“Are you ready, then? Since you’re supposedly my bodyguard or something,” I teased. Isabella smirked, ruffling my hair before grabbing her keys out of her pocket and spinning them around her finger. She said nothing more as she shuffled through the house towards the entryway. I hesitated for a moment, glancing towards Agnes with an expression of trepidation.
“Martin... how do you know this Martin guy, Agnes?” I inquired, receiving little more than a sour look in response.
“We can discuss that later. Just carry on with your task for the time being, alright?” She ordered, patting me on the back and turning her attention to her stacks of books. I watched her for a moment longer, cringing when a loud car horn sounded from outside. “Your chariot awaits,” Agnes hummed, opening her laptop. I nodded quietly, rubbing my aching ears with a grimace before striding towards the door. Isabella sat eagerly waiting for me, as I might have expected. I slid into the passenger seat, buckling in just before she began speeding down the street. I clutched the arms of my seat, trying not to panic as she weaved through cars on the main road.
“What’s the hurry,” I demanded, and she shrugged a shoulder noncommittally.
“Just ready to get a move on,” she muttered. She slowed down a bit—thankfully, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Before I realized where we were going, however, she had parked in front of the metaphysical shop.
“You just wanted more cookies,” I accused her, and she winked before sliding out of the car. She strode towards the entrance of the store, and I trailed behind her, stopping short as she came to an abrupt stop in front of me. She fidgeted uncomfortably, her hands quaking at her sides in agitation. I could only wonder what was bothering her, but as I edged past her, I saw the problem rather quickly. The door to the shop was boarded up, as well as the windows. It was a wonder we hadn’t noticed before pulling into the parking lot. Isabella took a hesitant step towards the door, giving it a little push. It refused to budge, and she looked at me with a panicked expression. Feeling a bit nervous myself, I gestured for her to follow me as I walked into the shop next door. It was a busy little cafe, and I was sure the workers would know something about the metaphysical shop and its owner.
“Excuse me,” Isabella began, offering the cashier a nervous little wave. The woman smiled, though there was a somewhat distant look in her eye—as if she were simply staring through us.
“How can I help you?” She inquired, her smile only growing as I grew more nervous. Something about the entire situation seemed wrong, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I stepped up beside Isabella just the same, resting a comforting hand on my friend’s shoulder.
“I was curious as to what caused the shop next door to close down. We just spoke to the owner, and he didn’t imply anything was wrong,” I pressed, receiving a confused look in response. Somehow, the expression seemed farcical, but again, I couldn’t back up the feeling with factual evidence.
“Sorry, miss. You must be confused. The owner of that shop died years ago,” the woman said, looking between Isabella and myself. The former tour guide stiffened at my side, and I tensed my grip on her shoulder to keep her from erupting. “Can I interest you in a nice cup of coffee?” The woman continued, as if the conversation had been entirely natural.
“No thank you,” I smiled, all but dragging Isabella out the door. Izzy's breath was quickening, and she had a vaguely queasy expression on her face. I rubbed her back comfortingly, hoping she wouldn’t vomit in the middle of town. It wasn’t as if I could really blame her—she had just found out one of her dear friends had supposedly been dead for some time. I wondered if it was restless spirits at work, but something about the situation didn’t seem to fall into place. Though I’d seen my share of spirits, or what I could only guess were wandering souls, the man in the metaphysical shop had been nothing like... say the man I saw in the ruins, for example. The shop owner hadn’t died before my eyes, he hadn’t turned into dust as we left the store. I even shook his hand. He simply... ceased existing, for all intents and purposes.
“SOMEONE IS FOLLOWING us,” Isabella managed to grate out, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me along. I parted my lips to question her, but she stopped short, nearly doubling over and gagging. She rubbed her temples, looking at me with a miserable expression. “The smell... it’s so strong,” she muttered weakly, and before I could react in any further attempt to comfort her, another hand gripped me by the shoulder and forced me to turn around. I inhaled a shaking breath, having a vague idea of who my assailant may be. I wasn’t awfully surprised to see the man Agnes and I had been chasing for the duration for our trip—Martin? His expression was twisted in a sneer, and he flicked his tongue out to moisten his lips before speaking—appearing vaguely snake-like. Where he had been said to smell of flowers by everyone else in this city, I could only inhale the overwhelming scent of smoke. I gritted my teeth, mentally preparing myself for anything he might throw at me.
“You must be my newest replacement. Figures. Agnes never could account for taste,” he said snarkily, his lips pressed tightly together when he fell silent. His face seemed to be warped in a permanent grimace, and though I had no idea what he meant, I could put two and two together to an extent. It seemed this man used to hold my position as the assistant of the mysterious older woman—granted, she didn’t seem much older than the man who stood before me.
“What are you trying to accomplish, Martin? Are you only here to make Agnes uneasy? Do you get your kicks out of making people uncomfortable?” I asked bitterly, gripping Isabella’s hand tightly in my own. It seemed that my friend could use the grounding sensation, as she was swaying nauseatingly from side to side. She gripped my hand like a vice, her face pale as she stared at Martin. He smirked at her, his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips once more.
“I’m only here for the same reason as you and the old fool. Rest assured that your trip has been entirely pointless. I’m going to find it before either of you could ever hope to figure out where to start,” he hissed, smirking as if he had all the answers in the world.
“You mean... you don’t have it already?” I asked blankly, and he tilted his head curiously. After a moment, he erupted in laughter—a maniacal and hateful sound.
“You don’t even know what you’re looking for, do you? She’s brought you all this way, and doesn’t even trust you with the knowledge of what you seek. How could she expect to come out on top? I swear, that crazy old bird will forever baffle me,” he said, his voice amused at first before hardening entirely.
“She doesn’t think I’m ready to know yet and I’ve been respecting her wishes,” I said, though I didn’t feel nearly as confident as I tried to sound. He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. For a moment, it was as if it were just the two of us. I could vaguely feel Isabella’s hand tightly squeezing my own; could hear the rasping wheezes of my friend at my side. All the same, something about this strange man made you sit up and pay attention to whatever it was he had to say. He seemed to have a strange mysticism about him.
“Well, from one of Agnes’ used play things to another, I can at least fill you in,” he sneered. “You’re looking for her lover’s journals. She’s nearly found the entire thing, and I’ve recorded everything we found in our time together. Unfortunately for the both of you, however, I plan to find the last missing pages. There are only eight, after all, and while she seems to think she’s on the right trail, she’s sorely mistaken,” he continued, reaching out to touch my cheek. The smell of smoke felt as if it flooded my lungs, and my eyes widened in something of a panic as his hand drew nearer. There was something insidious about the man, but I couldn’t find it within myself to back away. All at once, Isabella lurched forward and took a protective step in front of me. She bared her teeth almost animalistically at the man, hands tensed into fists at her side.
“Back off, dude,” she bit out. Martin looked her up and down, his eyes dancing with mirth.
“Ah, yes. Flamel’s young one. It’s o
nly suitable that you would have found yourself wrapped up in this whole thing. Pity you’ve found yourself on the wrong side of a losing battle,” he smiled. She took a threatening step forward, and the briefest flicker of fear appeared in his eyes as he stepped away from the two of us. “He won’t be pleased, but... well. It seems you’ve made your choice. It’s alright, though. Even the most discriminating minds can be manipulated,” he chuckled. I grabbed Isabella by the back of the shirt as she made to lurch forward—well aware that she was intent on smashing the man’s teeth down his throat.
“Come on. Let’s just leave,” I hissed, giving her a slight tug.
“Yes, little lost one. Take your leave. We’ll find each other in due time, after all,” he paused, glancing at me with a wicked smile. “As for you... you will find that Agnes isn’t the kind and gentle woman she pretends to be. She holds many a secret, and when you crack the code, you’ll be thrown away just as easily as I was. All that woman cares about is the use she can get from a person. Once you’re properly drained... well. You’ll see,” he continued. Isabella made another attempt to lurch forward, and I was actually tempted to just let her kick his ass. However, he turned away and bustled in the opposite direction before she could get close enough. She made to follow him, but I gave her another tug to catch her attention.
“We need to tell Agnes about all this. Maybe she’ll have an explanation. At the very least, she’ll be happy to know that jerk doesn’t have her lover’s journal pages,” I said gently. Isabella grimaced, her eyebrows knitting together as she looked between me and the strange man.
“Alright. Something about that guy isn’t right. There’s something sickly about him. His scent has changed. He smells like a rotting corpse,” Isabella said weakly, turning to wrap an arm around my shoulders and guide me towards her car. I could tell the entire situation had her frightened, and truth be told, I couldn’t blame her. I felt a bit nervous after the interaction with Martin as well. It was obvious that he knew something that I didn’t—something that Agnes hadn't deemed me worthy of knowing yet. I was determined to get an answer out of the older woman before we went any further, however. I got the feeling that this situation was becoming increasingly dangerous, and it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt. I didn’t have a death wish by any means, but I knew in that moment that I would do anything to protect the friends I had made.
I deserved to know what role I played in this whole scheme-—what being the assistant to the mysterious older woman actually involved. I had thought I knew, but it was becoming increasingly evident that nothing in this city was as it seemed. It was only a matter of figuring out what I’d gotten myself wrapped up in.
Chapter Eighteen
“Martin doesn’t have the journal pages!” I blurted none too subtly as Isabella and I strode through the door of Stefan’s estate. Agnes raised a brow, seemingly bewildered by the fact that I even knew about the journal pages. She had been keeping them from me, after all. Her attention briefly turned to Isabella, and her expression became vaguely concerned.
“I’m not sure I want to know how you found out that little tidbit of information,” Agnes sighed, stepping towards the two of us. Isabella was still queasy from the experience with Martin, rather green around the gills as Agnes pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up. Go lay on the couch,” the older woman ordered, and Isabella sagged against the doorframe with a forced smile.
“And miss this party? I wouldn’t dream of it,” the dark haired woman said. I couldn’t help but look at her with a fair share of concern, and she responded by shooting finger pistols at me.
“I’m with Agnes. Come on. I’ll help you along,” I said firmly, grabbing the taller woman’s arm and throwing it around my shoulder. Isabella breathed a sigh, and Agnes trailed behind the two of us as we made our way to the den.
“I changed my mind. I want to know. What exactly did Martin tell you?” Agnes said abruptly, giving the queasy woman a shove towards the couch before forcing me to look at her. Her expression was unreadable, but I could only guess she felt more than a little trepidation faced with my newfound knowledge. I hesitated, knowing that if I dismissed her, she would be extremely displeased. Just the same, it didn’t seem prudent to tell her that Martin’s goal seemed to be getting her goat.
“He just wanted to get your bloomers in a bunch, Aggie,” Isabella mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric of the couch that she was lying face down on. Agnes frowned, and it was all I could do to keep from expressing my exasperation. For her part, if Isabella sensed the tension in the room, she gave no indication as she rolled over to face the two of us. “Seems like it worked,” she said astutely, curling comfortably on the expensive piece of antique furniture. Agnes simply scoffed, dismissing the sickly woman as she turned to consider me once more.
“Well, I think it was rather helpful, don’t you? Finding out that he doesn’t have the journal pages, as it were,” the elder woman hummed thoughtfully, tapping her finger on her chin. I shrugged a little, relieved that she didn’t seem too upset by the developments.
“Helpful for you, yes. I still have no idea why we’re looking for the pages of your lover’s journal,” I said nervously, rolling my eyes as Isabella barked out a laugh.
“Oh, is our dear Aggie still chasing dreams of a lost lover?” The third of our trio piped up, and Agnes scowled, crossing her arms almost like a child ready to throw a fit.
“Ex lover, and you’re only sour that no one could ever love you,” Agnes snipped. Isabella gasped overdramatically, and though she was being silly, I was glad she seemed to feel better. “In any case, the journal pages are very important to me. I can’t exactly disclose why—I’m not sure I trust the two of you to that extent. Especially not this one over here,” Agnes mused. I frowned, but nodded obligingly just the same. She didn’t need to trust me yet, it was something I needed to earn. “Have you learned anything else in your adventures around town?” The elder woman asked idly, and Isabella glanced in my direction with an arched brow.
“Something about a stone of truth. It’s really strange. The man who told us the story just... disappeared,” I offered, hands fidgeting uncomfortably at my sides. Isabella looked troubled once more, but Agnes seemed excited by the prospect of the stone if her bright eyed gaze was any indication.
“I think that weirdo had something to do with the whole thing,” Isabella spoke up, and Agnes frowned a bit as she rubbed her chin.
“Something tells me we need to return to the ruins. Perhaps now that we have a clearer sense of what we’re looking for, we can actually put this situation with Martin to rest,” I piped up, shrugging self consciously as the two turned near-matching stares towards me. “I mean... if Martin wanted to learn more about the stone of truth, it’s clear that it has something to do with what he’s looking for. It’s late, I know, but—,” I paused, cut short by Isabella.
“The guards won’t say much if I come along. The night watch always had a sweet spot for me,” she replied, brushing a hand through her hair. I expected Agnes to roll her eyes and accuse the former tour guide of having a big head, but she simply grinned and pulled Isabella in for a tight hug. The other woman stumbled, swearing aloud as Agnes tightly gripped her.
“I knew you would be of some use to us, and as usual, I was correct,” the elder woman said proudly, reaching up to pat Isabella on the head. The former tour guide scowled a little, but made no move to remove herself from Agnes’ grip. I doubt she could have broken the eccentric woman’s hold on her, even if she tried.
“So that’s the plan, then? We check out the ruins after hours, when this Martin guy shouldn’t be anywhere to be seen. We find these journal pages, for whatever reason Aggie here needs them... and then what? You two make your happy way back to the States? Ugh. My life is going to be awfully boring when the two of you are gone,” the dark haired woman sighed. Agnes patted her on the head again, and Isabella grumbled as she tried to slap Agnes’ hands away.
“W-well. If you have nothing tying you down here, I’m sure Agnes could use... a maid or something?” I offered, shrugging my shoulders. In spite of myself, I didn’t much like the idea of leaving my newfound friend behind either.
“A maid. Do I have to wear one of those frilly uniforms?” Isabella demanded, and Agnes chuckled before striding towards the door.
“We can discuss the terms of your service once we’ve found what we’re looking for. We’ve come too far to go back to the States empty handed. I want something to show for the work we’ve done,” Agnes announced. Isabella and I exchanged a look, and I cracked a smile as the other woman rolled her eyes. Though neither of us had any idea why Agnes would need her lover’s old journal entries, we also knew better than to question it at that point—especially with the elder woman in such good spirits.
“Alright. I’ll drive, then. It’ll look less conspicuous,” Isabella announced, swinging her keyring around on her finger once more. Agnes made a face as we stepped out into the fading light, and her eyes fell upon Isabella’s prized car.
“You actually drive this death trap?” Agnes demanded.
“It’s not that bad. She has some nice cds,” I piped up, grabbing the handle to the passenger side door. As I pulled, it came off in my hand and I stared blankly at the hunk of rusted metal gripped in my hand. Agnes looked on in horror, and Isabella rolled her eyes, taking the handle and shoving it back into place. She took a step back, kicking the door for good measure. It popped open to my surprise, and the former tour guide quirked a smile before circling around to her side of the car.
“You’re not actually letting her drive us in this thing,” Agnes hissed as I moved to slide into the passenger seat.
“Don’t mind the chocolate wrappers in the back seat. Just kinda... sweep ‘em off into the floorboard. I wasn’t prepared to practically chauffeur royalty,” Isabella said in a very serious tone, though the glint in her eye was anything but serious.
The Peculiar Case of Agnes Astor Smith Page 12