Read Dragon Justice for Free Online Page A
Authors: Laura Anne Gilman
had already gone well
past the door frame. She might have been ironic; it was tough to tell sometimes
with her. “Sit down. I think there’s furniture somewhere under all the boxes.
You want coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
I found a space on the dark green sofa, which was definitely
new. Wren’s old place had a sort of bedraggled assortment of furniture, like
she’d never quite thought about the fact that guests would need a place to sit.
This… I sensed PB’s paw in this.
PB found a footstool under a garbage bag that looked like it
was filled with pillows, and perched himself on top, tossing the bag onto the
polished hardwood floor. He didn’t say anything, just looked at me, his rounded,
white-furred ears twitching ever so slightly, like a radarscope listening for
something human ears would miss.
I looked back. If I’d ever been uneasy under that weirdly red
gaze, it had faded a long time ago. Angeli were bastards, but demon, far as my
experience went, were loyal and honest, if occasionally short-tempered. Trust
the Cosa to screw up their naming conventions.
“It’s a fatae thing,” I said, to head off any concerns Valere
might have had about my showing up unannounced.
“Of course it is,” PB muttered. Wren handed me a plain white
mug filled with caffeinated nirvana, and I took a deep sip. She might not be
able to cook, but Valere could magic up a serious pot of coffee.
“And it’s delicate,” I added.
“Of course it is,” the Retriever said.
I thought about how much to tell them, zipped through the best-
and worst-case scenarios, and shrugged mentally. Delicate, and no-footprint, but
Stosser had set me to this scent, and I’d follow it best I could, and that meant
using my sources as best I could. And for these two, that meant telling them the
truth.
Just not all the truth.
“A girl’s gone missing. Baby girl. Seven years old.”
They went the same place I did, hearing her age: just the right
age for a Fey-snatch, if someone were willing to break the Treaty.
“The Fey say they don’t have her.” Let them think I already
checked that avenue, rather than taking it on faith from a client. I thought
again of the Lord’s expression, and restrained a shudder. No, clients lied, and
the Fey lied even more, but not in this specific instance. They wanted to know
who had her, enough to give Stosser a blank IOU in return.
PB humphed. “No chance she went willingly?”
That was the other way a breed could acquire humans: glamour
them into coming of their own accord. We called it fairy-dusting, and it wasn’t
covered under any treaties.
“She’s seven, PB. Doesn’t matter what she wanted. She’s still a
baby. Babies can’t go willingly.” Wren sat on the hassock opposite me, looking
thoughtful. “You’ve checked into the usual gossip spots, I assume, otherwise you
wouldn’t be going to me.”
“Not yet.”
That took them both aback, PB’s ears going flat in
surprise.
“The usual spots take time, and greasing. I need to know, hot
and fast, if there’s any gossip in the fatae community, about newcomers, maybe
someone out to prove a point, or score a grudge.” I hesitated, then unreeled a
little more truth to hook them with. “It feels like a setup. Someone’s trying to
make it look like the Treaty’s been broken.”
These two knew better than anyone how bad a broken treaty could
get—especially one between humans and fatae. If that was what was going on, it
had to be stopped and fixed, before word got out.
Wren thought about it for a minute, and I watched. Looking at
Wren was difficult; even when you stared right at her, she seemed to slip away
from your eye. But Pietr and I had been lovers on and off for months, and I’d
almost gotten the trick of looking-not-looking. Average height, average looks,
average coloring—brown hair, brown eyes, a face that could have come from almost
any genetic stew. Even without magic, Wren Valere didn’t appear on your
past the door frame. She might have been ironic; it was tough to tell sometimes
with her. “Sit down. I think there’s furniture somewhere under all the boxes.
You want coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
I found a space on the dark green sofa, which was definitely
new. Wren’s old place had a sort of bedraggled assortment of furniture, like
she’d never quite thought about the fact that guests would need a place to sit.
This… I sensed PB’s paw in this.
PB found a footstool under a garbage bag that looked like it
was filled with pillows, and perched himself on top, tossing the bag onto the
polished hardwood floor. He didn’t say anything, just looked at me, his rounded,
white-furred ears twitching ever so slightly, like a radarscope listening for
something human ears would miss.
I looked back. If I’d ever been uneasy under that weirdly red
gaze, it had faded a long time ago. Angeli were bastards, but demon, far as my
experience went, were loyal and honest, if occasionally short-tempered. Trust
the Cosa to screw up their naming conventions.
“It’s a fatae thing,” I said, to head off any concerns Valere
might have had about my showing up unannounced.
“Of course it is,” PB muttered. Wren handed me a plain white
mug filled with caffeinated nirvana, and I took a deep sip. She might not be
able to cook, but Valere could magic up a serious pot of coffee.
“And it’s delicate,” I added.
“Of course it is,” the Retriever said.
I thought about how much to tell them, zipped through the best-
and worst-case scenarios, and shrugged mentally. Delicate, and no-footprint, but
Stosser had set me to this scent, and I’d follow it best I could, and that meant
using my sources as best I could. And for these two, that meant telling them the
truth.
Just not all the truth.
“A girl’s gone missing. Baby girl. Seven years old.”
They went the same place I did, hearing her age: just the right
age for a Fey-snatch, if someone were willing to break the Treaty.
“The Fey say they don’t have her.” Let them think I already
checked that avenue, rather than taking it on faith from a client. I thought
again of the Lord’s expression, and restrained a shudder. No, clients lied, and
the Fey lied even more, but not in this specific instance. They wanted to know
who had her, enough to give Stosser a blank IOU in return.
PB humphed. “No chance she went willingly?”
That was the other way a breed could acquire humans: glamour
them into coming of their own accord. We called it fairy-dusting, and it wasn’t
covered under any treaties.
“She’s seven, PB. Doesn’t matter what she wanted. She’s still a
baby. Babies can’t go willingly.” Wren sat on the hassock opposite me, looking
thoughtful. “You’ve checked into the usual gossip spots, I assume, otherwise you
wouldn’t be going to me.”
“Not yet.”
That took them both aback, PB’s ears going flat in
surprise.
“The usual spots take time, and greasing. I need to know, hot
and fast, if there’s any gossip in the fatae community, about newcomers, maybe
someone out to prove a point, or score a grudge.” I hesitated, then unreeled a
little more truth to hook them with. “It feels like a setup. Someone’s trying to
make it look like the Treaty’s been broken.”
These two knew better than anyone how bad a broken treaty could
get—especially one between humans and fatae. If that was what was going on, it
had to be stopped and fixed, before word got out.
Wren thought about it for a minute, and I watched. Looking at
Wren was difficult; even when you stared right at her, she seemed to slip away
from your eye. But Pietr and I had been lovers on and off for months, and I’d
almost gotten the trick of looking-not-looking. Average height, average looks,
average coloring—brown hair, brown eyes, a face that could have come from almost
any genetic stew. Even without magic, Wren Valere didn’t appear on your