Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf Hunter\Possessed by a Wolf (36 page)

Lexie must have heard his thoughts because she gave him another quelling look. Against his better judgment, Faran remained still.

An expressionless server arrived to place a chair across from the princes. Lexie sat, as cool as if this was nothing more than a coffee date. Faran put a hand on the back of her chair, gripping the carved wood. He couldn't exterminate Prince Leo in public, but he could loom.

With a slight, mocking smile, Leo cooperated. Lexie lifted her camera, the shutter whirring half a dozen times while the princes posed. Lexie seemed to understand just how to handle the royal antics.
Good work
, thought Faran
.

“I don't suppose your dear husband could take one of us together?” Leo said to Lexie, pushing a glass in front of her. “Some wine?”

But I'm still going to kill him.

“Oh, Leo, don't keep our poor photographers,” said Amelie. “They don't get their own dinners until they're done.” She frowned as several servers arrived to deposit tiny glass serving bowls on the table. She leaned over to poke the contents with her fork. “What is this? I approved the menu, and I don't recall seeing this.”

“It smells spicy,” said Kyle.

“I like spicy,” Amelie said with a wicked smirk. “It's my favorite.”

King Renault cleared his throat.

Faran's nose wrinkled as the serving tray went past.
Lemon, grapefruit, raw scallops, mint, peppers, shallots, a hint of garlic oil
. It was a ceviche, and if the seasonings in the first dish had been badly balanced, by Faran's standards this one qualified as a train wreck.
You'd think a royal court could hire someone better than this.

“It's scallops done a different way,” said Leo in a bored tone. “That's a thing, you know, doing the same food several ways. Though I think the variations are usually presented on the same plate. Would you care for a taste, Ms. Haven?”

Something was off. Catching King Renault's eye once more, Faran picked up one of the little bowls to sniff.

“Or take the whole dish,” Leo amended dryly.

“You can have mine,” Kyle said, pushing his over, “since you're in such a charming mood tonight.”

“That's hardly necessary.”

“I insist.”

Faran tuned out the princes, still considering the ceviche. The noise level throughout the room inched up as the guests investigated the new treat. Lexie kicked his ankle, but Faran was concentrating. Scents and tastes were a landscape of sensation, forming patterns and colors in his mind. Nuances of earth and ocean lingered in the food. He could smell the soap from the cook's hands, the fact that the grapefruit juice hadn't been fresh squeezed. This wasn't top-quality work. Spicy chilies overpowered the citrus and mint, hiding the fact that the scallops weren't as fresh as the ones in the main dish. And the timing of the service was all wrong. This item should have been an appetizer. Uneasy, Faran set the dish down and looked around for the head server. Someone in charge should have been having a fit.

Then two things happened at once. Amelie reached for the dish of ceviche next to her. The movement of air wafted the chili scent under Faran's nose again. But this time there was a different smell underneath it, like the bottom note of a perfume.

At the same time, Prince Leo leaned forward with a forkful of the fish for Lexie to taste. “Come, Ms. Haven, tell us what you think.”

“Don't,” Faran said, the word cutting across the table like a scythe. He lunged, grabbing Leo's wrist, but Lexie had already taken the sample from the fork and was chewing.

“Don't swallow it!” Faran ordered. “It's poisoned.”

King Renault's hand grabbed the bowl from his daughter. The table fell silent. Lexie's hands went to her mouth as her eyes widened in horror. Faran crouched before her chair, his heart hammering, praying she hadn't swallowed. Sweat rolled down the small of his back. He was going to tear Prince Leo into tiny shreds.

But his first concern was Lexie. Grabbing one of the thick linen napkins, he pressed it into her hand. Her skin had gone clammy, her eyes moist with tears. He kept his voice calm even though he wanted to bellow his rage. “Spit it out. Now.”

“What is this nonsense?” demanded King Targon.

A small noise came from the princess as one hand went to her throat. “What do you mean it's poisoned?”

Horror crawled up Faran's limbs as he took a second look. Amelie's portion was half-eaten.

Chapter 13

F
aran stormed into the infirmary. This part of the palace was small, but tonight it seemed a nightmarish labyrinth of corridors and identical doors. He'd been separated from Lexie. The medics had brought her here with Amelie and the other poisoned diners while Faran had helped to secure the banquet hall. With so many guests, that had taken a while but they'd been thorough. If the poisoner was in the crowd, he wasn't getting away—but that was Captain Valois's concern now. Faran needed to be there for Lexie.

He barely kept his pace to a walk. As a wolf, he could have covered the distance in seconds, but for now he had to play the human. Distracted, he dodged around a nurse pushing a medical cart and nearly ran into someone in a lab coat. He wheeled around, muttering an apology.
Get yourself under control
.

Faran banged through a set of double doors and skidded to a stop. The full force of the disaster at the banquet flooded home at a glance. Not everyone's ceviche had been poisoned, but there had been enough to cause chaos. Gurneys jammed the hall, each with a patient in evening finery and many with a friend or partner waiting helplessly by. The infirmary had been set up for a handful of patients at a time. There were too many sick and not enough beds—and even fewer answers.

Now that Faran was forced to be still and take stock, he could smell sickness—the putrid, acid stink of sweat and stomachs gone wrong. The animal part of him sensed death waiting for a crack to steal through. His own heart thudding, he examined the faces of the patients one by one, looking for Lexie.

He found her sitting at one end of a padded bench, her back propped against the wall. A young woman barely out of her teens lay with her head in Lexie's lap. The girl's skin was waxy and pale. Lexie didn't look much better, but she was stroking the girl's fair hair, the way a mother would comfort a child.

Faran froze, a complicated mix of anger and yearning closing around his heart. He was at her side in an instant. “Lexie!”

The look on her face was pure relief. His chest easing a little, he went to one knee beside the bench, needing to be close to her. “How are you?”

“Better than the others.” Lexie sat up straighter, her brave exterior firmly in place. “Two more doctors have arrived, but it's slow going. So many people got sick.”

Faran didn't like the pallor that dulled her features. “Has a doctor seen you yet?” he asked, touching her face. He'd half expected a fever, but she felt unusually cool. He pressed her hand, but it was no better.

“No,” Lexie replied.

The girl on the bench stirred and made a faint gasp as if she was in pain. Lexie looked up, her eyes fearful. “Can you find someone to look at her? She's not doing so well.”

“I'm on it.” Faran was back on his feet and searching the crowds in an instant. He didn't want just any white coat, but the man in charge. According to the nameplate on the door marked Head Physician that was Dr. Lemieux. He began pushing his way down the hall, reading the badges the staff wore pinned to their lab coats.

Dr. Lemieux was noting something on a clipboard when Faran cornered him. He was small and grizzled, with a receding chin and dark, penetrating gaze.

Faran cut to the chase. “There's a girl over there who's getting worse.”

“Young man,” said Lemieux testily, handing the clipboard to a nurse. “Look about you. Unless you are the princess with her private physician, everyone must wait their turn and, sadly, everyone is getting worse.”

Frustration slammed through Faran. He wanted the Company, with its labs and experts and his vampire friend, Mark, who knew more about medicine than anyone could learn in a mortal lifetime. But rumors were already blaming the Company for the poisoning, saying it was an act of revenge for their dismissal. The most Faran could do was send them a sample, but there wasn't enough time for that. He had to work with the tools at hand.

Faran slid a hand around the doctor's arm. “Let's go.”

“I will not be—”

“You will.” Faran marched him through the infirmary, taking advantage of his more-than-human strength. “I sincerely apologize, Doctor, but you're needed over here.”

The doctor began spluttering.

Faran cut him off. “I'm sorry, but self-control is for people with more time. I don't have any.”

“I will not be bullied!” spat the doctor.

“Have you identified the poison?”

“No, and it was food poisoning.”

“No, it wasn't. I can tell the difference.”

Lemieux stopped struggling and began to walk under his own power. “You're the one who smelled it?”

“I have a keen nose.”

The doctor's gaze traveled over Faran's face with new interest. His manner grew speculative. “Are you certain? Shellfish can be tricky, and the distribution of diners who fell ill seems to be random.”

That was hard to answer without revealing too much. The doctor was doing a little investigating of his own. “I know the difference between rot and something else,” Faran replied, “just like I'm pretty sure you already know that based on symptomology. Random victims are a good way of hiding the real target.” He didn't bother to add that the royal couple was almost certainly the mark.

Lemieux nodded, giving him the point. “The palace has a history of security staff with exceptional talents.”

Faran wasn't stepping into that one, either. “What's the poison, Doctor?”

“I can't release information to unauthorized persons.”

“Rules don't mean much if all your patients are dead.”

Lemieux gave in. “I don't know the answer. The toxin is an unstable compound and the acid in the food is complicating its identification. In turn, that makes it hard to find an effective antidote.”

They'd reached Lexie. She was leaning against the wall, looking more drawn than she had even a few minutes ago. She hadn't ingested as much of the poison, but she was still feeling the effects. She gave Faran a tired smile, but she didn't speak.

While the doctor examined the girl, Faran bent over Lexie, kissing her temple. A primitive need made him long to take her away to someplace safe, but there was no better help anywhere nearby. This wasn't something strength and speed could help.

Dr. Lemieux straightened, releasing a worried breath. The young girl's lips were bluish.

Anxiety made Faran's voice sharp. “What do you need done, Dr. Lemieux?”

The physician's face grew pinched. “It's up to the doctors now, young man.”

That wasn't good enough. Faran stepped close to Lemieux and dropped his voice low so that only the doctor could hear. “That is Lexie Haven. She's mine. There's nothing I won't do for her.”

“You have the exceptional nose.” The doctor folded his arms. “Identifying the poison would be far less difficult and faster if we had a pure sample uncontaminated by food. Can you find it for me?”

Faran's stomach dropped. Even if the poison was in a bottle marked with skull and crossbones, he would need to search the entire palace. It was looking for a needle in a rambling haystack. But one look at Lexie's pale face—at all the faces in the infirmary—confirmed that he had to try.

“I'll be right back.”

* * *

Faran started with the scene of the crime, telling himself at least he knew his way around food. The servers and guests had been herded off to the same rooms where Lexie and Maurice had been questioned. He was hoping the banquet room would be quiet.

He should have known better. A royal princess was among the sick, and no effort was being spared. When he arrived, the hall was swarming with green-coated Vidonese guards, some of whom bore the insignia of the Knights of Vidon. Faran's neck hair prickled, but he kept his expression mild as he skirted the areas cordoned off with yellow tape. The guards had been joined by the local police, and crime-scene technicians were examining the high table, fingerprinting dishes and sealing samples of food into tiny jars. It was painstaking, precise work.

Faran passed through the banquet hall and into the servers' passageway. The stainless steel doors to the kitchen were directly ahead. Yellow tape forbid entry, but Faran didn't slow until he saw Captain Valois lurking in a shadowed corner just outside.
Great fuzzy balls, not now!

“Mr. Kenyon,” said Valois, “what an interesting surprise.”

“You're not questioning the staff and guests?”

“Oh, I will be,” Valois gave a ghastly smile. “But there are so many things to attend to.”

Faran held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “I'm here on behalf of Dr. Lemieux. He's the—”

“Yes, I know who he is. What does he want?”

Faran didn't have time for games. “A sample of the poison. He's looking for an antidote.”

“And you happen to know where that is?” Valois folded his arms, his lined face somewhere between skeptical and suspicious. “I hear you were the one who—correct me if I'm wrong—
smelled
it.”

Two people in the past half hour had remembered that scrap of telltale information. Faran wasn't pleased. “Yeah. That's how I hope to find the source.”

“In the kitchen?”

“That makes sense, doesn't it?”

“It's crossed our minds. We've done a search already, although the crew with their brushes and sample bags haven't been through yet.” Valois's gaze flicked to the kitchen doors. “It's a mess in there. It's going to take them all night.”

Faran opened his mouth to demand entry anyhow, but to his surprise Valois pulled down the yellow tape. Then the police captain drew his weapon with a whisper of metal on leather and fabric. “If it saves the princess, you're welcome to try. I'm going to be at your elbow every step of the way.”

Triumph flared in Faran's chest. “I can live with that.”

“You don't have a choice.” Valois pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket. “Put these on.”

Faran took the gloves. He wasn't going to argue with the man as long as he got where he needed to go.

The kitchen bore the marks of an ordered chaos Faran knew well from his brief culinary career. Trays and mixing bowls sat on long steel tables, food half-plated, a dish towel dropped to the floor in Faran's path. The grill was off, but a fortune in choice beef congealed where it had been searing. Cooking stations along the wall were similarly abandoned, knives set down with bits of vegetable still clinging to the blades. The place was beginning to stink as the unrefrigerated food turned rancid.

“We took the staff into custody, or most of them,” said Valois. “Two of the servers and three cooks are missing. They all left at different times—for a smoke break or to make a call—and never came back.”

“The cooks—where were their stations?” Faran asked.

Valois pointed. “The one on the end belonged to the saucier.”

Faran snapped on the gloves. “I'm going to look around at everything first. I'd guess at least one of the cooks was working with the missing servers. Poisoning a dish wouldn't be as easy as it sounds. There are a lot of people in a kitchen. A lot of potential witnesses. For a job like this one, you need someone to add the poison to the food, maybe another person to plate it and someone to get the dishes to the right victims. Probably both servers, to be sure the distribution looked random.”

“You're saying it would take a whole crew. What about one server with an eyedropper?”

Faran shook his head. “It would be hard to pull off in a barn of a kitchen like this. There's no privacy. I would bet you all five of your missing staff were in on it.”

“We'll see.” Valois made an “after you” gesture. “Your theory sounds complicated.”

Faran started with the tables closest to the doors. Plates had been arranged on the stainless steel surface for prep. Garnishes were already on about half. The scene revealed nothing.

Faran moved on to a sink heaped with a drift of arugula. Valois stayed a step behind, weapon in hand.

“Do I make you that nervous?” Faran asked. “You trust me enough to let me in here.”

“No human can pick out a trace amount of poison like that.”

So he knows what I am
. Faran didn't answer, but pointedly looked at the gun. Valois paled, a sheen of sweat glistening at his receding hairline, but he stood his ground. “I've been with the Marcari police for twenty years and know all about the vampires and werewolves. Not much surprises me anymore.”

“So?”

Valois licked his lips. “I don't like your kind, but solve this and nothing else matters.”

“Fair enough.” For an instant, Faran thought about telling him everything he knew. But then again, Valois might have hired Gillon—if one actually hired such a creature. No, he had little reason to trust the captain, especially since the man was holding him at gunpoint.

Keeping his movements as calm as possible, Faran moved to the next cook's station. “This is where they made the ceviche.”

The captain's nose wrinkled. Scraps of raw seafood lingered on the counter. Faran felt his mouth sour with revulsion, but beneath the fishy stink he caught a faint, foul whiff. He stopped, sniffing again.

Valois watched, his brow furrowed. “Is it here?”

“It
was
here,” Faran replied. He made a quick survey of the work area. There wasn't much to see—knives, dirty dishes, stray vegetables and a dish of salt.

“Let me play devil's advocate,” said the police captain.

“Aren't you on the side of the prosecution? I thought thumbscrews were more your style.”

“Wouldn't the culprit want to take the evidence with him?” Valois asked, ignoring his gibe.

Faran scanned the surrounding area. “Or perhaps he wouldn't want it anywhere near him if he was taken for questioning. My guess is our poison is hidden in plain sight.”