“What you is?”
I grinned and let more of Beast shine through me, seeing the golden reflection in Lucky’s black eyes. “Not saying. Tell me what happened. Everything. Or my partner will put a hole through your forearm that will take some healing spells and physical therapy to get over.”
From the side I heard a vamp-killer being drawn.
Lucky didn’t spare my partner a glance. “Le batard, Gabriel Doucette, done cheat on my girl.”
So far the stories were close, which was better than I feared. “And?”
“And she took my gran’bébé, my petit-fils, and le breloque, what called by de suckheads la corona, and she brung it to me, she did.”
“And?”
Lucky’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m looking for a timeline here, Lucky—everything you know or suspect. If you want to live by your nickname, talk. And if you want to live at all, you better call off the magic, because I have no problem knocking you out and carrying you to the Doucettes’.”
“You not do dat.”
“Try me.”
Lucky snorted again, but this time with less force, as if he was rethinking my intentions. Odd what things you can pick up from a snort as melodious as Lucky’s.
“I take la corona to de priest. Him call de bishop, who send us a scholar. De scholar decide la corona belong to dem. Pack to send it to Rome, they did. Shauna, her climb de fence and steal dat package back. Le breloque, it go to de strongest witch and coven leader.”
I frowned, letting the events settle in my mind. Asking the same questions of different people was a standard investigative technique. One always learned something new, a different slant, a different sliver of intel. It was boring, but it was useful. This time I had learned that Shauna was not just reactionary, hormonal, ticked off, and a wronged spouse, she was also a thief. Of course, the priest and the bishop’s henchman might be thieves too, if I included their taking the wreath and planning to send it away, as thievery. Which I did. Unless . . .
I thought about the laurel wreath and the Roman Catholic Church and, for a fraction of a second, wondered if it could be something other than a witch artifact. Maybe the reason that everyone was so interested was because the laurel wreath was something else entirely. Something glamoured to look like a witch icon. Maybe another circlet, maybe one made of thorns. Now, that would be a powerful talisman. Vamps were always looking for things related to Golgotha, to the place of the skull, from which they took their beginnings. So was the Church for similar and yet wildly opposing reasons. Both wanting the same things . . .
The wreath part of the crown of thorns was supposedly in Rome, while the thorn parts had supposedly been removed from the twisted vine and sent as gifts, bargaining chips, and items of priceless monetary and unimaginable spiritual value to various kings, cities, churches, and armies over the course of history. I had never heard of the crown of thorns being taken from Rome, never heard of it being stolen by vamps or used by witches. And besides, a vine of thorns wouldn’t have been a laurel. If it had gone missing, I surely would have heard about it—the whole world would have heard about it. So the wreath wasn’t that crown. I shook off the thought and said, “I thought you were coven leader.”
“No man can be leader of de coven. Man magic too strong, unpredictable, to lead full coven. Too what dey call volatile to do all de maths for a group.”
Witch magics were dependent on mathematics, geometry, and physics. Lucky was indeed too volatile to run a coven, which took control, finesse, and good people skills as well as strength, but I knew another male witch who could have handled the positon well. “Okay. You did know that Margaud didn’t have sex with Gabriel, right?”
Lucky frowned, a ferocious expression that went all the way to his toes as he tensed. “My girl walk in on dem, she did!”
“She walked in on Gabe feeding on Margaud, after Margaud got him drunk, called Shauna, and then offered him dinner.”
“You lie.”
“I don’t. Margaud and her brothers hate vamps. She set the whole thing up, using Shauna’s postpartum depression and anemia, and Gabe’s starvation, as a way to start trouble.”
Lucky’s frown lessened. “What?”
“You didn’t know Shauna was anemic? Depressed? Women do awful things at times like that, or so I hear.”
Lucky scowled, an expression that suggested he was thinking back. “Her taking iron pills,” he said reluctantly.