember. Do you?”
In truth, I’d gone with Johnny to The Dirty Dog, then flew on the broom to the gardens. After the encounter with the fairies that left Xerxadrea dead, I left with Menessos. We revisited The Dirty Dog, then continued on to the haven. Security cameras might have picked up the cab arriving at the haven downtown, so I didn’t dare lie about that. “Until Menessos came for me. We arrived back at the haven at …” Menessos had given me the satellite phone then. I was afraid to call Nana because it was after one in the morning. “It was just after one A.M., I believe.”
“Nine until one.” As he wrote that down, Agent Brent asked, “So what were you doing during those four hours, Ms. Alcmedi?”
“Playing cards with me,” Maxine said. “Uno. And staying clear of vampires. If you’ve seen the TV footage then you’ll recall there was an attempted murder at the ceremony.”
Agent Brent pursed his lips, a sign that he wasn’t convinced.
“We weren’t certain who the target was, but the Regional Lord thought it best she be elsewhere,” Maxine replied. “What’s any of this got to do with the Eldrenne’s death?”
I made a mental note to remember that Maxine was a convincing liar.
Agent Brent continued. “Eyewitness police reports say that at approximately eleven-forty P.M., someone wearing a red hooded cape was observed flying away from the Botanical Gardens on a broom.” His bland tone supported the disgust he was conveying to me. “You were there, Ms. Alcmedi. I want to know why the deceased lost control of her broom.”
It was Menessos’s second-in-command, Goliath, the police had seen. I had given Goliath my cape to wear in hopes it would draw off the fairies that were after us. Menessos told him to wait until the last moment to leave, to buy us time to make our escape on foot.
“Enough of this,” Johnny stepped up. “Do you have a warrant?”
“I do not. Do you have a motorcycle?” He quickly assessed Johnny.
“If you don’t have a warrant, then you’re done here.”
Johnny’s voice exuded an unmistakable threat. The agents, after glaring briefly through the screen door, left. Johnny shut the door when they had exited the porch.
“They’re likely calling to get access to all the city’s traffic cameras right now,” Maxine said. “Where did you two go?”
“We took Superior into Cleveland Heights to The Dirty Dog.” I watched the two men stride to their very plain, government-tagged Impala.
“East.” She paced a few steps, took out her phone again, and made a call. She told someone to get a couple tech geeks to the Blood Culture, pull video surveillance, and doctor in an arrival and departure of two women who could pass for the two of us, with me in the ceremonial outfit. She gave them times and the proper date. When she shut the phone, she grinned. “Now we’ll have corroborating evidence if he needs it.”
“It can’t be that easy.”
“For the tech geeks it is.”
“Women who could pass for you and me?”
“The Boss knows a lot of women, my lady. A lot of size sixes. Me in shades, you with the hood up. Easy.”
Nana and Zhan had been listening, and joined us in the living room. Though apprehension radiated from her, Nana didn’t speak.
“You said we were together and gave him your address,” I said to Maxine.
“I said you came to see me. I didn’t say where. He asked for my address because he assumed that’s where we were.”
Good point. “Still, I didn’t kill Xerxadrea. Fairies did.”
“With magic,” Nana said. “Hard to prove you did it, hard to prove you didn’t.”
“I have no motive!”
“She kicked you out of the lucusi before witnesses, Persephone.”
I swallowed hard. My stomach iced over.
“Don’t worry about it,” Maxine said reassuringly. “Now you weren’t even there.” She nodded toward the door to indicate we needed to get moving. “Boss won’t allow them to make a media martyr of you.”
There were many who bore me ill will for various reasons. Some of them were in the Witch Elders Council. Using the angle that someone was setting me up was viable, but having to lie to protect my innocence was a kick in the gut to my notions of justice.
Johnny and Maxine were waiting for me in the car.
As I stepped off the porch I noticed an empty bucket in front of the garage, the one I used for dog food. Thunderbird had brought it up for a refill. I grabbed it and hurried to the car.
Though Johnny had his phone to his ear, at my approach he revved the engine happily and grinned at me through the windshield. My blond sentinel had taken the passenger front, leaving me to get in the back. I tapped the driver’s window and Johnny lowered it. After only a few words I realized he was telling Theo about our visitor, and requesting that she see what she could find out about SSTIX.
“Pop the trunk,” I asked. Maxine had to tell him where the lever was. After my bags were in the trunk, he’d put the window up again so I mimed filling the bucket followed by flapping wings. I doubt either understood it to mean, “I’m going to feed the griffon.”
I hurried to the grove with the dog food, stopping at the edge and holding out the bucket. Thunderbird stretched, rose to his feet, shakily, then settled his feathers and ambled weakly toward me. I set the bucket between my feet. Thunderbird stopped and cocked his head. He made his trademark sound, but it lacked force.
I reached down and scooped dog food into my palm and held it out.
He puffed his neck feathers up and kicked one of his hind legs, tail swishing. He’d seemed weak and was acting tough now. I was sure it cost him. “C’mon.”
Slowly, he continued forward and snuffled at my hands.
“They’re clean,” I said softly.
A long moment later, with his sharp beak hovering over my offering—and me hoping his aim wasn’t impaired by his lacking vision—his beak opened and the odd bird tongue licked up a few pieces of kibble.
“At least they were clean,” I added.
As he continued to eat from my hands, I studied his wound. Runny pus and goop. He needed Dr. Lincoln.
Gently, I closed my grip around his beak, not blocking his nostrils.
He stilled, except for rolling his remaining eye up at me.
“You have to let the doc treat you, Thunderbird.”
My fingers loosened, and he reared his head up regally. It reminded me of a man, standing tall and declaring he was fine and didn’t need a doctor.
I bent to pick up the bucket and quickly examined his injured talons. Standing straight, I offered him the handle. “Let the doc do his job and help you heal.”
His craned neck twisted away and he snuffled again. Now he seemed like a child who’d stuffed fingers in his ears and declared he wasn’t listening.
With those glossy feathers and that sleek tiger body, he was a gorgeous creature. Griffons were symbolic of nobility for centuries, though not exactly shown in tiger form. Tigers were enigmatic and powerful. He was mysterious nobility. I didn’t want him to die.
I placed the bucket on the ground before him. “I don’t want to lose you, Thunderbird.”
He thundered again and spread his wings as if to prove his might.
Reaching up, I stroked him gently from the neck to shoulder. He was so soft. He hadn’t resisted, so I did it again, ending in a reassuring pat. Then I jogged back to the driveway.
As soon as my car door shut, Johnny backed up the driveway. I momentarily got over the smooth leather seats and asked Maxine, “Who answered at the number Agent Brent gave you?”
“Department of Homeland Security.”