Page 34 of Don't Bait Me (Nora Jacobs 3)

In the plaza, a small gathering of fey are dancing. One male is playing some kind of flute. The music is mesmerizing. The handful of twirling fey comes to a halt when the three females step into the plaza. The women are met with cheerful greetings.

“Thisei, Astrina, Cirosha!” a small creature with pointed ears and gossamer wings cries in a singsong voice. “It’s about time you show up. Where have you been?”

The fey on the right gives a demure smile. “Henry Stadther had us stay late to perform for a private high-stakes game at the casino.”

The fey with the wings sighs. “I’m sorry I missed it. Will you sing for us now?”

The woman on the right opens her mouth to respond but gasps instead and crumples to the ground. There is an arrow sticking out of her back, and blood is quickly pooling around her. It takes the fey whose memory I’m witnessing a moment to understand what has happened, and then she cries out, horrified and panicked. She barely gets her friend’s name out before she’s cut off. The arrow must have pierced her heart, because the vision fades before she even hits the ground.

I come out of the vision with a gasp, and my body collapses. Both Parker and Rook are already kneeling beside me, holding me steady. “Nora?” Rook asks, voice strained.

“Give me a second,” I rasp. I’m still trying to catch my breath as the memory of the pain subsides. A sheen of sweat covers my forehead, and my stomach is in knots.

“What’s wrong with her?” Illren demands. He kneels down on the other side of the dead fey, facing me and frowning. I’m surprised to see concern in his expression. “What happened?”

I shake my head and lean against Parker. “Intense vision. There’s always backlash.”

Illren’s eyes widen.“Vision?”

I don’t bother explaining myself. I feel too crappy, and I need to stay focused. Someone else can fill him in.

“This one hit you harder than most,” Rook says with a slight growl in his voice.

I try to give him a reassuring smile, but my head hurts too badly for it to be more than a grimace. “Death imprints pack a strong punch.”

Rook hisses. When I try to stand, he holds me still. “Just rest a minute. You look pale.”

I shake my head. “This female died too quickly. I didn’t have time to see much. I need to find one who stayed alive long enough to see something.”

“You’re going to do that again?” Illren asks.

I can’t decipher the tone in his voice, but something about his response calls to my stubbornness. “I’ll do it as many times as it takes.”

I push to my feet, ignoring the nausea and headache. “Nick!”

Illren, now on his feet as well, blinks at me. “You call Gorgeous by his first name?”

I flash him a smirk, but it’s Nick who answers. “She’s the only being on earth who gets away with it. What have you got for me, little spitfire?”

I release a heavy sigh. “Nothing.” I shake my head. “She died too quickly. You’re the crime scene guy. I need someone who you think lasted long enough for me to get some details of what happened.”

Nick is the only man standing there who doesn’t question me or try to stop me. He doesn’t even hesitate. “Over here.”

I follow him across the plaza, trying not to look too closely at the dead bodies I’m skirting around. He leads me behind the fountains, where a long blood trail leads from the nearest fountain to the fence lining the water’s edge. There’s a nightmarish creature leaning against the fence. It’s midnight black, with the head and body of a horse and the tail of a fish. I’ve never seen anything like it.

“He’s your best bet,” Nick says, pointing to the blood trail. “Seems he was hit in the fountain and was trying to make it into the water.”

“Whatishe?”

“A kelpie,” says a weepy yet musical voice. “His name was Santos.”

At first I can’t find the person speaking, but then I realize the voice is coming from the river. I lean over the fence and am shocked to find a group of people bobbing in the water. Seven robust and bare-chested men are clustered around one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Even with eyes puffy and red from crying, she’s positively gorgeous. She has long, teal hair that flows over her shoulders and covers her bare breasts. Her skin is very much like mine—a sort of pale pink pearlescent color that shimmers. There are also patches of turquoise scales here and there. She’s magnificent. I know immediately that this is the Detroit River mermaid. I’m a little in awe. What girl doesn’t grow up loving mermaids? “Giselle?” I ask.

The mermaid gives me a watery smile. She raises her arms, and the water, as if answering her command, lifts her up until she’s even with me. “You’re Nora Jacobs,” she says, nodding. “Gorgeous was telling me about you. Can you really help find who did this?”

I push my doubts aside and give her a soft smile. “I’m going to try.”

Giselle scans the plaza, and her gaze comes to rest on the dead kelpie. More tears stream down her face. “I do hope you can.” She sniffles and then forces a tight smile as she looks me over. “You are lovely,” she says, reaching out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. The moment she touches me, she gasps. “Cousin!”

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