Moggies, Magic and Murder

by Pearl Goodfellow

  Darkmore’s eyes clouded briefly. He was clearly rattled by my bull-in-a-china-shop approach, but the smooth-talker recovered almost instantly.

  “Ah, you saw us together at the courthouse, of course.” His lips pursed into a tight smile. It was as if he had something sour behind his teeth and he was trying his best to show it was no bother.

  “Zinnie Kramp is a customer of mine. She had placed an order with me last week. As all that was required was a simple signature, we saw no harm in concluding matters while we were in the same room together. Or the same courthouse together, as the case may be,” he drawled.

  “What was the order?”

  The Shadow Supplies spokesman’s eyes squeezed shut for a second. “Ah, well, likely of little interest to you, but it was garden ornamentation. Hematite chips for Ms. Kramp’s walled rose garden. The stones are widely used in magical gardens, as they offer such a regal contrast to the brightness of the flowers.”

  Hematite stones. I’d seen them. Blackish rocks with some kind of metallic ore running through their mass. I had heard from someone once that Hematite was like a Warlock status symbol. Only the most influential, powerful Warlock families used hematite stone as cosmetics for their flower gardens. The presence of these dark, metallic rocks in a yard showed the rest of the Warlock community that the person had ‘might.’

  I remember, too, a fairy story my mom used to read. There was a Warlock ritual in the book, and the primary objects used for the ceremony? Hematite stones. The stones themselves looked grave and somehow ‘unfriendly.’ No wonder the Warlocks liked them so much.

  Darkmore stared at me, waiting for a response.

  “I thought Shadow Supplies dealt in baneful herbs,” I said, finally.

  “Vegetable, animal and mineral, Ms. Jenkins,” he corrected. “Now, let’s discuss the terms of the contract, shall--”

  “There will be no terms, Darkmore,” a clipped voice from behind Ulrich’s head, said. I peered over Ulrich’s shoulder just as he spun toward the owner of that chilly voice. Portia Fearwyn’s face was grim. “Hattie’s supplier is Dilwyn Werelamb, and that will not change, so I suggest you take your transaction elsewhere.” The Witch Fearwyn’s beady eyes glowed defiantly. As far as I could tell, the old crone wasn’t breathing.

  Darkmore guffawed. “I think Ms. Jenkins is more than capable of coming to her own decisions, Ms. Fearwyn. If she wants to support the ramshackle, grassroots pretender, Werelamb, then let her.” Ulrich swung toward me and smiled. “But, I suspect Hattie here is a more discerning breed of businesswoman and knows that the future of Natural Medicines doesn’t lie with the likes of Dilwyn Werelamb.”

  “So you think the future of Natural Medicines is with arms dealers such as yourself?” Portia’s voice was as light as a breeze.

  Darkmore swallowed, but said nothing. He wiped a gloved hand across his mouth, looked back at me with a brooding glance, and then to the door, uncertain of what to do or say next.

  “You will leave this establishment now,” Portia spoke in a whisper as she took one step closer to the man.

  Ulrich stepped back, but he was too close to the counter, so it met with the small of his back. His mouth worked at Portia, but he had trouble finding the voice to go with his oral dance.

  “NOW!”

  Okay, I swear I felt Portia’s bellow like a fierce gust of autumn wind on my face.

  Ulrich didn’t wait around for the Witch Fearwyn to say more; he was out of the shop in two strides.

  I let out a giant breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding.

  “This lady didn’t like that man,” Gloom said, first flicking her head toward Portia, and then unfurling her tail toward the fleeing Darkmore.

  “Ulrich Darkmore is a foul human being,” Portia replied, shaking her head.

  “Arms dealer?” Millie and I asked at the same time.

  Portia nodded. “He’s been the Warlock’s go-to man for over a decade now, I’d say. All kinds of dark and magical munitions.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said waving my hands, “First, the Warlocks have munitions? And, second, Ulrich’s a Warlock?”

  “Don’t be naive, child,” Portia snapped. “Of course they have munitions. You think they wouldn’t have arms after being so badly beaten in the first Warlock War?”

  “I guess, I just didn’t think about it,” I said, my cheeks flushing.

  “And, no, Darkmore isn’t a Warlock. But, he was once. He’s a card-carrying member of the wizard community these days, but I suspect that’s just a front so he can open more doors to further business opportunities.”

  “How do you know all this about him, Portia?”

  “We’ve been tracking him for years now. He has a site somewhere … for the weapons, I mean. But we still haven’t located it. We know it’s nowhere near his hanger on Phlange Isle. They’re using some powerful magic for the protection charms, though, and it’s likely a very deeply buried bunker, to boot. So it’s nigh on impossible to find,” she concluded.

  “What family?” I asked. “You said Ulrich was a Warlock, what family did he come from?”

  “None other than the Bloodstag’s,” Portia sniffed.

  Bloodstag, Bloodstag, where did I know that name from?

  “The Bloodstag’s of Cathedral,” Portia said, recognizing my temporary confusion. “Zinnie Kramp is a Bloodstag. By birth, at least. Ulrich Darkmore is --”

  “Zinnie’s brother,” I finished, putting a hand to my throat.

  Well, well, well.

  “Your powers of deduction are dazzling,” Fearwyn said.

  “He changed his name? From Bloodstag to Darkmore?”

  Portia shrugged. “It’s not hard to do.”

  “So, being a Warlock is in his blood,” I mused. “What part of the munitions process is Darkmore involved with?”

  “We don’t know the ‘ingredient’ he’s supplying. “But we suspect it’s hematite. Which is a known Warlock --”

  “I know. It’s come up a few times today, already.” I felt a familiar tingle travel through my nerves. Were we close to something?

  Portia stiffened abruptly. “Well, I don’t have time to chat all day, so I’ll be on my w--”

  “But, why did you come here, lady?” Midnight challenged, sniffing around Portia’s dusty boots. The Witch Fearwyn shooed my cat away with a flick of her foot.

  “I came because I was needed,” she said as if it was obvious as to why she breezed in at the exact moment she did. “Now, if there’s nothing further--”

  “Portia, wait,” I said leaning across the counter to grab her arm. I explained about the Warlock device at the station and how Talisman was on their way to claim it.

  The witch waited patiently, not blinking once until I finished.

  “I can do nothing about that,” she said.

  “Wha-, wait, what?” My eyebrows shot upward.

  “You heard me. This is not under my jurisdiction. There are many strings I can pull in the capital, but the first layer of the defense department, I cannot.”

  “But, we need to see what’s inside that weapon,” I pleaded. “If there’s any metallic, Warlock signature. Which we believe there will be. Orville Nugget needs to see it, and if he can’t get his hands on it, then, well, we won’t know where the threat is coming from.”

  Portia blinked at me. “Why did your fool boyfriend allow the drifter to leave?”

  I folded my arms. “The CHIEF Para Inspector had the man swabbed for explosives residue,” I said. “Besides, Jyldrar was nowhere near the blast when it happened. And the CHIEF’s men checked within a mile radius of where Typhon had been standing, and, nothing.”

  “This is the reason I’m unsure as to whether CPI Trew is a good fit for the Custodians,” Portia said, her lips pressed in a straight, thin line. “If he only shared his intended movements with us, then we might have already asked the drifter some pertinent questions.”

  “Like?”

  “Like, how is it Typhon Jyldrar knows
how to speak the Lost Language.”

  I raised my eyebrows at the old crone.

  “It’s an ancient Warlock incantation. Powerful enough to trip a switch on a device, even at great distances.” Portia crossed her arms in front of her too.

  “Well, as we’re about to lose the gadget in question, I guess whether it was activated by the Lost Language or not is merely by-the-by now,” I said, hotly.

  “As I said, nothing I can say or do will make a difference. We will have to drop that thread of investigation.” She didn’t let me say anything else because she was already walking toward the door.

  She turned on her heel at the last moment. “Tell the inspector that we need to have a meeting. The Custodians. Kitties, are you getting this? We need to meet and discuss what progress has been made at the bell, and what Shields’ men are up to on Cathedral. There’s much going on, and, now, more than ever, we can’t afford to rest on our laurels.”

  The door opened and closed in a flash, and Portia was gone.

  “Well, I guess that saved you a broom ride, huh, boss lady?” Shade said.

  “Yeah.” I was still trying to process everything that we’d just heard and seen, when Millie broke through my fog. “You should go, Hattie. I’ll take care of things here. You need to get to the station and help the chief out, if you can. I know we just heard a lot of stuff that you’ll need to ponder, but you need to go and help your man.”

  I bobbed my head. “You’re right,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Kitties, you be good for Millie. You too, Jetpack.” I looked directly at my zippy moggy who was, even now, inching his way along the shelves toward the catnip jar.

  “You know me boss, yep,” he beeped.

  With that, I set off on foot for GIPPD. I hoped I could assist my friend in any useful way possible.

  We were due for a break in this case, Goddessdammit. We NEEDED a break in this case.

  CHAPTER 10

  I wasn’t expecting the kerfuffle that had broken out around Desk Sergeant Spinefield’s desk as I pushed through the grimy glass doors of Gless Inlet Para Police Department.

  At least ten men crowded Spinefield’s workspace; all making phone calls, relaying frustrated remarks to the unseen ‘superiors’ on the other end of their lines. One of the suits had his hand under Spinefield’s nose, displaying an official badge of some kind. While, still others rustled government release papers under the desk sergeant’s chin. Spinefield was red faced, sweaty, and looking more than a little frazzled.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I have to wait for the chief. He’s the one that has to sign off on this,” he tried. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.

  I scanned the room looking for David, but couldn’t see my friend amid the jumble of official bodies, so I stepped closer until I was at the edge of the foray. I wanted to help Spinefield, but I had no business interfering. Goddess, these suits were annoying though.

  CPI Trew stepped through the locked door from the back of the station, Eve Fernacre at his side. Eve held an evidence bag at her side. She stared at the commotion in wide-eyed surprise. David glanced at me, and I shook my head to let him know that Portia didn’t come through for us.

  He ushered Eve forward. “Gentlemen, thanks so much for your patience,” he said to his sneering audience. “Eve here has the artifact you’re after. Eve?” The chief nodded at Fernacre, and the woman held out the bag. A suited gray arm snatched the baggie from the CPI's assistant, and a wave of jeers greeted the transaction.

  We were about to lose the one piece of evidence we could have really done with taking a closer look at. I guess we were too slow off the mark. But we were stretched so thin as it was, so it wasn’t a surprise that we were losing a thread of the investigation. We simply weren’t able to attend to matters sooner.

  I felt a nudge on my back and turned to see a radiant Carpathia Alecto. Her lips, painted a dark, glistening red, parted in an alluring smile, revealing a set of slick white teeth. Her flawlessly pale skin shimmered under the fluorescent lights of the station.

  “Carpathia,” I whispered. “What are you doing --”

  “I bumped into Portia Fearwyn.” Her smile broadened, exposing her frontal fangs. “No time to explain, please step aside, darling.”

  The vampire vixen wafted into the center of the gray swarm. She twirled, extending her arms and waving them gracefully, while her gauzy red dress billowed around her. “Gentlemen? I trust you know who I am?” She began. “I am Carpathia Alecto, Golden Chair of the Coven Isles Alchemical Society.”

  The men fell silent and stared at the ethereal woman. “As Golden Chair, I have supreme dominion over artifacts that contain any and all traces of metal. This device may not yet have been analyzed thoroughly, but it’s known that the item contains a metallic element. Therefore, it’s my duty as GC to scan the grenade’s interior myself, until I see fit to release the gadget to you ….bureaucratic beasties.” Carpathia elongated her neck and threw her head back. From her fish white throat crept the most gravelly laugh.

  The agents recoiled, and Carpathia shimmied over to the gray who had snatched the evidence baggie from Eve. “Ah, here we go,” she cooed, plucking the packet from the stunned man. “And, darling, how kind you are to have it ready for me like this!” She smiled sweetly at the open-mouthed government goon. “I’m sure you’d like to check with your superiors as to whether my actions here are permitted?” A plethora of smartphones bounced against so many ears as the suits called in the transgression.

  Carpathia stayed just long enough to watch the crestfallen faces of the Talisman agents. She had the power. The Talisman defense department knew it too if these goons’ faces were anything to go by.

  “Thank you so much for your cooperation, gentlemen, it really has been a pleasure,” she said, breezing past me. Carpathia gave me a crafty wink and floated out the door.

  I smiled to myself. I guess it was good to have friends in high places. Carpathia Alecto had taken over the prestigious Golden Chair position from Aurel Nugget after Aurel had been murdered by his long-time friend, Norris Copperhead.

  I caught David’s eye and shrugged. The chief beckoned me over.

  Spinefield, looking grateful for having escaped the ire of the operatives, came over to my friend and handed the chief a sheet of paper.

  “Chief, Shields’ assistant called in with the alibi list. Eve and I have already made our way through it; we’ve called everyone on here.”

  “And?” CPI Trew looked at Spinefield squarely.

  “He checks out, boss. Shields was with Senator Wolf until past three fifteen p.m. He’s clean,” the desk sergeant admitted.

  “Figures,” David breathed.

  With their phones still pressed to their ears, David, Eve and I left the Talisman agents behind and made our way into the heart of the station.

  “Hattie, hi,” Eve said warmly, finally having the opportunity to greet me. “That was pretty crazy, huh?”

  “Hi Eve, yeah, that was wild,” I offered. “Carpathia Alecto IS the Golden Chair, though, so nobody has the right to dispute her actions.”

  David’s assistant nodded. Then, stopping in the middle of the hallway, she said: “Chief, if it’s okay, I’m just going to grab my notes for this interview.”

  “Of course, Eve, take your time. Hattie and I will be in my office; we’ll wait for you there.”

  “Not the interrogation room?” She asked, a nervous chuckle adding a tremor to her words.

  “I don’t really see you as high risk, Eve,” David replied. “Ten minutes give you enough time?”

  “Plenty, see you in five,” she said and turned on her heel.

  “So was that Portia Fearwyn’s work back there?” David asked, looking at me with an unbearably cute grin.

  “According to Alecto, yup,” I said, smiling back at my friend. “I guess the Witch Fearwyn came through for us, afertall. And to think, I was so mad with her.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Hat. Me, o
n the other hand … well, she’ll probably hold this little favor over my head for years, knowing her,” David said, opening his office door. He motioned for me to take a seat to the side of him.

  “If you don’t wind her up, then maybe she’ll give you some breathing room, have you thought of that?” I teased. “But, listen, I have some exciting news for you,” I said leaning closer to my friend.

  I filled David in about Darkmore being Zinnie Kramp’s brother, and also that Portia had accused Ulrich of being an arms dealer. And, also what Portia had mentioned about the drifter and the possible use of the Lost Language as a method for activating the bomb. The chief was about to answer, but a knock at the door interrupted him.

  “Come in, Eve,” he said.

  “Hi, thanks, I just wanted to get all of the facts in order, you know?” Fernacre said, sitting down and placing a file folder on her knee.

  “I like that you’re this exacting, and have taken notes,” David praised. I must admit, I felt almost proud of Eve myself. You could tell she was trying to show her professionalism and expertise to the chief. And I’m sure David could see she was taking her duties seriously. I said a silent prayer for the woman, in the hopes that she would one day get a well-earned promotion.

  Eve Fernacre smiled and folded her hands over the binder.

  “Let’s just start with everything you know about Kramp and his stay here, does that sound good?” David asked.

  “Sure, no problem, sir,” Eve said. “Well, as you know I was assigned as Kramp’s intake officer. And, I guess, just by natural progression, it also became my duty to oversee Barnabus’ general well being while he was, uh… ‘staying’ with us.”

  I chuckled. “You make it sound like GIPPD is a hotel.”

  “Well, if I’m to be truthful, I think that Kramp pretty much used us as a hotel,” Eve said, leveling her gaze at me. “He had everything he needed, no, make that everything he wanted. As many visitors as he liked, the privilege of outside goods being brought in, including food items, electronic entertainment, unlimited phone calls, you name it, it was arranged for him.”