"Magic?" Uncle Mike frowned. "I didn't know you were a farseer. I thought that magic didn't work around you."
"That would be terrific," I said. "But no, magic works around me for the most part. I just have some kind of partial immunity to it. Usually the way it works is that the less harmful the magic is, the better the chance it won't work. The really bad stuff usually does just fine."
"She sees ghosts," said Samuel, impatient with my whining.
"I see dead people," I deadpanned back. Oddly, it was Uncle Mike who laughed. I hadn't thought he'd be a moviegoer.
"So did these ghosts tell you anything?"
I shook my head. "No. I just got the playback of the murder with O'Donnell as the only player. I think the killer was after something, though. Did O'Donnell steal from the fae?"
Uncle Mike's face went blank and I knew two things. The answer to my question was yes, and Uncle Mike had no intention of telling me what O'Donnell had taken.
"Just for kicks," I said instead of waiting in vain for his answer, "how many fae are there who can take on the shape of a raven?"
"Here?" Uncle Mike shrugged. "Five or six."
"There was a raven in O'Donnell's house and it reeked of fae magic."
Uncle Mike gave an abrupt, harsh laugh. "If you're asking if I sent someone to O'Donnell's house, the answer is no. If you're wondering if one of them killed O'Donnell, the answer is still no. None of those with a raven shape have the physical strength to tear off someone's head."
"Could Zee?" I asked. Sometimes if you ask unexpected questions, you get answers.
His eyebrows rose and his brogue grew thicker. "Sure and why would you ask that? Haven't I told you he had naught to do with it?"
I shook my head. "I know Zee didn't kill him. The police have an expert who told them that he could. I have reasons to doubt her ability—and it might help Zee if I know exactly how far off she is."
Uncle Mike took a deep breath and tilted his head to the side. "The Dark Smith of Drontheim might have been able to do what I saw, but that was a long time ago. Most of us have lost a bit of what was once ours over the years of cold iron and Christianity. Zee less than most, though. Maybe he could have. Maybe not."
The Dark Smith of Drontheim. He'd said something like that before. Trying to figure out who Zee had once been was one of my favorite hobbies, but the current situation made the small jewel of information taste like ashes. If Zee lost his life over this, who he had once been was irrelevant.
"Just how many of the fae in the reservation…" I thought about that and reworded it a little. "…or in the Tri-City area could have done that?"
"A few," Uncle Mike said without taking time to reflect. "I've been racking my head all day. One of the ogres could have, though I'll be a Catholic monk if I know why they would want to. And once they get to that point, they'd not have stopped until they'd had a bite or two. None of the ogres were particularly friendly with any of the victims on the reservation—or anyone else, except maybe Zee. There are a few others who might have been capable of it once, but most of them haven't fared as well as Zee in the modern world."
I remembered the power of the sea man.
"What about the man I met in the selkie's…" I glanced at Samuel and bit my tongue. That ocean I knew was a secret, and it could have no impact on Zee's fate. I wouldn't speak of it in front of Samuel, but that left my sentence hanging in the air.
"What man?" Samuel's question was mild, though Uncle Mike's words, coming right over the top of Samuel, were not.
I could smell Uncle Mike's fear, harsh and sudden, like his words. It wasn't an emotion I associated with him.
After a quick, wary look around the room, he continued in an urgent whisper, "I don't know how you managed it, but it will do you no good to speak of the encounter. The one you met could have done it, but he has not bestirred himself this past hundred years." He took a breath and forced himself to relax. "Trust me, it wasn't the Gray Lords who killed O'Donnell, Mercedes. His murder was too clumsy to be their work. Tell me more of this fae raven you encountered."
I stared at him a moment. Was the sea fae one of the Gray Lords?
"The raven?" he prompted gently.
So I told him, backing up a bit to tell him about the staff, then about the raven leaping through the wall with it.
"How did I miss the staff?" Uncle Mike asked himself, looking thoroughly shaken.
"It was tucked in a corner," I told him. "It came from one of the victims' houses, didn't it? The one who smoked a pipe and whose back window looked out over a forest."
Uncle Mike seemed to come back to himself and he stared at me. "You know too many of our secrets, Mercedes."
Samuel set his guitar aside and put himself between us before I had time to register the menace in Uncle Mike's voice.
"Careful," he said, his voice thick with Wales and warning. "Careful, Green Man. She's put her neck out to help you—shame upon you and your house if she comes to harm by't."
"Two," Uncle Mike said. "Two of the Gray Lords have seen your face in our business, Mercy. One might have forgotten, but two never will." He waved an impatient hand at Samuel. "Oh, stand down, wolf. I'll not harm your kit. I only spoke the truth. There are things not nearly so benign who will not be happy about her knowing what she knows—and two of them already have."
"Two?" I asked in a voice that was smaller than I'd meant it to be.
"That was no raven you met," he said grimly. "It was the great Carrion Crow herself." He gave me a long look. "I wonder why she didn't kill you."
"Maybe she thought I was a coyote," I said in a small voice.
Uncle Mike shook his head. "She might be blind, but she perceives more clearly than I, still."
There was a brief silence. I don't know what the others were thinking about, but I was contemplating just how many close calls I'd been having lately. If the vampires didn't hurry, the fae or some other monster would kill me before she got a chance. What had happened to all the years of carefully keeping to myself and staying out of trouble?
"You are sure that one of the Gray Lords didn't kill O'Donnell?" I asked.
"Yes," he said firmly, then paused. "I hope not. If so, then Zee's arrest was intended and he is doomed—and probably me as well." He ran a hand along his chin and something about the gesture made me wonder if he'd once worn a beard. "No. It was not they. They aren't above a messy kill—but they wouldn't have left the staff for the police to find. The Carrion Crow came to keep the staff out of human hands—though I'm surprised she didn't retrieve it sooner." He gave me a speculative look. "Zee and I weren't in that living room long, but we'd never have overlooked the staff. I wonder…"
"What is the staff?" I asked. "I could tell it was magic, but nothing else."
"Naught of interest to you, I trust," said Uncle Mike, coming to his feet. "Naught for you to fuss with when there's the Carrion Crow about. There's money in the briefcase…" For the first time I noticed a brown leather case tucked against the arm of his chair. "If it is not enough to cover Zee's expenses, let me know."
He tipped an imaginary hat toward Samuel, then took my hand, bowed, and kissed it. "Mercy, I'd be doing you no favors if I didn't tell you to stop. We appreciate the help you have given us so far, but your usefulness ends here. There are things going on that I'm not at liberty to tell you. If you continue, you are not going to discover anything—and if those Nameless Ones find out how much you know, it will go ill with you. And there are two too many of them about." He nodded sharply at me, then at Samuel. "I'll bid you both good mornin'."