Fang Ten

by Emery Belle

  Sebastian greeted me with an easy smile, looking delighted when I told him we had just finished buying our dresses for the dance. “I’m sure you’ll look incredible in whatever you’ve chosen,” he said, his eyes sparkling as they looked sincerely into mine, causing a flutter of excitement to run through me.

  As he gave me a quick rundown of what had been happening at the newspaper since I’d been gone, most of which boiled down to Sandrine being her usual terrifying self, I noticed that Saul’s dark eyes were locked on me, and he seemed to be trying to catch my attention. I excused myself, leaving Garnet and Sebastian to make awkward conversation while I pulled Saul aside.

  “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time,” he said in a low voice, inclining his head toward mine so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Word around town is that you’re working to track down Hattie Bumble’s kidnapper?” His dark eyes swept over my face, looking for confirmation.

  But I wasn’t going to give it. “Word around town is wrong,” I said quickly, hoping he couldn’t hear the lie on my lips. The last thing I needed right now was for Kellen to catch wind of what I was doing—after the top hat disaster, he would undoubtedly be looking for any excuse in the book to throw me back in jail.

  “Then my apologies for the misunderstanding,” Saul said, sweeping his tongue over his fangs. Then he hesitated, keeping his gaze locked on mine. “But if you ever do find yourself in a position to help, I have some information that may be of use.”

  He looked toward Garnet and Sebastian to make sure they weren’t listening before continuing. “This is little known outside the vampire community, but Hattie is embroiled in a bitter argument with a prominent vampire by the name of Radu Maldova over a rare tree that grows on the island called the rainbow eucalyptus. She has taken their disagreement all the way to the High Court.”

  He pursed his thin lips. “I hesitate to say more, because I’m not privy to all the details. But if this is something of interest to you, I urge you to pay a visit to Radu. You can usually find him at the ocean—he owns a surf shop on the boardwalk, and if he’s not there, then he’s probably giving surfing lessons. You can’t miss him—he’s the tannest vampire on the island.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” I said, nodding to him. “I’ll be sure to pass it along.”

  He gave me a knowing smile, and we rejoined the other two. Shortly afterward, when the men said their goodbyes and headed back to work, I slid my notebook out of my bag and jotted down Radu’s name. The lead sounded promising, and I vowed to pay him a visit as soon as I could—but first, I needed to track down Hattie’s husband… and maybe have a few choice words with Glenn about his lady love’s marital status.

  Chapter 11

  Glenn was nowhere to be seen during our next mixology lesson, so Lady Winthrop spent the hour reviewing all the spells we could expect to find on our upcoming exams. By the time she was finished, my head was spinning and my stomach was fluttering with nerves. “What if we don’t pass?” Garnet asked worriedly as we exited the academy, echoing my own fears. “Do you think we’ll get a second chance? I don’t want my life as a real witch to be over before it even begins.”

  At this point, Hunter would normally have offered to spend some time tutoring Garnet, but he remained resolutely silent as we crossed the academy’s front lawns. Even though the two of them were being as polite as ever when they were in the same room, a certain frostiness had settled between them that no amount of encouragement on my part seemed to thaw. Eager to avoid the tension, though knowing I was about to engage in a conversation far more awkward, I parted ways with them and headed toward the coastline.

  Glenn’s house masquerading as a shed stood on a beautiful stretch of land with sweeping views of the turquoise ocean in every direction. Before I knocked on the weathered wooden door, I took a moment to breathe in the fresh sea air; a seagull was soaring overhead, its gray and white wings spread across the crystalline sky, and a trio of dolphins were frolicking in the water below me. The island was a true paradise, and I still had a hard time believing my new life wasn’t a dream I’d soon wake from.

  As I tore my eyes away from the beauty surrounding me and turned my attention back to the shed, a feeling of dread crept over me as I rehearsed, for what had to be the hundredth time, what I planned to say to Glenn. This was a matter of extreme delicacy—Glenn might have become a dear friend of mine in the weeks since he’d plopped out of my showerhead, but that didn’t mean I was comfortable confronting him with what I’d learned about Hattie.

  But before I had time to finish preparing, the door to the shed swung open and Glenn stood in front of me, swinging an empty bottle from one hand and carrying a mostly empty container of peanut brittle in the other, his eyes looking strangely unfocused. He let out a belch that shook the shed’s rafters, then leapt forward without warning and pulled me into a bone-crushing embrace, letting the remaining peanut brittle tumble to the ground.

  “You’re a true friend, Wren,” he sobbed, leaning into me so heavily that my knees buckled. He planted a noisy, wet kiss on my cheek, then released me, tilted his head back, and shook the empty bottle over his open mouth. A single drop of liquid fell out and landed on his tongue with an alarming sizzling sound, and he smacked his lips before tossing the bottle aside.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. He beamed at me, looking positively unstable, and then immediately his face crumpled and he began sobbing into his hands. I led him through the shed door and into the spacious living room, which, unlike the last time I visited, was in complete disarray. Clothes and hats in a dizzying spectrum of colors were flung over the furniture, cartons of takeout food were overturned on the beautiful white carpet, and a distinct odor of stale peanut brittle lingered in the air.

  “Kellen was just here,” Glenn said, plopping himself down onto the couch without bothering to move aside a pale pink top hat; its squashed tip poked out from beneath his bottom, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

  “What did he want?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, though inside my alarm bells were ringing like mad. By this point, I was well acquainted with the police chief’s modus operandi, and right now he was salivating over Glenn just like Pierre did over a meatball. There was no question about it—Kellen was zeroing in on Glenn as suspect number one in Hattie’s disappearance, and I was no closer to finding out the truth than I had been when I began my investigation. Glenn was counting on me, and I was failing him.

  “He wanted me to retrace my steps between the time I left Hattie’s house the morning she disappeared up until the moment I arrived at the academy to teach my first mixology lesson of the day.” Glenn twisted his hands together nervously. “He said he’s trying to rule me out as a suspect, but I know better, Wren—he wants an alibi, and I can’t give him one.”

  “Why?” I asked, panic bubbling up inside me. I tried not to think of that orange top hat—I’d practically handed Glenn to Kellen on a silver platter, and if Kellen decided to arrest him, it would be entirely my fault.

  Glenn gave a small shrug, looking defeated. “Because I don’t have one. I was in my workshop all morning trying to perfect my wart-growing solution—I’ve recently found out that once grown to precisely a quarter of an inch before being scraped off, they make the most marvelous seasoning for unicorn stew.”

  “That sounds… well, hmm.” I pressed my fingers to my lips for a brief moment to quell the nausea that image inspired. Then, not wanting to prolong the inevitable, I blurted out, “Why on earth were you dating a married woman?” When Glenn’s eyes widened with surprise, I added, more softly, “I found out about Fletcher.”

  “Ah, yes. Fletcher.” Glenn’s expression hardened, catching me off guard—I’d never seen the grandfatherly wizard look even the slightest bit angry until now. Hattie’s disappearance aside, Glenn had to be the most happy-go-lucky person I’d ever met.

  He blew out a long breath, then yanked the top hat out from beneath his bott
om and proceeded to squash it violently between his clenched hands. “Back in the old days,” he said, “before modern sensibilities took over, marrying for love was considered a ridiculous concept.”

  He gazed out the window, a faraway look in his eyes. “Women, especially, had no say in who they were matched with, even in the magical community, which has always been far more progressive than the human world. Fletcher Bumble came from a powerful family of wizards, and so Hattie’s father considered him a suitable match for his only daughter because it would elevate his own status within the community. In his greed, he ignored certain signs that should have warned him that Fletcher was unstable, prone to bursts of anger and so obsessed with experimenting in his workshop that he locked himself away in it, day and night, with no regard for the feelings of his new bride.”

  Glenn sighed heavily. “The marriage was filled with strife from the beginning, but Hattie’s father had signed a binding contract with Fletcher, as was the custom in those days, ensuring that his daughter would remain married to Fletcher for, at a minimum, a period of five hundred years, or until his own death, whichever came first. Sadly, Hattie’s father was blessed with many healthy centuries of life and only passed on to the next world a year ago, upon which time Hattie immediately petitioned Fletcher for divorce. Magic Island marriage law states that both parties must agree to the divorce, and thus far, Fletcher is refusing to give his consent.”

  In a move completely out of character for him, Glenn cracked his knuckles one by one as his face reddened with anger. “He kicked Hattie out of their shared home and has confiscated the majority of their money, leaving Hattie to live in near-squalor in that horrible shack she’s been renting. In short, Fletcher has been holding her hostage—emotionally and financially—until Hattie gives in and comes back to him. Which, of course, she won’t do—especially since she met me and became my lady love.” At that, his entire face lit up, and the knot of unease in my stomach grew to the size of a bowling ball. Glenn, as I’d suspected, had no clue about Arthur.

  I looked down at my hands and then back up at him, my lips forming the words I knew would crush him into a thousand pieces. But his eyes were shining with love, with hope, with trust in me that things would work out, and… I couldn’t.

  So I didn’t.

  Instead, I said feebly, “So you already knew that Hattie was married.”

  “I did.” Glenn nodded gravely. “And normally I would never dream of interfering, but Hattie assured me that her relationship with Fletcher was over centuries ago. She was unhappy, and…” His voice broke, and he took a moment to compose himself. When he spoke again, his words were barely above a whisper. “She told me that I brought the light back into her life. If this doesn’t end how I’m hoping it will, at least… at least I can take some comfort in that.”

  “Well,” I said, trying to keep my own voice under control, “I’m doing everything I can to find her, Glenn. I promise you that.”

  He gave me a soft smile, then brought my hand up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “I would never think anything else, my dear Wren.” He patted my hand, then set it back in my lap before looking around the room. “Look at the state of this place,” he said with a sigh. “I’m afraid I’ve already fallen back into my bachelor ways.”

  Lifting both hands, he said, “Mundare,” and the living room began cleaning itself before my eyes. The cartons of takeout food righted themselves and pranced off to the kitchen in a single-file line; the clothes stood to attention, dusted themselves off, and whisked away to the closet; and, with a faint whisper against my skin, the odor of stale peanut brittle was replaced with the light scent of rosewater.

  For a few moments, we stood shoulder to shoulder, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at a distant boat chugging into the harbor, soft waves rippling in its wake. “I should go,” I said eventually, breaking the silence. I looked around for my bag and slid on my shoes, then wrapped my arms around Glenn in a tight hug. “I hope I have good news for you soon.”

  He didn’t respond; instead, he showed me to the door, standing with his hands in his pockets as I stepped over the threshold and began walking down the sidewalk. Just before I reached the end of it, I thought I heard, in a whisper that barely registered over the nearby chirping of birds, “I hope so too.”

  Fletcher Bumble owned a souvenir shop in a prime location in town, just a block away from the ferry docks and across the street from a tourist attraction offering dragon’s-eye views of the island. Even though Garnet had been keen to come with me, I’d made a point of visiting his shop alone, near closing time, so I wouldn’t be interrupted by other shoppers.

  The shop windows were lined with the porcelain figurines that had made his work so highly sought-after, and sure enough, among a cluster of witches I found Dolores. She must have been visiting herself at the shop at that precise moment, for when I pressed my nose to the glass she gave me an eager wave that I was reluctant to return; I didn’t want to give Fletcher any opportunity to figure out that I’d been inside Hattie’s house. As far as he knew, I was another ordinary tourist—nothing more, nothing less.

  If I had expected to be greeted when I entered the shop, then I would have been disappointed, for although the door let out a loud whistle when I stepped through it, the wizened man behind the counter didn’t bother glancing up from his work. Which was fine by me—it gave me the chance to study Fletcher from a distance.

  And he looked… well, like an old man, a far cry from the powerful wizard I knew him to be. His skin was shriveled and saggy with age, his hands were gnarled and covered in liver spots, and only a few wisps of gray hair were left on his head. He was bent over the counter, a tiny paintbrush in one hand and a dragon figurine in the other.

  I watched as he dipped the brush in gold paint and dabbed it around the edge of the dragon’s wings before setting the figurine down and circling his wand over it. The dragon flapped its wings and let out a soft roar, showing off its row of miniscule yet razor-sharp teeth, before turning its fiery gaze to me.

  “He’s beautiful,” I said before I could stop myself, taking a tentative step forward to stroke the dragon’s head. He closed his eyes lazily, as if anticipating my touch, and purred low in his throat.

  “It’s not for touching,” Fletcher growled, smacking my hand away. “I’m not finished with it yet—what are you trying to do, girl, corrupt the magic?”

  “Of course not,” I said, jumping back, my cheeks reddening with embarrassment. “I just…” The rest of the words died in my throat as Fletcher tore off his spectacles and glared at me through slightly filmy eyes. I swallowed hard—despite his outward appearance, I could tell this was not a wizard to be trifled with.

  The dragon stretched his wings again, drawing my gaze back toward him. “How much for him?” I asked, careful to admire the figurine from a distance this time. The dragon’s pink and gold scales reminded me of a sunset, and his wings looked so real that it was all I could do not to reach out and touch them. I had to have him.

  “Her,” Fletcher said, a little less aggressively this time. “This one’s a female, and let’s see…” He twisted the dragon from side to side, examining her from all angles. “Ten gold coins. And don’t bother trying to haggle with me, or I’ll have Nicodemus boot you right out the door.” I followed his gaze to Nicodemus, who turned out to be a life-size porcelain werewolf baring its teeth threateningly at me.

  I swallowed hard. “I don’t think I can afford that.”

  Fletcher shrugged. “Then you can’t have her.” He plucked the dragon up from the table, then aimed his hand at a large steel safe behind him. I caught only a glimpse of the rows of other figurines inside as the safe shot open in a flash of blue light before he stowed the dragon at the very back and closed the safe again with a thud of finality that echoed around the shop.

  I drummed my fingers on the counter, ignoring Fletcher’s snarl of impatience, and was just trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of
Hattie when the whistle above the door sounded again and a handful of zombies stepped inside, chatting animatedly and examining the glass case of zombie figurines with awe. Fletcher showed them the same level of courtesy he did for me—precisely zero—and a few minutes later, after selecting and paying for a porcelain zombie that kept shooting me menacing looks, they wandered back out into the sunshine.

  “What are you still doing here?” Fletcher asked in mild surprise when he looked up from the cash register and saw me hovering near a display case of vampires with very realistic-looking fangs. “If you can’t afford to buy anything, then I can’t afford to waste time on you.”

  Well then. My temper flared, but I immediately tamped down on it. Now was not the time for arguing—I needed Fletcher to see me as a friend, even if that’s the last thing he wanted me to be. “I’m sorry about Hattie,” I said, tracing my finger along the display case. One of the vampires sprang to life, baring his fangs at me, and I hastily withdrew my hand.

  Fletcher’s eyebrows disappeared into what little hair he had left. “You know Hattie?”

  “I do,” I said, taking careful note of his use of the present tense. “We worked together at the daycare for a brief period of time. I was shocked when I heard she’d disappeared—you must miss her terribly.”

  Without responding, Fletcher opened the safe again with a snap of his fingers, withdrew a porcelain centaur, and practically slapped it down onto the counter. He hunched his shoulders as he got to work on the figurine; every spot he touched with his wand sprouted a luxurious chestnut-colored mane. Then he stepped back, and I watched, fascinated, as the centaur stretched each of his four limbs before pulling an arrow from the quiver on his back and inspecting it with awe.