"You didn't," Pete said. "But somebody here did."

Tolliver's eyes darted to the door. Pete folded her arms. "That's Juniper outside. One of yours. You trained him, I imagine. Like you trained the prince." She approached Tolliver. "I asked you if the Prince could beat you in a low-down brawl, and you said yes. You're not the kind who stabs in the back, and I don't think you did it." Pete lowered her voice. Tolliver was a big man, and probably had some magic riding him to boot. If he didn't like her next words, she'd be in two pieces before she could help it. "But I think you know why it happened."

"Excuse me," the Queen. "But where do you-"

"Not that you're any better," Pete interrupted her. It was the MP and his son all over again, and she was b.l.o.o.d.y sick of it. "What kind of a mother names her only son after a monstrous savage? I asked you and all you said? "That was his name." That's cold, miss. Ice water all through your veins, no mistake."

"Please." s...o...b..ood's word cut off the Queen's outcry. "Just tell me. Who killed Caliban?"

Pete swiveled, her finger landing on Rowan. "He did."

Silence, for a tick of clock-hands. Then s...o...b..ood exploded toward Rowan, who yelped and ducked, but not quickly enough. s...o...b..ood's small, sharp fist landed a blow on his perfect nose and blood blossomed, trickling over Rowan's lips.

Pete slapped the door with the flat of her hand. "Juniper, get your a.r.s.e in here!"

Juniper and another of the Ash Guard held s...o...b..ood and Rowan apart. s...o...b..ood panted, her face crimson, while Rowan folded in on himself, trapped in the far corner of the library. Crowfoot and the Queen were talking all at once, their words tripping over each other like tangled vines.

Tolliver came to Pete's shoulder. "How did you know?"

Pete gave Rowan a regretful smile. "Flowers." She sighed, her head suddenly throbbing. "I smelled flowers when Rowan came into a supposedly Fae-proof pub to find me, and again when we were in Caliban's room. I thought it was some kind of shield hex, but it's not, is it?" She fixed Rowan with the copper stare. To his credit, he didn't flinch or change his visage, he just stared back, his eyes like drops of mercury on gla.s.s, blood the only motion on his form.

"It's a glamour," Pete continued. "And that means he's not who he says he is."

s...o...b..ood turned her head to Rowan, her small frame quivering. "Who are you?"

"Burn in the Underworld," Rowan said quietly. s...o...b..ood turned back to Pete.

"Who is he?" she demanded, voice sharp and high with distress.

"My guess?" Pete said. "He's an Unseelie." She stepped closer to Rowan, close as he must have been to Caliban when he stabbed him with one of the short, vicious blades the Ash Guard carried. "And that means he can lie. Been spinning me a fat one since the start of things."

She ticked off the points she'd a.s.sembled while she went over the prince's body. "Your Queen was a prisoner of the Unseelie some time ago. I'm guessing, about as long ago as you are old. Is that right, Rowan?"

Crowfoot was the first to catch on. "You begot an heir?" he whispered. "A half-breed heir?"

"Caliban is an odd name for a beloved firstborn son. But he wasn't her firstborn," Pete said. "It's you, Rowan. Isn't it?"

She saw all of the defiance run out of him. The strange ethereal gleam of his skin dulled, and his eyes turned from silver to plain grey as he let the glamour flow out of his grasp. His hair was the same, though - white as the Queen's.

"He was plotting against you, Mother," he said softly. "Tolliver told me one night, in his cups. He would have let the death-curse overwhelm you so he could take your place and obliterate anyone who stood in his path."

"Could be," Pete said. "Could be a load of b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. We'll never know, will we?" She jerked her chin at Tolliver. "In any event, Tolliver guessed, did he? He knew what you were going to do, after he found out what you were?"

"I loved my mother," Rowan went on, softly. "I knew what I had to do, even if she wanted nothing to do with me." He raised his eyes to the Queen as Juniper started to drag him away. "Hate is strong. But love is stronger. Mother. Please."

The Queen raised her head, nostrils flaring. Pete saw no tears on her face, just unfathomable rage. "Never speak that word to me. I am not that. Not to you."

"Mother-" Rowan shouted, but more Ash Guard surrounded him and led him away.

"And him," said Crowfoot, pointing at Tolliver. "He's a conspirator. He knew full well and did nothing to stop it."

Tolliver stopped by Pete, walking under his own power, dignity holding his spine straight. "I knew what he was," he murmured. "I saw it when we trained. Cruel. Honorless. He'd torture a lesser opponent for the sport of it. He talked about the mockery he'd make of his cousin's virtue and the atrocities he'd visit on the Unseelie when his mother pa.s.sed on from her curse. He would have left the Seelie Court in embers if he took the throne." Tolliver swallowed, hard. "You won't get any guilt from me, Lady."

Pete nodded. "I'm sorry you got caught," she told him. "Rowan was blinded, but you aren't."

"Don't be sorrowful," Tolliver said. "You bested me at wits, fairly. No shame in that."

Pete watched Rowan and Tolliver disappear down the opulent hall, no doubt bound for a place much darker and much less sympathetic to his motives.

Crowfoot gripped her arm. "You've done very well, Lady Caldecott. And you've earned a favor of the Fae. Anything you wish. Ask it."

Pete glared at the hand, and then at Crowfoot, until he removed it. "Yeah, I've got a favor," she said. "Take me the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l back to the pub."

When Pete walked back into the Lament, she saw a familiar platinum-dyed head hunched on the far stool at the bar. She practically tripped over her own feet to join him.

Pete didn't know how she felt about condemning a man only trying to help his mother. She didn't know how she felt about the sudden attention of the Fae.

But she did know that she'd enjoyed being a detective again. It had felt good.

She missed it.

In the morning, she'd probably end up calling her old DCI, Nigel Newell, and inquiring about positions that were open in the Major Crime Squad. But for now, at least, she was content to bask in the knowledge that she'd still got her old skillset.

Jack regarded her over a whiskey gla.s.s. "Where've you been, then? Missed you, luv."

Pete signaled the publican for a gla.s.s of the same. "Trust me, Jack," she said. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Caitlin Kittredge is a full-time writer who lives in Seattle with collections of comic books, cats and vintage pinup clothing. She's the author of the bestselling "Nocturne City" and "Black London" urban fantasy series, and the novel The Witch's Alphabet, a steampunk adventure for young adults. Her website is

www.caitlinkittredge.com.

Petunia Caldecott is a former Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police, London. She graduated from London City College and currently resides in Whitechapel. Jack Winter is a mage and a pain in her a.r.s.e, but he sometimes makes himself useful. He hails from Manchester, England.

An Ace in the Hole: A Sazi Story.

by C. T. Adams & Cathy Clamp.

"I said ... empty your wallet." I glared across the table at Carmine Leone and let a slow growl roll up and out of my chest. Blame the werewolf in me. When I get annoyed, my mask of humanity slips a little, even with my former employer "And I said, go to h.e.l.l." He matched my growl with one of his own. No werewolf in him, but mob boss isn't that far of a leap. "n.o.body touches my wallet. Not my wife, not my staff and not even you. There's nothing in there that's of any interest to anyone."

I let out a sigh, and looked over at Lucas Santiago, who was sitting in the corner of the room. He was my new boss, for Wolven, the law enforcement branch of the shapeshifting community known as the Sazi, and up until a month ago, had been arguably the second most powerful being on the planet. But he'd been attacked, like I'd been two years ago, and now he was a vanilla human, trying to get a handle on not being the toughest dog in a fight. I'd thought coming on this case with me would make him realize he didn't need to be a wolf to stay boss of the organization. He'd saved my b.u.t.t a couple times and I figured I owed him.

Lucas had been trying to stay out of this, but I could smell that he was getting fidgety. There were three emotion scents in the room right now - determination, which smells similar to a heated cast iron pan; and anger, which reminds me of hot peppers roasting. The final scent was frustration; which is a weird mix of scents, including boiling water, black pepper and other stuff.

I shook my head. "See, there's a flaw in that logic, even if you're too stressed to see it."

Carmine narrowed his eyes, but then he grudgingly nodded. "Go on."

"First, neither of you are going to like me blabbing all this, but you both need all the information at hand to see my point, so just get over it." Now both sets of eyes were mere slits under narrowed lids. "You called me up here to Canada to find out the status of the job you gave me, which is finding and killing the guys who beat the c.r.a.p out of you, using the knife they sliced you with. Just so we're clear, I don't have that knife anymore, but the job's still on"

Carmine made a small, strangled noise, and then started scanning the ceiling and walls - probably looking for some sort of bug.

I shook my head again. "This isn't some sort of trap, Carmine. I'm not state's evidence material. I'm just laying out the facts. The job's already been approved by the Sazi Council, so while Lucas might not like that it's been allowed, he knows why I'm here. No, the question is ... why are you here?"

He shrugged. "Vacation. Just a quick get-away with Linda and Barbara before the baby's due. Calgary's nice this time of year." The black pepper scent told me he was lying.

"Just knock it off, okay? Lying isn't going to help any of us." I held up a hand to forestall further bl.u.s.ter. "You own a flippin' island in the Caribbean where there's no extradition treaty. The feds know it, so you're a flight risk. What odds would you give me that there's an order out there restricting your movements?"

Lucas crossed his arms over his chest and let out a light growl. It wasn't precisely a wolf growl, but close enough. While Carmine was a full human, he was also the significant other of Barbara Herrera, an alpha werewolf ... and the woman about to give birth to his son. He had thus become a fringe "family member," who Wolven and the Council would keep an eye on.

Carmine didn't respond at all. But I noticed he didn't deny my guess.

"So," I continued, "It's unlikely you'd be allowed on a commercial flight out of the country, meaning you snuck here, probably in the middle of the night - and I know you're not stupid enough to do that without a d.a.m.ned good reason."

"There is one." A simple acknowledgment with a short nod. At least I didn't have to dig on that point deeper.

"Now, when I walked in the hotel room, we shook hands." He stared down at his hand suddenly like I'd infected him with something, or pa.s.sed him some poison. I snorted. "No, it's nothing like that. But I did do a hindsight on you without your knowledge."

Now Lucas glared. That was supposed to have been a secret.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Giodone!" The same words came out of two mouths as they both rose to their feet and advanced toward me threateningly.

"Knock it off!" I had to yell over the blue language that was now searing the paint off the walls. "Would you please give me a second to explain why it's important you both know?" After a moment, their scents settled down, but they still arched over me like vultures waiting for a death twitch.

My head tipped up until I could watch Carmine's face. "I figured that my arriving would put your mind on the day you were attacked and stabbed in the condo in Colorado, so I snuck into your head to watch what happened. It is a h.e.l.l of a lot easier to find people when you know what they look like, y'know."

"It's not like I had a camera handy while they were slicing me up." His mouth was b.i.t.c.hing, but his scent was impressed I'd thought to do the hindsight.

The Sazi magic that turned me into a werewolf also did other stuff to me. Most shifters get heightened senses - better eyesight or super-sensitive hearing. But a very few become *seers,' those with a sixth sense. Lucky me. In my case, I don't get the future popping into my head. No, I get the past. Usually it's a specific past, an event that's important or emotional to the one who lived it. I've learned to be able to step outside the memory to see tiny details that happened, but which aren't readily evident until the person is pressed or under hypnosis.

"Precisely. But your mind is a perfect camera." I tapped my forehead. "It just takes the right software to download it."

"So what's my wallet got to do with anything?"

"One of the guys nicked it out of your pocket while you were getting slapped around."

Now he frowned, with his whole body. His muscles stiffened and there was a scent that told me he was hiding something. "I checked it after I came to. It was in my pocket and nothing was missing."

"Precisely. They put it back. Interesting, huh? Those South American guys didn't come to the condo to rob you. They were looking for something. And from the expression on the guy's face in your memory, he found it. So, I say again ... empty your wallet. Let's find out what they wanted."

"There's nothing to find! There's personal ... stuff about business that's none of yours."

I glared at Carmine, meeting those cold eyes with steel blue ones that were beginning to glow with magical fire. "So you're telling me that even though I'm positive the reason you were beaten up was only to distract you from the real reason for their visit, you don't care? You want me to just kill them, without finding out what they wanted or why? Jeez, your personal and business life have already been compromised! Are you positive that the damage hasn't already been done, while your people had no idea you were laid up in the hospital?" I paused while his pulse pounded under his skin so loud I'd swear it was coming out of speakers in the walls. "Tell me, Carmine. Be honest. Are you really pig-headed and stubborn enough to risk everything you have just to keep your little secrets - that I don't give a d.a.m.n about anyway?"

Sometime in the middle of my little rant he went still and thoughtful. The gears I knew he had in that grey matter finally jump-started. He raised up one hip to sit partway on the table. His face, and scent, went through a dozen emotions, before finally settling on the dry heat smell of embarra.s.sment.

"Okay, so what's the plan? Let's say I give you my wallet." He shot a glare at Lucas, who glared back - two junkyard dogs sizing each other up. "Just you. Do you know what you're looking for?"

I nodded. "The last thing he pulled out was a slip of paper, about the size of a post-it note with fringed edges. An old photograph, maybe? It was on the left side and he had to dig to get it out." Actually, I knew it was a photo. I'd even seen the image, but it didn't make sense. It was just a photo of a long brick wall with no other identifying marks.

Carmine had gone still again, but this time he wasn't embarra.s.sed. He was nervous. He pulled out his wallet like a snake after a mouse. Any inhibition he'd had was lost as he nearly tore apart the soft suede. Pictures, credit cards, money, receipts and all manner of cryptic notes were tossed on the table as he frantically looked for whatever wasn't there. A solid five minutes went by while he opened every paper, made sure the missing item wasn't attached to anything, and re-probed every pocket, pouch and slit in the leather.

When he finally gave up, he stood staring at the pile of papers that const.i.tuted his life, looking older than I'd ever seen him. It only lasted a moment and then he smiled. The flash of teeth was completely empty of meaning and everyone in the room knew it. "Eh. No big deal. Wouldn't mean anything to anyone but me."

"What's missing?" Lucas demanded. "I'd suggest you talk to us before you start talking to those who can make you talk."

Carmine shrugged, the patently false smile abandoned. He turned his back so we couldn't see his face. "Just an old photo of some architecture. Something my dad took years ago. Like I said, only important to me."

I didn't know much about Carmine's father - only that he was raised in Chicago around the Capone era. He didn't settle down and get married until he was nearly sixty, and most of Carmine's friends thought Marco was his grandfather, instead of his dad.

Lucas made a gesture, pointing to my hands and then to Carmine. I knew what he wanted and I didn't disagree. This conversation would go a lot faster if I just did another hindsight. I don't really like doing two in one day on a person, but this was taking for-freaking-ever! I pulled off one of the black leather gloves I have to wear to keep from getting accidental images from people - but then froze and raised my nose in the air. Lucas did the same, but got a frustrated look on his face. He can't smell things like he used to anymore, and it drives him nuts. But he's still got eyes, and he used them ... scanning around the room to try to see anything out of place. I shook my head and pointed toward the door and then thumped Carmine on the shoulder hard enough to make him jump and turn around.

The scent that was coming under the door was a peculiar one that I'd smelled before. I wasn't raised on a farm, but I've stood in a field of cantaloupes, right at the point when the whole lot was about to turn and go moldy inside. The smell is nearly overpowering - musty, sweet and slightly rotten. I carefully drew my Taurus back-up revolver from my ankle holster and wasn't at all surprised that Carmine and Lucas produced guns as well. I smeared the polish on the clean, shining mahogany table by using my finger to write: snakes.

There was a polite knock on the door, followed by a woman's voice. "Room service."

I raised my brows at Carmine and he shook his head firmly. He didn't order, and we didn't order, so it was a trap. He got the hint of me rolling my finger at him and called out "Just a second," as if he was in the bathroom.

Snakes don't have the best hearing, so they probably wouldn't hear if we kept our voices to the barest whisper. "Is there a back way out of here," I said, "or do we take them on? I'm pretty sure there's more than one out there."

Carmine paused longer than I liked, and I leaned so close to his face that he could probably smell cinnamon toothpaste. "Unless you want your kid to grow up without a dad, you'd better start spilling. I can take one of them, maybe two, barehanded, but understand that even one shot will bring the cops."

A second knock turned his head toward the door and to the shadows that moved across the sunlit carpeting, showing there were at least four feet on the other side. With a tiny, disgusted noise from the back of his throat, he turned and hurried into the separate bedroom. It was a gorgeous room, befitting a hotel of the Fairmont Palliser's reputation. But I was pretty sure that most rooms didn't have a bookcase that swung out from the wall when a portion of the baseboard was pressed.

He waved us through just as I heard a cardkey being inserted into the door in the outer room and the tiny high pitched whine as the lock released. He got the wall closed just in time and the thick, flat steel bar that slid into the oak header would make sure that n.o.body followed us - at least not quickly.

We had to squeeze against the wall to let him pa.s.s, then followed him down an old iron staircase that seemed like it might have been attached to the outside of the building once upon a time. I knew Lucas was burning up with curiosity, just like I was. But now wasn't the time to ask. Not until we were in a more defensible position.

The staircase descended several floors and when the temperature of the walls changed, I was pretty sure we were at the bas.e.m.e.nt level, or below. In a moment, I was proved right. The sounds of metallic thumping and hissing came from behind the wall at the end of the staircase and Carmine put his eye up to what appeared to be a peep hole into the outer area. After a long moment, as I listened to the snakes tearing things apart in the upper room, he slid back a steel bar that was a twin of the one above. The door pushed outward smoothly and we stepped out, into a back corner of the boiler room.

There was something about the boiler room of the Palliser Hotel that set off alarm bells in my mind, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. So, rather than do something as potentially fatal as asking one of the people in the room with me, I went to the *intercom' in my head.

While it's taken some getting used to, one unique thing about werewolf mates is that they're telepathically tied to each other. In sticky situations like this, being in instant contact with my wife was often more useful than an extra clip of ammo.

Sue?

Hey, lover. What's up? Her voice was warm and slightly sleepy. She's been working a lot of late nights, also for Wolven, and supposedly had the day off. So I've been trying to stay out of her head. We're getting better at shutting out the other person from our day to day thoughts. It had been making both of us a little squirrely.

Palliser Hotel, in Calgary. See if you can find anything online about the bas.e.m.e.nt. I'm remembering something in the back of my head, but since we're being chased by snakes right now, I don't want to spend the brainpower to figure it out.

Snakes? Uh-oh. Not good. The word made her nervous enough that the walls were breaking down in our heads. I was starting to see our bedroom overlaid on the machinery. The furnace grate was wearing a burgundy coverlet and the brick walls had drapes.