“It’s tenuous at best, David. All we know for sure is that Aurel talked to Portia about the Fae.”
“And the Wyrmrig,” David countered, finally rising from his desk. “Moreover, they are talking about these things the night before Aurel winds up dead? You can’t tell me that this was just an innocent alignment of circumstances.” Please don’t let react and do something stupid.
“You know that I don’t think it is,” I said, feeling dread at where he was going with this line of thought. “But it’s still a pretty big leap from what we have to Portia being the murderer.”
“Which is why we are going to pay Gaunt Manor a visit this evening,” David said, grabbing his broom from the corner.
Why do I have to be so right all the time? “Without a warrant? Without backup?”
“Well, if you’ll come along, you can be my backup. Might want to get a couple of your more useful kitties too just to make sure that we—.”
“David! Leaving aside the fact that any evidence you find will be tainted by this highly illegal search you’re about to execute, Portia Fearwyn can and has made trespassers disappear for just such a transgression. And she’s already not too fond of you.”
I might as well have talked to a brick wall. “I need answers, Hattie, and I need them now.”
I blew out an irritated breath. “Will you at least give me time to get back to the shop so I can prepare for the worst?”
“Hey, I told you to pick up the kitties, right? See you in the skies in half an hour.”
I did my best to ignore my churning gut as I exited the station house. Here I thought that I’d close my evening by helping Artemus finish up Norris Copperhead’s order, cuddle with my kitties and try to find sleep after the exhausting day I’d had. Instead, I was about to go on a fool’s errand with my hunky but stubborn would-be boyfriend who was about to piss off one of the scariest women on the Isles.
Chapter Thirteen
“I still say this is a seriously bad idea,” Fraidy said, snuggled inside my jacket as we zoomed over the eerie Gorthland landscape.
“For once, no one disagrees with you, bro” Midnight said from his perch on the broom thatch. “Even my lemure contacts would think twice about this kind of run, and they have demons for bosses.”
“So what are YOU doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be resting up? I mean, you’re sick from the balefire beacon, right?” Fraidy responded. He’d been brought up to date with all of our suspicions and was accompanying us on this nerve-wracking visit to Portia’s once more.
Midnight’s voice hardened into steel. “Oh, I’m sick, alright…sick of watching the world go topsy-turvy. Sick of people I care about getting hurt. Sick of all the Fae mischief, sick of being awake all day long. Sick of --”
“Okay, Middie. Point taken.” I chimed in, seeing Gaunt Manor just ahead.
“Still,” my night prowling kitty remarked. “It’s kinda cool being on this adventure, instead of just hearing about through local magical gossip circles.”
I smiled at the thought. That was exactly the way I’d felt when I started as herbal consultant for David on the murders that had ripped their way through the Coven Isles. It still had its tense moments, but deep down, something about these investigations was very enlivening, to say the least.
The dowsing rod I’d tied to the front of the broom was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane as we neared our landing spot. I steered the front into a mini-arc to find a dry patch of land. When the rod finally stopped vibrating, I knew I’d found the right spot.
As we came down to terrafirma, David hit the ground with a wet plop. The noise agitated the local wildlife enough to raise the noise level for a minute. Um, perhaps the divining rod wasn’t quite up to scratch.
“Smooth,” Midnight grumbled, jumping off the broom. “Like that time a giant friend of mine thought he could tiptoe through a sleeping village and not be heard.”
Fraidy didn’t say anything, just kept darting his head around to make sure nothing was coming for us.
“Anything lying in wait for us out there, Fraidy?” I asked quietly.
Fraidy shook his head. “It’s about as quiet and safe as it’s going to get. Not that we were that quiet after the Chief’s klutzy landi—“
“Okay, so I made a mistake,” David hissed impatiently. “It happens. Now, can we make our little home invasion happen before Portia figures out we’re out here?”
“She might already know.”
Once again, my least-brave feline had said something no one could really disagree with. Portia did have a way of knowing we were coming whenever we showed up on her doorstep.
Holding my broom in front of us, I used the divining rod to steer us towards dryish patches of ground on our approach to Gaunt Manor.
Looking at the crumbling edifice in front of us, I found myself questioning Midnight’s assertion that Gaunt Manor looked twice as bad as in daylight. It looked like the House of Usher’s more carnivorous cousin, ready to swallow up any trespassers, perhaps without even bothering to spit out their bones.
I figured there was no point sneaking around, so I marched straight up to the foreboding oak door and knocked.
“Hattie!” David hissed, trying to grab my arm. He nearly wound up tripping over Midnight for his trouble.
“Would you please watch where you’re stepping?” Midnight hissed in irritation. I ignored the commotion and turned back to the door. Maybe Portia would still tell us to get lost, but I think she’d be more inclined to forgive an uninvited visit than a full-fledged break-in.
I tried knocking again. Still no answer. A third attempt later, I stood back and sighed heavily.
“Maybe she’s waiting to spring an ambush on us,” Fraidy said, nestling up to his brother as close as he could possibly get.
David brushed past me and tried to pull the door open. It didn’t budge. He tried pushing against it this time, but still, the door did not move.
“You think she’s asleep?” David asked, giving me a sideways glance.
“I’m not sure that woman ever sleeps,” I said, looking at the door like I was contemplating the mysteries of the universe. “She could be at that offsite of hers on the other end of the swamp.”
David shrugged. “Well, seeing as she’s not answering, I guess it’s back to Plan A. We break in.”
The Chief tiptoed over to the closest window to the door; a cathedral-sized monster, criss crossed with lead piping. He was just about to put his elbow through it when Fraidy hissed at him. “Brigid, Chief, don’t you see the Futhark?!”
I caught a little blue glow just below the window sill, Crouching down, I found a glowing set of runes spelling out the word “hydra.” David knelt down and peered at the ancient symbols. “Let me guess…the second I so much as crack the glass—“
“We’ll be dealing with a very large, unpleasant swamp monster that can and will swallow us whole,” I warned him in a low voice. I smirked then. Just like Portia to invoke something as fierce as a Hydra in her protection magic. In our last case together, David and I had come face to face with a huldra. While a huldra bares no relation to a hydra (a huldra is a cow,), we had discussed the hydra in a routine interview with Portia. She must have remembered our conversation and decided that a hydra was a great creature to resurrect if you wanted to scare someone off your property. You had to hand it to her; Lady Fearwyn did have a sense of humor. Albeit warped.
“C’mon, David. I know how eager you are for answers but if you’re going to break into Portia’s home, is it worth being torn to pieces for?”
“Yeah, Chief. You might wanna sleep with the fishes tonight, but I do not!” Fraidy whined looking out over the bog where the hydra likely slept.
“Bro,” Midnight stared at his trembling sibling. “Mind not using the “s” word right now? I’m a little sensitive about it.”
“Sorry, Middie.” Fraidy offered.
Midnight tapped a loving paw a couple of times on Fraidy’s head and then moved c
loser to the warning runes for a closer look.
“Elegant,” my kitty observed of the secret symbols. “Almost like musical notes.” Midnight raised a paw to his chin and narrowed his eyes in thought.
“I’ve got an idea.” He announced, and starting on my left side; he drew a circle in the muddy earth.
“What are you gonna do, Middie?” Fraidy’s eyes followed his brother’s every move.
“You’ll see,” Midnight assured him as he kept up his dirt drawing. He was inside the circle now, making curious scratch marks with surprisingly artistic flair. He was whistling while he worked.
“Okay, just a few more strokes here, “ my mud-raking kitty suggested, using delicate claw strokes now to complete his work of art.
I bent closer to the strange markings. I couldn’t understand what they meant, although they did seem vaguely familiar, like …
“Bran the Blessed!” I nearly jumped out of my skin as a grotesquely warty troll popped from the center of Midnight’s mystical circle.
“What the Brigid?!” David reeled backward, nearly tripping over Fraidy, who was trying to run for cover under the nearby pokeberry bush.
The creature’s mouth was wide open, his bottom lip like glistening liver, dangling and quivering in what resembled a smile. His one tooth was the size of a tombstone jutting out from a cavernous black maw of a mouth. Under the troll’s lumpy arm, there was what looked like an ancient musical instrument.
“Guys. Please.” Midnight said resignedly shaking his head. “It’s just Rak. He owes me a solid, so I’ve just brought him here to even the score.” My kitty said far too casually for my liking.
“Bringing a troll here isn’t the most delicate of moves, bud,” David said, wiping his hand over his face.
“He’s gonna make a lot of noise! We’re all gonna be HYDRAted!” Screamed the pokeberry bush with a bustling rustle.
“Well, he IS gonna make some noise, it’s true. But, Rak here’s gonna make the exact kind of noise we need right now.” Midnight turned to the troll. “Rak, take it away.”
In a flourish of movement, the troll took his musical instrument from under his arm and, laid it on his lap, and began delicately plucking at the strings. Strange music swam in the air and reaching my ears it made me feel a little giddy. If I thought the creature might have been smiling earlier, then it was nothing on this behemoth of a grin he sported now.
“It’s a Zither. The only music that’ll keep a hydra in its sleeping state,” Midnight declared matter of factly. “Rak’ll keep this up for as long as necessary, but I suggest we get on with it.
Inside Gaunt Manor, I couldn’t help but luxuriate a little at the feeling of dry ground under my feet. Even if my feet were soaking wet.
None of us speaking, we tiptoed across the floorboards of the parlor we had just broken into. We took it slow, holding our breath with every step.
Fraidy cocked his head to the side. “You hear that?”
We all four stopped in our tracks, ears pricked, shoulders on high alert. Nothing. We continued tiptoeing, passing the dingy old oil paintings of Portia’s ancestor’s on our path toward the kitchen and the cellar door.
“Yuck!” Fraidy winced, looking up at the faded canvases, his teeth chattering. “Look how much old lady Fearwyn’s relatives look like her.” My timid cat stopped under a picture of a boy of perhaps ten years old. His face seemed ancient though. Ancient and tired, and exactly like Portia’s. I shivered.
“Totally!” Midnight agreed with his brother. “Check this one out,” he said pausing at a portrait of a stern-looking ‘Nostromo Fearwyn.’ Midnight chuckled. “Looks like Portia in drag.”
Even Fraidy tittered at that. I leaned in and peered at the proud looking Nostromo. Lifesize, standing regally, all in black, leaning on a robust looking umbrella.
“I see what you mean. He does look like Por --” The figure walked out of the painting, tossing aside the umbrella as it climbed from the frame. Time slowed to a frightful sluggishness. The only thing that went fast at that moment was the streak of black fur that rocketed skyward to the ceiling, and was now hanging from the chandelier.
“I am very much within my rights to kill every last one of you for breaking and entering. Or is it trespassing?” Nostromo began in a distinctly female voice. “Tell me, did you secure that warrant, CPI Trew?”
David was as white as the driven snow. He blinked a few times and took a deep breath.
“Portia.”
My head snapped toward Nostromo Fearwyn, and, yep, it was definitely Portia.
“I have something I didn’t have before, Ms. Fearwyn,” David said, keeping his eyes glued to the angry witch. “Probable cause.”
Portia looked amused by his flimsy answer. “Which is?”
“That last conversation you had with Aurel Nugget the night he died,” David said, his voice getting louder with each word. “That was a bit of a glaring omission on your part, wouldn’t you say? Did you think we wouldn’t find out?” My gorgeous friend had a rather smarmy smirk plastered to his face. Such was the one-up-manship between these two.
“Plus, there’s the balefire beacon,” I blurted out, hoping it’d disrupt the rhythm of the confrontation I felt was looming.
Portia’s eyes narrowed into flinty hardness. “Who told you that?” She barked.
Not wanting to get into the whole Carpathia situation, I answered, “We found a sticky note in Aurel’s lab that mentioned it: ‘Beckoning Balefire Brings Bitter Bounties.’”
I realized then that the words on the note didn’t actually contain the one prominent word we needed: Beacon. Which told Portia that I was being fed information from a source other than this cryptic note. I had to remain truthful and trustworthy to my sources at all costs though, so there was no way I was going to tell her about Carpathia.
Portia’s shoulders sank. Glancing at each of us in turn, she looked at the ceiling, shaking her head, announcing: “What am I thinking?”
I felt a buzz of excitement. She was on the cusp of sharing some information with us.
“Why don’t you tell us, Ms. Fearwyn?” David rebuked, poking the bear again. I groaned inwardly.
Portia walked away, striding vigorously toward the kitchen and the basement door.
“Well? Are you coming or not?” She shrilled. David shrugged his shoulders at me, Fraidy dropped from the chandelier onto my shoulder, and we followed our persnickety host down the stairs of the basement.
The flush steel door that we had wondered so much about over the last few weeks slid open in a rush of pneumatic air. Portia waved us inside impatiently. We were standing in a full-spectrum lighting, state-of-the-art lab. Like Maude’s, but seemingly twenty or so years in the future. A maze of fiber optics and tiny steel and glass beakers and receptacles filled every bit of available space. A stainless steel counter, big enough to fit a medium-sized boat stood in the center of the room, currently clear of all equipment. The lab was covered in sticky notes, and on closer inspection, I could see that the handwriting on these scraps of paper matched Aurel Nugget’s. So he WAS here then? Detailed maps of the Coven Isles decorated the walls, with one big overview map dominating the center stage. Locations on each of the maps had been marked by a blood-red inky ‘X.’ My eyes fell to the door we’d just passed through, and I spotted a seal. A kite shield with an open eye stood in front of a pair of crossed swords. Just below the eye was the Latin motto: Semper Vigilio: “Always Watching.”
As soon as the door shut behind us, Portia said, “Welcome to the regional headquarters of the Custodians. And before you ask the obvious inane question, CPI Trew, yes, I mean the same Custodians referenced in Aurel’s final sticky note.”
“So the Custodians are a real outfit, then?” David asked. “And getting their backs scratched by the suits on Talisman too?” He finished with a curled lip.
“Yes, we are a real ‘outfit,’ as you say. And, Talisman is there to facilitate our progress, it’s true. Legal immunity is a small price
to pay when it comes to guarding the world as we know it against the likes of another Warlock War.” Portia paused, looking to both David and I. “You’ll find that this effort is supported by the highest in power. Although nobody knows of the Custodian’s existence, I’m sure I don’t have to try and convince you that this matter is at the top of our Homeland Affairs agenda?”
“Hey, isn’t that right about where we found that portal-gate-thingy on Cathedral?” Fraidy asked, interrupting hooman interactions. He was pointing his right front paw at the overview map.
Portia nodded and walked over to the chart depicting Cathedral Isle. “They’re all over, as you can see. We can barely keep up.”
Walking over to the Glessie map, I recognized another location. “That’s where the Fae put up a portal around the Mutley Crew offices,” I said. If you remember Spithilda Roach was the biggest patron and benefactor to the Mutley Crew organization. Her charity was so well received, in fact, that her own sister had her killed so that she could get her hands on ALL of Spithilda’s charitable donations.
Studying the overview map, David pointed to Crow Isle. “That’s where we found the Besnick henchmen’s bodies.” I shuddered. That wasn’t a pleasant day. It was during Druida Stone’s murder investigation that Portia and I, under a cloud of noxious gas and particles, discovered the blackened bodies of Strands Kingpin’s, Milosh Besnick’s, security guards.
“We have reason to believe it all connects,” Portia said. “In fact, it was that gruesome find on Crow that convinced me that the Unseelie Fae Court is planning something much bigger, and much more terrible than their usual brand of Fairy mischief.”
“And who specifically is ‘we’” David asked, looking to Portia for answers regarding the Custodians.
“You and I are not there yet. I cannot divulge our currently active agents.”
“What about inactive agents?” I asked. “WAS there anyone in the custodians that we might have known?”
Portia gave the question some careful thought and breathed out her response in a whisper, “Druida Stone.”
A Spell in Mag Mell (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 5) Page 12