Page 56 of A Bloom in Winter

Hopefully, it would clear the air some.

“Let us forage together—”

From out of nowhere, the guy with the trucker hat and the camo jacket plowed through the space between them, catching Mahrci with his elbow.

The effect was instant. One minute, Mayhem was pretty much coloring inside the lines. The next, his fangs were descending, and he actually took a step out and around the cart, his head lowering, his shoulders coming forward over his hips—

The touch of Mahrci’s hand on his arm was enough to stop what certainly would have been murder—and a bloody one at that.

“I’m fine.” She put her face in his, like she wanted to make sure she was the only thing he could see. “Really. I am. So how about we hit the bread aisle.”

Mayhem nodded absently—and tried to pretend he wasn’t searching for that rude asshole in the fruits and vegetables department immediately to the right.

“Sounds great,” he said in what passed for a fairly non-growlish voice. “I love bread.”

What he didn’t love? What he could absolutely have done without?

Was him acting like he’d bonded or some shit. But have fun arguing with your internal wiring.

And that human better stay out of range, if he knew what was good for him. Some people just had the wrong vibe, all the way around.

CHAPTER TWENTY

As Tohr re-formed at Broadius’s McMansion, Qhuinn was right behind him. Big changes onsite from the night before: No lashing snow. No open door with the maid about to get frostbite. No dead body inside.

But this was still a crime scene.

As he took out a copper key, Qhuinn was assessing the neighbors on either side and across the lane, those other estates set way, way off and isolated by stone walls and plantings. Good thing, given how much activity had been going on over here. After the remains had been taken to the morgue in Manny’s mobile surgical unit, V had changed all the locks and installed his own cameras with an entire team of people.

Stepping into the tacky interior, Tohr hit the panel of light switches on the wall. All kinds of oversized, over-crystaled fixtures came on, making him think of the BDB mansion up on the mountain. He missed that imperial palace, he really did. And man, he’d never appreciated its elegance before, but next to all this miss-the-mark? That place really had been divine.

“Garage bound?” Qhuinn asked as he shut them in together.

“Yup.”

The pair of them headed for the rear of the house. The stillness of the rooms was ominous, in a way that an emptiness that was temporary just didn’t come close to: The owner was never coming back. The clothes in the closet were never going tobe worn by him again. The mail was going to remain unopened, the phone calls unanswered—

Tohr stopped.

“What?” Qhuinn asked as he took out one of his guns.

“Where’s the cell phone.” Tohr motioned for the brother to put his weapon away. “Everyone has a phone. Where’s Broadius’s phone?”

The fact that they’d all spaced the detail was kind of like what had happened with the maid: Someone coming across a U-Haul full of rifles and autoloaders should have been top of mind if their employer was murdered. But the brain only had so much processing capability at any one time, and it also had its own priority list. As things were framed and released, cognitive space was created, and shit popped up.

“Let’s see if we can find the armory first,” Qhuinn remarked. “Then we look for a phone.”

With a nod, Tohr started walking again.

The kitchen was all business, no cozy family stuff anywhere, not even a table and chair set for the staff to eat at. The fact that the appliances were all restaurant grade wasn’t a surprise, but they were never-been-used brand new. Likewise, the red tiled floor was gleaming, and the stainless steel saucepans hanging from a rack over the island were just-out-of-the-box sparkling clean.

“I don’t think this guy has even had a bowl of cereal in this place,” Qhuinn said.

Tohr nodded. “No food in the pantry, the cupboards, the fridges and freezers. What did the cook do?”

“We’ll find out after Butch is through talking to him.” Qhuinn paused and opened a random drawer—which, of course, was empty. “It’s like a stage set.”

There was an industrial laundry room off the far side of everything and—no surprise—it had no detergent on the shelfabove the massive machines, nothing on the ironing board, and no pile of dry cleaning on the way out the door.

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