“It’s not up to you,” she said.
The tension in the room went up a notch, a shivery, almost painful proof of Leo’s power. His head rocked to the side in that oddly reptilian motion, the vamp-gesture that always made my skin crawl. “Do you have a place devoid of even the merest hint of sunlight? Do you have chains capable of controlling a Mithran? Do you have ways to meet the dietary needs of a Mithran?”
Jodi swore again. Leo smiled, the expression not remotely human.
“Y’all keep tripping over the same old argument,” I said, annoyed. “Can’t you folks get over the logistics for a minute? Leo, where is Katie? Is she secure, protected, and how long will she be whacko? Can we get a CSI tech to her safely to collect samples and her clothing? Oh. And will she remember anything about tonight when she does get her head on straight?”
“Katie is shackled in a subbasement, under guard, and being fed in such a way that she is unable to harm the donor, despite her mental state,” Leo said. “She will likely regain her sanity over the course of the next moon, and will remember nothing about tonight. I will collect any samples from her that are needed, under the direction of, and witnessed by, law enforcement.” Surprisingly, he went on, offering unrequested information. “Her rising was supposed to be another thirty days from now, enough time to process the blood that healed her and find herself sane amongst the madness.” He looked at me. “Her head has never been on twisted.”
That was debatable, and I let a small smile curve my lips, but Jodi spoke before I could refute his claim. “What was the victim doing in this office?”
“I have no idea,” Leo said. “It was not by invitation.”
Jodi looked at Kem. “Was she sent to steal something?”
Kemnebi smiled. “To my knowledge, the Mithrans have nothing of value to us.” Which sounded like so much insult. He swiveled his head and made a small bow to Leo. “Except the prospect of peace and political alliance in the world of humans.”
This was why I was never gonna make it as a politico. Slap, insult, kiss and make up, tease, bait and switch.
Leo bowed back, matching the bow for depth and duration. “The Mithrans of the Louisiana Territory are honored to work with the were-cats of Africa.” I figured it was part of the diplomatic stuff until another possible meaning sank in. It might have been two conspirators agreeing to cover each other’s backs. I analyzed the words as the others talked, not liking the ambiguities at all.
“What do you keep in this office?” Jodi asked.
“My personal and clan records: financial, historical, and diplomatic, current and cached.”
Jodi looked around the room and I could see the avarice in her eyes. It was like a treasure trove to a cop who catalogued such information, and Jodi’s team did. “Did Katie do this?” she asked, gesturing to the body.
“Traditionally, Masters of the City have handled Mithran lawbreakers,” Leo said. “Until our status is clarified with Congress, there is no legal reason to change that.”
“That isn’t what I asked,” she said.
“No. It isn’t.” He stood there, looking superior and dazzling and the tension in the room went up another notch.
“He won’t incriminate her,” I said. I looked at Kemnebi. “Kemmy, baby, how’s your nose?” His brows went up, whether at the meaning, the nickname, or just being addressed by a woman, I didn’t know, so I pushed. “’Cause if you can smell the attacker, it’d be a big help.”
“I am not a dog to sniff out murderers.”
Jodi’s eyes narrowed. “You calling cops dogs?”
“I think he’s talking about the wolves. Seems big-cats and wolves aren’t best buddies.” My earpiece crackled and I said, “Angel has the footage pulled up and the monitors ready.”
Jodi looked at the coroner, her cousin. “Peter, you okay here? Need anything?” Peter didn’t look up, but grunted and made a little shooing motion with one hand. I took that as a desire to be alone and led the way to the stairs. On the way I heard that the little green guy had been found swimming in the fountain in the back yard. “Looks like the backstroke,” the voice said over the ear-com system. “The water’s bloody.” I heard the sounds of water splashing and soldiers cursing, and the voice said, “His clothes show traces of blood and he doesn’t seem to understand English. He’s gibbering at us.”
I dropped back to Kem and said, “What species is the green guy you brought with you?”
“He is a grindylow,” Kem said, “from Britain.”
“Grindylow, like in Harry Potter?” Jodi asked.
“Harry Potter? No.” There was no mistaking the expression on Kem’s face as anything except contempt. Harry wasn’t his favorite fictional character.
“What’s a grindylow, then?” Jodi asked.
“They are ... pets. Most of the time. Guardians, occasionally. Less often, the enforcers of were-law. They are of limited intelligence, similar to a small child, or a chimpanzee.” He looked up, as if trying to remember something. Or as if taking time to concoct a lie. “They like water and prefer cold climes. But they will stay with their ... master, no matter the climate change.”
“Right. Uh-huh.” There was something in his tone that set my teeth on edge.
“Is there any way he gutted Safia?” Jodi asked, deliberately crude, watching his reactions.
Kem’s face contorted for an instant, twisted by the grief he was keeping so tightly bound. Then his face smoothed again. “The grindy is much like—was much like—Safia’s puppy, devoted to her in every way. I can think of few reasons that he would harm her.”