The Big Fang Theory (Magic Market Mysteries Book 8)

by Erin Johnson

  I raised my brows. “And?”

  “Poisoning—like we thought. It was fast-acting, which means she consumed it in the tent. Traces were found in her mouth and on her lips, but not in her stomach.”

  I frowned. “You were right. It was absorbed through the skin then?”

  He nodded.

  “So we’re thinking it was probably a rival baker who did it? With the tea?”

  Peter shrugged and leaned close again. “Coroner said tea was the only thing in her stomach. Her daughters told the truth—she hadn’t had anything else to eat or drink this morning before she died.”

  I bit my lip, thinking it over. “So it had to be the tea.” I tipped my head to the side. “But if that’s the case, why wasn’t anyone else poisoned? The palace servant poured from the same pot to everyone, and if the killer poisoned the mug, how could they have known which mug would go to Polly?” I frowned. “Unless it was the servant who did it. But Daisy cleared him, and besides, what motive could he have?”

  Peter nodded. “I agree it’s much more likely to have been one of the rival bakers. Russo did some digging. Apparently, Mimi Moulin actually took Polly to court years ago over the sourdough bread starter she claimed Polly had stolen. The court was going to test samples of Mimi’s and of Polly’s. Since Mimi had been in business for decades before Polly came along, if the starters were determined to be identical, Polly would likely have lost. But according to court records, Polly pushed Mimi’s buttons in court and triggered Mimi to shift into a squirrel. The judge threw out the case.”

  “Wow. Just because Mimi had revealed herself to be a shifter?” I huffed. “Typical.”

  Peter nodded. “I don’t agree with the judge’s call, but it certainly gives Mimi a strong motive. Plus, it was bread day in the competition. Maybe she couldn’t stand to see Polly competing with her recipe.”

  I considered it. “She might have snapped because of the competition, sure, but it seems odd after so many years that she’d—” I stopped midsentence as my gaze landed on a familiar face.

  Neo, a kid I’d grown up with in the orphanage, stood among the crowd. I rolled my eyes at how much hair potion he must have to use every night to get it as slicked back as it was. He shifted from foot to foot, glancing around, sharp jaw set. I narrowed my eyes—he seemed agitated. And what was he doing at a shifters’ rights rally?

  Though he was a shifter, he basically worked for the king of keeping shifters oppressed. Whatever camaraderie we’d once had, had evaporated as far as I was concerned when Neo decided to work for Ludolf.

  The two goons he managed stood behind him—Sacha, a huge bald brute who was always surprisingly gentlemanly to me, and Viktor, a wiry, tattooed dude who reminded me of a live wire, always moving and twitching and giggling. I curled my lip. Again—what was this gang doing at a rally for shifters’ rights? Had Ludolf sent them to report back to him, or had they actually come in support of Sam?

  Doubtful.

  And then I spotted another man beside them. One who made my stomach fill with icy-cold dread. It felt as though time slowed down. I didn’t know his name, but he’d been in Ludolf’s lair. He was a lion shifter, one of the mob boss’s personal guards. Ludolf had sicced him on me once, in lion form, and I’d felt like prey.

  My breath stopped as the lion shifter drew his wand. I followed the direction he was pointing it—at Sam Snakeman. No. The rush of noise from the crowd dampened, my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. I had to do something.

  Ludolf benefitted from shifters being oppressed. He only had power because we’d been driven underground, forced to go to him for jobs and loans and housing and any semblance of protection or justice, flawed as it was. Of course he wouldn’t want Sam and his message to succeed.

  I knew Sam would never hear my voice out of the many in the crowd if I shouted a warning. I had no magic to amplify my voice. And so, in a split-second decision, I cupped my hands to the sides of my mouth and shouted at Sam as loudly as I could—in snake. “Ssss hiss!” Sam! Get down!

  10

  CHAOS AT THE CASTLE

  The sound of Sam Snakeman’s native tongue must have cut through the din of voices, because he turned my way, his pale eyes wide behind his glasses. It seemed to take forever for my words to sink in, but suddenly he dropped down, disappearing behind the podium.

  A moment later, a flash of acidic yellow light whizzed over the heads of the crowd and crashed into the podium. The wood exploded into thousands of splinters. People screamed, the police shouted orders, and hundreds of spectators threw themselves to the ground as another flash of light exploded against the stage.

  As everyone around me dropped flat on their bellies, I stood, shocked. It’d worked. Sam had heard me and ducked… but where was he? Palace guards with their golden lances ushered the royal group back inside the gates, to safety. Amelia, the woman in white from the competition, and a dark-haired guy with a goatee fought against them, shouting for Sam even as the guards pushed them inside the gates.

  Across the field of prone bodies, the lion shifter, alongside Neo and the boys, turned to face me. The lion’s lips peeled back in a sneer, and though I wanted to disappear, I squared my shoulders, plastered on a huge grin, and waved.

  The tall dude’s expression darkened, and he pointed his wand at me just as a warm hand clapped around my shoulder and dragged me to the ground. Peter hugged me close to his chest and rolled us to our sides, shielding me with his body.

  I lifted my head and peeked over his broad shoulder. Shouts sounded as the police closed in around Ludolf’s goons, and a chase ensued when they took off, the lion shifter turning tail. I laid my head back down on his arm and grinned at Peter. “You saved me from Ludolf’s sea slugs—oof, but I think you might be crushing my ribs.”

  He released his embrace slightly, his worried eyes softening a little. “Sorry.” He looked me over. “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  Daisy, head resting on her paws, wagged her bushy tail, dusting the face of the wincing man behind her. She growled, though she stayed low. Ooh. Let me at them. I’ll bite their knees right off.

  I raised my brows. Quite the threat, though I appreciated having her at my back.

  Madeline rolled onto her side, head propped up on her hand as though lounging at the beach. “Did you see who fired the spell?”

  I nodded and pushed to my hands and knees. “Ludolf’s lackeys.” Most of the crowd made their way back to standing, now that the cretins who’d fired at Sam had taken off. Peter helped me up, and I spoke in a low voice to him and Madeline.

  “I should’ve guessed. While Ludolf wants to find a cure for his own ‘shifterism’—his word”—I rolled my eyes—“he certainly doesn’t want discrimination against shifters to end. He benefits from being the only one shifters can turn to. He’s the police, the banks, and the government.”

  I gestured toward the smoking debris that had until recently been the stage. “Of course Ludolf wants to stop Sam Snakeman and all the change he’s fighting for on the island. If Sam succeeded and shifters got more equal rights, Ludolf would be unnecessary and lose his power.”

  Madeline raised her brows. “Pretty diabolical.” She nodded. “Sounds like Mr. Caterwaul.” She wiggled her brows. “Did I mention I’m close to publishing my exposé on him and the shifter underground?” She grinned. “It’s going to blow people’s minds.”

  I didn’t doubt that. I looked past Madeline to the royal grounds behind the gate. Palace guards jogged beside a group that included the prince, his red-haired princess, and Maple, the former head baker who’d hired Sam.

  I rose on my toes and squinted. It was tough to tell in the dark and with the distance, but I didn’t spot Sam Snakeman among them. I sank back down, and my stomach tightened. I hoped he’d ducked in time and was okay.

  Madeline L’Orange stood beside me and followed my gaze. She threw an arm around my shoulders. “Sorry, Jo. There’s no way we’re getting into the palace. Security’s going to be
at an all-time high.”

  I huffed and nibbled at the inside of my cheek. This was the second time I’d missed out on an opportunity to go to the royals about Ludolf. And now Ludolf had tried to hurt Sam. I spun to face Madeline.

  “I just foiled an assassination attempt by Ludolf.” I raised my brows. “I think that earns me brownie points. Plus, don’t you think the prince and princess will want to know who attacked their friend?”

  Peter drew his wand and stood close to my side as the crowd broke into chaos. Protestors tried to flee and crashed into anti-protestors. Shouts sounded all around us, and Peter leaned close. “This is getting out of control. I’ll try to help you get into the palace grounds, but then Daisy and I need to help restore order.”

  I frowned, my stomach tight with worry for him. “Okay, but I’ll never forgive you if anything happens to you.”

  His lips twitched toward a grin. “Understandable.” He slid his hand around my cheek and pulled me into a deep, passionate kiss. When he leaned away, the world spun a little.

  Daisy huffed. When I glanced down at her, she shot me a flat look and growled. You two and the PDA.

  I returned the look and leaned down, growling back. This from a gal who I saw, with my own two eyes, poop on a crowded sidewalk last week.

  Daisy’s hackles rose, and she barked. Because you and Peter slept in so late! I couldn’t wait any longer and—

  But Peter just took my hand, ruffled Daisy’s head, and flashed his eyes. “Ready? Follow me.”

  We dashed toward the gates. Madeline said something in her photographer’s ear, then sprinted after us, leaving the guy behind.

  “So—what’s the—plan?” she huffed as she sprinted beside us.

  I shrugged at her. No idea, but at least Peter seemed to have something in mind. He slid to a sudden stop as rallygoers flooded past us. “You two wait nearby. I’ll create a distraction, tell them I need help breaking up a fight, then you can slip past.”

  It was a good plan and hardly a lie. Fights were breaking out all around us in the panic. We hung back as Peter and Daisy dashed toward the gates and the two royal guards stationed in front of them, their golden lances crossed. Peter flashed his badge, then pointed to the left. One of the guards nodded and followed him and Daisy. Peter paused and turned back, motioning for the other guard to follow, but he held his ground, just widening his stance.

  Madeline smirked. “His plan half worked.” She winked at me. “C’mon. I think I can get us the rest of the way.”

  Peter shot me a wide-eyed look, but I waved him on. He and Daisy could take care of restoring peace and order—leave the breaking and entering to the pet psychic and the intrepid reporter. After another moment of hesitation, Peter nodded, then led the way toward a skirmish, with Daisy and the palace guard on his heels.

  Madeline sauntered up beside the remaining guard. “Hey, handsome.”

  The square-jawed guy glared at her, then his face suddenly relaxed. “Maddie.” His lips split into a mischievous grin. “Wow. I haven’t seen you since—”

  She batted her lashes. “The night of the luau.” She dropped her gaze, then trailed them up his body, over the gold-plated armor to his helmet. “I couldn’t get you out of my head.” She glanced over her shoulder at me and muttered out of the corner of her mouth, “He wore crazy strong cologne—had a headache for days.”

  I stifled a smirk as she turned her beaming smile back to the guard. She flashed the press badge around her neck. “Sam Snakeman promised me an interview, so if you could just open the gates….”

  The guard grew serious. “Aw, sorry, Maddie. I can’t. Strict orders to seal the border in light of the recent attack.”

  She pouted. “You think I did it? Little ol’ me?” She winked. “C’mon, Bill.”

  “Gill,” he corrected.

  She tossed her hair. “Gill—that’s what I said. You know we didn’t have anything to do with it—plus the princess would be upset with you if you kept us waiting. We’re close friends, you know.” She crossed her fingers. “Besties.”

  He rolled his eyes but chuckled. “I’ve seen you go in and out with those folks enough times to know that’s true. Fine.” He pushed the golden gate open and held it for us. “Quick now. And if anyone asks, it wasn’t me who let you in.”

  She blew him a kiss. “Thanks, Gill. I owe you one.”

  He pointed a thick finger at her. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  She smirked, then whirled around and grabbed my wrist, dragging me toward the gleaming white palace.

  I glanced over at her. “The luau, huh?”

  She fought a smile and raised a brow. “Don’t judge me. You saw his calves, right?” She gave a happy little shudder, then pulled me toward a clump of bushes. “Come on. There’s a back entrance to the servants’ passages through here.”

  We soon found the wooden door studded with iron and dashed inside. We snaked our way through the dark, narrow servants’ halls, Madeline pausing now and then to debate at a fork in the path. We had to backtrack twice and drop our heads when we passed palace workers, but eventually she threw open a door, pushed aside a heavy burgundy tapestry, then cried, “Aha!”

  I followed her into a stone hallway with a tall, arched ceiling. We crossed the hall, the tapestry swinging back in place behind us. She grabbed the handle of a pair of thick double doors, then pulled one open, just a crack. Buttery, sugary smells wafted out, and my mouth immediately began to water. “The bakery,” she mouthed. Madeline held up her finger, and we listened.

  “Where’s Sam?!” I recognized the princess’s panicked voice.

  “We must stay calm, dear.” An older lady spoke.

  “I believe he shifted.” A deep male voice spoke next. “I, uh—actually spotted his shed skin.”

  “Oh, dis has been a wery hard day. Sam has probably shed from stress.”

  The man with the deep voice spoke again. “It’s alright. I’m sure he slithered to safety.”

  “Oh, yeah, because no one in a panicked crowd that’s just thrown themselves to the ground is going to be freaked out by a snake next to their heads!” The speaker’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’m sure he just slithered on out.”

  “Oh, no!” a gentle, quavering voice said. “Did poor Sam get trampled?”

  Next came the sound of someone clicking their tongue. “Iggy, you upset Maple.”

  Madeline’s mouth tugged toward a grin. “Alright, follow me.” She gave me a little nod, then yanked the door wider and strode in. “Knock knock!”

  11

  THE ROYAL BAKERY

  “I figured I’d find you all in here.” Madeline jogged down a few steps, and I trailed behind, taking in the huge space. The bakery smelled like butter and dough and sugar—basically add ramen, and it was my heaven.

  A tall ceiling—at least three stories high—reflected moonlight that filtered in through the enormous windows that lined the walls on the second story. The marble counters and racks of copper pots and pans glinted golden, lit by several fires blazing in the wall of bread ovens.

  I pulled my hands from my pockets—the fires warmed the large space, making it cozy and comfortable. I followed Madeline down the center aisle, past long, butcher-block-topped tables. Princess Imogen, Prince Harry, and their half dozen or so friends stared wide-eyed at us.

  After a long moment where only the sounds of our footsteps on the marble echoed through the space, I lifted my hand in an awkward wave. “Heyyy.” I suddenly remembered I was meeting royalty and dipped into a curtsey.

  Madeline grabbed my elbow and hauled me back up. “They’re not really into formality.”

  “Who the shell’s she?”

  It took me a moment to place the speaker—it was the little fire that burned in a lantern set on one of the long tables. The prince, princess, and former royal bakers gathered around it. I looked around the eclectic group, recognizing some of them. Rhonda the Seer stood with her arm around her undead boyfriend, Francis, whose toes hovered
just above the floor. The tall, pale vampire and the short, dark psychic were the interkingdom celebrities who’d judged the baking competition earlier.

  Francis lifted his hooked nose and sniffed the air. “She smells of dog and…” He squinted one eye. “Owl droppings?”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it again. The odor of dog made perfect sense, given I shared space with Daisy and her fur ended up on everything. But owl droppings? Could he smell that I was an owl shifter, even though it’d been years since I could shift? I turned my head and tried to nonchalantly smell myself. If so, did that mean I still had it?

  A tall guy with a red bushy beard stood beside an older woman, her gray, shoulder-length hair pulled back in a headband. She looked me over. “I’m Annie, and this is Yann.”

  The big ginger guy waved.

  “What’s your name, dear?”

  I suddenly felt a little self-conscious of my ripped jeans and holey band tee. “Uh—I’m Jolene Hartgrave.”

  The little flame’s mouth disappeared for a moment. “Are we supposed to know what that means?”

  Prince Harry strode forward, palms splayed. “Madeline, this really isn’t a good time, we need—”

  Madeline thumbed toward me. “Jolene knows who attacked Sam and, more importantly, why.”

  That stopped the prince midsentence. His blue eyes landed on me and seemed to really take me in for the first time. A woman in a white skirt suit stomped toward me, her white heels clicking on the marble. She was followed by the young man with the goatee and dark eyes.

  I recognized her as Amelia, the event coordinator from the baking competition. I didn’t know the other guy, though.

  Amelia stopped directly in front of me, her gray eyes blazing. “Tell me who hurt Sam.” Her hands trembled at her sides.

  The young man put a hand on her shoulder. “Yes—please.” He bowed his head to me. “I’m Kenta.” He pressed a palm to his chest. “Sam’s partner. Do you know where he is?” He looked behind me, like I might be hiding him somewhere.