TRIM THE ROOTS
Goliath was a quiet companion, his shaggy white hair and beard the only recognizable feature left from the disguise-charmed coat he was wearing. We walked side by side, the evening rosy in my neighborhood, with many familiar faces staring back at me.
"You think they assumed you went missing too?" Goliath asked me, his voice low for privacy.
"Probably hoped it," I muttered.
"You should've stayed at the theater," he said.
Ronan, Nireas, and most of the other human girls had all said as much too. It seemed that perhaps the company's residence in the theater might grow permanent, at least until Beth and Margaret's killer was found.
"I was afraid they might have tossed all my things out to the street and put my flat up for sale if I didn't show my face soon," I whispered back.
Goliath grunted.
The yeti's silence was the first real peace I'd had in days, and I found myself strangely eager for the solitude of my home too. Most of my time at the theater was spent in Ronan's company, and it had been almost terrifyingly good, from the easy conversation to the drowsy sex in the early morning. It was as if my life was sliding in his direction.
No, it was that falling-in-love sensation, for the first time in years, tender roots tangling my heart around the little gestures—his arm around my shoulder, his wing as a blanket in the night, the sly look out of the corner of his eye when someone said something ridiculous.
I needed to snip those roots back, free myself before they grew stronger, more likely to wound me when torn away. If I could just stop picturing Ronan's stony, fallen expression when I refused his company in favor of Goliath escorting me home. And not just him. I'd been hounded by gazes all week, Ronan's flirtation, Nireas's focus from under heavy lashes, and Constantine's watchful glint coming from dark corners.
What a relief it would be to wander my home without anyone watching me.
Goliath and I turned the corner to Wellesley Street, leaving the stares of the neighborhood behind us, and my steps slowed as we crossed to my side of the street. Someone was waiting for me.
Not Hunter tonight, in his lovely black carriage. No, this was just a man in a heavy wool coat, with a dark hat casting a shadow over most of his face.
"There's a police officer waiting for me," I whispered to Goliath. "You'd better continue on."
His steps slowed. "I should stay with you."
Would DS Piper be able to recognize Goliath as the monster he'd seen with Margaret on stage? Probably, if his fae blood was strong enough.
"I'll be safe with him. Go on, get back to the others," I said.
Goliath frowned, the bushy white beard twitching, his icy blue eyes narrowing at the man sitting on my stoop.
"I know him, Goliath. It's fine."
And I did know the detective, in ways no one but his mother and father probably did. I wasn't sure if that was really protection enough, but I didn't want Goliath to know that Piper had found the theater. Strangely, I also didn't want DS Piper to misunderstand Goliath escorting me home.
"Be careful," Goliath said with a huffing sigh, and then he continued on behind me, returning back to the underground station we'd come from.
DS Piper looked up from his knees, rising quickly as he caught sight of me, remaining on my doorstep as I approached.
"Your neighbors said I shouldn't expect you," he said in greeting.
"Come in."
He didn't hesitate, following close at my back as I unlocked one door and then another. My home was cold as I arrived as it'd been days since I'd been back, and I crossed quickly to the fireplace.
"Lock the door behind you. It will set the privacy charm," I said softly.
There was a pause and then the click of the lock. "Have you really been missing for days?" he asked.
I was kneeling in front of the fire, shooing a spider off a twig of kindling, and I heard his steps pacing in a slow circle around the room in some aimless investigation.
"Not missing, but I stayed at the theater," I said, scratching a match to life and starting the fire.
"Because…because you caught me?" he asked.
I laughed and glanced at him over my shoulder. My curtains were still closed, and the few flames in the grate offered just enough light to make him out behind me. "No. I haven't told anyone about that. Have you?"
His head shook slowly and I nodded, turning to load logs on the fire.
"There was another murder, did you know?"
"What? No? When?" DS Piper hurried to the seat by the fire, leaning forward to look at me while I worked.
"Saturday night. They found her in the Thames on Sunday morning. Near Jacob's Island," I said.
"That far from here?" He sat back, blinking. "That explains why we didn't hear about it—different precinct."
"You don't talk to one another?"
"Sometimes, but a woman in her bed versus one in the water, different neighborhoods too… It's not similar enough to be linked with only two bodies. At least not so soon," he said, thinking aloud, his hand rubbing at his jaw. "You're sure it's the same killer?"
I added one last log to the fire, pulling my fingers away at the last second, their tips tingling with warmth. "Whoever is helping the theater is sure," I said, frowning. "I feel as though I don't know anything, really. Speaking of, what's your name?"
"Jude," he said after a moment of pause, staring back at me.
A simple name, but there was something pretty in it too.