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  “You don’t draw blood for the flu,” I said, holding the vial up to the light.

  Cadence pushed herself up onto her elbows. “I am so glad to hear you say that.” Swinging her legs up onto my lap, she leaned forward, voice low. “This means that Dr. Merton had suspicions: suspicions that I’ve only had since your father’s death.”

  “What suspicions?”

  Folding herself even farther, Cadence sat up flush against me. “Don’t you find it strange that your father should be taken violently ill a day before he’s murdered?”

  “Are you saying–?” A coldness like melting ice spread over my skin. I squeezed her ankle. “You think they tried to poison him; that the murderer succeeded the second time but failed the first.”

  “It’s the most likely answer.”

  “What’s in the other vial?”

  “I’m not sure.” She shook the tube, watching the purple liquid slosh from side to side. “He had three or four of these; they were the only vials not marked. I figured it was worth a closer look; he shouldn’t miss it.”

  Nodding, I flexed my hand around the vial of blood, brow furrowing. “Poisoned – but with what? And how? We all ate the same food at dinner.”

  Cadence sat up, resting her elbows on her knees. “There has to be something only Felix consumed.”

  Though the both of us must have been going over the night of the party in our minds, Cadence had several core processors worth of speed over my own organic memory banks and got to the answer first, standing with a jolt.

  “Belinda’s cider!”

  We headed out to the kitchen without another word. Cadence pushed open the double doors, pausing on the threshold to ensure that no servants were around to hinder us. “Any idea what Belinda made the cider in?”

  I moved past her into the room, gaze trailing over the dishes strewn about. “She usually uses this big, iron pot; it’s old, the only one we have.”

  Opening and closing all the drawers we could find, we dug through sieves, pans, pots, and cutlery, all with no result. Cadence at last located the vessel in question shoved back on top of a cupboard. Climbing on to a chair, she dragged it down and handed it to me.

  Placing it on the preparation counter, we looked inside with bated breath. Cadence, her tongue held between her teeth, ran her finger along the bottom edge. When she drew it back, it was covered in tiny, granulated crystals, which caught the light in ways nothing edible should.

  She stepped to the cupboard behind us and picked up a spoon, scrapping the bottom of the pot and gathering up a good clump of the grit. I sat down, my head spinning.

  “Aunt Be couldn’t have poisoned the cider. It doesn’t make any sense.” Cadence grunted, focused on her new evidence. I slid farther down in the chair, my head bumping against the curved back. “There’s no reason she’d want to kill dad. Besides, any of us might have had a cup of that stuff and been killed as well. Aunt Be is a lot of things, but reckless isn’t one of them.”

  “I agree.” Cadence cupped a hand underneath the spoon. “But to know for sure, I’ll need a microscope, a computer with access to the vertex, and some time.”

  “To the shed, then.”

  I started forward, but Cadence pulled at my shoulder, stopping me. “No, it’s alright; I’ll go alone.”

  “I thought we were going to do this together, Cay!” I spread my arms out in front of me. “I need to know what’s going on!”

  “You will,” smiling, she held my face in her hand, tapping her strange rhythm against my skin. “I promise. But I need to be sure, okay? For your sake, I need to be sure.” She stepped around me and into the hall, leaving me behind without a glance.

  Beating back feelings of deepening foreboding, I wandered through the house, hands buried in my pockets, so absorbed in my own thoughts that I didn’t even hear Belinda call to me as I walked through the entryway.

  “Chance? Chance, there you are!” She stood above me on the landing, throwing a black shawl around her that accentuated her vibrant yellow jewelry. “You’ve been quite invisible today; busy with work?”

  “Something like that.” I smiled, but it shrunk under the memory of what had just passed. Examining the middle-aged woman above me, I stepped up the first few stairs. “Aunt Be? Do you remember the night of the party, you made some of your special cider?”

  Belinda drew back at the question, brows jutting upward as she moved to the top of the stairs. “Certainly I do, pet. It was as much of a flop as it always is.” Scowling, she ran her hand over her hair, piled high on her head. “I can never get the cinnamon quite right…”

  “Yes, well,” I cleared my throat, looking away from her, “while you were making it, do you remember anyone hanging around? Watching you maybe?”

  “No, no one. Most of the servants were still downstairs, waiting to clear up from dinner.” Belinda started down the stairs. “You should have a talk with them, you know. I had to wash the pot out myself and everything; very lazy of them to leave it there.”

  “I’ll be sure to mention something to them. So, no one tried to help you, or add anything to the cider?”

  She let out a scoff, grinning and reaching out to me as she stepped down the last stair which separated us. “Help me with the cider – it’s my recipe, love! No one knows what goes in it but me. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh,” I shook my head, taking her by the shoulders and kissing her cheek, “it’s nothing, Aunt Be. Just a stupid idea I had. I haven’t been thinking very clearly lately. This whole thing is so bizarre. Who would want to kill Dad? And why was he acting so strange? Did you know,” I turned to her, almost managing a sincere smile, “that Desdemona saw him going to bed at eleven o’clock the night he died? When he was always such a night owl!”

  Belinda shook her head, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “He had been sick, dear.” She wrapped her arm through mine, hugging it to herself as we walked down the stairs. “I saw him going up at that time myself. After my headache passed, I stopped off in the library to get a cube to read and your father was just leaving.”

  She stopped at the foot of the stairs, turning to look me full in the face. Her lips quivered as she caressed my cheeks. “You are so handsome, Chance. You get that from your father, you know.”

  I took one of her hands in my own, returning her smile. “Really? I always thought I looked more like mum.”

  Belinda pulled back, sputtering out laughter. “Oh, tosh! Verity was pretty in an old-fashioned sort of way, I suppose, but you,” she poked her finger into my chest, “you look just like your father did when he was your age.” Looking me up and down, she clapped her hands together and sighed. “No wonder your mother stole him away! Who could resist?”

  I cocked my head to one side, eyes narrowing. “Stole?”

  “Didn’t your father ever tell you how he and your mother met?” I shook my head, and she threw her hands up into the air, lips pursing. “I’m the one who introduced them! We were dating at the time.”

  “You and Dad?” I was quick to snap my gaping mouth shut.

  “Just casually, the way you do at university. I introduced him to Verity, and they just clicked right away; you could see it.” Her gaze focused somewhere above my head. “It was all for the best, of course. Your father and I became too good of friends to be married.”

  Fiddling with her university ring, diamond shapes with nautili in the centers ringing the band, she spun it round her digit, voice quavering. “Now, they’re both gone – my two best friends in the world.”

  I saw the tears in her eyes before she realized they were there and pulled her into my embrace, kissing her forehead. “Aunt Be, please; please don’t cry.” She snuffled into my chest, and I closed my eyes, so thankful that I had someone like her in my life. “It’ll be alright; I know it.”

  She wrapped her arms around me, rubbing my back as she cried. “I love you so much, Chance.” She pulled away and stared up at me, all joy gone from her face, her lips a taut line. “I’m
not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “Aunt Be,” I frowned, wrinkling my nose. “I’m the head of the household now, remember? You’re supposed to let me take care of you.”

  The evening passed and Cadence remained unseen. The worry that had started festering grew from an idle concern at the back of my mind to a constant throb, never leaving me in peace. After dinner, Victoria attempted to engage me in conversation, squeezing and petting my thigh, but that night she wasn’t just inconsequential and boring, but irritating.

  Abandoned to my brooding, the rest of the night ticked away, until I gave up on my dove and trudged off to bed. I decided to read for a while, hopeful that a story cube would turn my mind away from dark mysteries for a time. Stealing into the library, I was startled to find Solomon still awake, the only person besides myself to still be so. We exchanged a few pleasantries, but seeing he was still hard at work, I tried not to bother him, wandering through the shelves and, on a whim, picking up the book copy of The Wind in the Willows that father used to read to me.

  I closed the door to my rooms and walked to the bed, flipping through the book’s thick pages. Tossing it onto my pillow, I had started to undress when I spied a small docu-chip sitting on my floor. I picked it up but was halted from examining it further by a knock at the door.

  Cadence slipped in, not waiting for my assent to enter, and leaned back against the door, forcing it shut, hands trapped under her hips. She stared at me, tapping her fingers against the wood. “I need to talk to you.”

  I sighed, lowering myself onto the bed and untying my shoes. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “I don’t think you’d want me to.”

  “Alright,” I pulled my socks off, tossing them to the other side of the bed before standing. “Let me get changed, then we’ll talk.”

  Cadence nodded. Turning my back to her, I unbuttoned my shirt, waiting for the door to open and close before undressing further.

  The room remained silent. I cast a wary glance over my shoulder. Cadence, lounging against the door, her eyes glazed over, still watched me. I jerked my head towards the door. “I meant we’d talk in your room.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Okay?”

  She made no move to leave. My mouth hung open, fingers frozen on the button of my cuff before I turned back to the task at hand with a sharp shake. Pulling my shirt off my shoulders, I smiled. “Is it customary on Whiston to watch people undressing?”

  “I suppose so. I never really thought of it as a custom, though.”

  Walking to the bed and dropping my shirt on it, I faced my companion with an amused grimace. Cadence sighed, pushing away from the door and crossing the room. She picked up my shirt with two fingers and moved it to one side, sitting. “I know what you look like under those clothes, basically. And you know what I look like under mine, essentially. So, what’s the point in acting all uptight about it?”

  I wanted to reply with something about human shame and dignity, but the whole concept was so alien to her that I didn’t say anything at all, pulling my thin undershirt up over my head with a grunt.

  Cadence scooted towards the top of the bed, nose wrinkling. “Seems like a bunch of fuss over nothing.”

  I tried not to smirk as I undid my belt. “That depends on whom you’re looking at.”

  Her lips curled up into a small smile as she brushed hair out of her eyes. My movements slowed as I pulled my belt free of my trousers, my eyes trailing over her as they had on the AN-GRAV.

  “So, does this mean that I can wander into your room and watch you undress?” Cadence offered no initial response to my query. She leaned back on the bed and my blood started pounding in my ears. “And you wouldn’t scream or anything?”

  “Well,” Cadence’s eyes met mine as she shifted her weight against the mattress, “you couldn’t make me scream just by watching.”

  I could have had her right then and there. But like so many of the things I wanted, it was not to be. A loud crash from downstairs made us both jump, followed by heavy thuds and then a cry that reverberated through the silent house.

  “Help! Somebody! Help!”

  Cadence had already turned the doorknob before the first ‘help’ had finished sounding. I scooped my undershirt up off the floor and followed her. Belinda stood at the top of the landing, dressing gown clutched around her, and she rushed down the stairs ahead of us, our own foot falls close behind.

  Recognizing the voice of panic, I called out “Solomon!” as we rounded the stairs. A shout of recognition sounded to our left and we scrambled towards the kitchen, a flurry of limbs. Two pairs of feet stuck out from the doorway and my heart stopped beating. When we reached the room, the sight that assailed us was unbearable.

  Solomon leaned over the motionless body of his wife, her light blue nightgown torn as if from a struggle, her eyes closed. He pulled away when we entered; his face upturned, the tracks of his tears plain, but not as distinct as the angry red marks which scored Minerva’s fragile neck.

  Even before Solomon shouted, “Get the doctor!” the sound of running from down the hall reached us.

  Henry, the first through the door, shoved me out of the way as he collapsed beside his mother. “Mum!” He held her face in his hands. “Mum!” Bending down, he put his ear at her lips. “She’s not breathing!”

  “Move, move!” Dr. Merton pushed his way into the room, forcing the two men away from Minerva. Frazzled, still in his sleeping clothes, his skin paler than his patient’s, but his arms and cheeks were as red as her neck. He knelt onto the floor and began pulling things out of his medical bag, vials, bandages, and syringes spilling out until he found the small respirator.

  Lifting Minerva’s head off the ground, he slipped the plastic mask over her face, tugging it over her nose and mouth. That done, he put two fingers against her neck and waited. Frown deepening, he started pumping her chest with both hands. “What in god’s name happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Solomon’s voice was hollow. Still on the floor, angled out of the way, he stared at his wife, face drawn in horror. “I was heading towards our rooms and I heard a noise. I came to see what it was–someone ran past me. Then I…is she going to be alright?”

  The doctor was silent. He checked her pulse and his chin fell to his chest. Removing the mask, he nodded, replacing his tools in his bag. “I hope so; we won’t know for sure until she wakes up. We need to get her to a hospital as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll call an ambulance,” Victoria offered. I hadn’t even noticed her enter the room behind me, but I heard her as she left and begin dialing on the main phone.

  My eyes met Cadence’s; she pulled at her lips with her fingertips. She stepped out of the room and around the doorframe. I followed her, my heart sitting at the bottom of my stomach like a stale piece of bread.

  Leaning against the wall outside, Cadence’s eyes were downcast, her face looking sick in the dim light.

  “Cadence, what the hell is going on in this house?”

  “I…” She swallowed several times before shaking her head. “…I have no idea.”

  “But you said–!”

  “I was wrong!” She pushed her hands back through her hair, shaking her head. “I must have been wrong.”

  19

  Chapter 19

  The ambulance arrived in minutes, and with it, the EO. Displaced from the kitchen, we settled into the sitting room to await instructions. Brisbois’ stare was even grimmer than before, face unshaven and hair a disheveled mess. He began his customary rounds of questioning but approached the situation with a different tenor than before. The first few witnesses were in and out of the study in less than twenty minutes. He hadn’t even gotten to Cadence or me before he strode into the sitting room, unclipping his restraints from his belt.

  “Mr. Solomon Davers?”

  Solomon stepped forward from beside the door where he had been hovering. Clearing his throat, Brisbois turned towards him with a firm nod. “Mr. Davers, I am
arresting your physical and mental person under Article 9.86 of the Enforcement Act for the attempted murder of Mrs. Minerva Davers.”

  On their feet in an instant, everyone cried out; everyone except Solomon, who remained dumbstruck as Brisbois turned him around and activated the restraints onto his wrists.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Brisbois continued as if he hadn’t noticed the kerfuffle, although two EO officers stepped into the room behind him, attuned to brewing trouble, “but if you do not tell us something you later rely on in court, that evidence may be deemed inadmissible. You have the right to a lawyer of your choice for representation, from either the public or the private sector.”

  “Inspector! You–you can’t be serious!”

  Brisbois looked at me, brow furrowing as he frowned. “I am serious, very serious. Or does me putting this man in restraints and reading him his rights confuse you somehow?”

  “Please,” Solomon called over his shoulder as he was led out by the officers, “you’re making a mistake!”

  We all followed, rushing through the hallway like a waterfall through a narrow gorge, emptying out into the entryway in a cascade of sound. Henry pushed his way to the front of the group, protesting his father’s innocence, only to have an EO officer block his path and shove him back.

  “Solomon,” I pulled Henry away, forcing him behind me and out of any further trouble. “I’ll post whatever bail they ask for; don’t say a thing!”

  The poor man’s walk to the front door was interrupted by the ambulance crew sweeping by with Minerva, suspended on top of a stretcher, her head bouncing from side to side. They knocked over one of the potted plants sitting by the door in their haste, but Cadence managed to right it, digging her hand into the base to keep it steady. Solomon was thrust out after the stretcher, begging to know how his wife fared, but to no avail.

  I locked eyes with Brisbois, anger boiling up in me as I tightened my hand into a fist.

  “Inspector, please,” Cadence stepped in front of me, putting herself between the two of us. “I don’t wish to question your authority on this matter; but Solomon has become a friend to me since I’ve arrived, and I know he’s very dear to everyone here. How can you arrest him for this crime so quickly?”