Tragic Ink: (A Havenwood Falls Novella)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  Several minutes passed.

  And then several more.

  I tapped my fingers against my thigh and drank my coffee. When it was gone, I got up, tossed the cup, and began pacing. Finally, I sat again.

  By the time the door opened, my mood had turned dark and my patience was wearing thin.

  Deputy Conall stood in the open doorway that separated the seating area from the receptionist’s desk. His eyes were distant and his smile forced. Overly polite. “Miss Facharro. What can I do for you?”

  I stood up. “I’d like a status update on my foster mother’s case. I was supposed to hear back when it was clear for me to have her picked up. I need to make arrangements with the funeral home and a transport to take her to—”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Facharro,” he cut me off, frowning now. The smile—and the politeness—were gone. “Your foster mother’s remains have already been released.”

  I grimaced at his casual reference to her “remains,” but then his words sank in, and I blinked. “Released? When? To who?”

  He consulted the scrap of paper again, but it didn’t seem to hold the answers he was looking for. “I, uh, I’m not sure exactly. I was off yesterday, so I would have to put in a request to check.”

  “A request to . . . Are you kidding me? I’m her family. There’s no one else you could have possibly released her to!” Well, me and Rhys, but he would have told me. Right? I thought of the unanswered calls and texts from him, but then shoved that thought away. The only thing that mattered was Aelwyn’s last rites and wishes—and the fact that I should have been involved in facilitating both.

  “All due respect, ma’am, you’re not really her relative. The law dictates a relative is bloodline—”

  “I don’t give a shit what the law dictates.” On my arm, Ethan clawed and whined at the heat that crept over me as my temper spiked and flared. I ignored both my familiar and my own conscience that whispered against losing my shit on an officer of the law. In the police station. Especially when it was very likely I was still a suspect. But I couldn’t stop myself. The woman who had been a mother to me was gone. They’d given her body to someone who wasn’t me. And now I would never see her again.

  “Be that as it may—” Deputy Conall began.

  “She was my legal guardian, and as such, I have every right to her. Including the information about her killer—who, by the way, is not me.” My voice rose, and it was all I could do not to unleash enough magic along with my words to send a real message. Several of the tattoos etched along my skin burned and tingled, practically begging to be used. I noted it absently, and in the back of my mind, surprise registered. Those tattoos had never stirred before. “Now, you run back to Sheriff Kasun and tell him I want a phone call by end of day with whatever information he has on her case and the name of the person her body was released to. Otherwise, I’ll take up the legalities with the Court. You got that?”

  “I . . . Yes, ma’am. I’ve got it.” His expression was tight-lipped, but he didn’t argue.

  I spun on my heel and stormed out.

  Chapter 6

  By the time I walked off the worst of my temper, the sun was high in the sky and traffic in the square was bustling. In preparation for Valentine’s Day, the gazebo had already been decorated with fresh red roses and climbing vines that had been woven through the railing. The lattice I’d seen being delivered yesterday had been set up and more climbing roses decorated that, creating a selfie station for pedestrians to stop at. Despite the chill in the air, the color and energy was cheerful. Too cheerful. It only made my dark mood feel even more tempestuous.

  To top it off, people were still nodding and smiling softly at me as I passed by. Some of them even whispered a hello or an “I’m sorry for your loss.” Miss Mary Beth stopped me and asked what time I’d be home later, so she could drop off a casserole. She was too nice to argue with, so I made the arrangements, secretly a little comforted that so many people wanted to show how much they’d cared about Aelwyn. But it also served as a nonstop reminder that she was gone.

  My own grief was heavier by the time Miss Mary Beth had disappeared and I’d turned toward my shop. These people were grieving for Aelwyn, same as I was, but watching them do it only made my own pain worse. To keep from crying, I let it piss me off. God, what the hell was wrong with people today? When did everyone become so damn friendly?

  My phone rang, and I answered with a clipped, “Hello?”

  “Miss Facharro, Sheriff Kasun here. You asked for a phone call.” He didn’t sound happy to be fulfilling my request, and that could only mean he knew why I’d asked him to call—and how I felt about it.

  “Yes. I’d like to know who you released Aelwyn to and why you think you could just—”

  “She was released to Rhys Graywalk, her oldest living relative per the legal code on guardianship.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Rhys Graywalk. Aelwyn was his legal guardian, right?” He spoke slower now, like he was waiting for his words to sink in.

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “And he’s older than you, correct?”

  I didn’t answer. We both knew that he was.

  “Miss Facharro, I am sorry you were in the dark on this, but that’s something you’ll have to take up with Rhys.” When I still didn’t answer, he cleared his throat. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks,” I said in a wavering voice and then hung up.

  A quick scroll through my texts confirmed what I’d already suspected. Rhys had tried to reach out, several times actually. Two of the texts he’d sent had specifically asked me to call about making Aelwyn’s arrangements, and I’d ignored them all. This was my own fault.

  I reached the alley and shoved my way through the throng of people that loitered on the stairs leading up to my shop.

  It wasn’t until I reached the front door to Tragic Ink that I realized the loiterers on the stairs weren’t just hanging out for fun. This was a line. And they were all waiting to enter my shop.

  “Oh, there she is,” said one of the men near the front. “That’s Gwen. The owner.” Ricky, a bear shifter I remembered from high school, pointed me out to the crowd from where he stood second in line. “You have any appointments available today?” he asked eagerly.

  “Um. I . . . need to . . .” I didn’t finish answering him before I shoved him and the man in front of him out of the way and unlocked the door. Then I slipped inside and closed the door behind me before they could follow. A few called out protests and whined at being kept waiting.

  I locked the deadbolt and didn’t bother with the lights as I strode to the back cabinet where I kept a stash of whiskey. The first shot went down harsh, burning a trail down my throat and into my empty stomach. The second was smoother and calmed the worst of the storm inside me.

  I did my best to shove aside thoughts of Aelwyn—and what I wanted to do to the person who had murdered her. For the first time in years, the temptation to ink myself with a magical tat made for harm was strong. A vat of acid, a plate of rat poison—a bullet would have been too good for whoever it was. But then I pulled myself up short. Killing was not the answer. And I was not a murderer.

  Someone else was, though.

  I had no idea who in Havenwood Falls was capable of that, and it was nearly impossible for an outsider to gain that kind of access to the town without tripping an alarm—all of the boundaries were spelled for that kind of thing and the Court’s magic was strong. Surely, they would know if someone had breached their wards and snuck inside the borders. Regardless, I would be the last to know if something like that happened.

  I sighed.

  Rhys was right. I couldn’t do this alone. I needed help. And someone who had access to information. I had no idea if he did, but he was the only one who believed in my innocence. In fact, without Aelwyn, Rhys was the only person I had left in the world, and that, I realized, was depressing as hell.

  Ten minutes later, the whiskey had served i
ts purpose. I was calm enough to realize I needed help and just depressed enough about that fact to realize the line outside my shop was a perfect distraction until I could talk to Rhys. I knew for a fact his working hours nearly matched mine exactly thanks to the bar he owned and ran near the ski area. Resigned and more than a little cautious, I pulled my appointment book out and unlocked the front door.

  The next four hours passed quickly. The first hour was nothing but scheduling as I worked my way through the line of people outside. It was a first, having my calendar full like this. I told myself it was a good thing, that having the bills paid on time would be a nice change, but this sudden influx of attention still had me suspicious. Four people had the balls to ask me how much I charged for the magical ink. The first three left easily enough when I told them to get the hell out without confirming or denying my ability. The fourth wasn’t so easy.

  The man stood with hands out, pleading at me from the other side of the front counter. “Look, I’ll pay whatever you ask. I just need—”

  “I said I don’t do that.” I leaned over the counter, planting my hands for more leverage as I got in his face. “And if you don’t leave now, the only magic I’ll infuse into your tattoo is the blood I’ll draw when I stab you with my favorite pen.”

  He left quickly after that, still muttering. I crossed my fingers he wasn’t the type to report bodily threats. That wouldn’t go over well with the police right now.

  The next few hours were spent inking new customers. The first wanted a ladder with initials carved into each of the rungs. I had no idea why, and I didn’t question it. Probably a family or lineage thing; I’d seen my share of those. It was a cool idea, but after the morning I’d had, conversation was the last thing I wanted.

  When the next customer wouldn’t stop attempting small talk, I told him I worked best in silence. He finally shut up, and the rest of the evening passed quickly.

  At ten, I closed the door behind the last client and flipped the sign, turning the deadbolt just in case. By the time I’d cleaned up, the couple of shots I’d taken had long since worn off, and my stomach growled and twisted in defiance at being left empty. A diet of coffee and booze didn’t sit well. Or maybe it was the knowledge that I was about to willingly visit the Dirty Knuckle.

  I needed food.

  And time to figure out how to approach Rhys.

  The Dirty Knuckle was a brick building with soft lighting and lots of dark leather. I’d been inside once. A personal test two years ago to see if I was really over Rhys like I’d been telling myself for so long. Thirty minutes in a corner booth that obscured me from the bar and the back offices had proved otherwise. I hadn’t been back since, though I was ashamed to admit that I knew for a fact he was there now. Just like I knew he was there every day during the same hours I was at Tragic. I knew more about Rhys Graywalk than I’d ever let on. But, this time at least, it worked to my advantage.

  I sat in the same booth as last time, needing the view of the bar and offices it provided. The dark leather was cold against my jeans, so I took my jacket off and slid it underneath me to warm my legs.

  Across the room, I spotted Michaela Petran sitting with her fiancé, Xandru, and her best friend, Addie Beaumont. The three of them had been practically inseparable since Michaela had returned to Havenwood Falls almost a year ago. I’d gone to high school with them, and Addie and I were still friends.

  Addie was the official tattoo artist for the Court, a job I wouldn’t want in a million years because it meant taking orders, but Addie seemed to enjoy it. She was also an amazing artist, and her friendliness could somehow cut through my layers of grumpy self-defense. She was actually a fun drinking buddy when I felt like getting out, but I wasn’t in the mood to socialize tonight. When Addie glanced my way, I made sure to keep my eyes averted and my ski cap pulled low. She must have taken the hint because, thankfully, none of them came over to say hello.

  A moment later, a server with a nametag that read Casten took my order. He was fae, older than me by maybe ten years. I didn’t know more than that, but like recognized like; it was easy to spot my own kind around here.

  And he was friendly—just like the rest of the damned town today.

  I grunted answers, making it clear I didn’t want to chat, then wolfed down a burger and fries. While I ate, I watched for Rhys and eventually lost myself in the hum of voices and laughter as the human tourist crowd piled in from the ski resort just down the road. It felt good to be anonymous again. Maybe I’d come here more often if the locals didn’t let up on their new friendly routine. Unless Rhys chased me away again.

  Casten had just cleared my plate and brought me a beer when I spotted him. Rhys emerged from the offices behind the bar area, smiling and chatting with a couple of men seated on leather stools. I recognized one of them as Everett Weston, a gargoyle who’d moved to town about a year ago. Rhys was great at making new friends and maintaining them, not like me with my former classmates. I’d always liked that about him, like we balanced each other out somehow. Yin and yang.

  But now . . . I’d never felt less close to him.

  From here, I could see his dark hair falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes. I had no idea when he’d started growing it out, but I liked it better that way. It made him look younger but still dangerous. Sexy. The thought brought me up short. This visit was not about the way Rhys wore his hair. It couldn’t be. It was about mutual cooperation. It was about finding a killer.

  It was about justice, and that was it.

  As if I’d called his name aloud, Rhys suddenly looked up, the easy smile he’d worn a moment ago frozen on his face as he spotted me. Our eyes met and held. The smile vanished. In its place was a storm that reminded me of my own dark mood from this morning.

  Good. My temper was going to come in handy now that it had a target. I latched on to my anger, still simmering underneath the surface, and slid to my feet. When Rhys cocked his head at me, I grabbed my jacket and made my way over, leaving my empty beer glass behind.

  “Hey,” he said. Relief, surprise, and a lot of what might have been hope was packed into the single word.

  “Hi.” My response was short. Hopefully impossible to read.

  He gestured toward the office door behind him, and I slipped inside, my expression arranged into something hard as I scanned the space before me. I’d never been in here before, nor had I seen Rhys in his personal space in several years now, but it was somehow exactly what I pictured for him. The office was done in dark leather and warm earth tones. Deep-cushioned chairs that complemented a dark-stained desk took up the center of the room. Along the wall was a leather sofa worn into soft creases. Landscape prints of the forest hung above it. Across from the sofa, a fire blazed in the hearth. The effect was masculine and still somehow cozy.

  I wanted to hate it out of spite, and because I didn’t, that fueled my temper too.

  When the door clicked shut behind me, I whirled and found Rhys watching me, his dark eyes warming when they settled on mine.

  “Gwen,” he said simply, but the single word sent a thousand emotions rippling through me. It was so warm and personal, like an invitation. Like he was telling me a secret. “It’s good to see you here.”

  I could tell he meant it, and that hurt. My temper flared, thanks to the pang of hurt. “I wish I could say the same.”

  He didn’t react to the harshness of my words except to nod as if he’d expected nothing less. I bristled at the easy way he gestured to the sofa. “Would you like to sit?”

  “What I would like are answers,” I said.

  “We have that in common, then.”

  I blinked. Whatever I’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it. “All right,” I said uncertainly.

  “You’ve thought over my offer?”

  “I have.” My shoulders sagged, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was admitting a loss. “And we should do it. Work together, I mean.”

  I blinked, realizing he’d wandered close
r. When I took a step back, he frowned. The heat of the fire warmed the back of my legs.

  “What?” I demanded when he didn’t say anything.

  He cocked his head, peering at me. “Are you still taking the mistletoe—your vitamins, I mean?”

  “My— What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “You look a little tired. I just want to be sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

  I didn’t miss the fact that he’d mentioned mistletoe—the same thing that mysterious letter had mentioned—or the way he’d just changed the subject, like he’d said too much.

  “Of course I’m tired,” I snap back at him. “I’ve just lost the only mother I’ve ever known. And what the hell do you know about mistletoe?”

  He took a step closer again, this time invading my space, and my pulse thrummed wildly. But Rhys was scanning me head to toe as if on alert, completely oblivious to the fact that his smell had invaded my senses and made it hard to remember what the hell we were even talking about.

  “Something happened,” he said, his brows dipping in concern.

  I lifted my chin, determined not to react to his closeness. “I went to the police today to ask about collecting Aelwyn’s remains. They said she’s gone. Apparently, they released her to you already, so I’m here now to discuss her arrangements. I think we should bury her in the cemetery behind—”

  “Gwen, stop for a second.”

  “What?”

  Rhys looked away, and there was something about his expression that sent alarm bells off in my head.

  “Do you have something else in mind?” I asked.

  “We can’t bury Aelwyn in town,” he said quietly.

  “What are you talking about? Where else would we bury her?”

  “Nowhere. She’ll be cremated,” he said.

  “What?” I stepped back. “You can’t just decide something like that without me. Look, I know I didn’t return your texts about the arrangements, but you could have told me you’d already picked her up. I had to find out from Deputy Conall, who by the way, has a shitty bedside manner.”