My kitties purred. The loudest I’d ever heard them purr. I felt each isolated vibration from deep within their bodies. Fraidy’s rumblings vibrated through my head, into my face, down my neck and flowed in pulsing streams around my heart. The seven cats at my feet pressed their faces against my legs and purred their healing purr in concert until the vibration traveled upward through my body to where Fraidy’s purr resonated. I felt like a tuning fork, but the Infiniti’s rumblings brought me a sense of calm that only the most healing kind of magic could provide.
Keeping his wand held high, David shouted to me. “Can you see him? Can you see Orville?”
I squinted through the threads of protective light for the unfortunate teen. I couldn’t see him. I turned my attention back to the spinning device. The black diamond, having spent its lurid green energy, slowed in its revolutions and fell, like a dead raven, to the ground.
We said nothing for a few seconds; just held our wands upward and kept our magic flowing into the dome that had no doubt just saved our lives.
Portia tracked her head in a slow, smooth line; left then right. She turned, looked at us, and held up her hand. She made the same fluid tracking movement with her head, and then the Witch Fearwyn lowered her wand hand.
“We’re safe,” she said.
“Orville,” I choked on his name.
Portia’s beady black eyes glistened. She turned her head, but not before I saw a solitary plump tear fall down her cheek.
She saw what happened to him.
There were no words needed. We all knew Orville was dead. Gone. A young and promising life snuffed out without warning, and in a senselessly violent manner.
Verdantia and Hinrika held one another. I watched as the two fairies cried into the other’s shoulder.
Practically dragging his feet, David walked over and wrapped his arms around me. I could feel his body trembling against mine as his face pressed into my hair. I pushed into him, hugging him as tightly as my strength would allow, feeling the taut ladder of muscles along his spine. He pulled me in, holding the back of my head with one hand, and his other strong hand pressing on my back. My kitties purred on. Pouring their love, peace, and strength into me.
Keeping my face pressed against David’s chest, I could hear the Witch Fearwyn’s labored breathing as she tried to steady her respiration.
Finally, she spoke. “Chief Para Inspector Trew, take everyone inside, and then join me out here immediately,” she snapped. My friend pushed me gently away, and I caught sight of Portia; her shoulders hunched up around her ears. Her eyes seethed with black rage. I watched as she clenched and unclenched her hands until they came to rest as tight fists at her sides.
“Portia, I want to help … I can --”
“Now, please, CPI Trew.” The Witch Fearwyn ignored my plea, and David pushed gently on my lower back once more; nudging the kitties with his feet as we trudged back to the porch of Gaunt Manor.
I looked up into my friend’s eyes. “David, please,” I begged. “Let me stay out here and help you find Orville.”
The chief stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “Hat, you heard Portia. Go inside, okay? Just for now. Just until we can make sure the area is secure. I need to call my men ... the place will be swarming soon. Go inside with Hinrika and Vee, and we’ll be in just as soon as we have everything under control.” He passed a hand over his face. His bloodshot eyes seemed to have sunk ever-deeper into his shaded sockets. He offered me a wan smile, and with that, the man I loved joined the Witch Fearwyn to investigate the murderous diamond device and to find the body of our friend and fellow Custodian, Orville Nugget.
Chapter Three
“The area’s clear, Chief. Want us to put the weapon in evidence until you return to the station? Or ship it to Talisman right away?” Constable Smallbridge perched himself on the edge of Portia’s dining table and looked at the chief.
“Very good, Smallbridge,” David said. “Take it to the station for now. Leave it with Spinefield … he’ll know what to do with it. I’ll inform Talisman once I’ve had a chance to look at it properly.” Smallbridge nodded and pushed back from the table. “And the body, sir?” I noticed the constable looked at his shoes as he asked the tough question. The vibration of my phone interrupted the chief’s response. Reverend Peacefield’s name flashed on the call display. I ended the call quickly, pocketed the phone and gave my friend a quick nod.
He looked at Smallbridge. “Call the coroner’s office,” David said, keeping his voice level. “Hector Muerte and his men can pick up the …” The chief cleared his throat. “Hector will take care of Orville. Tell Maude that I’ll be over to see her just as soon as I can.” The constable nodded, and, in low whispers, he ushered the rest of David’s men to the door. Smallbridge looked back. “Chief, if there’s anything else I can do … anything at all …” the constable shook his head, gave his boss one last apologetic glance, and crept out the door. David waited until the latch clicked, and then turned toward us. He gave Portia a tiny nod, and the Witch Fearwyn moved into the middle of the room. She folded her arms and pressed her lips together until they formed a hard white line. “We have lost a brother and a friend today,” she began. Fresh sobs from Hinrika and Verdantia. At least they had the kitties surrounding them now. Maybe the faeries would benefit from the same state of calm I felt while our friend was being crucified by the green-lit gem. A flash of guilt lit up in my stomach.
“Orville Nugget will be remembered by us all. His dutiful and impeccable work ethic for the Custodians shall never be….” Portia’s shoulders heaved as her breathing became more labored. She stomped her foot. “By Brigid! Orville Nugget’s death will be avenged!” Her tiny, bird-like eyes sparkled with bright fury. “Shields won’t get away with this. This is war!” She spat.
“Mrs. Fearwyn, please,” David said, resting a tentative hand on the old witch’s shoulder. Portia shrugged it off immediately and folded her arms again. The chief sighed and ran a hand through his white-streaked hair. The pigmentation loss appeared about four months ago now. It wasn’t there one day, and there the next. My friend had dissuaded me from asking too many questions about it, but the shock of white hair had arrived at about the same time as David’s other freaky symptoms had shown up. He was unwell; that much was true. And it was mine and Portia’s belief that he was being controlled like nothing more than a puppet on a string. The puppeteer? Gideon Shields, of course. The suave governor of picturesque Cathedral Isle, and newly appointed Chief Warlock to boot, had been on our (that is, the Custodians) radar for some time now. But the slimy politician came up squeaky clean every time we investigated him. The same was not true for his close circle of confidants and advisors, however. Oh, no, the governor’s’ inner circle of the self-built cabal had fallen one by one, in fact. Funny how Shields’ closest allies turned out to be so dirty, while the governor’s reputation remained impeccably clean. It was evident that Gideon Shields didn’t mind who he took down in the process of doing his evil deeds; even if it was his closest friends. As long as the governor kept his name and his honor unblemished along the way, he thrived.
“We need to keep a clear head here,” David finished, dropping himself onto a dining chair.
Portia said nothing. She stared at a spot on the floor, keeping her lips tight.
“You tryin’ to say that slimeball governor ain’t behind this carnage, Chief?” Shade said, his fur on end. My nice-guy kitty’s eyes were as black as deep space.
“What I’m saying, moggie,” David said, “Is revenge doesn’t belong here.”
“Okay, great, so no revenge, got it,” Gloom said. My female cat sat like a loaf of bread on Verdantia’s lap, staring at the chief. “So how do we kill Shields?”
“Gloom!” I gasped. I could barely believe my ears. “Honey, don’t ever let me hear you talk like that again. You hear me?” I bent forward from the waist to make sure my snarky cat could see my face and how serious I was. Gloom turned her head away from me.
“How could he have known? How could Shields have known the Custodians were all together tonight?” Verdantia stroked Gloom’s head, but the elven beauty’s eyes were empty windows as she posed her question.
“I don’t know, Vee,” David said. “But you can probably appreciate just how lucky we were.”
A bolt of livid fire shot through my body. “Lucky?!” I shrieked, taking a step toward my friend. “We’ve just lost Orville, in case you didn’t notice.” The hot tears began their well-traveled descent down my cheeks. “Tell us how it’s lucky to have the death of a talented, respected, well-loved young man on our hands. Please, go right ahead.”
“Hat,” the chief tried.
“Dear Hattie,” Onyx said, trotting over to join me. My wise cat began to knead the uppers of my shoes. “What I think Chief Para Inspector Trew is trying to say is the body count could have been far more … ahh, significant, had the Witch Fearwyn not summoned the Geodysia spell.”
“It’s true, boss,” Midnight said, joining his brother in the bread-making. “My bet is Shields wanted us all fried by that pukey-green-rock-thing. Thanks to Portia’s magic dome, I reckon we probably got off lightly.”
Hinrika let out a warbling sob. The faery queen stuffed a string of Icelandic licorice into her mouth and dragged a sleeve of fine lilac silk across her nose. I could see her tears had made clean rivulets through her blackened lips only to fall in dark droplets onto her exquisite ball gown. Whatever the occasion, formal dance or a walk through a muddy cow field, the eccentric faery liked to dress in expensive frocks. In Hinrika’s world, high quality Icelandic licorice and fabulous party wear reigned supreme.
From his spot on the table, Fraidy nudged my arm. “I don’t get why we didn’t point our magic at that device, though,” he complained. “I mean, why didn’t we blow it up while he had the chance? Orville could still be alive if we had turned our magic on that gizmo instead of making a … a … tent.”
My scaredy-cat’s line of questioning made me see, though. Suddenly, Portia’s instructions for creating the shield and not to attack the device, made sense. She knew we needed to stay safe. The Custodians needed to live. Because we were the only chance the Coven Isles -- and maybe even the world -- had for a secure and safe future for humans, paranormals and pixies alike. Our collective safety is paramount.
And, anyway, open-firing your magic at an unknown spinning entity is likely a bad idea in the first place. Who knows what that diamond-weapon could have done had it sensed a counter assault? Portia certainly didn’t know. Which is exactly why she pulled us into her dome. She’d never risk all of our lives on a misguided hunch.
“We had to be protected, sweetie,” I said, scooping Fraidy into my arms. He turned on his side, tucked his head under my chin, and purred. I kissed the spot between his fidgety ears. “If we’re going to stop the governor and his plans for world domination, then the Isles’ hope lies in us. Understand?” My cat handled his stress in the only way he knew: he made air bread with a pair of curling paws.
“Are you going to tell them what was inscribed on the device, or shall I?” Portia’s tone sounded like cold metal.
I looked at David. “What?” What did you find?”
The chief leaned back until the chair rested on its two back legs. “An inscription. A serial number, and ….”
“And?” The kitties questioned in unison. Fraidy wriggled in my arms, jumped onto the table, and studied the chief.
“Some words,” David said. “‘Made in Mag Mell.’”
“What does that tell us?” Eclipse stared at CPI Trew with blank eyes. You could never tell what went on in the mind of my mind-wiping cat. “Does this mean the Fae are responsible? Or is Shields still the baddie?”
Verdantia Eyebright stood up, displacing a rather disgruntled Gloom. The faerie looked at us. “My people have been manipulated. I think we know this already. Shields … I don’t know what he’s offering them, but, the Fae-kind are being used right now. Ankou in particular”
Hinrika Jonsdottir bobbed a head of white-blonde curls. “This is true,” she whispered through her blackened teeth. “The Warlocks are misleading our kin in terrible, terrible ways.” The faery queen turned to Verdantia and put her hands on Vee’s shoulders. “Verdantia, we must go to Mag Mell, and speak to Ankou,” Hinrika urged. “Find out what our cousin knows of the terrible man’s plans.”
“Yes,” Vee said. “We need to convince Ankou and his court that they’re being used. Enough is enough. We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” she said, looking to the rest of the group for confirmation. We nodded.
“It’s a start, I guess,” David said, tilting forward until his chair came to rest on all four legs again. “But, unlikely Shields would share his secrets with the Unseelie’s if he’s, as you say, Vee, using them.”
“Not all of his secrets, no,” Verdantia Eyebright said. “But Gideon Shields is a clever man. And he will make it his business to know that the Unseelie King is no fool either. He’d have opened up to Ankou to some degree, to establish trust. While Gideon may not have shared the more secretive stuff, I’m quite sure he’d have revealed something….darkly interesting, at least. Maybe there’s some intel there we could use?”
Portia sighed and looked directly at the beautiful faery. “Yes, I believe you’re correct, Verdantia. I think your main body of work there should be to try and persuade the Unseelie Court that they should cut all ties to the governor.”
Vee nodded, the red-rims of her eyes fighting with the unearthly blue of her irises.
David stood. “Hattie, you and I will go and see Maude after we leave here. She knows this is urgent, so she’ll hopefully have some answers for us as to what killed Orville.”
“Um, I can tell you what killed Orville,” Gloom said. “A Warlock operated black diamond with a sick green light.”
“Respect,” Midnight murmured, patting his sister’s shoulder.
“What about Gideon?” I cried. “Is he the elephant in the room all of a sudden? Why aren’t we looking for Shields? He needs to be locked up, for Goddess’ sake!”
“Hattie, you and I will go to Cathedral tomorrow to question the governor,” Portia said, sitting herself next to David. “I’m certain he won’t be there to greet us, but let’s send the governor the loud and clear message that the Custodian’s aren’t going anywhere. Our living presence might spook him, at least.”
“But maybe he already knows that most of us aren’t dead,” David said. He nodded toward Verdantia. “Vee asked the right question. How did Shields know we’d all be together tonight? How could he have known we were gathering for Hattie’s induction?”
We could only shake our heads. But Portia and I shared a surreptitious glance, all the same.
“So,” Midnight said, trying to create order from the chaos. “Vee and Hinrika go to Mag Mell to see what the Unseelies know. Maybe our cuz, Ankou, will open up a bit if he has any idea that the governor is playing him.” My night-wandering cat paced between us all. “Hattie and Trew Love hit up Maude Dulgrey’s in a little while to see what everyone’s favorite coroner found in the autopsy. Portia and Hattie fly over to Cathedral tomorrow to see if they can get answers from the governor, who’s likely not gonna be there, because he just, you know, tried to kill a bunch of cats and their humans. That what we’ve got so far?”
“Do you have any other suggestions, buster?” I asked. By Brigid, I felt tired.
“Not suggestions, boss,” he said. “Questions.”
“Shoot,” David said.
“Well,” Midnight began, putting his paw to his chin while he pondered his queries. “What about the dragon? Have we suddenly forgotten about that? Don’t we, like, have to worry about finding the Wyrmrig, and a
ll?”
I shuddered. Not for the first time today, I thought: How did I get here?
How did I end up in an outfit like the Custodians, battling an evil Warlock governor who seemed hellbent on bringing darkness and fire to our world? The Chief Warlock and his malicious intentions were just one side of our problem, though. The other being that, along with Shields’ Warlock-tech crafted dragon, there was also the Wyrmrig. The latter existing only as a certain destiny right now. The Wyrmrig’s current state existed merely a genetic code. This marker would one day blossom, or, who knows, even erupt, into a full-sized, fire-breathing monster. We knew it would be soon, but we didn’t know exactly when and we didn’t know who carried the genetic marker in the first place. No, the Elder Code would reveal itself on its own fateful terms. But, anyway, yeah, if you looked at it from the outside it seemed pretty clear that there would soon be two, mostly untameable, death-lizards, duking it out, and generally causing fiery havoc.
Scary times.
“His dragon isn’t ready.”
All heads swiveled to Portia. The Witch Fearwyn cracked her brittle knuckles, and I’m pretty sure I saw dust fall from her hands.
“You’re all in shock, so you’re not thinking straight,” she said, standing. “Think about it. Why would Shields want us all dead if he had the most ultimate weapon of all time, ready and at his beck and call?”
David nodded. “You’re right. For whatever reason, our Warlock Chief’s dragon hasn’t yet ‘matured.’ The governor’s scared.”
Portia narrowed her eyes and looked into the middle distance. “It’s more than that,” she said. “Not only does he not have his dragon, but I also believe our governor thinks we know who the Wyrmrig is. So …” Portia tapped her spindly fingers on the oak table. She spoke the truth. We still had no clue as to who the Wyrmrig might be.
The Angel and the Dragon (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 8) Page 3