Dead in the Family

Plus, of course, there was the whole issue of Claudine dying in my defense.
    “Claude,” I said, trying to sound only sympathetic, “have a seat. What’s wrong?” I glanced at the shotgun, unaccountably glad it was within reach.
    Claude gave it only a casual glance. After a moment, he put down his bag and simply stood there, as if he couldn’t figure out what to do next.
    It seemed surreal to be in my kitchen alone with my fairy cousin. Though he had apparently made the choice to continue living among humans, he was far from warm and fuzzy about them. Claude, albeit physically beautiful, was an indiscriminate jerk, as far as I’d observed. But he’d gotten his ears surgically altered to look human, so he wouldn’t have to expend his energy perpetuating a human appearance. And as far as I knew, Claude’s sexual connections had always been with human males.
    “You’re still living in the house you shared with your sisters?” It was a prosaic three-bedroom ranch in Monroe.
    “Yes.”
    Okay. I was looking for a little expansion on the theme here. “The bars aren’t keeping you occupied?” Between owning and operating two strip clubs—Hooligans and a new place he’d just taken over—and performing at Hooligans at least once a week, I’d imagined Claude to be both busy and well-to-do. Since he was handsome to the nth degree, he made a lot of money in tips, and the occasional modeling job boosted his income. Claude could make even the most staid grandmother drool. Being in the same room with someone so gorgeous gave women a contact high . . . until he opened his mouth. Plus, he no longer had to share the club income with his sister.
    “I’m busy. And I don’t lack for money. But without the company of my own kind . . . I feel I’m starving.”
    “Are you serious ?” I said without thinking, and then I could have kicked myself. But Claude needing me (or anyone, for that matter) seemed so unlikely. His request to stay with me was wholly unexpected and unwelcome.
    But my gran chided me mentally. I was looking at a member of my family, one of the few still living and/or accessible to me. My relationship with my great-grandfather Niall had ended when he’d retreated into Faery and pulled the door shut behind him. Though Jason and I had mended our fences, my brother very much led his own life. My mom, my dad, and my grandmother were dead, my aunt Linda and my cousin Hadley were dead, and I rarely saw Hadley’s little son.
    I had depressed the hell out of myself in the space of a minute.
    “Do I have enough fairy in me to be any help to you?” That was all I could think of to say.
    “Yes,” he said very simply. “I already feel better.” This seemed a weird echo of my conversation with Bill. Claude halfway smiled. If Claude looked incredible when he was unhappy, he looked divine when he smiled. “Since you’ve been in the company of fairies, it’s accentuated your streak of fairy essence. By the way, I have a letter for you.”
    “Who from?”
    “Niall.”
    “How’s that possible? I understood the fae world was shut off now.”
    “He has his ways,” Claude said evasively. “He’s the only prince now, and very powerful.”
    He has his ways. “Humph,” I said. “Okay, let’s see it.”
    Claude pulled an envelope out of his overnight bag. It was buff-colored and sealed with a blue blob of wax. In the wax was imprinted a bird, its wings spread in flight.
    “So there’s a fairy mailbox,” I said. “And you can send and receive letters?”
    “This letter, anyway.”
    Fae were very good at evasion. I huffed out a breath of exasperation.
    I got a knife and slid it under the seal. The paper I extracted from the envelope had a very curious texture.
    “Dearest great-granddaughter,” it began. “There are things I didn’t get to say to you and many things I didn’t get to do for you before my plans collapsed in the war.”
    Okay.
    “This letter is written on the skin of one of the water sprites who drowned your parents.”
    “Ick!” I cried, and dropped the letter on the kitchen table.
    Claude was by my side in a flash. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking around the kitchen as if he expected to see a troll pop up.
    “This is skin! Skin!”
    “What else would Niall write on?” He looked genuinely taken aback.
    “Ewww!” Even to myself, I sounded a little too girly-girly. But honestly . . . skin?
    “It’s clean,” Claude said, clearly hoping that would solve my problem.