Sunsday, Juin 13
Detective Swinn gave Grimshaw a look that would have scorched paint. Then he turned that look on Julian before he walked out of the police station.
“He doesn’t like us,” Julian said.
Grimshaw blew out a breath. “He’s going to run a background check on you.”
“Someone usually does, sooner or later.”
And then that someone suggests that you move on?
“Why would the Sanguinati be interested in Vicki DeVine?” he asked.
“Might be as simple as she’s the person who has control of The Jumble,” Julian replied. “She arrived in Sproing last fall and started renovating the main house and some of the cabins with an eye to having things ready for the summer, when you’d expect people to want to rent a place for a weekend getaway or a lakeside vacation. As far as I know, this is the first time the Sanguinati have made contact with her.”
“If the vampires own as many buildings in this village as Ilya Sanguinati implied, then how did everyone pretend the Others kept their distance from the people who live here?”
Julian hesitated. “In another place where I lived for a while, I took a job as the land agent—the person who collected the rent and arranged for repairs and listened to complaints. It was a small community like this one, and the humans swore there had never been a sighting of any kind of terra indigene in their village, despite the fact that they lived around the Addirondak Mountains and, occasionally, when the ground was soft after a rain, they would find huge prints under a window—evidence that something stood on its hind legs to look into the second-story window. There was a man in that town who had a side business making plaster casts of those prints. People would hang them on the walls of their family rooms and show them to guests—and they still swore the Others didn’t prowl the streets at night, that some of the particularly gruesome deaths that occurred weren’t caused by a large, angry predator. Wayne, a lot of people stay sane by pretending the terra indigene are Out There and not the individual sitting next to you at the counter in the diner.”
“The only lodger currently at The Jumble is one of the Crowgard,” Grimshaw said.
“Vicki knows?”
“If she didn’t know before, she does now.”
“But the Crow is still there?”
“Still there.”
A hesitation. “The Crow she knows about may not be the only terra indigene living in one of the cabins or, at the very least, living on the land connected to The Jumble.”
The phone rang. As Grimshaw reached for the receiver, he said, “That did occur to me.” Then: “Sproing Police Station.”
“O-officer down. O-officer needs a-assistance.”
Gods. There weren’t any other cops in the area, except . . . “Where are you?”
“Th-The Jumble.”
“Can you hold your position?”
“Yes.”
“We’re on our way.” Grimshaw hung up and called the Bristol Police Station’s number. “This is Officer Grimshaw in Sproing. Tell Captain Hargreaves I’ve got a situation at The Jumble. Officer down and another officer requesting assistance. I’m heading there now. I need whoever you can send me.”
“Isn’t there a CIU team in the area? Can’t they supply backup?” the dispatcher asked.
“I think it’s the CIU team that got hit.”
A heartbeat of silence. “I’ll put out the call.”
Grimshaw hung up and looked at Julian. “You’re coming with me.”
“No.” Julian took a step back. “I’m not a cop anymore. I don’t have a gun.”
Grimshaw headed for the door. “You still have a gun. After what you went through, you wouldn’t leave yourself without a weapon. I need someone to back me up, Julian. Someone I can trust.”
He went out the door. He wasn’t an Intuit like Julian, but he had a feeling that the man he remembered—the man who had been a damn good cop—wouldn’t let him go into trouble alone.
“You can take the shotgun,” he said when Julian got into the passenger seat.
“Which one of them called?” Julian asked.
Grimshaw pulled out of the parking space and made a U-turn to head for The Jumble, lights flashing and siren screaming. “My guess? The baby cop. Before Swinn sent me on my way, I saw a kid with the team who didn’t look old enough to be in CIU. Barely looked old enough to have graduated from the academy.”
“Swinn is his commanding officer. Why didn’t the kid call him?”
“Maybe because Swinn is his commanding officer.” Grimshaw concentrated on driving for a minute. Then he pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket. “Call Ilya Sanguinati and warn him not to take Vicki DeVine home until we know what’s going on.”
Julian took the card and pulled out his mobile phone.
“Mr. Sanguinati?” Julian said when the vampire answered the call. “There’s some trouble at The Jumble. Officer Grimshaw is on his way there now. Could you . . . I see.” Pause. “Yes, I understand. I appreciate the information.” He ended the call. The hand holding the mobile phone flopped into his lap.
Grimshaw spared a glance at his friend, who looked unnaturally pale. “What?”
“Mr. Sanguinati is taking Vicki to Silence Lodge. He said the Elders aren’t happy with humans at the moment, but the police will be safe enough to retrieve the survivor as long as no weapons are drawn.”
He barely checked the reflex to slam on the brakes. “Elders? Gods, Julian.”
When people spoke of the Others, they thought of the vampires or the ones who could shift to animal forms like Wolves and Bears and, yes, Crows. But as threats to humans went, those kinds of terra indigene paled in comparison to the terra indigene that were known as the Elders and the Elementals. They had been the killing force that had swept across the continent of Thaisia last summer—across the whole damn world. Unlike the shifters and vampires, who might let a human live if the encounter was peaceful, the Elders weren’t that tolerant—a fact every police officer who did highway patrol recognized. Those men traveled the roads through the wild country every single day, and every day there was the chance that something watching from the verge would decide not to let the human driving the noisy metal box with the flashing lights live to reach his destination.
“He say anything else?”
“He said you should request an ambulance or whatever vehicle carries the dead when police answer a call. And you should bring some body bags.”
Grimshaw slowed as he made the turn onto the gravel road that led to The Jumble’s main house. He cut the siren but could hear other sirens in the distance, coming closer. Backup. Help. He hoped.
They saw the unmarked car where it had landed just off the gravel road. What was left of a car. Something had smashed the trunk and roof, punched in the doors, broken all the windows, and ripped off the front tires. Made sure the vehicle—and the people—couldn’t escape.
“Let me out here,” Julian said. “I’ll see what I can do for anyone inside the car.”
“You’ll be in the open. Exposed,” Grimshaw protested.