by Megan Marple
“Shadow Hand,” I whispered.
He fixed me with a cold expression. “And? Is that a problem? You know what? It doesn’t even matter. I have somewhere I need to be.” He didn’t bother wasting another moment chatting with me, and breezed past, his deep-blue cloak trailing after him.
There was one point in my life where I may have thrown an insult right back at him, but it was just so weird seeing someone else in the same attire I used to wear every day. I didn’t recall the man’s face, so he must’ve been newer to the force.
Either way it didn’t matter, just like he said.
The heart of the MARC headquarters lay inside the upper East Hall, where the highest order of Mages gathered and kept their offices. Uncle Gardner included.
Rapping on the door to Uncle Gardner’s office, I wondered if maybe he had moved to somewhere else with the rank change, but just then I heard his deep baritone from the other side of the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened for me and I stepped inside, surprised to see that Uncle Gardner was not alone.
There, standing to his right and hunched over the large ornately carved desk, was the same rude Shadow Hand I had just had the unpleasant experience of meeting.
“Gwendolyn. I’d like you to meet Gentry Whitemourn, my Shadow Hand Lead Investigator.”
Because of course.
12
I grabbed the seat in front of the desk, tightly. “How lovely to meet you. Again.”
The expression on this Gentry guy’s face hardly changed at all. Typical of a well-trained Shadow Hand.
“Same to you.”
Uncle Gardner raised a dubious bushy eyebrow at me. “Again? Do you two know each other already?”
I shook my head and sighed. “Not exactly. Anyway, I’m Gwendolyn Brady,” I addressed Gentry. “Gardner’s niece.”
At least this time I caught a little flitter of recognition in those oddly-golden eyes of his. “I’ve heard of you, actually. The same one who made it as an Alchemist Shadow Hand, correct?” There was a certain kind of subtle twist in the way he said it. Who made it. As if to further outline that I had in fact, not really made it at all.
I gave him a little wave not unlike one you’d see the Queen of England give to her countrymen. “That’s me. The little Alchemist that could.”
I don’t know why this guy set my teeth on edge, but at least he seemed to pick up on the fact that I wasn’t someone to shove around.
Uncle Gardner stood up, his hands splayed on the desk. “Well, I’ll leave the niceties up to the both of you. What we need to do first is focus on the task at hand. We’ve searched Tristan’s apartment, but that was at the beginning, before we officially opened up the murder investigation.”
“So, he’s an official suspect, then?” I asked, ignoring the way Gentry Whitescorn pursed his lips. Why is it that men don’t have to work for the pouty lips like we have to, anyway?
“Yes. Until we can prove otherwise, that’s how the Archmage wants us to handle it,” Uncle Gardner replied, pointing his finger to the file on his desk. “We don’t have much to go by, and there aren’t any other real suspects.”
“Aside from some of his other companions down in scum valley,” Gentry sneered. “It’ll take more lurking around to find out if we can shake anything out of them, though. They won’t just offer up any information unless they’re being rewarded handsomely for it.”
It sounded way more involved than I had originally thought. Especially if there were orders from the Archmage regarding the investigation.
“This Enoch guy, did he have any other real competitors? If he was the Overlooker of the Dark Market—”
“Overseer,” Gentry corrected me automatically.
“Whatever. If he was the Overseer of the place, then surely there were people who wanted that kind of power? I mean, the patrons of the Dark Market aren’t known for patiently waiting for their turn.”
Uncle Gardner slid the file over to me. “That’s part of why we want you in on the investigation. Despite what others in my force may think, you still have the most capable cloaking abilities yet. If you can get in and get out of there without anyone or anything noticing your real identity, then you should have no problem finding that out.”
I groaned, not caring if I sounded a little on the petulant side. “Uncle,” I sighed. “This is not why I came here. I came to help find Tristan, not to go snooping around and hunting down clues to the murder investigation.”
He folded his massive arms across his even more massive chest and looked down at me grimly. “I won’t go into too much personal detail here, Gwendolyn, but I had hoped that you’d put aside our . . . differences, since we both want the same thing in the end.”
I frowned. “And what’s that?”
His face was turning a deep purple. “To find your brother and make sure he is unharmed, of course. Do you honestly think I’d go through the trouble to assert that a prime suspect—the only one, might I add—is innocent? And not only that, but that he’s alive? There are many more cases I could be attending to.”
While most people would probably cower at his thundering tone, it only made my blood boil. “Yes, I’m fully aware of how little time you spend actually asserting that a prime suspect is the criminal in the act. But again, that is not why I’m here. I want to find my brother. Then I will go back home and you can pretend I didn’t just ruin your fun little vamp case,” I said, my voice shaking.
Even Gentry appeared a little shocked at my word choice, but nothing compared to the way all the little veins around Uncle Gardner’s temples started to bulge like crazy.
“The file. Take it and get going.”
I didn’t bother to wait for him to repeat himself, and snatched the file from his desk without a backwards glance.
“Hey, wait up.”
Gentry caught up with me at the end of the Upper East Hall, nudging at my elbow. “Hey. Where are you running off to with that thing?”
I closed my eyes, wishing I didn’t have to play nice with him. But I knew my uncle and if there was one thing he’d be adamant about, it was that I had help. Especially since I’d basically abandoned my post at his side. He’d see it as a wall between me and him, a reminder of what I’d done. And he knew I was the one who always wanted to run a mission alone. “I’m not running off with anything. I just need to find a quiet place to read all of this and assess the next step. You know, Shadow Hand Training 101? Or are you already so far up my Uncle’s rear that you’ve forgotten protocol?”
He ignored the jab and rolled his eyes. “The least we can do is find a place to sit down together. I mean, we are supposed to be heading this investigation.”
“For the last time, I am not a part of the damned investigation! Just because my uncle said it doesn’t make it so.” Was this guy serious?
Gentry jutted his chin in the opposite direction of where I was headed. “There. There’s an empty-enough spot.”
“Nope. I need to get some fresh air.” I walked out past the front desk, but when I got to the doors I glanced back over my shoulder, sighing. “Are you coming, or not?”
It did feel much better to be outside the thick walls of the MARC building. Almost like I’d been submerged underwater and had finally come back up for air. The sun was high enough overhead that I knew it was getting close to lunchtime. Despite the fact that I’d eaten only an hour before, my stomach growled.
I went about my business and headed over to the nearest place to grab a coffee and snack—Denbigh’s. If Gentry was supposed to be stuck on me like a thorn in my side this entire time, the least I could hope for was a decent coffee without much fuss.
Which was when it hit me that maybe Denbigh’s wasn’t the best choice after all.
“Gwennie-Bee?”
I dropped my head in my hand as I sat down at one of the little round tables. Yep. Definitely a mistake.
A short, pudgy creature with tufts of black hair growing out of his ears and knees knobbier than a
tree came to stand beside me, his bulging watery eyes taking me in. “I thought I’d never live to see the day that the Spell Maven came back a-knockin on my door again!”
I smiled and tried to hold back the bile in my throat as I caught a whiff of Denbigh’s beard when he moved in for a hug. “Heya, Denbigh,” I choked. “Long time, no see.”
He clapped me hard on the back, sending me forward a few inches in the chair. For a hobgoblin, Denbigh was a strong one. “What brings ya back here to my pub, eh? I don’t supposed it’d be your brother, would it?”
I raised a brow. “You know about Tristan?”
Denbigh let out a rumbly laugh. “’Course I do. There’s not-a much going on in Spell Haven that I don’t know.” The look on his face turned to one of surprise.
“I didn’t realize you were a fan of Denbigh’s. The pub, I mean,” Gentry said as he took the seat across from me.
“And I didn’t realize I was allowin’ you back into my pub, Whitemourn.” Denbigh threw one hip out to the side, glaring up at Gentry.
But Gentry waved him off with what I assume most females would think of as a charming smile. “We’re not playing favorites here, are we? My partner and I just need to go over some things. Maybe grab a quick bite, even. What do you say?”
Denbigh bought it hook, line, and sinker. “Just a quick bite, then. I’ll bring you the sampler. Rosewater Spritz for you, Gwennie-Bee?”
I blushed but nodded, thanking him. What can I say? I’m not a huge drinker.
“And you?” He rolled his eyes as Gentry scratched as his perfectly-trimmed chin.
“Well, since the lady is keeping it professional on the job, I might as well do the same. I’ll take a pint of Lachlan’s Lake. To keep up the spirits.”
Denbigh hobbled out of sight and I leaned back in my seat, rubbing at my temples. Maybe I should’ve ordered a shot of something stronger.
With the file laid out on the table in front of us, I read through the notes on the investigation so far, reminding myself not to get too wrapped up in them. According to them, the preliminary places were all checked out—Enoch’s front-end office, the Dark Market itself, as well as Tristan’s apartment. There weren’t any clues other than the huge bulb of garlic that had to be extricated from Enoch’s throat, where someone had choked him to death with it. Contrary to popular belief, vampires are merely allergic to garlic if ingested, but they can most certainly be choked to death with a large enough bulb. But who would make an asinine mistake like that?
Tristan, with his good looks and devil-may-care attitude growing up . . . yeah, I could see how people would put two and two together. My brother wasn’t known for his brains so much as his talent in sports like boulderball.
“You look like you could use more than a rosewater.”
I tried to ignore Gentry’s gruff comment. “I hardly care what I look like, to be quite honest.”
The chair creaked under him as he settled in and shook his head. “That’s a bunch of crap, if I ever heard any. You don’t care what you look like?” Gentry said, needlessly gesturing to the dress and tailor-made cloak I was wearing. Because of course a woman only cared about things like that. According to Gentry Whitemourn, obviously.
“Not that it matters one way or the other, but yes. I truly don’t. I let things like that go a long, long time ago.” You know, that happens when you’re a stowaway in a brand-new world. Who had time for dolling yourself up when you had a tiny screaming human depending on you and only you?
He kicked back, folding his arms across his chest. “I see. The whole ‘take me seriously because I’m damaged’ thing, right? Vanity and the more superficial things in life are just so beneath you. You’ve had it so hard, people—especially people like me, just wouldn’t understand. Am I close?”
My jaw could not possibly hang lower.
“Don’t worry, Brady, I’ll take you seriously enough. But don’t expect me to take it easy on you. I’ve seen plenty of natural beauties with razor-sharp minds who think they’re smarter than the next person. I did live in Arcadia for several years and the Fae love a good mind-screw—male and female, alike. But vain mind games don’t affect me.” He shrugged his shoulders, and all I could do was seethe in silence. Isn’t it just like a man like Gentry to give you a back-handed compliment, as if I’m supposed to be charmed by it somehow?
“How very progressive of you,” I crooned, standing up to smooth over my dress. “I was going to sit here and attempt to have a civilized chat with you about the case, considering I’ve been where you are now . . .” I snatched up the file from right under his nose. “But since we seem to be having two totally different conversations here, I think I’ll just work out the details myself. Please tell Denbigh I’ll be back later to pay for my drink. Or, even better, you could just do me the honor and handle it yourself.” Not that I was giving him the choice.
And because the man couldn’t be any more infuriating, he gave me a crooked grin. “And where are you going?”
“Don’t expect me to give you the answer. I’ve seen plenty of natural asshats who think they can charm the pants right off of me. I did live in the Human Realm for the past fifteen years, you know.”
I turned on my heel and left.
13
I hadn’t realized how long we’d been gone until we went back through the gateway and the forest was nearly pitch black.
“Um, so this is cool or whatever,” Fiona-Leigh said. “So not creepy or anything.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to think of what to do next. Honestly, here in the Human Realm there wasn’t much I could do. “We might as well get to it. I have the jeep mapped out on the GPS, so at least we’ll know which way to go. Just watch your step, Fi.”
Picking our way through the forest seemed to take forever, and by the time we managed to find the old green jeep, the sky was glittering with thousands of bright pinpricks of light. For a moment I had a minor little freak out and wanted to rush her back to the house so she could get enough sleep. But since it was summer, I calmed down and eased the keys out of my pocket, ready to pass out in my own bed. Between the reunion with my family, the trip into town, and meeting Gentry, I had enough on my mind.
I hit the high-beams and took off. Out of the corner of my eye I was surprised to see that Fiona-Leigh was still up, even though her head was propped up in her hand, her elbow set on the passenger door.
There were a million and one things I wanted to say to her—all of them beginning with the most pathetic apology known to man. But when Fi reached forward to turn on the radio, I let the words slip right out of my head and hummed along with the music.
I hardly remembered even waking up, but the smell of warm syrup must have been what brought me to. I scratched my head, shocked to see the bags under my eyes in the mirror as I walked by. Did I really have to look like I’d aged overnight? I mean, really?
“Morning,” I yawned, shuffling into the kitchen. Jax nipped at my feet, his tail steadily wagging as I reached down to pat his furry head. “Hey big guy.”
“Good gorgon’s eye, what did you get into last night?” Oisín asked, slipping easily up on top of the table. “Hopefully not something too illegal.”
“Since when do you care about what’s illegal? And thanks for the vote of confidence, Osh. Very kind of you to remark on how I look.”
Fiona-Leigh sat down across from him, shoving a bowl of something white under his nose. “Drink up.”
The cat’s pupils turned round as he bent down and licked at the milk, before he coughed loudly. “Are you trying to poison me, child? What is this abomination?”
But she just rolled her eyes and ran her hand along his silky back. “Give it another try, Osh. It’s still milk. Only this kind is made from almonds. You can’t have too much of it, but I figured it would be a nice little treat for you.”
He huffed and pushed the bowl away, settling back on his haunches. “I’ll think about it,” he finally sniffed.
“So,”
I began, taking the moment to catch her off guard. “Maybe now would be a good time to have a talk.” Fiona-Leigh watched as I took a seat at the table carrying my mug of coffee. “Thank you for making me some, by the way,” I added, holding it up.
“You’re sorry you never told me about you being a witch. You thought it was better this way. You didn’t want me to feel bad or whatever about myself, and now you want to focus on finding your lost brother.” She sipped at her own mug of coffee—three creams and a sugar. “Am I close?”
I reached out to place my hand over hers and squeezed it. “I know that all sounds cliché, but yes, honey. I really did think it was the best thing for you.”
She was quiet for a while, mulling it over while finishing off her mug. “I guess I get it. I’m still pretty mad about it, though. And I can’t guarantee that will go away anytime soon.” She didn’t meet my eyes, but her hand twitched as she stroked the outside of mine with her finger. “Just being honest.”
It broke my heart, but just like she said, I got it. “Okay. I’ll work with that.”
It certainly made the rest of breakfast less awkward, especially when the subject of what was going to happen next came up. I’d thought about it and I still wasn’t certain I wanted Fiona-Leigh in Spell Haven with a killer on the loose.
“So you’re going to work with this random dude? Do you know anything about him?”
I buttered some toast at the counter, shaking my head. “Not really. He seems like a real gem, I’ll tell you though. Total jerk, right off the bat. It just figures Uncle Gardner has the guy stuck to me through all of this. It couldn’t have been any of the Shadow Hands I knew or anything,” I grumbled. I hated the idea of working with someone to begin with, but Gentry Whitemourn was the exact opposite kind of person I was willing to give the benefit of the doubt.
“Sounds like a catch,” Oisín purred from the floor, having just finished off the last of his almond milk with a loud burp. “Wish I could’ve seen the look on your face when he was in Gardner’s office. His right hand man, is he? That must’ve been a shock.”