Charles stopped sorting through the kitchen implement drawer, lifting his head. There was something . . . odd about the other man’s voice.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe. He removed a fillet knife from the block and slid it into his jeans pocket.
“That would be cool.” He was careful to keep his throat loose, so Arthur wouldn’t have any reason to think Charles had noticed anything different. “She’s tough, she’d handle it—but I want them off.” He moved unhurriedly through the dark living room . . . and caught Sunny’s lingering scent from the couch nearest him.
Poor thing. He hadn’t known her well enough to do more than feel sorry for her. No wonder Arthur was off. Oddly, the sympathy he felt for Arthur was far more sincere than any mourning he could do for Sunny.
He tried not to think about how much worse tonight could have been. Anna, they wanted to kidnap. Not kill.
Their taking her made him angry, so angry that not even killing three of them soothed him. Or Brother Wolf, either.
If they had killed her . . . he would have joined her. He paused, not having worked that out before. But it didn’t particularly bother him. If she died, he would follow. Just as he would have followed her wherever they had planned on taking her had they succeeded. She was his and he hers.
“Charles?”
His phone rang. “I’ll be right there. Angus is calling.”
He opened the phone, “Yes?”
“Your Anna was spot on. About an hour ago—fifteen minutes after the cleanup crew left Chastel’s place—we had police all over the place. Someone had called in a report of screaming, dogs howling, gunshots, and hell-all-knows else. They brought in luminol—the stuff that glows in the presence of blood. We owe Moira big-time because they found squat. The last witch we had could never have cleaned up that well. The police are still tearing the place apart—but they’re being nicer about it.”
“Trap sprung too late,” said Charles—aware that Arthur had come out to listen.
“Yes.” Angus paused. “And your scent? Moira found clothes in one of the . . . well, in the mess of body parts. As best we can figure, someone snitched the clothes you wore to the hunt, dragged them around the room, and dumped them.”
“Deliberate.”
“Absolutely. And not even the fae can pin it on you now. I know you left the hunting grounds in a completely different set of clothes.”
“Good.”
“On another interesting news front . . . that van? The local vampires who were doing the cleanup on it recognized the stick you poked through one of the bad guys. She called it a spellcatcher.”
Charles frowned. “Spellcatcher?”
“Vampire hocus pocus, apparently. Very secret—the vampires here really don’t want trouble with your father over this to tell us this much. Only a couple of vampires can make them—and they charge a lot for them. If our team of out-of-town vamps were hired guns, they were successful and expensive to be able to purchase such a thing. Apparently this stick can absorb up to four spells, and the person it’s tuned to can use it to cast them, even if that person wouldn’t normally be able to do magic.”
“That would explain the shadows spell and the Look-Not-At-Me the vampires used when they attacked Anna the first time. And how they kidnapped Anna while we were both in the hotel room—they must have used the spellcatcher to put us out with a witch’s sleep spell.”
“The thing to remember is that it can only absorb spells given to it voluntarily by the spell caster. Means a wolf gave them the shadows spell and the Look-Not-At-Me.”
“Confirming Anna’s theory,” Charles said. He was pacing. There were many things he did not like about cell phones—but not tangling himself up in cords was a definite benefit.
“Is Anna all right?”
“She’ll be fine as soon as a few more chunks of lead fester out, and I get some locks picked so she doesn’t have to explain her interesting choice in jewelry.”
Arthur was leaning against the door frame of his treasure room, making no effort to pretend he wasn’t listening.
“Good.” Angus cleared his throat. “You did good, son.”
The “son” made Charles smile. He was older than Angus by a few decades. “I think so. She’s—she completes me.”
“Tell her that,” Angus advised humorously. “Women like to hear their men get all tongue-tied.”
“I’ll do that.”
He shut the phone.
“Cleanup crew?” asked Arthur.
And Charles realized that there was a lot Arthur didn’t know. “Chastel was killed last night in a particularly bloody fashion that required some quick action.”
“Was it you who killed him?”
“No. Vampires.”
“Ah.” Arthur looked away. “Chastel. Odd to think of him being dead at last. It couldn’t have happened to a better person.” He looked back and gave Charles a broken smile. “And I guess it did, didn’t it? Poor Sunny.” He rubbed his face, hiding it for a minute. “Sorry. Sorry. So Chastel required a cleanup crew?”
Charles considered offering sympathy—and decided it wouldn’t help. “Anna suggested that the murder was so bloody—especially given it was vampires who’d done it—”
“The vampires killed Chastel? You are sure?”
Charles nodded. “Ironic, considering how many wolves I know who would have loved to kill him.”
“Who called the police? The vampires?”
Charles shrugged. “The timing is off. The police were meant to find the scene in all its glory.” Maybe to keep his father from bringing the werewolves out. Maybe to keep the wolves away from the scene so whoever had tried to frame Charles for it would have an easier time. Without access to the murder site, the werewolves might never have determined how Charles’s scent appeared in a place he’d never been. “But they gave us too much time. The police won’t find anything now.”
“I suppose not. Angus is remarkably efficient.”
“And, I believe, his second’s daytime job is with the police. Tom knows what they are looking for and how to keep them from finding it.” Charles paused.
It occurred to him that he could see Arthur hiring someone to do his killing for him. But he dismissed his suspicion. Sunny had been killed. A wolf would never kill his own mate.
Even so, Charles gave in to his impulse to throw out some bait. “Whoever called the police did it hours too late. It might have worked if he’d called right after the job was done.” He shook his head. “That’s what’s been bothering me, I think. The incompetence of it all. Most wolves are better hunters. The vampires made a try for Anna—right before we came over here for dinner, as a matter of fact. They failed—and lost two of their pack doing so. Michel, one of the French werewolves, was with Chastel when he was killed. And they left him for dead. He’ll survive, and in a few days he’ll tell us exactly what the vampires said when they attacked. Maybe they told him who hired them.”
“Hired?”
“They’re pros. Hired to come to Seattle to do at least three things.” Charles ticked them off on his fingers. “Kidnap Anna. Kill Sunny. And kill Chastel—making his death horrible and bloody, something that screamed ‘Monster’ to the police.”
Charles hummed thoughtfully to himself. “It wasn’t the vampires who were incompetent. If they had known what they were facing when they tried to kidnap Anna the first time, they would have succeeded. Someone underestimated the escort I sent out with Anna. Thought that the only one who would be a problem was Angus’s second, Tom. Chastel’s death was . . . masterful. Any humans who’d walked in, who’d seen pictures of it, would remember it for the rest of their lives. But the person who was supposed to call the police was too slow.”
Charles had been watching Arthur out of the corner of his eye. The wolf’s face showed nothing but polite interest. His body, on the other hand, had been tightening with anger throughout Charles’s whole speech.
“Incompetent,” he said again. And watched Arthur’s fist clench.
Arthur.
His father had been suspicious of the death of an Alpha who’d recently been killed in London. Tough man and very dominant—decapitated in a car accident. Could have been deliberately arranged.
Charles resumed pacing, ignoring Arthur as if he weren’t there at all. So Arthur didn’t realize he’d given himself away.
Taking out Chastel made sense. Chastel was a threat to Arthur. Kept Arthur from expanding into Europe. His death left a huge power vacuum—and Arthur would have stood no chance in a fair fight against Chastel. He couldn’t have just assassinated him and left the murder open, though—if anyone knew Arthur had taken the coward’s way of killing Chastel, they would never have followed him. Arthur was not Bran, he wasn’t strong enough to rule a continent based on his own power—he’d need them to be willing subjects. He’d need to pin Chastel’s death on someone else.
Charles didn’t think Arthur cared one way or the other about the werewolves’ coming out. He was precisely the charismatic kind of wolf that Bran planned on introducing the public to first. But making Chastel’s murder look as though it was designed to attract human attention was a way to send suspicion elsewhere. There were a lot of wolves who were unhappy about his father’s plans. Bran would not believe Charles had killed Chastel, after all—so Arthur needed a nameless villain for Bran to blame. Someone who hired the vampires, then conveniently disappeared.