by J L Collins
“Funny you mention it. I too, like knowing what makes people tick. It’s why I decided to take Human Anatomy in college back when my major was still undecided. One step into the back room where we examined our first cadavers and I was hooked. Becoming a medical examiner just seemed to make sense after that.”
My lip didn’t want to stop twitching. “Cadavers. Now there’s a lightbulb moment.”
“Yeah, I guess it was,” he said, revealing that darn dimple again.
“And it never freaked you out or anything? I’ve seen my share of stuff and I’m not sure I’d ever volunteer to deal with bodies like that.”
Tipping one basket into the empty sink, Sully shrugged. “Nope. I think I went straight past being weirded out and jumped right into wanting to know what exactly caused the death, what death really meant. I mean, there was a whole semester somewhere in between where I was really into learning how ancient civilizations dealt with their dead, but other than that I think it was a pretty normal fascination. It didn’t make me many friends along the way, but working around the one thing that scares the hell out of everyone doesn’t exactly do wonders for your social life. Not that I’ve ever minded,” he added as he caught the look on my face. “I’m okay with it.”
Something compelled me to want to push for more information but I held back, realizing that I’d already done what I’d set out to do. As much as I hated to end this moment with Sully, I had to get back home.
“Once I have these all washed up, you’re welcome to some,” he said, gesturing to the basket of unwashed tomatoes and peppers. “It shouldn’t take me too much longer.”
“That’s really sweet of you. I actually need to get back home and pack . . . though, I wouldn’t be opposed to having some already put together food saved for me if there are any leftovers from your excursion to the food bank.” I flashed him my own smile.
“Consider it done,” he said over the din of the rushing water. “And feel free to send the girls over whenever. I’ll be here.”
How was it possible to smile with your whole face? My cheeks still heated, I thanked him again before heading to his front door, all too aware of how big my butt looked in these shorts.
Oisín was only too happy to point out my ruddy complexion by the time I was back in my own kitchen desperately downing a glass of ice water.
“I’d ask you where you were just now but I think the point would be moot,” he drawled.
I rolled my eyes, still chugging away. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The fluffy black tail flicked this way and that as he sat back on his haunches. “Oh really? Red face, oddly sparkling eyes that have nothing to do with magic?”
Jax ran around my ankles, nudging at me to bend down and pet him.
“Even Jax gets it. And he’s a canine imbecile with kibble for brains,” Oisín said, turning several circles on the spot before plopping down. His huge yellow eyes flickered in my direction before slowly closing. “I may be several feet shorter than you, but I must say I’m certainly looking forward to a bird’s eye view of this oncoming car crash.”
“Who’s crashing?” Fiona-Leigh mumbled through a mouthful of food as she slid into the kitchen in socked feet, raising an eyebrow at me.
I let go of the wand my hand had instinctively grabbed for, relaxing my grip and smiling at her sweet as syrup. “No one, honey.”
“Don’t let your mother fool you,” Oisín yawned, whiskers twitching. “She’s just mad because she knows I’m right.”
“You most certainly aren’t!” I said, scowling.
“Aren’t I, though? If you’re really so blasé’ about him, then why not invite the man over for dinner? That’s what all the independent human women do here in their realm. At least according to the Real Housewives . . . which, did you know that they’re not just housewives? Underneath that catty, overly-tanned exterior, they have hearts of gold. Or well, a couple of them might. The rest of them are just total b—”
“—I don’t care what the Real Housewives of wherever the heck do, Osh. If and when I feel the need to talk to him about any of the above, I will do it on my own terms. And that’s that,” I said. I chewed my bottom lip, catching the look Fi was giving me. “What?”
The wide grin that spread across her freckled face was mischievous at best. “You’re totally talking about Sully, aren’t you?”
“What about my uncle?” I heard Marina’s voice drift down the hall from Fiona-Leigh’s bedroom.
I shook my head. “No, no. I’m just . . . you know . . . talking about men in general.”
She glanced down at Oisín who gave a particularly unconvincing yowl. “I’m going to go back in my room and pretend I never heard any of this.”
I smiled. “Fine by me.”
“And then, if and when you feel the need to talk about asking Sully out on a date, you know—on your own terms—I will give you some probably much-needed tips.” And with that, she shoved the last remaining hunk of banana into her mouth, dropped the peel into the large plastic bin with the word ‘COMPOST’ scribbled on the side, and triumphantly waltzed past me.
8
Buried Treasure
The thick wooden doors swung open on their accord as I strode into the Athenaeum, my fingertips brushing over the wand in my back pocket. Uncle Gardner was expecting me.
Not much had changed since my first visit the day Rourke’s body was found, yet the library already seemed to have a thin film of dust across every solid surface as if it had been longer. Dust motes floated through the chinks of sunlight spilling in through the Athenaeum’s skylights, reminding me of the thicker parts of Amaranth Forest, where the sun’s rays could barely penetrate.
Ahead, a handful of Shadow Hands were gathered around the main desk looking over a large map of some sort. I knew they knew I was standing there trying to listen in, but also as I figured, they completely ignored my presence. Tough crowd.
Letting a small bout of irritation roll over me, I walked around to where Zoya was busy wiping down one of the many desks spread out across the study area. Judging by the slight sheen of sweat on her face, she’d been doing this for a while.
“Hi Zoya,” I whispered, wincing when she started anyway. “Sorry. I was trying not to scare you.”
She clutched at the rag in her hand and threw me a half-hearted smile. “Hello, dear. Nice to see you again.”
“Would you like some help?” I asked, gesturing to the rows of desks not yet cleaned. “This might go faster if we used some magic. Here, I can—”
“—No, no. That’s quite all right. I actually want to do this myself. To . . . to keep my mind off of everything.”
I took a step back. Clearly Zoya needed to work through some things, and who was I to get in her way? Patting her shoulder, I nodded. “Of course. Totally understand. Please do let me know if you need anything though, okay? I’ll be around, I’m sure. In fact, do you happen to know where my uncle is by any chance?”
“Oh! I think I saw him head down to the Relics Room.” She stood back up, placing a hand on her back as she groaned, working through it with an attempt at a smile. “And don’t worry about me, Gwendolyn. I need all the exercise I can get at this age. Eighty-seven and already getting back pains . . . I’ll have to go see your Aunt Bedelia about that. Hopefully she has something to help.”
Eighty-seven and she hardly looked a day over thirty. And I thought Witches aged gracefully.
I thanked her for the tip and with a backwards glance at the Shadow Hands who all seemed to turn their gazes back to the large map at the same time, I rolled my eyes and headed toward the stairs that led to the lower levels.
Passing the white columns and magically-floating busts of prominent past leaders throughout Danann, I stopped to grab one of the small torches before descending the winding stone steps. I’d forgotten how far down the Relics Room was, stopping at a few of the wrong landings before finally reaching the cavernous opening to it. Ahead, Uncle G wa
s bent over a stack full of ancient-looking books. Several of the spines were nearly split, and the book he was reading through currently, he was using the utmost caution when turning the vellum pages.
He looked up; his reading glasses perched on the end of his broad nose. “Gwendolyn.”
It still surprised me just how much I wanted to make him proud, even after all these years of pretty much unlearning the training he’d provided me. I gave him a respectful nod before walking up to him, extinguishing my torch for now.
“Good morning, Uncle.” I knew he’d tell me whatever he had found out in his own time.
He pointed down at the book, gesturing for me to take a look. “One of the Books of Fates.”
My eyes widened. The Books of Fates were some of the most powerful spell books in the library. I’d personally never seen one up-close like this.
“Wow,” I whispered, struck by the gold-gilded writing that almost flowed off the paper in a watery-effect. The book was opened to a page full of words in a language I didn’t understand. “What is this? Mermish?”
He shook his head. “No, Mermish is only a spoken language—the merfolk have no need for written language underwater, after all. This is something else, something I’ve not seen before.” He ran his thumb along the edge of the paper where the writing gave the melting effect. “But it’s a good guess, nonetheless. I was down here looking to see if I could find any older or additional maps of the Athenaeum that weren’t known about.”
“Secret maps? Wait, was that what they—I mean, the Shadow Hands—were doing upstairs? It looked like they were combing over a map.”
“Yes, I have them working on the main map that we had Zoya pull down from its hanging. We need to become very familiar with the place if we’re to scour every inch of it.”
I let out a whistle. “It’s a pretty big place. I don’t even think Erie and I have ever seen all of it.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have. Even as much as you were here as children. It was Rourke’s duty to protect whole sections of it from prying eyes.” There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes that made me wonder if he had been paying more attention to me and his youngest daughter when we were kids.
He carefully closed the book, fixing its metal clasp with a satisfying click before moving it back into the pile with the others. “I’ve gone through the archives to the best of my ability. No secret maps, I’m afraid. It’s quite possible that any hidden parts of the Athenaeum were only known to Rourke. And if he didn’t have a map drawn out, then it’s also quite possible that these places were only accessible to him.”
“Do you really think he’d do that? I mean, what about when it’s eventually time for a new Keeper of the Pages? How would he give them that information?” I asked.
The truth of the matter was that I had no idea how the elders passed on information between one another. It was one of the best-guarded secrets in Spell Haven. And as old as I felt half the time (especially when trying to chase after Jax in the backyard), I still wasn’t anywhere near being considered an elder.
“I’m sure there are ways to do it that we don’t know about. The fact is that there aren’t any ways to find any potential spots that Rourke had hidden. So, onto the next thing.”
I nearly missed the cue to follow after him as he summoned his own torch that had been sitting in a wooden sconce away from the books, heading back to the steps.
Once we’d made our way back up to the main floor, Uncle G took both the flaming torches and put them back in their respective places, gesturing for me to continue over to the oracle desk. “We’ve been combing every bit of the Athenaeum we’re privy to at least, and I’m afraid we haven’t found much to go on. It was determined by Health Maester Goodwing that his cause of death was a broken neck. Due to the bruising and indentations on the body and the neck, it looks as though someone snapped it. Someone with rather large hands.”
“Large hands? In comparison to what?”
He held his up as a demonstration. “The remaining finger marks slightly longer than mine. And almost twice as wide.”
So, if it were another Witch, at least we knew the killer had some big hands… it was a good start at least, at narrowing down the suspects.
Uncle G seemed to be following my thoughts, watching me intently. “Perhaps a Witch, but there are many creatures in our realm that fit the description. And it’s from them we’ll have to go on.”
Speaking of realms… something popped into my head that made me nearly bite my own tongue trying to get out the words. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you, uncle. There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. I haven’t had the chance with the investigation and all going on, but I think it’s pretty urgent.”
He leaned forward. “And that is?”
“Before I came back the day of Rourke’s murder, something very odd happened at my house. There’s been unexplained instances of magic—all contained within my home from what I’ve noticed—almost like magic leaks of some kind. I know there’s been a lot of ongoing legislation changes being made on our links between the two realms, and I thought maybe that might have something to do with it. Do you know anything about this?”
He got a faraway look in his eyes as if he was searching his own mind for something, before he snapped to, meeting my gaze again. “The legislation is still in works, and may be for some time. A magic leak, you say? What kind of magic, exactly?”
I launched into a detailed explanation of the weird cloud in our kitchen, and the other smaller bits of magic that had been turning up, gesturing animatedly and ultimately finishing with, “but luckily like I said, this has only been in our house. That I know of.” The row of floating busts beside us seemed to be mocking me with their blank stares.
He frowned. “Are you sure? Could it be possible that this is happening elsewhere and you just aren’t aware of it yet?” He turned on his heel and strode toward a hovering wooden cart of sorts, holding a book titled Wraps for Witches: Eat Your Way to Health, before calling out over his shoulder, “I said maps, not wraps! How on Danann’s green pastures would a cookbook help us right now?”
I blinked. “Er . . . I mean, I suppose it’s possible. I can’t exactly see into everyone else’s homes or anything, but I feel like in the Human Realm at least, the discovery of magic wouldn’t stay quiet. Someone would tell, and the news would spread like dragon fire. Not that that’s a good thing, of course,” I quickly added, seeing the lines in his brow as he turned back to face me.
“No,” he said, uncrossing his broad arms, “it would most certainly not be. I can get in touch with the gateway team at MARC. They’d know more about this offhand than I would. It’s definitely something to stay on top up, at any rate.” He glanced at a marble-veined statue of a handsome Fairy knight wielding a short sword, a look of stubborn pride on the knight’s face. “Also, Erie should be on her way. She mentioned dropping by today, last night at dinner.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll just—” I said, sighing as he dismissed me to walk back over to his group of Shadow Hands. They easily parted in the middle for him to assume his commanding position over the map of the Athenaeum, each of their heads bent over in quiet discussion. It took many years to get over his sudden appearance and disappearance in a conversation, but that was just how he operated.
“I’ll just wait for her outside then, I guess,” I said to no one in particular.
Uncle Gardner’s concern about the magic leaks wasn’t as extreme as I thought it would be. My stomach still felt unsettled at the thought of being wrong about the leaks only happening in my house. There wasn’t a way to check for magic in the Human Realm without using some. And since that was pretty much impossible…
Figuring there was nothing more to do inside the library with everyone else on top of it, I decided to go check the grounds. The back gardens and lawn of the Athenaeum was a well-known beautiful space. Erie and I used to go get some sun in between our many hours at the library, sometimes nabbing dragon fru
it from the nearby tree.
The grass was soft and springy, reminding me of the spongy material on the playground at Fiona-Leigh’s old elementary school. I was of half a mind to take a seat and relax for a bit, but I checked along the property line for evidence instead.
Nothing was out of place. Every weed had been pulled no-doubtfully by Zoya in her never-ending quest to keep the Athenaeum pristine and beautiful. The shrubbery looked like it needed some tending to, but even the tropical-colored flowers there were in full bloom. I was just about to go take a seat under the lone maple tree, when something caught my eye under one of the more overgrown bushes.
At first, I thought it was a fallen silverfyre flower from the bush, with their diaphanous petals resembling seamless metal. But it was much too solid for that. I bent down to brush it off, running my hand along the edge of it and gasped.
It was the rounded edge of a sword hilt.
Immediately I unearthed the rest of it, my eyes widening as I sat back on my heels and took in the short sword lying in the shallow grave. “What the heck are you doing out here?” I wondered aloud, surprised at how light the weapon was as I picked it up and weighed it in my hands. As Witches, we didn’t have much use for weapons since our minds did the work for us, but as a fully-trained Shadow Hand I had an earned respect for them.
“I didn’t realize the grounds were off-limits,” a soft voice responded behind me.
Erie dropped down to sit next to me, giving me a small smile as her gaze dropped to the dirt-covered sword I was holding.
“They aren’t,” I said, reaching over to lightly squeeze her hand, knowing the sense of loss that Erie must’ve been carrying. She’d been much closer to Rourke, especially having lived here in Spell Haven while I was in the Human Realm. “I was actually referring to this thing.”
I flipped the short sword over in my palms, rubbing away dirt from the intricate detail-work of the hilt. “I guess the Shadow Hands haven’t done much searching of the grounds yet because I just found this under the silverfyre bushes here.”