“No, no, I only joke. Rufus was an amazing man. He did so much for this community and so much for me, personally. He single-handedly raised up the name Vlcek, changed the face of everything for our family, built Alpha Grooming from the ground up, and all the while acted as an amazing leader for Avalon Estates.” He took a methodical breath. “And he was an even better uncle.” Evan turned to the portrait, raising his glass. “Uncle Ruff, we’ll all miss you, but I think I’ll miss you most of all. To Rufus!”
The crowd murmured, “To Rufus,” and a smattering of applause followed.
“And because it’s exactly what my uncle would have wanted,” Evan said, tilting his head down, voice quieter, a hand pressed over his heart. “I’d like to take this opportunity to announce my bid to run for president of Avalon Estates.”
Ivy watched uncomfortably as the others clapped, louder this time than they had for the memory of Rufus. Suddenly Tharman didn’t seem anywhere near as bad. “Wow, that was a lot.”
Oakley threw back the rest of his drink. “Everyone loves that guy. I don’t really get it.”
“Did Rufus not have any kids?”
He placed his empty glass on the table. “Nah, he was a perpetual bachelor. Really into his work.”
So Evan might be poised to get everything, Ivy thought, picking up Oakley’s glass and pressing it back into his hand. “There’s a better place for that.”
Just as Oakley was starting to glower at her, his face changed, lighting up as Safiya came over to them. The woman had her arms crossed and was pushing her glasses back up her nose.
“Nice speech.” Ivy pointed to Evan across the room who was still standing before them all and drinking in their praises as a few came up to shake his hand.
Safiya gazed at him for a long minute. “Evan has a way with words. And people. And everything.”
Oakley snorted and refilled his dirty glass.
Ivy caught her gaze. “Do you think?”
Safiya bit her lip, telling Ivy silently she knew what she meant. “I…don’t want to believe that.”
“Really?” Wasn’t it just the night before that Safiya said she suspected everyone but Ivy? A young woman came up to Oakley, greeting him familiarly, and as he was distracted, Ivy took a step back from the table and Safiya followed. “Then who?”
“Any of the board members. They all had words at some point.”
“And they were all missing when…it happened.”
“Right.” Safiya’s eyes were set on her, unblinking. “Except Mrs. Jiang, she was waiting for us here.”
Ivy nodded.
“But you’ll notice who isn’t here now.” Safiya gestured to the room at large with her elbow. “The person who had the biggest grudge against Rufus. Calla.”
Ivy’s memory sparked. “She was though, for a second, before everybody else showed up.”
“Really? Without announcing her arrival to everyone?”
Ivy shrugged. “It was only a minute and then she was gone.”
Safiya’s face hardened. “I think we know where to start.”
Chapter 8
Ivy stood on the front steps of Calla Bicchieri’s house, a rectangular behemoth tucked into the woods off of Banyan Way. She tried holding her breath and counting to ten, then taking a few fast gulps of air, but neither helped her nerves. It had been a full day since the memorial, not enough time in Ivy’s opinion, but Safiya insisted they only had twenty eight days—well, twenty six now—to fill the president’s role, and applications for the position were already rolling in. None quite as quickly as Evan Vlcek’s announcement at his own uncle’s memorial, but apparently Calla’s was in Safiya’s inbox the very next morning.
Calla had lost the last election to Rufus by a tiny margin, but that was twenty years ago according to what she’d overheard Alastair say. Was she really still holding a grudge? Safiya assured her that yes, she absolutely was. The Bicchieris and Vlceks went back further—much further—than just two decades. The families had hundreds of years in the bank as warring factions, but supernatural feuds didn’t quite work out the same way in modern times, so the two had resorted to a more amicable rivalry on the Avalon Estates board. Until, that is, it turned unamicable.
She wriggled her finger just before the doorbell. There was one other thing that was poking at the back of her head and holding her to the spot. “Just be careful,” Safiya had said, “Calla’s a vampire.”
The door cracked open, and Ivy froze. She hadn’t rung the bell, but someone had come anyway.
“Well, hello again.” Calla smiled, notably sharp canines just peeking over deep red lips.
Ivy opened her mouth, but no words came out. Calla was beautiful and perhaps even younger looking than upon their first meeting. If she lost an election twenty years ago for the presidency, she’d either been running as a child or…well, vampire did come with certain immortal connotations. Her hair fell in soft waves all around her face, a deep, dark, glossy brown, and she no longer donned black, but a bright red dress and matching pumps.
“Would you like to come in?”
Ivy realized she hadn’t said anything, but then her voice wasn’t exactly cooperating, so she nodded and managed to convince herself to step through the door.
Inside, Calla’s house matched its exterior, stark white with tile floors, blindingly bright walls, and furniture you certainly wouldn’t let a child or a pet on, everything angled sharply and in danger of being ruined by even the least clumsy of hands. “I’ve just made us some coffee,” Calla’s voice rang out as she swept through the open living space and into the kitchen. “You take it very sweet, yes?”
Ivy cleared her throat and finally spoke, “Yes. Please. Thank you.” There was no point in asking how she knew—she had a feeling she would be creeped out by the answer.
She watched the woman round a huge glass case set on a pedestal that separated the living and kitchen spaces. Its insides were a marked contrast to the sterility of the rest of the house: Spanish moss hung from the top of the terrarium and deep green ferns sprung up all over, climbing up damp, glass walls.
“You know, I was so pleased when Saf told me you would be stopping by.”
“Oh?” Ivy shuffled in the entryway from one foot to the other, her grip tight on her bag’s strap.
“Yes, yes.” Calla moved like a dancer around her kitchen, expertly plucking the sugar, the creamer, and pouring into two squared off, white mugs from a large, steaming pot. “I thought how nice it would be to get to know you. I haven’t had the chance to speak very much with your brother, and honestly I don’t know much about…your kind, but I do find them fascinating.”
When she popped a spoon into each mug, she looked up, her eyes falling directly onto Ivy. She crooked a finger at her with a half-smile. “I don’t bite. Not without consent.” Ivy’s face flushed as she hurried through the living room and up to the other side of the bar from Calla, giving the glass tank a wide berth.
“Marie is napping,” Calla told her as she pointed to the terrarium. “She had a very big breakfast.”
Ivy leaned toward the case, looking for whatever Marie might be. There were only ferns and sticks and one large rock in the bottom as far as she could see, and so she wandered closer. It was only when she got on her toes and peered up at the corners that she finally came face-to-face with a fuzzy, eight-legged creature suspended on the terrarium’s side. Ivy jumped back from the tarantula as it made a move to scuttle out of the corner. “Whoa, I’ve never seen one so big.” Marie was the size of a dinner plate when she unfurled her legs, deep brown with a little white tuft on the top of her head.
Calla laughed in the back of her throat. “That’s what they all say. Here.” She pushed a cup across the counter, and Ivy backed away from the case to take it. “I hope you like it. But, well, of course you will.”
The contents were hot, but Ivy sipped at it anyway out of politeness, surprised at how delicious it was. She expected it to be much more bitter—no one ever put in
enough sugar for her—but despite how strong the coffee was, it was also the perfect sweetness. “Wow. It’s great.”
Calla grinned over the edge of her own mug, its contents black. “I know.” She made a small gesture over her shoulder to the bag of grounds sitting beside the pot. “Terrible new habit, caffeine, but I do like showing off. Now, tell me, how ever did you find this place?”
“Rufus,” Ivy blurted out, and she watched the grin on Calla’s face drop. The woman took a measured sip, her light eyes darting down. “I mean, Oakley knew him. Not me. I had some unexpected things come up in my life, and well, here I am.”
“Unexpected things,” Calla repeated quietly. “They always do come up, don’t they?”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Ivy said, watching her closely. “You must have been good friends.”
Calla blinked back up at her, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “When you’ve been alive as long as I have, you get used to it. And anyway, Rufus was…not exactly a friend.”
Ivy hid her surprise by burying her hands into her bag and pulling out the laptop she’d been tasked with bringing around to take notes. “Oh?”
The vampire wrapped both hands around her mug and leaned across the counter. “It was complicated.” She licked a fang and chuckled.
Ivy busied herself again with turning on the laptop. “Right, I imagine. So, the presidency!”
“The presidency!” Calla stood tall again. “I’m an excellent candidate, you know.”
With another few taps, Ivy asked, “And what platform are you running on?”
“Modernization.” Calla swept a hand through the air in front of her. “I may be old, but I’m young at…this empty void in my chest.” She chuckled. “I understand the need to be closed off and protective, but I certainly don’t want to be a big fuddy duddy about everything we do. I mean, we have all this land, why not consider building more condos and inviting others to live here? Maybe even halfsies or a human or two?”
Ivy stopped typing and looked up at her. She wondered what, exactly, she might want humans around for. “Halfsies?”
“It’s a word the kids use. But admittedly it may have been the kids from twenty or thirty years ago. You know, hexed folk with mixed blood? That sort. We’ve only got one or two, and we’re just too picky, I think.”
“Oh, sure.” Ivy nodded and tilted her head like she knew. “That sounds like an interesting idea.”
“What I mean is that we should be open to the idea of expanding and progress. That’s the future I see for Avalon Estates. And since I’ll actually be here for it, you know I’m invested.”
“Right.” Ivy typed her words exactly and nodded. She asked her for specific plans, and Calla talked at length about the space for additional condos and a second pool on the far side of the lake. She had the budget nearly worked out, but it needed the votes from the community.
“That was something Rufus was always against,” she said a bit more forlornly. “He was such a stick in the mud.”
“Was he?”
Calla was looking off over Ivy’s shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong, he certainly could be a lot of fun! Only about once a month though.” She chuckled again as if Ivy were in on some joke with her. “But he just wanted to keep everything the same, and that gets boring. I just think it’s been time for something new for a while.”
“Maybe it’s good Avalon Estates is getting a new president?”
Calla pursed her lips. “Well, not at the cost.”
“Of course.” Ivy closed her laptop. “I didn’t mean—it’s just that I heard the presidency is sort of for life, and you ran before.”
“Almost won too,” she was quick to say. “The lycans used to outnumber the rest of us. Used to.”
“I heard there was a rivalry?”
“The Vlceks have been a thorn in the Bicchieris’ side for what feels like a millennium. My mother killed Rufus’s, what was it, great, great grandfather?”
Ivy’s breath caught in her throat. “Your…mother?”
“Well,”—she leveled a hand at her—“I say mother, but you know I mean maker. And it’s not as bad as all that. The old Vlcek man was going on a murderous rampage, humans torn to pieces, littering the streets with blood and guts every full moon, such a waste!”
Ivy wanted to bolt from the room but held firm to the spot. “I can’t imagine his family was happy about it.”
“Absolutely not.” Calla took another sip and nonchalantly sat her cup back down. “They got their revenge and so on and so forth. I mean, that’s not where it started, of course, and when you’re fighting for the same meal all’s fair, you know?”
Ivy swallowed.
“But we’re much more civilized now. No more eating humans, and no more pitchforks coming after us. You see? Progress!”
Ivy took a long drink, her hands wrapped tight on either side of the mug despite how hot it was. “So you don’t get…urges from time to time?”
“For blood? Definitely!” She laughed loud and high and floated to her refrigerator. “But I’m prepared.” She swung open the door to reveal bags of deep red before quickly closing it again. “And feeding from a human is just so…messy. I mean, look around. Is there a better deterrent to a slashed jugular than porous marble and white walls?”
Ivy couldn’t blink as she stared back at her, nodding in agreement, trying not to imagine a splash of crimson over the suede sofa.
“But my kind have had a better go of it than the lycans, I will admit that much. They haven’t quite figured out how to keep it together, as they say, every full moon. Not that I’m concerned; if I need to follow in my mother’s footsteps, I’m more than prepared.”
“To kill one of them?”
“If I caught them feasting in the act? I would have to put them down.”
Ivy eyed Calla as she drank in the questions and decided to push her luck. “Have you ever felt like any of them…needed to be put down?”
“Oh, there have been times!” Calla laughed again. “Recently even.”
“Like with Rufus?”
“Put down Rufus?” She snorted. “Not necessary anymore.”
“But was it ever?”
Calla opened her mouth, but neither a high laugh nor a quick remark exited. Instead, she cast her eyes on Ivy, holding her gaze, a shimmer the color of gold there. For a long moment, she just looked back at the girl, and then she spoke. “Why?”
Ivy simply shrugged and tried to get her laptop back into the bag, but she couldn’t seem to look away from Calla’s gaze.
“Are you suggesting someone did?” Ivy hadn’t seen the smile leave, but it was gone from her face.
“No.” Ivy’s voice jumped up an octave with the lie. “Just curious.”
Calla continued to stare at her, unblinking. “Yes, you are curious, aren’t you?”
“It’s a, uh, sylvan trait.” She hoped it was, anyway.
“You’re asking quite a lot of questions, aren’t you? Like a little policewoman might.”
“Yeah, I am,” Ivy found herself saying quietly as she stood.
Calla came around the counter and stood next to her, her form giving off an icy bite. “But you’re not a little policewoman, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“And you don’t really have any reason to ask me questions as if I’m the one who killed Rufus Vlcek because you know I’m not the one who did it.”
Ivy could see the room around her getting smaller as she backed away, her feet moving on their own. Without looking, she found her way across the living room and back to the door, but Calla was still just in front of her. “Of course,” she heard herself speak, though wasn’t quite sure it was completely up to her. “I don’t need to ask you any questions because you didn’t do it.”
The door opened, a cool, late summer breeze blowing against her back warning that autumn would be on them soon. Ivy stepped out onto the front porch, Calla looking back at her from the threshold. “That’s rig
ht. Now, you have a good day, Ms. Sylvan.”
The door closed, and Ivy suddenly felt her whole body snap back into itself. She knew how she had gotten there, but the trip was foggy—everything was a bit foggy—and she placed a hand on her chest to feel her heartbeat. It wasn’t quick and terrified like she expected, but slow and heavy, then it popped back up into her throat when the door suddenly swung back open.
“Oh, and Ivy, one more thing.” Calla licked her lips. “If you do think someone killed Rufus, I would suggest looking no further than Alastair Proctor. That man’s had it in for him for about twenty six years now.” And with a wink of a shining golden eye, she shut the door.
Chapter 9
Alastair Proctor’s application for presidency came in almost immediately after Calla’s, and Safiya forwarded it and his address to Ivy. Feeling dazed, Ivy was happy to walk all the way back down to Gingko Loop and over to Alder Crescent to where the Proctor household was, tucked up high on a hill. Her stomach settled by the time she made it up the drive, and when she knocked, she was feeling significantly better, if a little sweaty.
Alastair, who answered the door with a grim smile, was another witch—or rather, warlock, as the men liked to be called. He was a shorter man, but he carried himself as if he towered over everyone, impeccably groomed and smooth chin held aloft. He invited Ivy in and asked her to sit in the parlor. He would just bring them some drinks, and would she like a glass of wine? Ivy shook her head; even if she did drink, it was a little early for that, and Calla’s coffee was still sitting heavy in her stomach, so she asked for water instead. Alastair came back with a whiskey on the rocks for himself.
“Your home is lovely.” She looked around at the many books and trinkets lining the shelves, though the place was not overstuffed like the departed Edna’s decorating custom. Everything here was a glossy, dark wood, with a pop of navy or crimson from a well-placed vase or the uncracked spine of a leather-bound book. Behind him hung a gold-leafed portrait of a stony-faced couple in Victorian garb.
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