Moonglow by Kristen Callihan Read Free Book Online Page B

encircled his head, obscuring his features but not the sharp gleam of his eyes. “Seems my invitation to the party was lost in the mail.”
    Poole’s muttered string of obscenities filled the ensuing silence. Ian agreed with all of them. Having Archer along was an annoyance, but at least the man knew with what they were dealing. Inspector Winston Lane did not. Humans were never to learn of the other world. Theresults would be calamitous. Starting with mass panic. It had been Ian’s hope to obscure certain evidence before the CID got to it. He shot Archer a glance, and the man blinked once.
Understood.
At least in this, they were partners.
    Lane took a deep draw on his pipe, and the tip burned red hot in the blue light of the morning. He let the smoke out slowly. “Hello, brother,” he said to Archer. Aside from being an annoyance in this matter, Lane was also husband to Miranda and Daisy’s eldest sister, Poppy. Whether that would turn out to be a further nuisance or a boon remained to be seen. “I ought to have expected you here as you do turn up in the oddest of places.” Lane did not wait for a reply from Archer but turned his keen gaze on Ian. “Lord Northrup, I understand you took my sister Daisy to shelter after the attack. I thank you for that.”
    Ian inclined his head. Lane was an odd piece, carrying himself with a pride that went far past his station, yet conveying the manners of a man long used to bureaucracy. Had Lane been of higher birth, he would undoubtedly be running for parliament. Regardless of his station, one look from him had Poole squirming.
    “I’m certain Lords Northrup and Archer will have a reasonable explanation for their presence here,” Lane went on softly. “As for your colorful evasion of me, Poole, we shall discuss it later.”
    Poole grunted and avoided Lane’s gaze. Lane waited for one of the men to confess his sins as it were. Archer merely stared at the man. A good tactic for Archer, as his stare was quite effective. Ian, however, hated keeping quiet. “I do hope you like waiting, Inspector, as you will be doing a fair bit of it.”
    Lane smiled blandly. “Patience is a virtue most valuableto an inspector.” Lane knocked his pipe against the sole of his boot, sending red embers tumbling and the release of fragrant tobacco into the air. “Now that we’re all here, let us proceed.”
    “Are we certain?” Ian asked. “No others are forthcoming? No wives? The bootblack boy? Perhaps the muffin man I passed on the way?”
    The only answer was Poole’s rather shocking hand gesture, to which Ian would rather not acquiesce.
    Poole pulled out a set of large iron keys. The door swung easily and in stepped Poole, his once nervous visage turning instantly to one of cool professionalism.
    Ian followed at a pace behind, hating the damp coldness upon his neck. The narrow corridor, painted institutional green and lit by two stingy lamps, made a sharp turn and the cloying smell took on a decidedly sulphuric taint.
    “Cost me twenty quid to delay matters.” Poole’s sandy-colored head bobbed along in the greenish gloom. “The Fenn family wanted the burial today. Today. Had to tell the coroner I’d sent the body on to the wrong address to give us more time. Rubbish, and the coroner well knows it. I’ve never misplaced a body in all my life.” He shot a glance at Lane. “And you can well blame these two.” He jerked a thumb toward Archer and Ian. “Tell me, what’s a man to do when a marquis and baron are breathing down his neck?”
    “Inform the lead inspector?” Lane offered.
    Ian let Poole rant. He knew the man helped him not out of desire for money but from the fact that Ian had stepped between him and the wicked edge of a thief’s knife on one dark night. Loyalty ran deep within Henry Poole. What Archer had on Poole, Ian didn’t know. Nor did he care.
    The little surgeon stopped by a massive iron door, and Ian’s insides turned.
    “You’ve read the report?” Poole