TYPE: HARPY
ASSOCIATION: N/A
STATUS: SAFE
Marlee was the victim of the reported burglary. With a demure set of pearls to complement her floral dress, she, too, was far from my imagined notions about harpies. It just showed how totally unreliable the human-authored books on Greek mythology are.
“Agent Vavrin is here to ask you a couple of questions, Marlee,” Caren said.
“Umm, yes, about that – before I ask any questions, I was hoping I could take a look at the room first?” To be honest, I wasn’t sure this was standard procedure for handling burglaries either, but I figured Dike would understand if I had to wing it according to what I felt was right. In any case, I thought it was best that my first look at the crime scene was untainted by anyone’s testimony.
“Yes, of course.” Marlee took me to Room 312, with the two other following behind us. I found this curious, but more so when after unlocking the door, Marlee and Nomi held hands and started chanting in Greek.
Seeing my confusion, Caren said, “All rooms rented by the association are spell-protected. It prevents anyone without harpy blood from entering their rooms.”
“Not even the housekeeping staff?”
Kris shook her head. “I only knock on their doors to give them fresh towels and empty the trash.”
“That’s, umm, unusual.”
“It’s one of the conditions of their booking,” Caren explained.
“I see.” I knew the words were completely inane, but at that moment it was all I could think of saying, with my mind still caught up by the implications of what Caren had revealed.
If these rooms were indeed spell protected and subsequent lab tests show that none of these spells had been broken, then that would mean the burglar was another harpy.
But how could that be possible when harpies were supposed to be against injustice?
“It’s done.”
I quickly put my musings to the side at Marlee’s words. “Thanks.”
“We haven’t touched anything since we discovered the theft last night,” Marlee volunteered. “We were scared to accidentally tamper with the crime scene.”
“You guys did the right thing,” I assured her. “And I’m really sorry we were only able to come today. I’m afraid all agencies are a bit understaffed at the moment.”
“Nosos’ flu,” Caren said with a disapproving shake of her head. “Honestly, those Keres should have been hunted down centuries ago.”
Hunted down? Privately, I agreed that the authorities should do something about the Keres, but the term the former queen used made me a little uncomfortable. Maybe it was an old-school thing?
After securing Marlee’s permission to enter her room one last time, the first thing I noticed as soon as I entered was how the entire scene appeared staged. Much of the guest’s possessions were strewn all over the carpeted floor, and furniture was also overturned, but even so, I couldn’t get rid of the niggling feeling that this was a setup.
Overkill, I realized after a moment. That was what bothered me the most about this scene. There was no need for the minibar to be hauled out of the built-in cabinet, no reason why the armchair had to be turned upside down. The whole thing seemed more like the work of a drama queen than a burglar.
Also, what was the burglar’s method for breaking in? After putting on a pair of gloves, I checked all windows to make sure they were intact. Glancing at Marlee, who hovered by the doorway with the others, I asked, “You’re sure these were all locked before you discovered something was missing?”
“Yes.”
I checked the door and its lock, and everything worked fine, too.
Scratching physical break-in off the list then, I thought.
And so all I was left with –
“Is there any way for you to determine if your spell was broken?”
“Yes,” Nomi affirmed. “And it hasn’t been.”
“Is it alright if I have someone from our lab confirm this?”
Nomi nodded. “Absolutely.”
I faced Marlee again. “In your report, you mentioned that you were missing a velvet jewelry box.”
“Yes.” She quickly described the appearance of the box and added afterwards, “It only has my ivory comb – a gift from my husband. It’s actually an heirloom from his side of the family. I don’t think it amounts to much, but it’s precious to me.”
“I know this may sound stupid or insensitive, but I need to ask for protocol’s sake. Are you certain there’s no way for you to have misplaced it somewhere else?”
Marlee vehemently shook her head. “I take it with me when I travel, but I always leave it inside my room. As you said, I don’t want to risk losing or misplacing it.”
Looking at Caren, I began, “I noticed you have security cameras installed—-”
Caren was already shaking her head before I could even finish speaking. “They’ve been switched off.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Switched off?”
“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Kris said.
“No, it’s not,” the former queen countered right away, but her daughter only shook her head.
“I wanted us to make more money this Halloween, but it’s hard to compete with the bigger hotels in Portland because they have better facilities. So what I proposed to my mom was that we write to different harpy associations and offer them a unique proposal: we promised no CCTV cameras so they could feel completely safe and not worry about possible exposure when they change forms or fly in and out of the property.”
“And I still stand by what I said, dear,” Nomi comforted the younger woman. “It was an innovative idea, and when I presented your proposal to our group, the vote was unanimous.”
“We also thought Kris’ alternative measure for security was sufficient. Without the CCTVs, we knew that would mean certain risks, and that’s why Kris’ idea of using spell protection was so great...” Her voice trailed off, but it was easy to finish the rest of her sentence.
It was a great idea, but like most great ideas, it had its own loophole.
“I know what you’re thinking, Agent Vavrin,” Nomi said severely, “but I’m telling you it’s not possible.”
Wasn’t it?
Was it truly not possible that a harpy could go against her nature and – worse – steal from her own kind?
Chapter Three
It was close to eleven when Wednesday came out of Room 312, and it was testament to her exhaustion and CSI’s depleted numbers that she looked just a little human. If I wasn’t mistaken, there were – let me count – five strands right there that had escaped the strict confines of her coiffeur. A negligible thing in most people’s cases, but for a perfectionist like Wednesday, it only meant she was under serious work stress.
“Sorry about this,” I couldn’t help apologizing as soon as she reached me.
“It can’t be helped.” Wednesday’s tone was understandably dour. Ever since we had worked together on the poison-slash-murder case at Demi’s some time back, I had gotten to know her well enough to realize that her strict persona was only meant to hide her shyness. A 48-hour work week spent cooped up inside a forensic lab might seem like the classic setting for a claustrophobic nightmare, but for a closet introvert like Wednesday, it was the next thing to paradise.
“I just hope NSA figures out a vaccine for this darn flu soon,” the lab technician muttered. “Any more of this fieldwork, and I’ll quit my job.”
Having to leave her comfort zone had taken a noticeable toll on Wednesday, and the contrast between her ebony hair and too-pale face suddenly reminded me of her namesake in the Addams Family cartoon series. The thought had me quickly smothering a laugh, and Wednesday shot me a suspicious look.
Knowing that she was unlikely to ever speak to me again if I told her what I was thinking, I quickly prevaricated, asking, “Any preliminary findings you can share with me?”
The case-related question worked like a charm, and Wednesday visibly r
elaxed. “I found traces of magic on the tub—-”
“The tub?” I echoed incredulously.
“Its drainage hole, to be exact, but other than that, I can’t say anything else. I’ll need to take all samples back to the lab first.”
“Got it.” My voice was faint, with my mind still grappling with the other woman’s words. Drainage hole? Really? In no way could be that considered a possible entry or exit point, but then again, I had to remember that we were dealing with folks who saw magic as a way of life – or in this case, a means to commit crime.
Wednesday left a little while after, and after taking my leave from Marlee and the others, I got back into my car and asked She-Ra for directions to Ciao. The Italian restaurant was located out of town, one that Paul assured me Silver Mist locals rarely frequented. Aside from my tiny circle of friends, only a handful were aware of Paul working for INTERPOL, and the majority of them didn’t bother to hide their amazement whenever they saw Paul and me together.
A neophyte self-made witch going out with an eligible bachelor like Paul Theodore?
It didn’t make sense at all, and what made things worse was how Roseanne dela Cruz, an agent for the CIA, had recently started a rumor about the way I kept throwing myself at Paul until the “poor man” had no choice but to make me his girlfriend.
The thought almost had me snorting. Poor man? Ha! If only they knew the truth (pun intended), then they would have known there was no way for a mortal like me to force the Greek god to do anything.
It was 11:45 when I made to Ciao, but since we agreed to meet at half past twelve, I wasn’t surprised to find that Paul wasn’t around yet. Taking my phone out, I got She-Ra to work and had her pull up anything she could find about the harpy association that Nomi and Marlee were a part of.
A moment later, and She-Ra had presented me with the association’s official website, one that required my citizen password. It was one of the quickest ways to safeguard information about the non-human world, and although I wasn’t born with magic, I was issued a citizen password the moment I started working full-time for CSI.
After logging in, the first thing I saw was an announcement of their flight party, and below it was a download link to a detailed itinerary for all days of the event.
Oh, great. That was just great. Since their website was viewable to the non-human public, there was a very high probability our unidentified burglar also had access –
“Ciao, bella.” A deep husky voice whispered the words into my ear, startling me out of my thoughts, but before I could look up, firm, soft lips that were now wonderfully familiar gently brushed my cheek, and a warm rush of emotion filled me.
Looking up, my gaze immediately clashed with a pair of intense hazel eyes, and my toes curled involuntarily. “H-Hey.” It was embarrassing that he could still make me stammer, but I had a bad feeling this would never change, no matter how long we knew each other.
He was Apollo, the god of truth.
How could that not make a mere mortal occasionally stammer?
“You should have told me you were arriving early,” he scolded.
“And have you drop everything for little ole me?” I made a face. “Never.”
“You are my woman, you know. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t drop everything for you?” Paul’s voice was casual, almost complacent, but it still didn’t work in preventing my head from reeling. How was it so easy for him to say such things?
“Can we just talk about work?” I begged. “Please?” If he kept flirting with me like this, my face might end up exploding like a tomato.
Paul grinned. “That bad?”
“Worse than you can ever imagine,” I admitted without hesitation, and although this made Paul’s grin widen, the truth god nonetheless acquiesced, and he turned the conversation to something less exciting – and even more endearing.
“Did you have any good dreams last night?”
My chest squeezed with warm, fuzzy feelings, just like it always did when we spoke of our little daughter. “Just the usual ones, I’m afraid. You?”
“The same.” Paul’s tone was pensive.
“You miss her, don’t you?”
“More than I think is reasonable,” the truth god murmured.
“I used to think like that, too, until I realized that there’s nothing reasonable about how we love...good dreams. We just do, no ifs, no buts.”
Paul started to say something, but then a smiling elderly couple came to our table, and I found myself being pulled to my feet instead.
“My friends,” I heard Paul say in his deep, gentle voice, “this is my beloved, Agent Blair Vavrin of CSI.”
Beloved?
Paul smiled down at me. “Blair, these are old friends of mine, Baucis and Philemon.”
My eyes went wide. “Oh. Um. Wow.”
Baucis laughed while Philemon drew me into a hug, saying warmly, “We are honored to have elicited such a reaction, sweet Blair.”
In Ovid’s tale, a pair of strangers, tired and hungry, had come upon a wealthy town, but one after another, they were driven away by unkind words and bolted doors. It was only when they came to a humble cottage that the strangers were welcomed, and the owners, an elderly married couple, generously shared their meager fare with them.
The couple, of course, was Baucis and Philemon, while the strangers were none other than Zeus and Hermes in disguise. The gods had come down from Mt. Olympus to see if the wicked town they heard so much about deserved one last chance at redemption. Seeing that it did not, the whole town was razed to the ground. Only Baucis and Philemon survived, and the thunder god rewarded them with the gift of immortality, along with custody of one of his great temples.
In my pre-witch days, temple meant temple to my literal mind, but now I knew better, and Ciao was proof of how varied a god’s rewards could be.
Baucis and Philemon joined us for lunch, and I tried to keep my starstruck thoughts to myself as I listened to them discuss Olympian politics. Apparently, the couple had become trusted confidantes of many of the pantheon, with Ciao being a preferred meeting place by immortals.
If I had known that earlier, I thought wryly, I’d have insisted on meeting someplace else. I had one simple good reason for not wanting other witches and agents to know about my relationship with Paul, and that same good reason also applied to why I’d rather not have immortals know about my relationship with Apollo.
It just didn’t feel—-
“Welcome to Ciao, Theo Hermes.”
-—right.
I shot up in my seat at hearing the concierge’s greeting by the door, and no sooner than I had glanced at Paul in horrified shock did the fleet-footed god himself come to stop by our table. We all rose from our chairs, and I tried not to fidget when Paul’s hand rested possessively on the small of my back.
Hermes made no secret of his curiosity towards me even as the four immortals pleasantly exchange greetings, and when Paul finally introduced me as his “beloved” (we really need to work on getting his intro skills to the 21st century one of these days), I had to fight back a blush when I saw Hermes’ trademark crafty smile appear.
“Kalimera, kyria. It is an honor to finally meet the woman who has brought our brother back to life.”
“The honor is mine, theo,” I managed to respond somewhat steadily even as I couldn’t help throwing Paul a look of bemusement. Bring him back to life? What did that even mean?
“Will you be joining us for lunch?” Paul asked.
“Not today, unfortunately. I’ve a meeting in an hour.” Glancing back at me, Hermes asked slyly, “Has Paul told you yet?”
Paul muttered something in Greek that made Baucis and Philemon wince, but the mercury god only chuckled. “I will see you then.” He stepped back with an elaborate bow, saying, “Enjoy your lunch, my friends.”
What was Paul supposed to tell me? It was a struggle to keep a lid on all the questions bursting inside of me, but I managed to wait until Paul and I were out of C
iao before asking, “What was Hermes talking about?”
Paul grinned. “It’s impressive how long you managed not to ask me that, sweetheart.”
I threw him a warning look over my shoulder as we made our way to the parking lot. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Hermes holds an annual costume ball in celebration of Samhain.”
Alarm bells started to ring inside my head, and I said quickly, “That’s all I need to know—-”
“He’s included your name in the invitation.”
I knew it.
“I don't think that’s a good idea.” I bent down to unlock my car, but when I turned around to look at him, Paul suddenly moved forward, and I gasped as I found myself backed up against my car and trapped between his arms.
“Paul!” My voice was breathless, but sadly, it was more out of excitement than worry.
Hazel eyes then captured mine, and my heart skipped a beat. Unfair. He inched closer, and I could barely breathe at all. His voice turning into a deep, dark caress, Paul said softly, “It would really mean a lot if you would come with me to the ball.”
Oh no.
I glowered at him, or at least tried to. “Stop trying to seduce me into saying yes.”
Paul smirked. “I hate to disappoint, but that’s more Eros’ power, not mine.”
Oh. Right.
“Come with me to the ball, Blair.”
I shook my head furiously. “It’s too soon.”
His head bent closer, and he whispered to my ear, “Please.”
My knees knocked against each other, and I quickly closed my eyes in a futile attempt to resist the lure of his voice. “I just think we’re moving too fast.”
“I rather think we’re moving a little too slow,” Paul murmured, “considering how we’ve yet to make our daughter a reality.”
Chapter Four
Gods were so clever.
Paul’s last words kept playing over and over in my mind even though the truth god and I had long parted and I was now on my way to respond to another burglar report. Although it was a struggle to resist Paul when he acted so charming and sweet, I knew I still had a fighting shot in getting my way. But the moment he brought up the issue of our unborn daughter?
A Season of Gods and Witches Page 20