by J L Collins
I held out my hand and grabbed both small sandwiches, taking a bite of the first one. I closed my eyes as the flavors hit my tongue all at once. Who needs a cheeseburger when you have one of Aunt Bee’s ‘Witch-wiches?’ It’s really such a shame that the Human Realm doesn't have such delicious food. Well, with the exception of bacon. I do love some bacon.
I sat down at a small round table in the back of the shop, thoroughly enjoying my food as Aunt Bee welcomed someone I couldn’t see over the health and beauty aisle. Their voice though, I definitely recognized.
“Beddy! How ya doin’?” the familiar deep voice rasped.
“Never better, Denbigh. How about yourself?” Aunt Bee replied, smiling down at what I knew to be a short, pudgy Hobgoblin who ran one of the local cafes.
Denbigh finally came into view as he waddled over closer to the front counter, slapping something down on top of it. He shook his head, his huge, hairy ears twitching. “I wish I could say the same. Remember how I was having that issue with the warts on my nose before?”
I suddenly felt like this was not a conversation I wanted to be privy to…
To her credit, Aunt Bee didn’t even flinch. “Indeed.”
Denbigh slid what looked like an empty jar closer to her. “I’m not dealing with warts on my nose anymore.”
“I’m delighted to hear the good news, Denbigh.”
But he simply shook his head. “No, no. They’re not on my nose anymore because they’ve spread elsewhere. Now I’m having to deal with them on my—”
I skidded backwards, accidentally knocking into the bookshelf, sending a shower of thick dust to coat both me and the floor in my haste to get out of earshot. Both Aunt Bee and Denbigh started, Denbigh’s bulging and watery eyes opened even wider as he clutched at his chest.
I winced, waving at the two of them. “Sorry, I uh, must have tripped.”
“My stars, Gwennie, you scared the toadstools outta me! How long ya been standin’ there?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Just popping in from the back,” I said, carefully pushing the empty bowl out of sight. “How’s the cafe doing?”
This was a pretty loaded topic considering Denbigh’s absolute favorite thing to do was gossip, followed only by complaining about running his cafe. I never understood all of his griping though since everyone loved the place—no one else in town had better coffee or snacks. Enchanted or not.
He let out a dramatic sigh just as I figured he would, leaning against the front counter. “Same ol’ as ever. Business is doing well enough, but I’m looking to expand the menu a bit to appeal to some . . . Different tastes. Not everyone is as excited at the prospects, though.” Was it my imagination, or was he throwing some serious shade in Aunt Bee’s direction?
Already prepared to diffuse whatever he might have been referring to, my aunt chuckled. “Is that really why you came in here, Denbigh darling? To talk business? Or did you need some help with your other problems?” She took the empty jar in her hand and whirled around the counter and down the health and beauty aisle. Denbigh grumbled as he followed her, leaving me to clean up after myself.
Once Denbigh was satisfied with whatever Aunt Bee was selling him, he said his goodbyes and hobbled out of the shop.
“Well. That was certainly eye-opening. I had no idea Hobgoblins had so many skin issues,” I said, doing my best not to look as revolted as I felt.
“Yes, unfortunately their race does have much to deal with in the area of body afflictions. It has something to do with the rough texture and their preference not to bathe often.”
“Yikes,” I muttered.
The stone fireplace tucked away in the corner of the room roared to life, flames unfurling and sending off showers of sparks. In the midst of the fire was a rolled-up piece of parchment, sealed in wax with the familiar Shadow Hand emblem of an iron-forged handshake with stars encircling it. I waited for the flames to disappear before grabbing the roll myself.
“Looks like you got a fire message.”
Aunt Bedelia wiped her hands on her apron. “A fire message, hm? From whom, darling?”
“Uncle Gardner if I had to guess,” I said, handing it to her.
She slid a long nail underneath to break the seal and adjusted her glasses to read over it. “Huh.”
“What does it say?”
“You were right—it’s Gard. He wants me to come over to his office straight away.”
Without thinking, I pulled the paper from her hands and read the careful handwriting, frowning. “Why does he sound so urgent?” My anxious mind was already racing with possibilities—a parent’s super power, supposedly.
But she just waved me off. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing terribly important. After all, we both know my brother likes to make dragons out of newts.”
4
Death in the Library
“Sure. No need to worry,” I hissed under my breath as Aunt Bedelia and I walked inside the MARC headquarters. Nearly every person was wearing the same look of apprehension, some people speaking in hushed whispers to their co-workers over the tops of cubicles, while a small group of officials were briskly walking up ahead. Something was definitely wrong.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that even Aunt Bedelia was frowning. The elevator ride up to my uncle’s office felt like it took twice as long—as if we’d taken the steps instead. I had no idea what was going on, but the anxiety of not knowing was making my heart race the closer we got to his office.
The heavy wooden doors opened automatically before either of us had a chance to knock, letting us inside my uncle’s large and pristine office. He was up pacing around as he pulled his midnight blue traveling cloak around his shoulders. For a moment, I wondered if his beard had even more gray in it than the last time I’d seen him.
“Going somewhere?” Aunt Bedelia asked, quietly shutting the doors behind us.
The look on Uncle Gardner’s face said that this was no time for idle chit-chat. Fastening his cloak, he ran his hand over the gold dragon’s head that topped his ebony cane. “I am. And I’m glad to see you took my urgent request seriously. We have much to discuss. Gwendolyn, I hadn’t realized you were here.”
He said this all very quickly, brushing past us and summoning the doors open. Sometimes I wondered how easily magic must come to the Sirens among us—those like my Aunt Bedelia and Uncle Gardner who simply had to concentrate to utilize their powers when the rest of us had to draw ours from a magical amplifier. I pushed those thoughts aside and caught up with him.
“Sir, would you mind telling us what’s going on?”
He stopped short, looking over at me and Aunt Bedelia behind us. “I apologize. I—I’ve been so busy trying to keep everyone else from panicking that I haven’t had much time to really address this with anyone.” He sighed, leaning his weight lightly on the cane. “No more than half an hour ago, I received an urgent message from the Athenaeum of the Unseen. It’s Rourke. He’s . . . dead.”
Aunt Bedelia let out a gasp, clutching at her chest, her dark blue eyes wide. “No.”
The thrumming going on in my own chest ached. Struggling to find the right words, I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “But how? How is that even possible?” Surely there had to be a mistake. A breach inside the Athenaeum was nearly impossible, but the death of Spell Haven’s Keeper of the Pages was even more so.
“I’m on my way over there now to find out. Zoya, the head librarian aside from Rourke of course, she’s the one who sent the fire message to me. She is an absolute wreck as you can imagine. And now you two know about as much as I do.”
“We’ll come with you then,” I replied, putting my arm around Aunt Bedelia’s thin shoulders. “Right?”
She nodded, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her shawl. “Yes, of course. I think it’s safe to say that not only do we have cause for alarm, but oh my stars . . . that poor, poor man.”
Uncle Gardner looked over at his older sister, very obviously weighing the pros
and cons of letting someone as emotionally prone as she was to come along with him to a possible murder scene. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be my first. I’d seen a couple of them myself when I was attending the Danann House of Magical Mastery to become a Shadow Hand like my uncle. In Spell Haven, Shadow Hands are always the first responders when there’s been a death.
“As long as you don’t get in the way of the Shadow Hands and I. I know you cared about him Bedelia, but I still have a job to do. And I don’t think I need to explain just how much of a problem it is for the Keeper of the Pages to be missing from his post.”
She quickly nodded and let me help guide her back to the elevator.
The Athenaeum of the Unseen stood as Spell Haven’s library full of magical relics, historical texts, and every spell book and magical resource known to the realm. As a kid, I would tag along with my cousin Erie any time she wanted to visit the Athenaeum. I loved to check out the old artifacts and read up on our histories, while she loved to read about the magical creatures and animals of the realm.
One thing we both did though, was talk Rourke’s ear off. As a former Historian Mage, Rourke had just as many stories to tell about the history of Spell Haven as he did about the library and the books within it. Erie and I would sit close by, our eyes wide and our ears open as he told us stories about the old days when Danann was accessible by all, long before human history wiped out proof of our existence, and long before the powers that be decided to close off our realm from the Human Realm for good.
The road leading up to the Athenaeum was already becoming crowded with concerned citizens huddling together as they watched the group of Shadow Hands sent ahead of us clearing the way to do their job. Sliding out of the carriage transport I glanced at the many tense faces staring at our arrival. Did they know about Rourke?
Uncle Gardner cleared a natural path off to the side where everyone parted to give him space with me and Aunt Bedelia quick to follow in his wake. No one had a problem speaking their mind here though, and some even shouted over the tops of everyone else’s heads to try and gain Uncle Gardner’s attention.
“Inquisitor, oi! What’s happened inside?” a deep voice boomed through the chatter, its owner standing nearly a head taller than the rest of the crowd, his many bulging gray biceps flexing as he frowned at us. Nagas were usually pretty good about intimidating others—what with their extra four arms and all—but my uncle wasn’t one to buckle under pressure.
“We will inform you all you need to know once we’ve come to proper conclusions in our initial investigation, Mattheus,” Uncle Gardner said, his voice just loud enough for everyone to hear. He made no effort to reply to the onslaught of questions that stemmed from that, and hurried up the steps to the massive library’s front doors.
Two Shadow Hands I didn’t recognize held the doors open for us as Aunt Bedelia and I followed. We exchanged a look as soon as the doors were shut behind us. Something felt terribly off inside, and both of us knew it.
“The magic,” Aunt Bedelia started, clutching at the string of colorful beads around her neck. “It’s been damaged.”
“Badly, I’m afraid.” Uncle Gardner led us deeper into the library past the large oracle desk where there was usually a waiting Witch ready to help any visitors who came through. The wooden, circular countertop gleamed as if it had been recently shined. An office chair had been carefully tucked back under, and even the paperwork was stacked into neat and orderly piles on the other side of huge round desk. Everything looked so… normal. It didn’t fit at all with the uneasy feeling taking up root in my stomach.
The dead silence was pierced by a high keening so close to us that I immediately withdrew my wand, brandishing it in front of me out of habit. The noise echoed around the cathedral ceilings, the window panes and frosted glass domes above our heads shaking precariously in their frames. Aunt Bedelia quickly covered her ears, nodding for me to do the same. This wasn’t just any normal scream.
Uncle Gardner whipped around a large wall and a moment later the screeching wails ceased. I gasped, surprised at how loud my ears were still ringing.
Back around the corner came Uncle Gardner and a short, slender woman with long black tufts of hair striped through with pearly white. Her mouth was hanging open in a grotesque manner as if it had come unhinged and stayed silently screaming, her eyes wide and all black but unseeing. To any innocent bystander from the Human Realm, it would’ve been like watching someone stepping out of their nightmares, but I knew this woman for who she was. Zoya, the Athenaeum’s Head Librarian, and resident half-banshee.
The air around her rippled with Uncle Gardner’s magic. He was busy keeping her steady as he walked her forward to a nearby armchair Aunt Bedelia was already pulling out for her.
“There, there,” she crooned as she helped maneuver Zoya into the seat. “Poor thing must be positively traumatized. It takes quite a lot of something to stir up a seasoned woman like her.”
I glanced back to where they’d just come from, my feet taking me around the wall before my mind had been made up all the way. Nothing seemed amiss there either but…
Another young Shadow Hand in the familiar uniform bounded past me, not paying the slightest bit of attention to me. Following far enough behind, I kept up to see where she was off to in hopes of finding out what was going on myself.
The loss of magic felt the most oppressive here as if it were pushing in on all sides of me as I rounded the last of the floating book shelves.
And there, in a crumpled heap of Keeper Red-robes, was Rourke. His free arm was outstretched, still grasping for something. I could just barely make out Rourke’s orange and white beard before his body was fully covered up by one of the handful of Shadow Hands already getting to work on the investigation.
I shuddered, stemming the feelings that wanted to burst through after seeing such a kind and wise man like Rourke snuffed out like a simple candle.
There wasn’t much need to beat around the bush, and the more I looked around, the more eager I was to take in my own notes—anything to distract myself from thinking too much about the man himself. I stepped forward, knowing there wasn’t much need to conceal myself. “Any idea of what happened here?”
The young Shadow Hand I’d followed looked over at me for a moment, surveying me with the kind of quick judgment we’re taught in the Academy. Her slate gray eyes became slits as they met mine. “This is an official investigation. One you’re not privy to any information on, no matter who likes to play favorites.” She dropped back down to Rourke’s side where an open bag hovered nearby for her to place the belongings they must have found on Rourke’s body.
Even though I was old enough to know better, it took everything in me not to spout off with a mouthful of ugly words as she carried on quietly. Clenching and unclenching my fists down by my side, I drew in a deep breath and kept my mouth shut… fortunately for her.
“Your Aunt could use your help,” my uncle whispered as he walked past, giving me a knowing look over his shoulder before turning his attention to his loyal group. I knew I wasn’t a part of this life any longer but my shoulders sunk anyway as I turned away from the scene, both my heart and my ego heavy.
By the time I made it back to the center of the library where Aunt Bedelia was, Zoya looked as though she was on the mend from whatever kind of weird banshee freak-out she just had. Her hair had been smoothed back down, her eyes a cool minty blue instead of the formidable all black, and her mouth had returned to its usual small shape though still frowning.
“And then I saw he was just…” Zoya’s soft voice was anything but scary as she burst into tears, leaning heavily against Aunt Bedelia’s shoulder as my aunt tried desperately to pat the smaller woman’s back.
My aunt glanced over at me as Zoya hiccupped. “Let it out, dear, let it out. Just not so loudly this time, yes, that’s right.”
“I’m so sorry, Zoya. Could you maybe tell me what happened?” I didn’t want to be insensitive to her or anything,
but the best time to ask a witness questions is right after the incident, and I had no idea how long Rourke had been dead. How long the victim had been dead.
She sniffled, meeting my gaze with her red-rimmed eyes. “I-I don’t really know. I was standing there in front of the Potions and Poultices section in our modern wing, shelving some of the books. I had a terrible headache and was just about to go hunting down my bottle of Aches-Away when it hit me that I hadn’t seen Rourke all morning. Usually he’s up from his chambers not long after sunrise. He… he was a firm believer in starting your day with the sun.” A wet noise seemed to stick to each word as Zoya continued on. “I thought maybe he was out in his garden getting some fresh air. He hates being cooped up so much you know, and his vegetables were in need of tending. But I checked his garden in case he wanted something to drink and he wasn’t there. His bed chambers were empty. I called out to him and . . . nothing.”
I frowned. “How long ago was this?”
“Only just this morning. I thought I should maybe look for him just in case . . . and I . . . I found him there,” she sobbed, wailing a little too loudly for my ear’s appreciation again. Aunt Bedelia’s magic shimmered around Zoya as she calmed down again, her wailing subsiding. “Sorry, Bedelia. I just . . . it’s so hard! I can’t control it so well on my own without my wand.”
“Where’s your wand?” I asked, wondering if maybe I shouldn’t be on the lookout for it, if only to keep Zoya’s crying under control. I didn’t exactly want to walk out of the library half-deaf.
She shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s been missing since this morning. I haven’t had much time to look for it with so much shelving and categorizing to do today. And then . . . Rourke. Without him here . . . I just don’t feel safe anymore.”
A memory just barely surfaced in my mind’s eye, skimming along the top. Erie and I were spending a chillier day inside the Athenaeum after getting caught in a downpour courtesy of some feuding Fae in Arcadia no doubt. We were bundled up under a thick, woolen blanket on one of the couches by the hearth of the library, listening to Rourke talk about the superstitions that you would find in the Human Realm. I’d asked him why he never left the Athenaeum. Rourke, so understanding of just how totally clueless we were as children, wore a determined expression on his face as he explained bits and pieces of his magic being intertwined with the library.