Blood Faerie Read Online Free Page B

she did not move as silently as her early training had required. A quarter of a century wasn’t long, not when her people often lived for more than a millennium, but long enough for her to become careless and loud-footed.
     
    When she finally came to the forest’s edge, Eilidh hesitated. Once she stepped beyond this tree line, her life was forfeit. She might be able to find Saor, her childhood friend. They had often worked together in this very spot. They’d taken lessons together, played together, and when they approached adulthood, they’d trained and become Watchers together. Everyone assumed they would marry, but before Eilidh reached the requisite century mark, she’d been exiled. When they arrested her, he’d not come to see her. She’d never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

    Eilidh held up her hand and touched the nearest tree. Why was she here? Was it really to warn her people about the blood faerie she’d encountered? Now she was no longer certain what had kept her feet running in this direction. If she did encounter Saor, he would be forced to either kill her or help her.
     
    She shook her head and smirked at her own foolishness. Saor would kill her or he wouldn’t, but he was no longer hers. He would be close to a hundred and thirty, and if he hadn’t found someone else by now, she’d be shocked. Even to suspect that he would not have taken another was ridiculous. He would have grieved, but when he found out about Eilidh’s true nature, he would have counted himself lucky to escape her fate. As her childhood friend, no one would blame him for her crimes. If he’d been married to her though, the taint of her existence would never have left him.

    A light breeze pushed at her back, and Eilidh steeled herself for whatever would come. With as much courage as she could muster, she stepped into the woods.

    ***

    Munro didn’t mind house-to-house enquiries, generally speaking, especially not when someone like Gladys Pentworth offered him and Getty tea and freshly baked bread. Nobody made bread at home any more, except, it seemed, Gladys Pentworth. Munro and Getty sat on her beige settee to ask her, as they had most of her neighbours, if she saw or heard someone rip Robert Dewer’s heart from his chest.
     
    “Mrs Pentworth, were you home last night?”

    “Why, yes, that poor felly.” Her eyes widened with sympathy and she tutted. “Jam for your bread, dears?”
     
    “No, madam, this is just fine. Did you know Robert Dewer?”

    “No, no. I don’t really keep up with young people anymore with their iPods and hoodies. The way they wear their trousers! Really, officers, can’t anything be done?”
     
    Getty coughed, and Munro schooled his features as best he could.

    “Would you like some more tea?” she said to Getty, who hacked as though some bread had gone down the wrong way.
     
    “Did you see or hear anything unusual last night?” Munro asked.

    “Well, I heard him die. A horrible sound. He shrieked, the poor man. Didn’t sound human.” Her eyes were wide as though she could still hear it. Then she came back to the present moment, turning her head to the side and waiting for the next question.
     
    Both officers sat forward. “You’re sure it was him and not something off the telly?” Getty asked.

    She frowned. “Really, you’d know a sound like that. Besides, I don’t watch violent shows.” She paused. “There’s always foul noises coming from the street, you understand. This used to be a nice neighbourhood. At first I thought it was someone being sick. Then I thought that wasn’t quite right either, was it?”
     
    “What time was this?” Munro asked.

    “Oh, must have been just before ten. I usually go to bed around then, see, and I had just cleaned my teeth.”
     
    “And what did you do then?”

    “Well, I went to the window to see what the matter was. He was lying down there all alone. Sad, really, to die alone.”
     
    “You could see him from here?” Munro