by Lisa Mangum
I flipped open my fan, letting the ornate silver frame and yellow taffeta fabric hide my embarrassment. “Infatuation is all I see standing before me, and I prefer you use my Christian name. Pietregalla is much too Corsican.”
“Ah,” said Jack. “You don’t want to be associated with your exiled Bonaparte.”
“Of course not.” I fanned my face. The very idea! “Not only was he a vampire, but the rumors say he adhered to traditional feeding practices on mortals. Until the outrage dies down, I believe it best not to flaunt our shared Corsican heritage.”
Jack’s eyes twinkled in delight, as if I’d invited him to use my name out of familiarity. “So what brings you to the Ides of March parade, Floressa?”
Though I tried, I couldn’t hide the excitement in my voice. “I am here to catch a murderer.”
His amber eyes darkened. “I thought your father told you to stay out of it.”
“Mais bien sûr, of course.” I snapped my fan shut. “I may be young, but I am as capable a sorceress as another. My father is away from town, taking care of business across the channel. I will show him what I can do.”
Jack fumbled with his waistcoat, fingering the edges with nervous energy. “It might be best for you to wait. Surely your father won’t be gone more than a fortnight.”
“I did the divinations,” I said. “The Violet Unicorn is striking tonight.”
As if in mockery, a unicorn clopped its amethyst hooves against the gravel road, its horn sparkling the same color. Its silken coat, a deep damson purple, shimmered like spun sugar. As it approached, it whinnied, seeming to goad me for my inability to find the killer with a similar namesake. Its long-bearded handler glared in our direction—dwarves weren’t capable of anything besides glares, I thought—tugging the unicorn forward. The little man’s mulberry coat appeared almost too coordinated with the unicorn’s gemlike hues. Dwarves rarely bothered with fashion. He took care around the horn swishing above his helmeted head. Even an accidental swipe of that horn could draw blood.
Smirking, Jack watched it pass, understanding the irony. “Do they really think he could be a unicorn? They’re as docile as kittens.”
I succumbed to an unladylike snort, the kind my father always chastised me for. “Of course the killer is not a unicorn. Some imbécile from the Americas was at the scene after the first murder. He commented that the slash across the victim’s neck appeared as if something from a violent unicorn. With his strange accent, it sounded like ‘violet unicorn.’ The appellation has continued.”
“Still, I don’t see what you hope to accomplish at a parade of the supernatural. The murderer isn’t going to reveal himself during a parade.”
I gave Jack a genuine smile. “Father says people leave clues about themselves everywhere they go, especially when watched by a sorceress. I have a suspect, already. I must only test my theory.”
“Test where?”
Tapping my fan against Jack’s chest, I shot him a flirtatious smile from under my long lashes. “That, mon ami, is something you need not know. You are human, and I’ll not put you in harm’s way.”
Of course, my sweet and chivalrous Jack refused to take no for an answer. “Regardless of your destination, you must at least have a gentleman’s escort. Will eight thirty be soon enough?”
I gave a demure smile befitting a girl my age. “Bien sûr, I will await you at my home in Paris.” I gave a short curtsy and wished him well. “Bon après-midi.”
Jack managed a flourishing bow, despite the crowd. “A good afternoon to you as well, Floressa.”
Before I could turn and leave, he took my hand in his, leaving a lingering kiss across my knuckles.
In an attempt to hide the fluttering rising from my stomach to my cheeks, I bowed my head and make a quick escape. Raising my yellow-and-white parasol above my less-than-desirable olive complexion, the silver tip capable of stopping werewolves and worse, I strode through the crowd and away from Jack’s heady influence. He had the good sense not to follow. As I used bright smiles and sharp elbows to force my narrow frame through the masses, I directed my thoughts toward Jack as if he had a palm reader’s gift, which was how it sometimes seemed.
And, monsieur, you had best not follow when you discover I am not at home.
* * *
Perhaps Jack did have a palm reader’s gift, for rather than follow, he outmaneuvered me. By appointing half past eight as the time he would arrive with his carriage, he manipulated my predictable arrival to the Jardin Tabille gardens at 8:15.
Leaning a muscular shoulder encased in a plum tailcoat against one of the many pillars near the garden’s entrance, he tipped a short top hat, the black sheen matching his simple Hessians, his cravat tied much as it had been earlier in the day, but now with a black pearl pin encompassed in gold filigree. Unlike most men his age, his most obvious adornment wasn’t a fob or an oversized button, but his all-knowing smile, set above a well-sculptured jaw and perfectly symmetrical features.
He pushed off from the pillar, taking easy strides to stand beside me. “You look beautiful, Floressa. You should wear periwinkle more often.”
Self-conscious of my gown’s wide neckline, I pulled a cream paisley shawl over my shoulders before changing my matching parasol to my other hand and tucking my free one through the crook of Jack’s arm, noticing the taut muscles beneath my fingers. I let him accompany me between hedges sprinkled with tiny white flowers and ornate urns overflowing with pink tea roses that muted the smell I’d come to associate with Jack: human male, eau de cologne, and something familiar that I couldn’t quite place.
I sighed with false exasperation. “You, monsieur, are a trickster.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to slap him or laugh, but I couldn’t remain angry. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Where else would you find a gathering of the supernatural and the mortal, but the Ides of March Integration Ball?” Leaning his head close to mine, Jack’s warm breath tickled my neck. “I also had Humphrey wait along the Rue de Maubeuge with my carriage. He followed you, in case I was wrong.”
We passed a tall elm, the damson unicorn from the parade eating lazily at the long grasses near its base. The glaring dwarf gave us a perfunctory glance and a disgruntled sniff, as if we were the ones with hygiene offenses. Most of the supernatural set recognized me as a sorceress by my wide, large eyes and the streak of silver above my left ear. Otherwise, however, I looked human and in these dimly lit walkways, he likely mistook me as such.
Spotting my objective, I urged Jack to the far end of the dance floor, well away from the orchestra grating their strings into a raucous waltz. We sat at a table near a tall hedge that led into a labyrinth filled with alcoves perfect for lovers’ rendezvous.
I took his long fingers into my own. “You should stay here, mon ami. As I said before, you are too human and could easily become a target.”
Jack bristled, his back straightening in English indignation. “I’m not letting a beautiful young lady such as yourself roam a place of such dubious reputation as the Jardin Tabille alone. It is not done, my dear.”
An inebriated dandy, his cravat untied and hanging loose around his neck, took his giggling companion by the hand and ducked into the shadows of the labyrinth. As I’d suspected, the fairy girl and her supposed “newfound” companion from the parade followed.
As much as I adored Jack, this was no job for a mere human. “Stay,” I ordered, coming to my feet.
He pushed his chair back, intent to follow. I’d sworn to Jack early in our friendship that I would never use sorcery on him, but he left me no choice. Pulling from my reticule what appeared to be smelling salts, I tossed a pinch between us and spoke a quick incantation. The lavender flakes sparked, and Jack froze, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Guilt made my heart heavy, but I couldn’t stand the thought of putting my dear Jack in danger.
Hurrying into the labyrinth, I did a final check behind me. The duration of the spell depended on the subject’s willingness to be lu
lled versus their determination for freedom. Jack’s interest in me was likely more diversionary than true affection, so he wouldn’t fight too hard to remain by my side. I should be well done with this entire escapade before Jack blinked.
Following the scent of rotten berries, I found the faeries standing before the drunken couple. The dandy’s jacket and shirt lay draped over one edge of the bench. The woman’s arms crossed her breasts, her look of horror following the diminutive faerie woman’s substantially tipped parasol.
“Stop!” I yelled. “You’re not going to kill another innocent.”
The faerie woman turned. We faced one another, fashion accessories raised like dueling swords, my parasol of periwinkle flowers against her mauve with ruffled edging.
“Who do ye be?” said the faerie, her Irish accent so strong I could scarce make out the words. “I may be a thief, but no mortal lass dare call me a murderer.”
Shocked, I finally took in her companion’s pale expression, the deep green coin purse dangling from limp fingers, and the slack jaw of a novice.
My parasol felt suddenly heavy. “You’re not the Violet Unicorn.”
“Congratulations, my dear,” Jack’s voice drawled from behind. “You’ve broken your promise to me, and unveiled a petty thief.”
Jack mocked me, but I sensed an underlying anger. And with good reason.
I dropped the tip of my parasol, digging it into the moist dirt between bits of gravel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“So you left me sitting at a table, stiff as stone, unable to defend myself?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’d only wanted to keep him from danger. “But there were people. If anyone had tried—”
Jack growled, a sound I’d never heard from him before. “Nobody here would lift a finger for a mortal who suddenly disappears into the shadows. Your only thought was to prove yourself to your father. Nothing else. Now that this ridiculous charade is at an end, I presume you can find your own way home.”
He turned on his heel, disappearing between dark hedges and darker shadows.
I reached out a hand. “But …” There was nothing else to say. I’d betrayed his trust, and he had every right to condemn me for it.
“Come on then, Harold,” said the faerie woman to her companion. “I be thinking we’re done here for the night.”
With a curt nod, he followed the woman’s quick steps. “Yes, Tianna.”
I followed a few paces behind, wiping at the tears in the corners of my eyes. The faeries had only made the first turn toward the main pavilion when I overhead Tianna.
“And what be the treasure here?”
As I turned the corner, Harold squinted down at the item in her hand. “A cravat pin. Nice workmanship.”
I threw myself between them, grabbing Tianna’s fingers with my own. “That’s Jack’s pin.”
“The man blustering at you a moment ago?” asked Tianna.
“I deserved it,” I said. “Now what has happened to him?”
The woman raised frightened eyes. “Something bad, lass. I sense it. Be best if ye get yourself away.”
“Non. Jack’s life is in danger, and it is my fault.”
Nearby broken branches evidenced a struggle. I searched until I spied the drag lines of a man’s heels turning the labyrinth’s corner. A few paces farther, two deep footsteps took its place then disappeared into the thicker gravel.
“Good luck to ye, lass.” Tianna took Harold’s hand and dragged him in the other direction, toward the labyrinth’s entrance and away from Jack’s tragedy.
I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin. I am Floressa Pietregalla, daughter of the best sorcerer-detective in all of France, I told myself. I must find Jack. He may be a mere mortal, but I love him.
The admission shocked a gasp from my lips. I couldn’t lose him, especially not now that I’d finally realized how much he meant to me. And he’d broken my spell almost instantly, which proved the affection must be reciprocated.
With quivering hands, I pulled my ingredients pouch from my reticule, retrieving my satchel of dried hydrangea. Upending the sparse contents onto the footprint, I uttered my spell. This time I felt the magic’s cost. Weariness dragged at my bones. The footprint glowed a pale blue, followed by the next print and the next, overlaying the seemingly undisturbed rocks and dirt, leading me farther into the labyrinth. After a nervous glance behind, I gripped my parasol in sweaty palms, and followed the footstep’s iridescent lead.
The faint glow brought me deep into the labyrinth’s belly, farther than even the lanterns reached. Eventually I stepped between two hedges that had almost grown together, obscuring my path if not for the magical footprints. I found myself in a small meadow, seemingly closed off by rectangular hedges, and screamed. Blood slicked the fresh grass. It poured like a stream from the dead man leaning against the far hedge, his head angled to one side as if it might topple. His life leaked across his magenta coat, so similar in color to Jack’s.
A familiar voice slithered from the shadows, chilling me more than the cool spring air, or even the sight of the stranger’s life spilled between us. “His name is Pierre Francois Hercule de Serre,” said Jack. “The Minister of Justice, Keeper of the Seals.”
I swallowed back the bile threatening to add its stench to the dead minister’s.
Stepping around the dead man, Jack held up his murder weapon, a broad branch in the shape of a unicorn’s horn. It glowed a pale amethyst. “In the name of justice, he performed horrible atrocities against our kind. What he orchestrated behind the scenes of his political façade was even worse. I’m afraid he had to die.” Jack rested a white-gloved hand, somehow pristine despite the murder, upon my shoulder. “I assumed you would go home. I promise, I had no intention of subjecting you to such a sight.”
His touch warmed me, despite the icy fear running through my veins. How could he do that, even as I stood there, staring at his handiwork?
“Un moment. You said ‘our kind,’ but you’re … you’re mortal,” I stammered.
Jack’s all-knowing smile illuminated his face. “Is it so hard to exude the scent of a human male, to color a streak of silver hair, or use just a touch of artistry to make one’s eyes appear smaller rather than larger? I’m sorry I deceived you, but I had to appear mortal in order to do my job.”
Gathering my courage, I stepped back, straightened my shoulders. “My father will know of this. He will stop you.”
Jack grabbed me by the arms, turning my head away from the minister and lifting me as if I weighed no more than a child’s doll. He took me to the opposite corner, as if not seeing the corpse would change what had happened.
“Why do you think the investigation into the Violet Unicorn hasn’t gone anywhere?” Jack asked, gaining my full attention. “Monsieur Pietregalla already knows who I am, what I do, and why.”
A haze filled my mind. It was like someone had taken my vision of the world and twisted it into something unrecognizable.
Jack shifted, and I caught sight again of the dead minister.
“No!” I yelled, shoving Jack back, using more magic than I intended. “My father would never condone this.”
Jack slipped, dropping his weapon where it transformed into an ordinary branch. This time he kept his distance, holding up his hands as if harmless. “It’s a political assassination, ordered by the British Supernatural Consulate and in coordination with key French officials.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said, but my words were weak. I wanted to believe him. “I screamed when I came in here. Someone will be coming soon, so it would be best if you tell me the truth.”
Seeming to sense my indecision despite my words, he came close, pulling my shawl around my shoulders. “I’m a sorcerer, my dear. Until I leave, no one can enter this glade without the use of sorcery.” He enfolded me in an unexpected embrace, somehow making me feel warm and calm. “I swear to you, this is the truth. I was waiting for your father to return so I
might request your hand in marriage, but your insistence at being here threw everything askew.”
“My hand in marriage?”
Jack chuckled. “Yes. I love you, and I think we would make a good team, in more ways than one.”
Could it be true? He’d resisted my spell, but then he was a sorcerer. Did he really care for me or was this a ruse to keep me quiet?
Jack stepped back, taking my hands in his. “You’re always talking about defending the rights of the supernaturals. You’ll still be a detective, but you can also be a spy, helping me find those who are preying on the innocent.”
Marrying Jack, working alongside Jack—the idea held appeal, until I took another glance at the dead minister. “I won’t kill anyone.”
“No need,” said Jack. “This was the end of my assignment. The Violet Unicorn is headed to Italy.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Jack held up a hand, forestalling me. “Only to gather information. As a married man, assassinations will no longer be my task.”
He took my arm in his, and we walked back through the bushes. I wasn’t sure what decision I’d made, but I couldn’t turn Jack over to the authorities. But did I want to live my life with someone who was either a murderer or an assassin? Did I dare trust him?
After leaving the labyrinth, weaving through tables, and making our way to the gardens, we stopped in a shadowy copse of trees. The dwarf stepped out, his rictus frown almost as terrifying as the dead minister’s. I screamed, but Jack’s hand over my mouth quieted my outburst to a squeak.
“All is well, Floressa.” He released my mouth and pointed to the beautiful creature that appeared as nothing more than a shimmer.
I couldn’t hide my awe. “The unicorn. It belongs to you?”
Jack nodded. “Which is why the sticks I ensorcell become like unicorn horns. Almost as sharp, too.”