“We want to help,” Quentin added, wounded pride overcoming his dislike of Alex. I was sure that would be temporary.
Alex sighed. “I know you’re coming into this cold. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“You’ve been a lot of help so far,” I said.
“It’s not a problem,” he said. “We’ve been milling around like a flock of sheep—it’s nice to have something to do. And I’m really, really sorry I couldn’t say anything earlier.”
“Right,” I said.
“What I’m saying is that if you need help, go ahead and ask me.” Alex grinned. I grinned back, at least until Quentin “accidentally” kicked me in the ankle. I shot him a warning glare. He smiled angelically.
“. . . and besides,” Alex said, “if I have actual work to do, I can always leave it for Terrie.”
Quentin brightened. “When does Terrie get here?”
“Good question,” I said, more slowly. “When does she get in?”
“What?” Alex blinked.
“Your sister?” I said. He was a lot less attractive when he looked that confused. “When does she come on shift?”
“Oh. Uh . . .” He looked at his watch, then at the window. The gesture looked habitual, like he wasn’t sure he could trust the time. “She usually shows up a little past eight.”
Quentin asked, “Does she come find you, or what?”
“Oh, no. I’m gone by the time she gets here.”
“It must be hard, never seeing your sister,” I said.
“What?” He looked nervous—he didn’t like us asking about Terrie. I hoped it didn’t mean anything. I was really starting to like him. “Oh, yeah. I mean, no. I mean . . . we’re not close.”
“Okay.” I changed the subject, watching his expression. “What can you tell us about the people here?”
Quentin looked like he was going to protest the change of topic, and I took great pleasure in “accidentally” kicking himin the ankle. “Ow!”
“What was that, Quentin?” I asked sweetly.
“Nothing,” he said, glaring. He wasn’t going to question me in front of Alex, and we both knew it. Knowing the weaknesses of your friends matters as much as knowing the weaknesses of your enemies.
“Keep eating.” I shoved my tray over to him and turned to Alex. “You were saying?”
Alex was staring at me, dismayed. “You think it was one of us. Why?”
“Yui.”
“What?” Alex said. Quentin looked up from my lunch, frowning.
I didn’t blame them for not getting it; I would have missed it, too, fifteen years ago, but time has given me a new distance from Faerie. Sometimes that’s a good thing. “Yui was a four-tailed Kitsune. That means she was strong, fast, and had pretty powerful magic, right?”
Alex nodded. I continued, “Whatever killed her took her by surprise—we know she didn’t struggle. We also know she was strong enough to defend herself: she could have fought back, and the amount of power she had would have stopped most people. It would definitelyhave stopped someone like me. That means one of two things. Either her killer was something so nasty that it could take down a four-tailed Kitsune without a fight, or . . .”
“Or it was someone she knew,” Alex said, horrified. “I didn’t even think of that.”
“Most people wouldn’t.” Most people don’t spend as much time dealing with death as I do. Lucky them.
“If it was a monster, would the bodies have been there?” Quentin asked.
“That depends on what it eats. The best answer is ‘probably not’—we could be dealing with something that killed in self- defense, but killing for food is more likely, and I’ve never heard of something that can kill a Kitsune but wouldn’t eat the body. Have there been any unexplained disappearances in the County that you haven’t reported to the Crown?”
“What? No. We report all deaths and disappearances to the Queen’s Court.”
“Up until this most recent batch, you mean,” I said.
“Yes. No. I . . . Jan tried to report those!”
“To her uncle, not the Queen, but whatever. I’m not going to fight with you. I’m just going to trust that if you think of any deaths I’m missing, you’ll tell me. Have you found any unusual tracks or spoor? Animal markings? We might have a shapeshifter on our hands.”
“Not that I’ve heard of.” He leaned forward, putting his hands over his face. “I can’t believe one of us is doing this. I just can’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it; it hurts when your family betrays you.
“You could be wrong,” Alex said, through his fingers.
“We could be,” I agreed. “How long has the company been here?”
Alex lifted his head. He wasn’t crying, but it was only a matter of time. “Seven years.”
“Where was the company before it was here?”
“Uptown, near the Dreamer’s Glass border. We found land we could connect to the Summerlands about eight years ago, and we wanted to get farther away from Duchess Riordan, so we started construction.”
“But you could only open a Shallowing?”
“The ley lines weren’t deep enough to allow for anything else.”
“Maybe you woke something up, and it just took a while to realize dinner was right above it. If you did, a lot more people will die before we find out what it is and how to stop it.” I wasn’t pulling punches. There’s a time for mercy, but it’s never on the killing grounds.
“If it was one of us,” he said, slowly, “the worst thing you’re facing is . . . one of us.”
“That, or a shapeshifter impersonating one of the employees.” I took a sip of my coffee. “I’m not happy with either choice, but they’re the options we have.” Quentin had fallen silent again, eating my sandwich as he watched Alex.
“I see,” Alex said.
“Now. What do we need to know?”
Alex was quiet for a long moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, “ALH was Jan’s idea—she provided the working capital and hired the original crew. We’re part of the County, but that’s a formality; we get paid for working here, we all have steady jobs, and the last time we held Court was at the company barbecue back in May.”
“Was she already a Countess when she founded ALH?”
“Yes. She was titled but landless until we broke away from Dreamer’s Glass.”
“So how long have you worked here?”
“About twelve years. Terrie and I came from Cincinnati when Jan held the first inter- Kingdom job fair, and I’ve—we’ve—been here ever since.”
I frowned. From the way he said that, I wasn’t sure Terrie hadbeen there the entire time. Resolving to get my hands on her personnel files, I asked, “Has Jan been a good leader?”
“One of the best.” Alex leaned forward, suddenly earnest. “She doesn’t think like most people. She’s still good at what she does. You just have to give her a chance.”
I don’t usually give chances when people are dying. On the other hand . . . I once made a similar speech before the Queen’s Court, when a Royal Commission was reviewing the actions of a local Duke. I said they had to give him the benefit of the doubt: that they couldn’t judge him when they didn’t know him. Sylvester didn’t do things the way people expected, but he did well. If Alex gave Jan the same testimony, I had to give her a shot. And maybe he was right. Maybe Jan and Sylvester shared more than just the color of their eyes.
I just hoped she wasn’t going to disappoint us all. “So Jan called you here,” I said. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“I don’t know what you consider a ‘should know.’ Jan does her job. Normally, she has Elliot to take care of the details, but he’s been shaky lately. Death isn’t his strong point.”
“It’s not a strong point for a lot of people.”
“You handle yourselves okay.”
Quentin gave him a disbelieving look. I shook my head, and said, “I’ve had a lot of practice,” hoping that my bitterness wouldn’t show. I was sure it would. “Is there anyone else you think I should know about?”