by Alice Bloome
“Do you recognize it?” the corner asked as I straightened, and when I shook my head, he said, “It’s asphodel.”
My brows furrowed. Asphodel? The Underworld, which was Hades’ domain, had a whole field of those grayish, ghostly flowers – and that was just about the extent of what I knew of them. “I didn’t even know they could be brought outside the Underworld,” I confessed.
“That was the general belief,” Dr. Ace agreed, “until a couple of enterprising witches learned to harvest it above ground. Asphodel has many deadly qualities, one of which is the toxin its petals secrete on a full moon. Mixed with other lethal ingredients, it can be used to brew a target-locked, time-specific concoction.”
I didn’t answer right away, needing time to mull over the doctor’s last words.
Target-locked…
Time-specific…
Concoction…
Wasn’t he basically saying that the poisoned brew had killed Venus Stratton worked like some kind of virus programmed to attack a particular computer at a certain time?
Only in this case, the virus hadn’t shut down any mere computer but had terminated human life instead.
Venus Stratton’s home was a nice-looking bungalow with a small front garden bordered by white picket fences. I pressed on the doorbell once, and a tall, leggy blonde in her early forties opened the door soon after.
“Mrs. Veronica Stratton?”
“Yes, that’s me. Anything I can help you with?”
I angled my agency-issued wand as she spoke. It was currently disguised as a Lamy Olivesilver Aion fountain pen with a 14kt gold nib, and I needed its tiny scanning window at the tip to have a full look at the other woman if I wanted a proper reading.
The pen in my hand vibrated after a moment, and I quickly turned it over. A display screen had showed up on its steel body to provide information about the victim’s mother.
TYPE: HUMAN
ASSOCIATION: AEQUITAS (EMPLOYER)
This indicated Veronica’s primary connection to non-humans and Aequitas, her employer, was a minor deity known to own a string of accounting firms in this side of New England.
STATUS: SAFE
Oh, thank Gaea. Mrs. Stratton’s Safe status meant I had no need to worry about what and what not to say, and I breathed a sigh of relief at this.
Looking back at Veronica, I said, “I’m Agent Vavrin from CSI. I’ve been assigned to handle your daughter’s case. I was wondering if you have time to answer a few questions?”
“Of course. Please come in.” She welcomed me in with a pained smile, her eyes still clouded with grief.
Their living room was warm and cozy, the very picture of innocence that was now forever shattered by Venus’ untimely death. Mrs. Stratton insisted on serving coffee, and I readily obliged, seeing that the older woman needed something to do to block out the memories.
It was my first time to have to speak with a victim’s grieving loved one, and the situation turned me into a mixed bag of emotions. I felt like my work required me to be cool and professional, but when I saw her hands shaking as she handed me a cup of coffee, I quickly took it from her, whispering, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Stratton. The only thing I can promise you right now is that I’ll do my utmost to bring justice to your daughter’s death.”
“Thank you, Agent Vavrin.” She squeezed my hand with a watery smile. “It’s been really hard, I’m still in shock to be honest. I’m just doing my best to act normal for my little boy.”
“That would be Vincent, right?” A background profile had been included in the case file, which identified Mrs. Stratton as a widow raising her children on her own.
“Yes, he just turned seven. He’s in school right now. I’m due to fetch him this afternoon.”
The worry in her gaze was evident, and so I assured her quickly, “That’s okay. I only have a few preliminary questions to ask right now. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.”
After waving my agency-issued wand over a blank page of my notebook, I started out with the usual questions, a list of which was also handily provided by the agency for neophyte witches, and Mrs. Stratton answered every one of them in a straightforward fashion.
Her words painted a happy picture of a small family, and nothing in her facial expression, tone of voice, or bodily gestures suggested that she was lying. Venus, according to her mother, was named after Aphrodite because she had been a remarkably beautiful newborn babe, and her attractiveness had only grown over the years. She was smart and cheerful, and ever since her father died, she had willingly done all she could to help Veronica.
“Can you think of someone that might have any motive to hurt your daughter?”
“No. I’m sorry. And I’m not saying that just because I love her, but she just wasn’t the kind of girl who could have any enemies.”
“Then what about you or your late husband?”
“I’ve had my fair share of petty quarrels at work – workplace rivalry, you know how it works.”
“Can you give me a list of their names?”
“Of course, but…they really were petty things, and I honestly don’t see how any of those could result into something this…” Her voice trailed off.
“And your late husband?”
“He was a teacher, and the nicest teacher any student could hope for.” A reminiscent smile touched her lips. “He tended to beat himself up every time he had to give a kid a grade lower than C.”
I asked Mrs. Stratton about the last day Venus was alive, needing a clear picture of the events that preceded her death, and as the other woman started to speak, my notebook flipped to the next page on its own. Magic ensured that every word in the interview would be accurately transcribed.
“She left for school a quarter to eight, like she usually did, since we live quite near her school.”
“That would be Silver Mist High?”
“Yes. She’s a junior there.”
“And after school?”
“She was supposed to go with her friends to Portland to shop for a new dress. It was something she asked permission for weeks in advance, but…” Mrs. Stratton’s voice cracked. “I had an emergency at work, and our usual babysitter was unavailable. I had no choice but to call Venus.” She turned to me with a wistful smile. “Have I mentioned that she wanted to become a cheerleader ever since she found out I was one in high school? But then Gilmore died, and we started having money problems. Venus insisted on looking after her brother so I wouldn’t have to pay for a babysitter. It was very---” The older woman’s voice wobbled a bit. “It was so very kind of her, but it also put an end to her dreams. Since she’s looking after Vincent in the afternoons, she’d have no time for cheerleading practice.”
“And that’s why she had to cut her trip short?”
“She was so nice about it, too, even though we both knew that trip to Portland was a big thing to her. It’s been so long since she went out with her friends, you know? And I can’t help but think if, maybe, if I had let her go that time---”
The older woman seemed to crumble before my eyes as she broke down in tears. “I just can’t believe she’s gone,” the older woman wept.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Stratton.” I felt helpless as I watched her cry, and I knew then that I would do everything to find Venus Stratton’s killer. It wouldn’t bring the young girl back, but I also knew it would go a long way in helping Mrs. Stratton piece her life back together again.
Veronica granted me permission to go through her daughter’s room following our interview, and I put on a pair of gloves before reaching to turn the doorknob.
The door swung open noiselessly, and the hairs at the back of my neck stood the moment I stepped in. It was not my first time to enter a dead girl’s room, but the one other time I did, I hadn’t known at that time that the owner of the room was dead. This time, it was different. I not only knew Venus was dead, but I had also seen her corpse, and this made things just a little bit eerier than usual.
<
br /> Definitely not working on Local Misdemeanors anymore, I thought with a gulp.
Venus’ room was exactly how I pictured a teenager’s bedroom would be. The walls were painted in pastel pink and sprinkled with celebrity pin-ups and quote posters. Her vanity mirror also doubled as a photo wall, with various Instax snaps taped on its edges.
The bed was still made up, which matched Mrs. Stratton’s story. According to Veronica, her daughter was the neat and orderly type, the kind that liked to make her bed before leaving for school. And later in the afternoon, when she had gone home, Venus had only made it as far as the living room before she had suddenly started throwing up and complaining about dizziness and blurred vision.
I started opening her drawers, carefully combing through the contents one item at a time, and my heart skipped a tiny bit when I found the victim’s journal. It had a faux leather cover, also in pink, and the journal was nearly bursting at the seams, with the pages filled not just with words but also of hand-drawn illustrations, newspaper clippings, and all sorts of ephemera: concert tickets and movie passes, torn snippets of pamphlets, and an occasional Instax snap.
Flipping to the last entry she made, I found myself holding my breath as I slowly read what she wrote three days ago. There was mention of the history quiz she had to review for, a long list of pros and cons for the perfect dress, a guy she was crushing on – but other than that, there was nothing at all I could connect to her death.
When I returned to the living room, I asked Mrs. Stratton if she had her daughter’s school bag with her, and the older woman pointed at the armchair by the window. “That’s where she dropped it, just before she---” Veronica’s eyes started to tear again.
I kept silent, my heart aching for her. I waited for Mrs. Stratton to recover her composure before asking for permission to go through her daughter’s school bag. It was an oversized pink tote, and inside it I found several textbooks and a thin case folder. There were mostly exam sheets inside the latter, along with a couple of photocopied materials, and nothing else.
Logic told me that I should move on and look for another angle, but my gut told me to look again. I took her bag, emptied it on the coffee table, and that’s when I saw it. A tiny, folded piece of silver foil wrapping – I unfolded it and realized it was the wrapping for an expensive, magical brand of fortune cookie.
Delphi’s.
Chapter Three
When the last kingdom of Ancient Greece crumbled and most gods had ceased to roam the earth, the only oracle whose pyre continued to burn for mankind was that of Delphi. It had reinvented itself over the years, and today the oracle had taken on the guise of a confectionary company made famous for its delicious fortune cookies. Humans bought them for their constantly rotating assortment of flavors (for this season, there was the limited-edition chestnut and red beans). Non-humans, on the other hand, bought them for an entirely different reason.
A well-groomed secretary was waiting for me at Delphi’s branch office in Silver Mist, and I didn’t even need to show my badge. When I introduced myself as an agent from CSI, she simply said that the head priestess was expecting me and whisked me up to the fifth floor office of the branch manager.
“I’ll take it from here, Sam. Thank you.” The brunette standing behind the desk was gorgeous: clouds of black hair, big, dark eyes, and her tall, slim figure made frail by the way the white wispy fabric of her skirt swirled around her legs.
She was exactly how I pictured a head priestess would look like, never mind her backdrop, which, in contrast to her appearance, was the height of modern minimalism, with its industrial gray walls and glossy plastic-and-steel furniture.
“Agent Vavrin, isn’t it?” She came around her desk to shake my hand, and I had to crane my neck to meet her gaze. Have I mentioned that Delphi’s Silver Mist branch manager also happened to be wearing five-inch heels?
“Thank you for---” A worrying thought suddenly occurred to me, and my words came to an abrupt stop. Oh, cast it. Why did my vocabulary always fail me at the worst possible time? When I saw the priestess raise a brow, I cleared my throat and started again. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, umm…Sister Claire?”
The older woman’s shoulders started to rock as soon as the words came out. Epic fail again, Blair Vavrin, I thought with a grimace. “I’m guessing that’s not the proper way to address a priestess?”
“Err, no, dear. It’s not.”
Seeing her shoulders shake even harder, I said with a sigh, “It’s alright. Please feel free to laugh---” I didn’t bother finishing the rest of my sentence as the priestess doubled over.
Oh, well.
At least I now knew I had another surefire way to break the ice aside from telling non-humans I was really a witch named Blair.
We took our seats soon after, with Claire letting me know that I was free to address her by her given name or ‘priestess’ if that was what made me comfortable.
“I only have a few questions about someone who might have been a former---” Brooms and sticks. Here we go again. What did one call a person who sought help from an oracle?
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘supplicant,’” Claire said with a smile.
“Yes, exactly---” I stopped. “Wait. How did you know that?” Could she have read my mind? Was that possible?
The priestess started laughing again. “You have quite an expressive face, Agent Vavrin, that’s all.”
Since every Tom, Dick, and Jane I knew had told me that at least twice, I knew it had to be the truth and I had only myself to blame for it. “If I get one of your fortune cookies,” I asked in a grumbling tone, “do you think your oracle would let me know how I can turn my poker face on?”
Claire’s smile only widened. “That’s not how things work here, my dear.” Standing up, she went to the file cabinets that lined one side of the room and pulled a drawer open to retrieve a box of fortune cookies. After taking its plastic seal and lid off, the priestess showed me the contents of the box, asking, “What do you see?”
“Seven fortune cookies in red foil, and one in silver.” I looked up at her with a frown. “That is what I’m supposed to see, isn’t it?”
“It is. A human, however, would see all of these in red.”
“You’re using a disguise spell then?”
“More like a web of disguise spells based on a design we’ve patented.” The priestess then picked the fortune cookie wrapped in silver foil, saying, “Humans who pick this would receive a standard fortune reading.”
“Standard?” I echoed blankly.
“It’s basically any proverb,” she elaborated with a shrug. “We have interns Google new ones every month. I think Brainy Quote is one of their favorite sources.”
“I, umm, see.” I was struggling not to grin. An ancient oracle, now reduced to copy-pasting lines from the Internet? Oh, how the world had changed. Clearing my throat, I asked, “What happens if a non-human selects it?”
“They’ll either find a blank strip of paper or a QR code to one of our landing pages.”
And now, we’re talking about QR codes and oracles, I marveled.
“The URL varies,” the head priestess added, “depending on whatever current promo we’re running.”
“You mean you’re discounting the rates for your, umm, fortune readings?”
“Naturally. Tending to the oracle may be our calling, but we also run it as we would any business. Priestesses, like witches, are not immortals. Our jobs may be somewhat unorthodox, but other than that, we lead fairly normal lives, which means we have bills to pay just like any ordinary human.”
Claire’s explanation made a lot of sense, and I now felt like an idiot for imagining that priestesses would have everything taken care of for them. “You mentioned about a blank strip of paper,” I commented. “What does that signify?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“The paper will come out blank if the oracle has nothing to
say about the person,” the priestess answered simply.
“I see.” At her answer, I opened my bag and felt Claire’s curious gaze on me as I pulled out an ordinary-looking cardboard box.
“I’ve seen one of those,” the priestess remarked. “It enables you to access items in your bureau’s storage system from anywhere in the world, doesn’t it?”
“Yup. It’s useful for accessing missing and forgotten files, but it won’t ever give you a bag of chips---” I paused with a frown. “Actually, it can, as long as you don’t mind that it comes with bloodstains and---” I noticed the look of horror on the priestess’ face and shut up. TMI, Blair. Stop it.
“Umm, anyway, I thought I’d show you something.” I tapped the box with my wand, and a moment later, its cardboard top turned into a LED display. I pressed my thumb on the fingerprint scan, typed my command, and after a few moments, the box opened on its own and produced an evidence bag.
The priestess’ expression turned unreadable as soon as she saw the strip of silver foil wrapping inside the transparent zip-locked bag.
“The case I’m currently handling involves a sixteen-year-old victim,” I told her quietly.
“You do not need to say anything more. We’ve only had one such supplicant that fits the profile of your victim.” A faint hint of sadness darkened the priestess’ eyes as she spoke. “It’s Venus Stratton, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so. She died last night in her home.”
The priestess’ gaze turned thoughtful. “You think the oracle may help shed light into it?”
“Right now, all I can say is that it’s too early to discount anything.”
“I understand,” she said with a nod. “And of course, we will do our best to help you in any way we can.”
“I’m glad to hear that, since I’m hoping you have a copy of Venus’ oracle.”
“In a way.”
I frowned at the ambiguity of her reply, but was soon after distracted when the priestess murmured a chanting spell that had a secret sliding panel behind her desk reveal a hidden stairway.