Dark Currents
Page 27

“No. You?”
“Yep.” I handed him the folded paper Stefan Ludovic had given me. “Jerry the bartender confessed to giving the kids Ray D’s number. No answer at the number, but that’s it. And that’s the bartender’s home address.”
Cody scanned it, his topaz eyes intent. “Did he say why?”
I nodded. “Drugs. He claims he was just looking to pass the buck and get rid of them.”
He looked up at me. “You believe it?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Neither does Stefan. That’s why he fired Jerry and gave us his address. He thought we might want to have a talk with him.”
“Oh, Stefan, is it?” Cody’s voice was light, but there was an edge to it.
I took another swig of beer, eyeing him. “Uh-huh. We’re on a first-name basis now. He came to report in person. Caused a bit of a commotion downtown.”
He ignored my comment. “What about Al?”
“Al’s in custody.”
Cody exhaled. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He tapped the paper. “Did you give this number to Detective Wilkes to trace?”
“I left him a message,” I said. “And I also paid a visit to Mr. Leary to run down any possible mythological spider leads. There’s nothing that fits the bill. He told me to consider Hylas and look for naiads. That we’ve already done. So I think we’re looking at Jerry Dunham and his spider tattoo, Cody.”
He frowned at the paper. “But for what?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I double-checked the autopsy results and confirmed toxicology was negative for drugs.”
“Could have been a deal gone south,” he mused.
“Could have been,” I agreed.
“Oh, fuck it.” Cody refolded the piece of paper and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. He grinned at me, baring his teeth. They were very white and very strong, and maybe a little more pointed than usual. The slanting sunlight of early evening caught his eyes, making them blaze to amber, gold-flecked life with a hint of green behind them. “I’m tired of this case. I’m tired of talking. Let’s have some fun for a change, Daisy Jo. Did you bring the dagger?”
“Uh-huh.” I patted my fraying satchel.
Cody beckoned. “Let’s take a look at it in my workshop.”
I followed him through his house, which was exactly what I would have predicted: small, rustic, tidy, wood flooring, and lots of plaid fabric. His workshop was in an outbuilding behind it.
As long as I was predicting, I would have guessed Cody dabbled in carpentry. I would have been wrong. “You work with leather?”
“My family collects a lot of hides,” he said dryly.
I picked up a half-finished bag from the workbench. “You make purses?”
He scowled and took it from me, setting it aside. “It’s a messenger bag, and yes. I sell them online, okay? Now, let’s see that dagger.”
Easing dauda-dagr from my satchel, I laid it on the workbench. The runes running the length of it seemed to flicker in the sunlight, while the keen edges were faintly blue. The leather-wrapped hilt was shiny with wear, but the rest of it looked like it might have been forged yesterday.
“God, it’s gorgeous,” Cody murmured. “What does it say?”
“I don’t know for sure,” I said. “I assume it spells out its name, but I haven’t learned to read runes yet.”
“Death day, right?” he asked. I nodded. “It’s a perfectly balanced blade by the look of it.” He glanced at me. “Can I touch it?”
I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Reaching out with one reverent hand, Cody closed it around the hilt, and let go quickly. “Jesus! It’s freezing!”
“It is?” I hefted it experimentally. “It’s cold, but I wouldn’t call it freezing.”
He shook out his hand, then showed it to me. There was a reddened imprint of dauda-dagr’s hilt on his palm and fingers. “At a guess, I’d say it’s not meant for anyone but you to wield.”
I winced. “Good to know. Sorry!”
“Not your fault.” Cody studied the dagger. “It didn’t come with a sheath?”
“Nope.”
“Let’s see if we can’t improvise something.” He spread a piece of muslin on the worktable. “I’ll make you something more permanent later.”
At his instruction, I laid dauda-dagr on the muslin and traced a pattern. It actually wasn’t that dissimilar from helping my mom with her seamstress work. Once we had a workable pattern, Cody transferred it to a piece of soft deerskin and set about cutting and stitching with practiced expertise.
“This won’t last long,” he said, poking one big-ass curved needle through the leather. “The hide’s too soft. But it will do for now, and I’ll use the pattern to make something better with a heavyweight hide.”
I watched his strong, capable hands at work. “Are you going to make me a belt to go with it?”
“Sure, if you like.” Cody grinned at me. “I could even make you a bag with a built-in sheath for everyday wear.”
“Really?”
“I do custom work on commission.” He handed me the deerskin sheath. “See how that fits.”
I slid dauda-dagr into it. “Perfect.”
“Excellent.” He beckoned again. “Now let’s go out back and play.”
In the grassy clearing between the house and the woods, Cody proceeded to instruct me in the finer points of knife fighting, of which there were surprisingly few.
“First and foremost, if you think you’re going to need to use it, draw it before you know you do,” he said. “Because if you get attacked, you won’t have time to draw it.”
“Did they teach you that at the police academy?” I asked him.
“No.” He adjusted my stance. “Knife-hand foot forward, rear foot at a forty-five-degree angle. Left hand up to shield your chest. With your right hand, hold the dagger like you’d hold a hammer.”
I obeyed. “Where, then?”
“When Caleb and I were kids, there was a guy in the neighborhood who was an ex-marine.” Cody circled me in a predatory manner, setting my tail to twitching in an involuntary reflex. “We used to bug him to teach us stuff.”
I peered over my shoulder at him. “I would have thought you and your brother had your own . . . defenses.”
“Not as kids,” Cody said. “That came later.” Coming around in front of me, he showed his teeth in another cheerful grin. “The second-most-important thing? Get them before they get you.”
If he hadn’t warned me, I wouldn’t have known it was coming, but he did, which was why when Cody charged me, I was able to turn to one side, hook his leg, and execute a perfect takedown, following him to the grassy ground and placing the sheathed edge of dauda-dagr against his throat.
“Duly noted,” I said sweetly. “So what’s the third-most-important thing?”
Cody’s taut, hard-muscled chest heaved beneath mine as he drew an indignant breath, which I must admit felt pretty good. His face conveyed a mixture of dismay and amusement. “You said you didn’t know anything about fighting!”
“No,” I corrected him. “I said I didn’t know the first thing about handling edged weapons, which is true.” I withdrew the sheathed dagger and sat upright, straddling Cody’s lean hips. And yes, that felt pretty damn good, too. I smiled at him. “When I was a kid, I was a star pupil in Mr. Rodriguez’s Li’l Dragonz tae kwon do class four years in a row. Mom thought it would be a good way for me to get out my aggression.”
Cody laughed. It was a good laugh, full-throated and deep, his topaz eyes sparkling. “Was it?”
Reluctantly, I climbed off him. “Yeah, actually. It was.”
“Okay, my bad.” He bounded to his feet and shook himself all over. “Shall we try it again?”
We did.
It was fun, it was sexy, and it was educational. By the time we finished, I was a lot more comfortable handling dauda-dagr. I was also tired enough to collapse on the ground. I hadn’t exactly kept up with my Li’l Dragonz training in the past decade or so.
“You’re not half-bad, Daisy.” Lying on his back, Cody folded his arms behind his head. “How did you become Hel’s liaison, anyway?”
“She asked me,” I said simply.
“Really?”
I nodded. “Really. I’d already started helping out the chief with a few cases. It came to her attention, and she summoned me. She gave me the choice. I took it.” Surreptitiously, I scratched my rune-marked left palm. “I said yes.”
Cody turned his head toward me. “Why?”
The sun was hovering low above the tree line, gilding the bronze stubble on his cheeks and throat. His gold-flecked eyes, so close to mine, were wide and questioning. The clean fragrance of pine hung in the air.
“Because I wanted to believe there’s some purpose to my existence,” I said softly. “Because I want to side with order and good. You know?”
He nodded. “I know.”
It was a moment.
And maybe it could have been more, except it was the exact moment that Cody’s brother Caleb arrived with his family in tow.
“I forgot to tell you,” Cody said in an apologetic tone. “I thought it might be nice. Take a little downtime with family, grill a few steaks. You don’t mind, do you?”
On the one hand, I did; on the other hand, if my initially reluctant partner in crime fighting wanted to introduce me to his family, I wasn’t going to object. Rising and retrieving my satchel, I stowed dauda-dagr away. “No, of course not.”
Caleb Fairfax was several years older than Cody and a bit broader, with thick rusty auburn hair, and, as I remembered, he was indeed rocking the muttonchops. On him, they looked good. Or okay, anyway. If Cody was laconic, his brother was downright taciturn. Not in an off-putting way, just in the manner of a man inclined by nature to silence.