Aubrey hadn’t made the news yet, but Larry would know about his murder. Larry’s people traded in information. I think Adam was going to tell Larry that we knew Wulfe was the killer—and that was why Marsilia sent us after him—but Larry’s shocked reaction distracted him.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, clearly processing information.
“It’s Bonarata,” he said. “My people told me last night that he was still in Italy, but it’s Bonarata.”
I nodded. “That’s what I was going to say,” I told Adam. “Earlier when we were talking about the seethe.”
Adam nodded. “My people say he’s in Italy, too. But he’s a vampire, and people believe what Bonarata tells them to believe. Once we knew Wulfe’s role, it had to be Bonarata.” He was watching Larry. “But you didn’t know about Wulfe. What is it about the last two deaths that tells you it’s Bonarata?”
“I’d assumed that the gray witch had killed the fortune-teller,” Larry said. “I have photos. I have photos of the boy, too. But I didn’t connect them because I thought he was human.” He paused. “And that stupid movie—The Harvester.”
“You know about the Soul Taker,” I said.
“How is it connected to Bonarata?” Adam asked.
“Well, he’s had it for a long time, hasn’t he?” said Larry. “Centuries. He likes to collect things, does Bonarata.”
He leaned back in the chair and stretched out, crossing his feet at the ankles. Those boots were definitely custom-made, too. Larry’s feet were too oddly shaped to fit in shoes built for human feet.
“I had a call last night from Uncle Mike. Did I know how a dead body and an artifact that resembled but was not the Soul Taker ended up on his front door forty years ago? Zee wanted to know.” He looked a little indignant. “I was in Iceland forty years ago, didn’t come to the US until 2000.”
“So you don’t know?” I asked.
“Of course I know,” he said, sounding even more indignant. “I didn’t connect Uncle Mike’s inquiry with our current problems. Zee has been looking for that damned artifact off and on for nigh on a thousand years. Possibly two thousand years. It has been one of the driving forces of my people to keep it out of his hands.”
I opened my mouth to ask why, but Adam asked his question first.
“How did the dead boy and a ringer for the Soul Taker get left for Uncle Mike to find forty years ago?”
Larry’s eyebrows shot up. “One of my goblins put them there.” He tapped a finger on the table and gave Adam a look. “Not something we’d do now, but the goblins here were without protection. They worked for the seethe, perforce, and hid from the fae. But they watched. And they knew things.” Larry flashed his sharp teeth. “Just as we watch and know things now.”
“What did they know?” asked Adam.
“Bonarata exiled Marsilia to the New World as soon as travel was practical. And once he found out there was a desert, a sunny place with few people—he made her move her people here. You know this much.”
We nodded as he’d invited us to.
“Once international travel became quicker and easier,” he continued, “it became Bonarata’s habit to visit every couple of decades. He stopped doing it”—a faint smile crossed Larry’s lips—“about forty years ago.”
He quit sounding like the voice-over in a documentary for a moment to add, “I did some research on Bonarata after our visit to Prague. Called a few friends in Italy. I have quite a file on him. I think a psychiatrist would have a field day.”
He cleared his throat and resumed his storytelling. “Most often, Bonarata would announce his visits and require them to stage celebrations as he culled vampires he thought looked to be too powerful. A few of those he kept alive and took for his own use, but mostly he just staked them out in the sun. He also killed promising fledglings. He made sure that none of Marsilia’s people were too loyal to her.”
Larry pursed his lips. “Marsilia put herself in a sort of hibernation—a thing old vampires can do.” He smiled darkly. “We have an eye on one or two who’ve been sleeping for centuries.”
“So does Bran,” Adam said.
“Maybe I will compare notes with him.” Larry returned to his story. “Marsilia’s people roused her for his visits—but such wakings are only half-effective. It can take an old vampire decades to truly awaken from a hibernation. I have not been able to find out if she did this because she thought she would save her people that way, or if she was just trying to escape the misery of her situation.”
“Interesting that she decided to reawaken now,” said Adam thoughtfully.
Larry smiled at Adam. “Isn’t it just. Starting a decade ago, really. When you came to the Tri-Cities with your pack, making the supernatural community here much, much stronger than it had ever been before.” He looked at me. “You came here about the same time, didn’t you?”
“When did you come to the Tri-Cities?” I asked before he could put those two events together.
Larry just gave me an amused look. When he spoke, he resumed his prior subject. “At other times, Bonarata would conceal his presence, but the goblins always knew. At those times, he would just watch Marsilia’s people—who were primarily under the leadership of Stefan and Andre.” He tapped the table. “You remember Andre, don’t you, Mercy?”
“Of course,” I said.
I’d killed Andre after he set a demon-possessed vampire out to hurt the people I loved. Stefan and Wulfe had conspired to keep my involvement in Andre’s death from Marsilia. Stefan, I think, because he cared about me. Who knew why Wulfe did anything. It was not something that I talked about even now, but it didn’t surprise me that Larry was suspicious.
Larry gave me a thoughtful look. I don’t know what he read on my face, but he returned to his story with a shake of his head. “One or the other of them might have been able to handle the seethe—though neither was someone I’d consider a leader. Together, they were a near disaster. Maybe Marsilia thought it was better that way.” He appeared to consider it.
“But, even so, about forty-five years ago, the vampires organized themselves and seized control of the Tri-Cities’ supernatural community—a control that only waned when Mercy stood on a bridge and claimed us for her own.” He smiled at me with sharp teeth. “We goblins appreciate that more than I’ve told you, I think.”
“You’re welcome?” I said, and his smile widened.
“I always found it odd that the two of them managed that,” said Adam. In answer to my raised eyebrows, he clarified his reasoning. “Stefan’s name in the vampire community is the Soldier, Mercy. Soldiers take orders, they don’t give them. And Andre . . .”
“I’ve always thought it was Wulfe,” said Larry slowly. Then he spoke more briskly. “But I wasn’t here then. Bonarata came on one of his stealth visits around forty years ago and found that Marsilia’s seethe was thriving, with money and power enough to survive without his support. He disliked that. As you know, the vampires’ hold on our fair cities used to be based on a Mafia-style protection racket.”
“Like ours,” I murmured. “Except we don’t get paid.”
Adam laughed, turned, and kissed me on the mouth. “I knew we forgot something.”
Larry cleared his throat. “Bonarata, in a plan that now sounds strangely familiar, decided to strike terror into the hearts of the nonvampires who were supporting and giving their money to Marsilia’s seethe. He brought in an artifact that he had stored away for a rainy day—the Soul Taker. Obviously time had made him complacent about it, though he wasn’t fool enough to take it up himself. It was the right tool for the job, because it does hunt down folk with a little, just a little, magic in their blood. No one knows why.”