“We were told my niece is going to be executed for murder at dawn,” Seremela said. “It isn’t true. Vetta would not commit murder.”
“Ah,” said Malphas as he gestured with one long white hand. “I’m afraid that the truth has limited efficacy, especially here.”
With that one simple sentence, the danger in the room skyrocketed.
No honorable Djinn that Duncan had ever met or heard of would have said such a thing, because the Djinn prized truth along with all other forms of information.
“Be careful,” Duncan said to Seremela. She gave him a startled glance as he asked, “Which House are you with, Malphas?”
The Djinn considered him for a moment. Then Malphas chuckled. “You believe the answer to this has any relevance?”
“With the Djinn,” Duncan said in a polite tone of voice, “the answer to this is always relevant.”
Malphas inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I hail from the House Shaytan.”
“Currently?” Duncan asked.
Malphas’s smile widened. “No.”
“Duncan, what’s going on?” Seremela’s telepathic voice sounded tense.
He kept his attention fixed on the deadly creature in front of him, the muscles in his body clenching tight. “He’s a pariah, Seremela. A very Powerful one.”
“I don’t know much about Djinn society,” she said. Her expression turned fearful as she picked up on his wariness. “I don’t know what that means.”
“I do,” he told her grimly.
The five Djinn Houses were built on their associations, and their associations were built on their word. A Djinn who broke his word was perceived as having no honor by other Djinn, and he became a pariah, without association with any of the Houses, lawless and rogue.
Seremela had said they had hit the point of no return when they stepped into Wendell’s shop, but here at Gehenna they had stepped into a place that was far worse, and infinitely more dangerous.
Scary dude, Wendell had said about the Djinn. I’m not sure what he cares about.
A stiletto of cold, icy certainty sliced through Duncan.
Whatever Malphas cared about, it wasn’t the truth, or the law. As a first generation Djinn, he would have the Power to know whether or not Vetta was telling the truth if she claimed she was innocent. Since he was still holding her in custody, he didn’t care who had actually killed Thruvial. Hanging Vetta must benefit him in some way, only now Duncan and Seremela had shown up to protest.
Malphas hadn’t come to this empty trailer to talk with them. He had come to figure out whether or not he should kill them too. The only reason why Duncan and Seremela were still alive was because the Djinn had not yet decided what course of action was in his best interest.
“Things were different when the girl was a nobody, weren’t they?” Duncan said. Malphas strolled leisurely around him, and he turned to keep the Djinn in front of him. “Because then nobody cared if she died. What I don’t understand is why hang her in the first place?”
“She’s a stupid child,” Malphas said. His tone was casually dismissive, as if they talked about a disobedient dog. “She’s insolent and rude, and she has behaved as though everybody else owes her something. Before you arrived, there was no one here in Devil’s Gate to miss her and several people who would say good riddance. In the meantime someone of Power—someone who had taken hold of a great deal of power here—has been killed, and there are many other Powerful creatures present who are disturbed by that. They want retribution. They want to know that the same thing cannot happen to them and go unpunished. They hear the word ‘poison,’ they see a medusa—” The Djinn let the sentence trail away as he shrugged. “The clamor to hang her became too loud to ignore. She had to be held somewhere, so I took her.”
“Then give us a chance to find out who really killed him,” Seremela said. Her eyes burned with repressed emotion but, Duncan was glad to see, her face and voice remained calm. “I’m—I’ve been a medical examiner. If I could examine the body, I can determine what type of poison was used and possibly learn a great deal more. I can guarantee you this much—even if Vetta’s snakes bit him repeatedly, they’re much too immature to carry enough poison to kill a mature Dark Fae male.”
“Keep a poisoned, rotting corpse here, in this heat?” said Malphas, his beautiful face twisting with distaste. “Oh no, Doctor. While your offer might carry a certain theoretical merit, there is no body left for you to examine.”
“What do you mean, there’s no body?” Seremela asked tightly. “What happened to it?”
“Thruvial’s own attendants lacked the proper Dark Fae herbs for preserving the dead. His remains turned so foul they were forced to burn him on a pyre yesterday.”
As Duncan listened, his mind raced. Discovering what the Djinn cared about was the key that would get them out of this trailer alive.