by J L Collins
“Well no, you wouldn’t have. Delaney Drakar is the name she chose for people to call her. Most people don’t know her real name.”
“I take it that you aren’t most people,” I said, smirking.
“You might have heard of her family before . . . The Fontaines.”
A nervous chuckle came out of nowhere and it took a moment to realize it was me. “Wait, what? She’s a Fontaine? As in the Fontaines that own th-the school?”
Uncle Gardner hung his head. “I’m afraid so. She’s been outcast from the family for her ways, but if there’s one thing I know about the Fontaines, it’s that they protect their own no matter what. Given their influence on the town, we have to be very careful inquiring about one of their granddaughters.” He stood up and walked around his desk, gesturing toward the door behind me. “I have to get downstairs to go over our new roster. Her file is in the archives if you’re feeling up to it.”
The door opened for me and I stepped out, my mind on information overload.
Fiona-Leigh stopped short in front of me, breathless and flushed. “Mom, do you mind if I go with Aunt Bee? There was a group of sylphs brought in from the forest. They need all the help they can get down at the town hall. Apparently the poor things’ tree was struck by lightning this morning and they’re terrified. Can I go help? Please, please, please?”
I looked up at Aunt Bee who shrugged, her smile a little too innocent. “Yes, I suppose you can. Just be careful. Sylphs are cute but watch out—they bite when they feel cornered. And be careful not to pinch their wings, too.”
“Thank you!” she squealed, throwing her arms around my shoulders before darting off in the opposite direction, way ahead of Aunt Bee.
I gave her a knowing look. “Sylphs, huh. Sounds like a noble rescue.”
“The noblest. Also, it doesn’t hurt that the Apothecarium is right beside the town hall. And I may or may not need help sorting through those disgusting mandrake roots. It’ll be a fun lesson for her!”
The grimy, gross faces of the mandrake plant reminded me of potatoes with faces and limbs. You have to feed them milk and blood in order for them to thrive, and even if they are thriving, then you have to be careful not to disturb them or they’ll scream. No big deal if you’re okay with going deaf from the cries of a mandrake.
“Just be careful,” I mumbled, shaking my head. Who knew? Maybe putting in a little hard work would do Fiona-Leigh good. It might even get rid of her recent crappy attitude.
I watched Aunt Bee trail after her. It was nice that they were spending so much time together, but it left me alone to my thoughts. Which of course, is the last place I want to be.
But on the plus side, at least I’d have plenty of time to disappear into the archives and find out what’s really going on with Delaney Drakar.
21
The Archives
I held on tightly to the slick railing as I carefully made my way down the steps that led to the Archives level. Instead of the more updated lighting they used everywhere else, they still ran on firelight down here, oddly enough. It was like they wanted to go all in with the creepy vibes when they set this place up.
The stone steps gave way to the cold cobblestone floor covered in dust. Who knew when the last time anyone had been down here? I yanked my wand out, whispering a quick spell to it before a soft ball of warm light emanated from the tip, growing brighter by the second. It enveloped the space around me, throwing the rest of the room in sharp defined shadows and an eerie glow.
The Archives were kept in a long glass display case that went around the whole room, that looked as though they hadn’t been opened in ages. Inside of each of the cases were dozens of ancient looking tomes, dragon leather-bound and fitted with Arcadian silver locks. The books themselves were floating above black velvet, giving the whole thing a very modern Arthurian feel to it. It was like whoever designed this room took a page out of Hollywood’s book.
I gently tapped on one of the display cases, and when it popped up, I stepped back and opened my hand up, waiting. A small silver key, matching the same locks on all of the archive books dropped into my hand from thin air. The key to the archives, as Uncle Gardner had promised.
“Delaney Drakar, Delaney . . . Drakar. Where would I find you?” I wondered aloud, flipping through the first book I picked up. Since the tomes were filed chronologically and then alphabetically, I stuck the first book back into its place and moved all the way over to the second to last tome, hoping for the best.
I whipped past the first few sections of the newer book until something caught my eye. “Dark Market expansion . . . Funded by the Fontaine family? Really? They funded this?” Skimming over some of the words, I traced my finger along with them until Delaney’s name popped up. Written in an unrecognizable scrawl, were notes on her.
Case #1,892: Homicide of Barry VonSchneith, werewolf.
Delaney Drakar, a.k.a. Delaney Fontaine, owner and suspect in the previous price-gouging case between Lair of Filth cleaning squad and Gretel VonSchneith, a werewolf of 845 Winterberry Lane, has been cleared of any wrongdoing concerning this case after interview with MARC.
I raised a brow, thumbing over to the next mention of her.
Case #1,898: Tax fraud.
Delaney Drakar a.k.a. Delaney Fontaine, owner of Omar’s Oddities and Antiquities, has been cleared of any wrongdoing concerning this case after interview with MARC.
Case # 1,910: Criminal negligence.
Delaney Drakar a.k.a. Delaney Fontaine, owner of Lair of Filth cleaning squad, has been cleared of any wrongdoing concerning this case after interview with MARC.
Each file note was stamped with the official Shadow Hands seal and the date. I counted them all and sat back in surprise. “Seven. Seven different cases she’s been implicated in, but no charges.” I shook my head. None of this made sense. Flipping through the notes it was plain to see that there were totally some situations where Delaney had some pull in the outcome of the case. But how could that be? Everything was done to the extent of the law when it came to MARC rules and regulations…
“Find anything interesting?”
I’d been so lost in the files that I hadn’t noticed the footsteps coming across the flagstones, and nearly jumped out of my own skin. One thing about the Archives room? It also had magic within its walls that sound-proofed it, making it easier to sneak up on someone. Even an ex-Shadow Hand.
“Oh crap!” I clutched at my heart, my wand at the ready in my other hand. “Did you really have to sneak up on me like that?” I hissed.
Gentry—very obviously amused with himself—simply shrugged. “A trained Shadow Hand would know if someone was sneaking up on them. Just saying.”
I so did not have time for this with him. Or ever, really. “Ugh, you can be on your way now. I don’t need any help down here, thank you very much.” Now that he had completely derailed my train of thought, I had to try and get it back on the track.
But since nothing I say ever seemed to get through his thick skull, Gentry waltzed over to me and pulled the book up from my lap, saving the spot I had just been reading. “Looking through old price-gouging cases? Unless your brother has recently come into ownership of a uh . . . cleaning squad, I hardly think any of this applies to him. Unless I’m mistaken?”
I rolled my eyes as I stood up. “Not that it really matters to you, but that’s not why I was going through these. My uncle brought something up that I thought I should look more into.” I snatched the book back from him, not in the mood for his interference. “It turns out that the so-called new overseer of the Dark Market has a rather interesting history with the MARC. According to our archives, she’s been implicated in no less than seven different cases over the recent years. And each and every time she gets off with a simple note saying that she has been cleared of any wrongdoing. Now is it just me, or does that seem a little weird?”
“The new Overseer? Do you mean Delaney Drakar?”
“Delaney Drakar, Delaney Fontaine —
whatever you want to call her, she’s still the same person. This Witch seems to stir up a lot of trouble around herself. And I’d like to know why exactly that is.”
I expected him to give me some sort of resistance, after all, that’s all he’s been doing ever since I first ran into him. But to my surprise, Gentry had the opposite reaction. “What are you thinking?”
All I could do was laugh. “You mean you’re actually going to go along with this? I want to at least look into filing an investigation warrant, if possible. I’m honestly a little shocked that no one else thought to do so.”
The sneer that crossed Gentry’s face didn’t so much as ruin his good looks, as make them more intimidating. “I’m not. The Fontaines are a pivotal family name in Spell Haven. To do anything to upset them would . . . not be in the MARC’s best interests. Your uncle has tried to change that, but even he doesn’t always get his way. We already tried to have an investigation warrant drawn up, but there’s too much in the way. All the family has to do is whisper in the ears of the Archmage’s Council and that’s it. She’s suddenly off the hook.”
I frowned. “That’s absurd. And how do you know so much about this, anyway? Do you personally know her or something?” I hated to think that the MARC was in the pockets of the Fontaine family, but judging by the case notes, there wasn’t much else to go on.
With fists balled at his side, Gentry looked away. “Her and her like are the reason I became a Shadow Hand in the first place,” he said softly, his tone dangerous and low. Whatever she had personally done to affect him, I could see that it really was the driving force behind his actions. Every muscle in his arms seem to be twitching at the mere drop of her name.
“Okay, okay. I get it. She seriously pissed you off. Now we just need to figure out where to go from here if we can’t actually get the MARC to back us up,” I said, tucking the Archive book back into its place on the black velvet.
Even with finding out about Delaney and her odd streak of luck, I couldn’t help but let everything else get to me.
Heading back upstairs, the knot in my stomach tightened until it felt like I’d pulled a muscle. No evidence. No news. No nothin’. And what exactly was I contributing to this search? Diddly and squat. We’d been at this for almost two weeks without so much of a peep from anyone. If anyone did know where Tristan was, they weren’t talking. And I had a funny feeling that if anyone started talking, the Fontaine family would have something to say about it.
22
The Stone
My mind was so consumed with finding Tristan that when my cell phone rang for the first time in days, I’d nearly forgotten what it was.
“Hello?”
“Gwen!” my boss, Henry, practically shouted into my ear. “You’re alive!”
I bit my lip, unsure of where to go from here. Was he calling to check in on me? Uncle Gentry never got around to telling me how exactly he’d convinced the Union Gazette of my leave of absence. I probably should’ve looked into that… “Oh, hi, Henry. I am, ahem, alive,” I croaked, clearing my throat mid-way. Was I supposed to be playing sick? I rolled my eyes at how utterly lame I and unconvincing I sounded.
There was someone talking to him in the background before he turned his attention back to me. “How’s the chipmunk pox coming along? Feeling any better?”
“The chipmunk pox, sir?”
“I’ll admit, I thought it was a bunch of bologna at first, but then I had this crazy desire to know more about it so I looked it up. Luckily there was this old book sitting on top of my desk that just so happened to contain a whole bunch of outrageous communicable diseases in it, and I ran across it in there. Yikes. Doesn’t sound pretty,” he said, dropping his voice lower to add, “are the boils really everywhere?”
My tea nearly shot out of my nose, and I choked, trying to compose myself as best as I could before answering. “Uh, oh well, that’s sort of personal. Don’t you think? I, uh, would rather not say.”
Henry let out a low whistle. “Point taken. Well, I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you’re okay. Your doctor told me you’d be out of commission for a little while longer, so I’ve got Sybil in here filling in for you. Can’t hear worth a damn, but her pictures come out all right. Take care of yourself, Gwen.”
“Uh, thanks, Henry. I’ll . . . talk to you later,” I replied, still thrown for a loop by the time the line went dead. I wasn’t sure whether I should thank Uncle Gardner or curse him six ways to Sunday. If Sybil “I can’t keep my fingers off the lens” Rogers was filling in for me, it might just be the latter.
The manor house's mossy stone steps were covered in puddles from the morning's rain showers. Inside, I slipped my feet out of the boots I'd conjured up, glad to see they were still dry.
The parlor felt empty and cold without Aunt Ginevra's usual warming presence. I shuffled over to the large window pane that looked out over the lush gardens. I wonder if I had any kind of recourse for making my garden grow half as well...?
"Ah, you're here." Uncle Gardner strode into the parlor, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. "We have a specific matter that needs to be discussed."
I turned around slowly, watching his posture as he seemed to fidget. It wasn't like him to not stand stoic and still.
"A specific matter? What do you mean?" My eyes grew wide as something icy cracked in my chest, trying to seep through to my heart. "You haven't . . . He's not . . ."
Uncle Gardner's demeanor changed at once as he rushed over to me and shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that."
I drew in a shaky breath, steadying myself. "Okay. All right." Never before had I ever felt fear strike through me like that. Except for that one time when Fiona-Leigh dashed out into the middle of Union Street to chase after a squirrel.
He nodded his chin toward the parlor doors and they quickly closed by themselves, the noise echoing throughout the empty room. "Take a seat," he said, gesturing to the velvety green armchair that slid across the floor in my direction.
I sat down as instructed, watching him carefully. "Is everything . . . all right?"
Despite the chair he'd drawn up for himself, he stayed standing, trouble clouding his prominent features. "I've come to a decision about your brother's case."
All I could think about were the countless times that Tristan had gotten in trouble with Uncle Gardner. Running around, tearing up the herb garden outside. Accidentally letting a sick troupe of Nymphs free to wreak havoc on the Spell Haven town square. Stealing one of Uncle Gardner's personal spell books and turning his own room into a swamp.
What if Uncle Gardner was just tired of looking? What if he was tired of diverting his resources into finding someone who didn't want to be found? And what if I didn't have what it takes to find my brother, after all? I swallowed against the lump rising in my throat.
"I'll admit that this is rather unorthodox. You know that I value the formation and ruling of our laws of the land." His brow furrowed as he began pacing. "But. I refuse to listen to another moment of my sister's crying, or to see another worried look on my wife's face. And I . . . I will not simply give up."
He held out his hand and I was confused for a moment until I saw the swirl of gold in it, spinning around in a small gaseous-looking formation that spread out to reveal a small golden box.
I raised a brow. "What's that?"
He crossed the few feet until he stood over me, kneeling down until we were nearly eye-level. I hadn't seen my uncle look this formidable and solemn since I graduated.
Focusing on the box in his hand, he removed the top of it with his Siren magic, the top dissipating into a million golden particles to reveal what was inside.
A large, sparkling amethyst pendant set in a beautiful silver setting and chain sat floating in the box, radiating a pulsating kind of energy. I wanted to reach out and touch it, to feel the power of it flow through me, but Uncle Gardner placed his hand over mine.
"Do you know what this is?" he whispered.
I shook my head. I'd heard of powerful magical items like this before, but most of those were just myths. It was one thing to have a wand to help you focus your power, but it was something else to have something like this.
"This is the Stone of Joyce. It was created by one of the most powerful Witches in previous generations—pure Arcadian silver, practically indestructible. The stone will amplify your magic in ways your wand never could. You will be more powerful than an average Siren, with the ability to use your mind as a weapon."
I gasped. "This stone can make me a Siren?" I battled back all the times I'd secretly wished to be a Siren in my head, instead, staring at the necklace. "How is that even possible?"
Uncle Gardner shook his head and carefully took the pendant from the box, placing it in the palm of my hand. "That doesn't matter. It has to be you who uses it, because the MARC has the ability to track any of the members using it. You, on the other hand . . ."
"Not being part of the MARC anymore, I can use it undetected? Are you absolutely sure?"
He sighed. "I wouldn't ask this of you if I thought otherwise." Squeezing my other hand over top of the pendant, Uncle Gardner met my gaze. "But you have to keep this between us. No one else can know that you're using this."
I sat back, reeling from the sheer pull of the pendant, unsure of whether or not I could even hold onto it for much longer. "I—I won't tell anyone, but without any new information,"
"—which is precisely why you are going to go back and interrogate our best informant and source. Tristan's ex-girlfriend."
I frowned. "What good will that do? Isn't she a Fairy? They have ways of concealing things from us, even if they can't lie."
My uncle stood back up, dusting off his knees. "The pendant will help with that. It can pick up on deceptions within the truth, even. And according to our last interview with her, Tristan was last seen on the road leading into Arcadia. She told us that he mentioned going home, which she found quite confusing."