Fang Ten

by Emery Belle

  But she didn’t. Instead, she whispered, “Happier times,” almost to herself, before removing her glasses and wearily massaging her temple.

  “Let’s go,” I said quietly to Pierre, giving his leash a gentle tug.

  As we stepped onto the sidewalk outside Pearl’s shop, I glanced back at her for a brief moment. She was sitting behind her desk, staring sadly at Arthur’s photo while stroking her fingers down his face, her eyes filled with longing. I watched her for another moment, then slipped away, Pierre trotting beside me.

  Chapter 8

  My stomach was twisted into knots the next afternoon as I trudged up the academy’s steps clutching my mixology lesson book, dark purple bags under my eyes. I hadn’t slept a wink last night—I’d tossed and turned until the sun peeked out above the horizon, trying to figure out how I was going to break the news to Glenn that Hattie had been rendezvousing with Arthur behind his back. I still hadn’t come up with a good answer, and my entire body was flooded with dread as I stepped into the mixology lab, keeping my eyes locked on the ground.

  Stony silence greeted me, and when I glanced up I saw that the only two people in the room were Garnet and Hunter, and they were sitting as far apart from each other as possible. Garnet was fiddling nervously with the silver bangles on her wrist and shooting anxious glances at Hunter, who was hunched over his own lesson book, his hair falling into his eyes, doing his best to ignore her presence.

  “I take it you told Hunter that you were taking Calvin to the coven’s dance,” I whispered to Garnet, slipping into the seat between them. Hunter snorted with anger, and Garnet shot me a desperate look and clutched my arm.

  “I have an idea—why don’t you go with Hunter?” she whispered back fervently, and I could tell by the stiffening of Hunter’s shoulders that he could hear her. “Neither one of you has a date, it’s absolutely per—”

  “I have a date,” Hunter said through gritted teeth.

  Garnet looked taken aback. “You do? Who is it?”

  “None of your business,” he shot back, and Garnet cringed. She turned to me, looking for sympathy, but I merely shrugged and set my lesson book on the workbench. I was still feeling rather frosty toward her, especially since she kept insinuating that I wouldn’t be able to get a date of my own for the dance. I glanced down at my bag, where my container of courage was practically burning a hole through the fabric.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentleman.” Lady Winthrop swept into the room. I looked behind her for Glenn, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Professor Gulley isn’t feeling well today and has asked me to oversee his lessons. I am not, however, as skilled as he is with a cauldron, and so I thought we’d spend the next hour brushing up on our offensive spells, which, I can assure you, will be featured prominently in your end-of-term exams.”

  I stifled a groan behind my hand. In addition to the hand-binding hex and the electrica spell, we’d learned the ventri spell, which caused the recipient to experience an upset stomach, and, as a bonus, the caecus hex, which rendered your opponent temporarily blind.

  “Since we’re in a controlled setting,” Lady Winthrop announced, “I would like you to practice the hand-binding and blinding hexes on each other, but not the ventri spell, because you certainly don’t want to cause any discomfort to your fellow—”

  But Hunter either wasn’t listening, or didn’t care, because he stood up, aimed his wand at Garnet, and bellowed “Ventri!” as loud as he could. Fortunately for Garnet, he missed her; unfortunately for me, I became his unintended target. I doubled over, grunting in pain, as Garnet let out a roar of outrage on my behalf and sent an unusually well-aimed blinding hex soaring squarely into Hunter’s face.

  “Stop, stop!” Lady Winthrop cried as Hunter began blundering around, running into a table of mixology ingredients and sending dozens of tiny vials crashing to the floor. Several of them broke open, sending a mix of noxious odors into the air, adding waves of nausea to my already upset stomach. As Garnet chased Hunter around the room, throwing spell after spell at him but never actually hitting him with any of them, I curled up beneath the workbench, moaning and clutching my abdomen.

  Lady Winthrop restored order with several loud bangs from her wand, and my stomachache instantly evaporated, replaced with a vague feeling of unease. Hunter, who had regained his sight, bent down to collect the broken vials with trembling hands, and Garnet, whose face was alight with anger, was nursing a nasty gash on her wrist courtesy of her own wand.

  “I have never seen such a despicable scene in my life,” Lady Winthrop said through gritted teeth, her cheeks red with fury. “My class of five-year-olds shows better judgment than the three of you, who are supposed to be adults. If I ever see such disgusting behavior again, I will expel each of you from the academy.”

  I pursed my lips—frankly, I didn’t think I deserved to be grouped in with Garnet and Hunter here—but kept silent, because Lady Winthrop still had her wand pointed at us. “Sorry,” Hunter muttered, presumably to Garnet, though he kept his eyes on the floor.

  Garnet shook back her hair. “That’s okay,” she said grudgingly, then plopped back down in her seat. No one thought to apologize to me, the innocent victim, and so when I slid onto the bench between them, I cast them both dark looks that they ignored.

  Garnet and Hunter were unfailingly polite to each other for the rest of the lesson, though a chill had settled in the air that didn’t quite dissipate until the bell rang and the three of us went our separate ways. I noticed Garnet trying to catch my attention as I crossed the academy’s front lawn a few paces away, but I ignored her, instead making a beeline for the boardwalk.

  I’d come to a decision.

  The sun was high in the crystalline sky, and two nightswallows swooped overhead as I walked through the streets toward the marina, trailing a group of fairies fluttering a few inches off the sidewalk, their colorful beach towels dragging behind them. They were chatting enthusiastically, and though I tried not to listen to their conversation, the word “Hattie” floated toward me on the breeze. I sped up until I was directly behind them, but I was careful to keep enough distance that they wouldn’t notice me.

  “—ask me, they should be talking to Fletcher. He’s as crazy as they come. If anyone killed her, it was him.”

  “You really think so? I mean, yeah, he’s a little off his rocker, but most people just think he’s a harmless old coot. I can’t imagine him actually hurting her. Besides, I’m sure Kellen has already—”

  The rest of their words were drowned out by a troll lumbering down the street, parting the crowd as he passed by, a mostly empty bottle of whiskey dangling from one lumpy hand as he belted out “Sweet Caroline” at the top of his lungs. By the time I’d escaped him—he’d grabbed me around the waist in an impromptu dance, dipping me so low that my hair brushed the sidewalk—the fairies were nowhere to be seen, and I was left pondering what little I’d heard.

  That was twice I’d heard the name Fletcher in relation to Hattie—the porcelain witch on her fireplace had also mentioned him when I’d dropped by her house to pick up the puppets for the daycare recital on that fateful day. I’d have to do a little more digging to find out who he was. So far, my only suspect in the case was Pearl, who definitely had plenty of reasons to want Hattie out of the picture for good. But I wasn’t Kellen—I didn’t jump to hasty conclusions—and so my investigation was far from over. Glenn deserved for me to be thorough.

  By now, I’d reached the boardwalk, climbing the weathered wooden steps behind a yeti couple holding hands and eating sandwiches with something that looked horribly like a squirrel’s tail hanging out of the bread. I stepped around them and wound my way through the crowds of tourists and islanders alike browsing the souvenir stands, waiting in line for the carnival rides, and enjoying cotton candy, funnel cakes, and, in the case of one table of vampires, a cheese pizza with sauce that looked a bit too thin to be made of tomatoes…

  “Can I help you?” the lady dwarf behind the
counter asked as I stepped up to the Magic Island information booth that sat directly across from the ferry dock. A small pencil was tangled in the ends of her beard, but she seemed not to notice, and I certainly wasn’t going to point it out—lady dwarfs had a nasty habit of biting first, asking questions later.

  Trying not to stare, I offered her a smile and said, “Could you tell me the way to the gargoyle community?” Although paranormal creatures of every variety called the island home, building inter-species friendships, business partnerships, and even relationships, I’d noticed that many of them chose to live in separate communities amongst their own kind. Cole, I hoped, was no exception, otherwise I’d never be able to track him down.

  The lady dwarf frowned at me and stroked her frizzy beard; though I saw her fingers brush against the pencil eraser, she still didn’t register its presence. “We don’t offer any gargoyle tours,” she said, then swept her stubby hand toward a row of brochures lining the counter. “But if you’re looking for an adventure, our underwater celebrity homes tour is quite popular. Only two gold coins gets you a window seat on the submarine… lunch included!” At the mention of food, a few flecks of saliva appeared at the corners of her mouth. Was it my imagination, or was she looking at me with a certain… hunger… in her gaze?

  “That sounds fun,” I said amicably, taking a step back, “but I’m actually not looking to go on a tour. I was just hoping you could point me toward where the gargoyles live… there’s someone I need to speak to there.”

  Her beady eyes instantly clouded over with suspicion. “We don’t offer tours of the gargoyle community,” she repeated, slowly, as if I were daft.

  I stared at her. “I’m not asking to go on a tour. I just want some direct—”

  The dwarf slammed the booth’s window closed, missing my fingers by centimeters, then pulled a random brochure from the pile and pretended to become engrossed in it, though every so often her eyes darted toward me to see if I was still there. Scratching my head, I turned to leave, but bumped into a short, stocky man in dark robes with silver eyes and a tattoo of a roaring dragon on his forearm.

  “Hey,” he said in an undertone, and I looked around to see who he was talking to before realizing it was me. “I hear you’re looking to pay a visit to the gargoyles?”

  His cold eyes bored into mine, and a feeling of icy fingertips ran up my spine as he stepped closer to me until I felt like all the air had been sucked from my lungs. “I can help you with that… for a price.” He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers in my direction. I stared down at them for a long moment before raising my head to meet his gaze.

  “I’m looking for… a friend. Cole Noir?”

  The man’s entire demeanor shifted, and he dropped his hand immediately and took a step back from me, giving me breathing room. “Why didn’t you say so?” he said, bowing swiftly. “Any friend of Cole’s is a friend of us all. This way.” And with a swish of his long robes, he swept down the boardwalk, deftly dodging the throngs of beachgoers hurrying this way and that.

  With a final look back at the lady dwarf, who had abandoned all pretenses of reading the brochure and was now watching me through narrowed eyes, I ducked past a herd of centaurs crowding around a stand selling floppy beach hats and followed the man with the silver eyes, keeping my own eyes locked on his back to avoid losing him in the crowd. Part of me—the sensible part—warned that this was a stupid idea, but the other, less rational side of me knew this might be my only chance of speaking to Cole.

  The man hurried down the boardwalk steps and headed straight for town, with me hot on his heels. Though I kept expecting him to stop and turn down any of the side streets that crisscrossed around the island, he kept walking, the buildings lining the sidewalks growing seedier and more rundown the farther we traveled from the shore.

  When we reached the border of a dense, dark forest shrouded in gloom and bathed in silence except for the ravens cawing overhead, their wings spread against the brilliantly blue sky, I skidded to a halt. There was no way I was following that man inside, not unless I wanted to end up as the next Magic Island murder victim. But instead of entering the winding dirt path that led deeper into the forest, the man cut a sharp left and headed down a narrow, paved road filled with potholes and lined with shaggy shrubs.

  We walked in silence for another fifteen minutes, and eventually the road grew wider and the shrubs gave way to towering oak trees, their branches sweeping overhead and providing cover from the cloudless sky. Cheerful cottages began dotting the hillsides on either side of us, with windows thrown open to let in the fresh air and well-tended front lawns with lush green grass.

  “Here we are,” he said as we approached a pale blue cottage that was slightly bigger than the rest. The yard was filled with windchimes of all sizes, their tinkling melodies carrying toward me on the gentle breeze. A large square garden took up a sizable chunk of the front yard and boasted all sorts of herbs, vegetables, and flowers I recognized, and some I didn’t. And bent over it, his brow beaded with sweat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to expose his bronze forearms, was…

  “Cole,” the silver-eyed man said, letting himself in the low front gate while I hovered nervously outside it, trying to look casual. “I have a young lady here who says she’s your friend.” He looked toward me, and when Cole followed his gaze, his mouth lifted into a genuine smile.

  “Wren!” he said in surprise, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and dropping the pair of shears he’d been using to prune a magnificent rose bush with coral-colored blooms. He made his way over to me, dismissing the other man with a nod of his head; the man bowed low and swept away, his dark robes billowing behind him. When he came to stand in front of me, he held out his hand for me to shake. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  I took his hand and, not for the first time, an electric charge ran through me as our skin touched; a slight raise of his eyebrows told me that he’d felt it too. “I wanted to thank you,” I said, deciding not to launch into the big question right away. My container of courage was still burning a hole in my bag, but I ignored it—I’d decided to do this completely on my own.

  He studied me, his dark eyes raking curiously over my face, causing a flush to wash over my cheeks. “For what?”

  “For defending me in front of the High Court,” I said. “Thanks in no small part to you, I’m still able to call the island home.”

  He inclined his head slightly. “It was my pleasure, Wren.” Holy hotness, I loved the way my name sounded on his lips. “I only did what I had to do.” He shielded his eyes against the sun bearing down on us and, noticing that I was squinting too, motioned for me to follow him inside the cottage.

  “Not many people would have stood up to Lord Macon like that,” I said as we stepped through the front door and I looked around with interest. The interior was warm and cozy, with brown leather couches, plush carpeting, and mahogany bookshelves lining the room. I looked around covertly for any sign of a female presence—a pair of discarded heels, a hairband, a bottle of lotion—but found none.

  Cole motioned for me to sit down, then bent over the stone fireplace and stoked it until a roaring fire burst to life. “Make yourself at home,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” Then he headed down the hallway, calling over his shoulder, “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Something cold would be nice, if you have it,” I said, sinking into the couch and wiggling my toes in front of the fire. I heard the sound of running water, and Cole appeared a few minutes later, toweling himself off. He was wearing a fresh T-shirt that stuck to his wet skin in all the right places. I tried not to lick my lips.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, popping into the kitchen for two tall glasses of lemonade and handing one to me before downing his own and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve been working outside all day, and I didn’t want to knock you over with my smell.” He laughed, and I slid ever so slightly closer to him on the couch. As far as I was concerned, h
e could knock me over any day of the week.

  We chatted for a few more minutes about my High Court hearing, then fell into a companionable silence, watching the fire while I worked up the courage to mention the coven’s dance. And just when I had finally forced the words up my throat, there was a sharp knock on the door.

  “Excuse me,” Cole said, sliding off the couch. He smiled down at me, his eyes sparkling mysteriously. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “I won’t,” I wanted to say. “Ever. Never ever.”

  “Okay,” I squeaked instead, then took a few more nervous sips of my lemonade while I listened to him pad across the entryway and open the door. I heard another man’s voice, and the two of them spoke in low voices for a time while I sank back into the cushions and stared into the flames, imagining what it might feel like to have Cole’s arms wrapped around me as we held each other close and danced under the moonlight, the dragons swooping overhead.

  As the minutes ticked on, I stood up and began perusing Cole’s bookshelves, which were filled with old, dusty tomes that looked like they belonged in a long-forgotten section of the library. I ran my hands along their covers, kicking up dust, until my fingers grazed something thinner, lighter, and a folder came tumbling off the shelf, spilling loose papers all over the floor.

  Swearing beneath my breath and checking to make sure Cole was still occupied at the door, I squatted down and began collecting the papers. As I was stuffing a few of them back inside the folder, some of the wording caught my eye, and I realized with a sharp intake of breath that I was looking at the contracts Cole used when he was hired to protect someone. That must mean…

  I shuffled quickly through the pages, my heart racing as I looked for my name. I knew what I was doing was wrong, that Cole could walk back in at any second and be furious with me when he saw me nosing through his private documents, but in that moment, all I cared about was finding out who had hired him to protect me when I first arrived on the island. I’d spent many nights running through the available options in my head, and none of them made sense.