Read Online Winter (The Manhattan Exiles) by Sarah Remy - Free Book Online

remember that.”
    “ Probably a good thing,” Bran said. “I’m assuming that’s not your ghost with the sword.”
    “ No,” Winter said, running the video a third time. “He’s as human as you are.”
    “ Which means he’s mine.”
    “ Maybe,” muttered Winter. “She’s there and then she’s gone. In and out. Summoning went bad. I was right about that much. Have you ID’d the blood sacrifice?”
    “ Victim,” Bran corrected. “Darlene Francis, age 42. She was abducted from her garden five days ago. From her garden in Yorktown, Virginia.”
    “ That’s a bit of a way.”
    Bran said, “Funeral’s Friday. I’d like to have some answers before then.” He looked pointedly at Aine.
    “ I don’t remember,” she repeated. Her lips had gone white, but she held her head high. “I don’t remember anything until I woke up in the wall. I thought I’d died.”
    “ You’re lucky you didn’t. The head case had a sword longer than you are tall and at least one previous murder under his belt.”
    A haunted expression chased across the girl’s face, then disappeared.
    “Lucky,” she agreed quietly. “It appears that way, does it not?”
     
    A delivery truck rattled past the mouth of the alley. This time Aine didn’t jump.
    Bran decided maybe she wasn’t quite as delicate as she seemed.
    “Who is he?” Winter asked. He handed the phone back.
    “ Smith. Michael Smith, 56. His fingerprints are on file. One DUI, two B&Es, liquor stores, both. Seems Michael and Jose Cuervo were good friends for a couple of decades. So much so he couldn’t hold down a job, and took to panhandling.”
    “ The man in that video isn’t a drunk.”
    “ No,” agreed Bran. “He’s nine months sober, according to his sponsor at Alcoholics Anonymous. Dropped in on a meeting one morning and stuck with it.”
    “ Good for him,” Winter said, dry. “Personally I prefer a drunk to a murderer.”
    Bran holstered his phone, and glanced at his watch. “Michael picked up a job at a local grocery. Day manager said he was a good employee. Always on time, never asked for personal days, never called in sick.”
    Winter grunted. “Sounds like Michael is a star. Where’s he flopping?”
    “ Shares an apartment with some fresh-faced Capitol interns. All four say they haven’t seen him in at least two weeks. Which isn’t unusual. They only return home to sleep.”
    “ And?”
    “ Room’s been cleaned out. I don’t imagine he’s coming back any time soon.”
    “ Where’s it located?”
    Bran squashed a pinch of irritation. “I’ve got men on it, kid. Let me do my job.”
    “ You do yours, I’ll do mine.” Winter stared up at the sky between the two buildings. “If there’s blood magic involved, I need to make sure he hasn’t left anything behind.”
    “ Meaning another nasty surprise?”
    “ So to speak.”
    “ Don’t fall in it this time.” Bran dug out his wallet. “Potomac and Penn S.E., block down from the station. Right across from the Harris Teeter Smith worked at.” He passed Winter the twenty he’d meant to use for dinner.
    “ What’s this?”
    “ Call it a loan. Take your girl down to Goodwill and buy her some clothes that fit. A jacket and normal shoes, for Christ’s sake. She stands out like sore thumb in those rags and you’ll want to be avoiding notice.”
    Aine considered Bran with her wide blue eyes. Winter only nodded.
    “You think he’s still around.”
    “ I’m not one who can see the future. But something tells me Michael isn’t the sort who leaves unfinished business behind.”
     
    Bran had lunch at his desk, then went back out onto the streets, a still of Michael Smith’s sword in his pocket.
    He knew a thing or three about antique blades, and he didn’t think it was likely the weapon had originated in some city consignment shop. He made the circuit anyway.
    Four hours later he’d hit most of the usual spots without any luck. The air felt like snow. The shops were beginning