“Not fae,” Larry said with a shrug.
“Oh yes they were.” I tapped my nose.
“Half-bloods?” suggested Adam, watching Larry intently.
Larry put a finger in the air to indicate Adam had the correct answer. “The Gray Lords would not consider them one of their own. Those creatures do not have the power to break any treaty.”
Larry said “the Gray Lords” with a hint of distaste. Like Schrödinger’s cat, the goblins were both fae and not-fae at the same time. I’d found if I kept to that assumption, I seldom offended anyone.
“Half-bloods,” Adam repeated, leaning forward. “In service of whom?”
“Themselves?” I suggested. Tad, who was half-fae, did not belong to any group of half-bloods, but he’d told me that he’d been approached a few times.
Medea, my cat, emerged from the shadows to hop onto Larry’s lap. It was probably because we were so tired that all three of us stopped speaking to watch her. She turned around two times and then settled down and started to purr.
“My people eat yours,” Larry informed the cat.
Medea kneaded his thighs lightly and kicked her purr up a few notches. He gave in and started to pet her.
“She appears to be missing her tail,” Larry said, sounding very concerned for someone whose people eat cats.
“She’s a Manx,” I told him. “She never had a tail to be missing.”
“Ah,” he said, relaxing and turning back to our conversation. “I think the half-bloods are Bonarata’s.”
“Last we heard, he was still in Italy,” Adam said.
“That’s what I’ve been told, too,” agreed Larry. “But on Friday, the goblin watching the seethe reported that there was some kind of disturbance there.” He paused, then explained, “Wulfe’s presence necessitates that any observation of the seethe is done at a fair distance. Electronic devices are not useful.”
He looked at us and appeared to make a decision. “For here, either, you should know. Our interior devices quit working shortly after the three-legged wolf came to your pack.”
Our bond told me how unhappy Adam was that the goblins had been spying on us, unhappy but not surprised. Outwardly he gave no sign.
Larry continued, “Our outdoor devices quit after Underhill opened her gate.” He paused. “We still get pictures from those cameras, but nothing that we can trust—and occasionally, I am informed, the Disney Channel.”
“Huh,” I said. I had not previously thought that Tilly had a sense of irony. Or knew what the Disney Channel was.
“I haven’t noticed any problem with our cameras,” said Adam.
“Underhill is a guest at your home,” Larry said. “Of course she can’t interfere with your cameras, which have the purpose of defense.”
“So there was a disturbance Friday at the seethe?” I asked, redirecting the conversation. If Larry thought Bonarata was here—or that his minions were acting here—I needed to hear about it.
Larry nodded. “A number of black luxury vehicles with very dark windows entered the gate of the seethe. Nothing too out of the ordinary. There were more lights and more activity than normal—but again, nothing so unusual as to require my goblin calling in. No noises, but Wulfe ensures that the neighbors are not disturbed. At two in the morning, though, fifteen vehicles left, and she could not see into them to determine what they held. None of my people have seen any of Marsilia’s vampires since that time, so we assume that they left in the cars.”
“They haven’t seen any of them?” I asked, startled. Larry’s goblins were scattered all over the Tri-Cities. They saw everything. “But Wulfe came here sometime on Saturday.”
Larry tilted his head. “My goblin who watches here did not see him. Unfortunately, that isn’t unusual with Wulfe. Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Adam dryly. “He slept in my bed.”
Larry leaned back, his long, four-fingered hands finding the sensitive area beneath Medea’s jaw. “Marsilia was right, then. You do have good reason to see Wulfe returned to the grave.” His thoughtful eyes were on Adam. “Would you describe Marsilia’s performance to me one more time? With as much detail as you can remember?”
This time Adam took point; he remembered it more clearly than I did, though I was able to add in a few details.
“Brimstone, not sulfur?” asked Larry when we were finished.
“Brimstone,” Adam confirmed.
Brimstone was to sulfur what hydrogen peroxide was to water, except the charge was magic. A mundane human couldn’t tell one from the other because they wouldn’t sense the charge of power that made sulfur into the more magically useful brimstone.
“Interesting,” Larry said. “Possibly the brimstone helped her with the smoke tricks. But brimstone would also conceal her scent. What does scent do for you, besides identification?”
“It helps in detecting lies,” I said. “But she wasn’t lying.” I paused. “I don’t think. After a while, when you can use your nose to be certain, you get a feel for what lies look like.”
Adam agreed with a nod. “If she were going to lie, she wouldn’t have been so careful with her words.” He pursed his lips. “We can smell blood,” Adam said slowly. “There was something . . .”
“On her neck,” I said, tapping the side of mine just below my jaw. “A cut, I think. It had definite edges. But if it was damage from whatever happened in the seethe on Friday . . . I wouldn’t expect a werewolf to still be showing the effects of battle. How quickly do vampires repair their wounds?” It was a rhetorical question. Vampires could heal very quickly as long as they could feed.
“Or a goblin, either,” agreed Larry. “A vampire? If one is feeding regularly and the wounds are not severe, a vampire can heal very quickly. Hours rather than days.”
“She could have come to us if she needed help,” I told them. “Our pack—or even you, Larry. She can teleport.” And so could Stefan. I didn’t know if Larry knew about that.
“Yes,” said Larry. If he hadn’t known, he was concealing his surprise very well. “Though I don’t think that she’d have come to me. If she and Stefan are not here, it’s because they don’t want to be here.” He raised a palm at my indrawn breath. “There are many reasons that could be. Let’s add that to the ongoing mystery.”
“Hostage,” said Adam grimly. “Marsilia spoke like a hostage in a terrorist propaganda video. Very careful with her words.”
“Or maybe,” I added, “as if someone who could tell if she were lying would interrogate her.”
Vampires didn’t have a supernatural ability to sense if someone was telling the truth the way werewolves could. But our local seethe did have a magical artifact that used blood, pain, and magic to detect lies. I rubbed the palms of my hands together in memory.
“Hic sunt dracones,” I murmured involuntarily.
Larry looked up sharply.
“What?” Adam asked, his glance falling on me and then Larry.
“Here there be dragons,” translated Larry. “Why do you say so?”
I started to brush it off, and then decided there was a possibility it might actually mean something.
“After I hit the spell web, I had a . . . I think it was a dream.” I told them about it.
“Who is Daniel?” Larry asked when I was done. “There isn’t a Daniel in your pack or in the seethe.”
“You didn’t see the ghost in Stefan’s house?” Cats could see ghosts—for some reason I thought that meant that goblins might, too. “Daniel was one of Stefan’s people.” The rest seemed a little complicated, so I simplified it. “He was caught up in vampire politics—not his fault—and”—I stole Larry’s phrase—“returned to the grave. Now he haunts Stefan’s house, though so far I’m the only one who can see him.”