I bit back a groan at Noria’s defiant look. This is what I got for trying to convince her not to be an Enforcer – an even worse career decision.
“Have you spoken to Annia about this? Or your mother?”
“ Annia’s still out of town on a mission.” Noria wrinkled her nose. “But I don’t have to talk to her. I’m old enough to decide for myself.”
“Yes, but I’m sure she’d still want to hear about it.” I laid a hand on her shoulder, gentling my voice. “She’s your sister and she loves you, just like we all do.”
Noria looked away. I sighed, then continued. “Besides, my reluctance to become a criminal isn’t the only reason I’m sticking around. I’ve got to solve these murders. Not to mention that having inside access to the palace will allow me to pass on useful information to Rylan.”
“Oh.” Noria perked right up. “Well, I guess that’s okay then.”
“Still, though,” I amended, my frown returning at the thought of Rylan. “I can’t say that I’m too happy about the Resistance’s methods of, well, resisting.”
Comenius raised his brows. “What do you mean?”
I relayed the conversation I’d heard from the two mages back at the banquet about the terrorist attacks, and by the time I was finished both Comenius and Noria were scowling.
“There’s no way that’s true,” Noria insisted, her dark eyes burning.
“At the very least we don’t know the full story,” Comenius declared, ever the conservative. “The mages could have been embellishing their story, or even leaving key things out.”
“Exactly!” Noria planted her hands on her hips. “You can’t trust anything they say.”
“Well, that’s definitely possible.” I paused to consider that, thankful that my thick hair hid the tips of my reddening ears. Was it possible that I was succumbing to the brainwashing effects of the mages’ propaganda? “Still, I can’t completely discount what I heard until I know more.”
“Hmph.” Noria wrinkled her nose. “I think you’ve been doing a little too much listening, and not enough looking.” She returned to her post behind the counter. “I’m going to go do something productive. You should too.”
“Yeah,” I said slowly as Comenius shot me an apologetic look. “I guess you’re right.” It was time to do more looking, that was for sure, and not just on my part. I was going to get the Chief Mage involved with this even if it killed me. It was about time someone other than me did something about this whole mess.
On my way back to Solantha Palace, I stopped by the Shiftertown Cemetery to visit Roanas’s grave. It was located outside the Twenty-First Street Temple, a tall, grey stone building where shifters went to pay their respects to Magorah. I bypassed the temple itself, avoiding the reproachful gazes of the carved animals perched on the corners of the building, and headed to the cemetery in the back.
The cemetery was a wide plot of land that stretched for several acres from the back of the temple. Rows of headstones marked the places where the deceased lay, and I trod lightly over the grass, careful not to step on any flowers or other offerings left for the dead. It didn’t take me long to find Roanas’s grave – it was heaped with offerings from his many Shiftertown admirers, and beneath them lay freshly-turned dirt upon which grass had not yet grown.
I clenched my fist around my own meager offering, a bouquet of dandelions, which I thought a fitting tribute since Roanas had been a lion shifter. I should have been there at the funeral, to say a proper goodbye, to ensure the clerics laid him to rest respectfully and placed a gold coin atop each of his eyelids to pay the Ferryman who would lead him to the afterlife. I should have been there to grieve with his sister, who must have taken a dirigible all the way out from the southwest to see her brother buried. I should have been there to glare holes into my aunt Mafiela and demand that she and the rest of the Council fill Roanas’s shoes with a competent Inspector immediately, one who would pick up where Roanas left off and catch the bastard who was doing all this.
But I hadn’t, because I’d been imprisoned in Solantha Palace due to my own stupidity.
I squeezed my eyelids shut as I dropped to my knees, pressing my forehead to the gravestone. Cool granite rasped against my skin, a stark contrast to the hot tears running down my cheeks. For a long moment I could do nothing except kneel there, my tears dripping on the freshly-tilled earth, a salty offering lost on the body buried six feet beneath. After all, Roanas was no longer in that body to receive them – the tears were more for me, an opportunity to unleash the grief I’d shoved deep into the recesses of my mind since this whole ordeal had started. Tears that I’d not dared show while in the palace, not only because no one would care, but because in enemy territory grief was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Roanas, I thought silently, praying my thoughts would reach him in the afterlife. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you while you were investigating in the first place. Maybe if I had been, I could have helped you solve these murders before the killer caught on to you. Maybe if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own problems, you wouldn’t be dead now.
A soft breeze stirred the hair on the nape of my neck and whispered gently in my ear. There is little point in wishing upon what could have been. Your time is far better spent focusing on what could be, or better yet, what will be.
I chuckled through my tears at the oft-quoted line. I couldn’t say whether or not Roanas had actually spoken to me from beyond the grave, but the words soothed me nonetheless.
“Come to pay your respects?”
My head snapped up at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice. To my right stood a tall man dressed in a long brown leather coat, tight-fitting pants and a pair of boots that looked as though they’d seen a few hundred miles. The breeze tousled his short blond hair, drawing my attention to his raw-boned face. His hawk nose and slightly too-wide mouth pushed him out of the classically handsome category, but he was pleasant enough to look at. There was a certain charm to the way the left corner of his mouth turned up, and his sharp, reddish-yellow shifter eyes commanded attention.
I slowly got to my feet, nose twitching. My hackles rose as I caught his scent – he was a jaguar shifter. Around these parts that could only mean one thing.
“You must be my aunt Mafiela’s latest messenger boy.” I tossed my head, and a sudden gust of wind caught at my hair, streaming the thick black curls out from behind me like a banner. “Did she send you here to taunt me in her stead? Is she so busy she can’t make the time herself?”
The shifter arched a brow. “I am a recent addition to the Baine clan… but no, I’m not the Chieftain’s ‘messenger boy’. I’m Shiftertown Inspector Boon Lakin.”
I froze. The new Shiftertown Inspector? I eyed him up and down again, noting the knives cleverly concealed in his boots. That long coat of his could have many pockets in which to store more weapons and other useful tools…
“Let’s see some I.D. then, Inspector.” I closed the distance between us and held out a hand.
He reached beneath the collar of his coat and pulled out a golden medallion. My heart constricted as I caught sight of the fang symbol stamped into the center, as well as the runes that danced around the edges of the circle – it was the same one Roanas had worn.
“Convinced?”
I stared deep into his eyes. Unlike the other members of my former clan, Inspector Lakin’s eyes held no contempt when he looked at me, and they should have. I was an outsider, an abomination by my aunt Mafiela’s standards, and whatever she said, the rest of the clan followed.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
Inspector Lakin shook his head. “I’m a transplant from the Jaguar clan in Pardas,” he admitted, referring to a capital city in one of the northwestern states. “I used to be the Inspector up there, but I felt like a change of scenery, and I had a deputy who was more than willing to fill my shoes.”
“Must be nice,” I muttered, shoving my ha
nds into my jacket pockets. If I hadn’t been a hybrid, I would have been the one to fill Roanas’s shoes – I was more than capable between the training that I’d received from him and my experience as an Enforcer. “Fresh start, new life.”
I’d thought about that myself once or twice – just packing up and moving somewhere else where nobody knew who I was. Sure, any shifter with a good nose could still tell I was a hybrid, but not that I was a mage if I didn’t use my magic, and there were states, or at least cities, in the Northia Federation where half-human shifters were welcome. But any chance of that happening was gone now that my magic was public knowledge – my case was unique enough that news of my apprentice status would eventually spread across the country, at least amongst mage circles.
“Yeah.” Inspector Lakin stared at me for a long moment. “I’m sorry for your loss. From what I hear, you two were close.”
I snorted. “You’re not sorry for my loss. You’re just exchanging pleasantries while beating around the bush. Why don’t you tell me the real reason you came here to intrude on me while I’m paying my respects?”
Inspector Lakin’s eyes gleamed. “I see the rumors about you having a smart mouth are true.”
I jutted my chin out. “Yeah? You got a problem with that?”
Lakin only shrugged. “The reason I approached you is because I was going through Roanas’s case files and I noticed that he didn’t seem to have a file regarding these silver poisonings.” His eyes narrowed. “From everything I’ve heard of him, he was good at what he did. I don’t see how he would have forgotten to put a file together.”
“Not really sure what this has to do with me.”
“You were the last one to see Roanas alive.”
“I don’t have his case file.” Not a lie. I sent a mental thank-you to Comenius; I’d left the file at his shop before responding to the emergency call that had gotten me into so much trouble.
“But you know where it is.”
I said nothing.
“You know that I could have you brought before the Council for willfully hiding evidence.” His voice lowered into a dangerous growl. “This isn’t just about Roanas, Miss Baine. This is about getting justice for all the shifters who have died at the hands of this monster, and stopping him from hurting anyone else.”
I laughed bitterly. “I belong to no clan, and I’m a quasi-member of the Mage’s Guild now. I don’t think you actually can drag me before the Council.”
Lakin opened his mouth to answer, but the medallion around his neck lit up, bathing his throat in a golden glow. Emergency reported at 1922 Third Street, a metallic voice said. Doctor on scene. Please respond.
Lakin’s face whitened at the same time the blood drained from mine. That was my aunt Mafiela’s house.
He sprinted for the street, where a sleek silver steambike was parked in front of mine. I hesitated for only a second before racing after him. He peeled out into the road with a shrill whistle from the engine, and I followed right after. If this was connected in any way to the silver poisonings, I had to know.
Third Street was all the way on the other side of Shiftertown, near the bay where the more affluent shifters lived. Lakin parked in front of my aunt’s residence, a three-story house with grey siding, dark purple roof tiling, and matching purple shutters. A horse-drawn carriage was already parked at the curb in front of the steps. The front door was wide open, and the sound of a woman wailing was clearly audible from the street.
“Stay out here,” Lakin snapped as he ripped off his helmet. He raced up the steps and into the house. I followed after him, knowing he didn’t have the time to stand around and argue with me.
We found the source of the wailing in the parlor, where a veritable party of shifters were gathered, dressed in dinner finery. I recognized them all – this was the shifter Council and their respective families, likely all here at my aunt’s house for some kind of social event. They were gathered in a circle around a low couch, where a man lay with marble skin that looked like death. He had rich, dark brown hair and was wearing a gold waistcoat, white linen shirt and white slacks. I recognized him instantly as Corin Finehorn – the head of the Deer Clan, and one of the five council members.
“No!” Larana, Finehorn’s wife wailed, clutching her mate’s hand. She wore a dark green dress, gold jewelry dripping from her ears and throat. “It can’t be. He can’t be gone!”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. He placed a gentle hand on the woman’s slim shoulder. “There’s nothing more I can do for him.”
“By Magorah.” My aunt Mafiela spoke in a clipped voice. She wore a white dress that highlighted her slim figure, and her wealth of golden hair was piled atop her head in a matronly up-do. Pearls gleamed softly at her ears, throat and wrists, and if not for her yellow shifter eyes, I would have thought her a human socialite. “This is outrageous. Corin was perfectly healthy when he arrived at dinner tonight. How could this happen?”
“He was poisoned, wasn’t he?”
Lakin winced as every single person in the room turned to look at me. Mafiela’s eyes widened in outrage. “What are you doing in my home!” she demanded, her cheeks coloring.
“My apologies, Chieftain Baine.” Lakin took a step forward to deflect attention onto him. “I was questioning your niece when I got the alert, and she followed me here.”
“Well it’s about time,” Mafiela snapped. “We’ve been waiting for ten minutes.”
“Is… is it true that poison is what killed my mate?” Larana rose to her feet from her position beside the couch. Her doe eyes were filled with tears.
“The reaction does seem alarmingly similar to that of someone afflicted with silver poisoning,” the doctor hedged.
Larana’s eyes flashed. “You!” she pointed a trembling finger at my aunt. “You killed my mate!”
“That’s absurd!” Mafiela snapped. “Why would I do such a thing? Corin and I were good friends, fellow council members!”
“He was eating your food.” Larana’s voice wobbled. “Drinking from your glasses.” Her face crumpled as she dissolved into tears again. “He’s gone, and it’s all your fault!”
The woman lunged at my aunt, her eyes wild with grief and rage. Mafiela sidestepped, her own face mottled with fury. She raised her hand to strike Larana, and I darted forward, catching the blow before it could land.
“Don’t you think this poor woman’s gone through enough?” I snarled. “You couldn’t even take a moment to offer her some consolation, and now you’re going to beat her up too?”
Silence froze the room. Mafiela’s yellow eyes glittered at me with pure malice, and for a moment I wondered whether or not she would try to strike me too. I had no illusions about her – she might be dressed up like a lady, but beneath the façade she was all beast, one of the most ruthless people I knew. Part of me wished that she would lash out – I longed for provocation of any kind to take my years of pent-up anger out on her. But my more rational side knew that I could never get away with such behavior in front of the Council, even if I was the Chief Mage’s apprentice.
“Mafiela.” The deep voice of Toras, the Tiger Clan Chieftain, rumbled through the air. “The half-breed is right.”
“Fine.” Sneering, Mafiela wrenched her hand from mine. “I apologize for my behavior. Now get out of my house.”
Trembling with anger, I took a step toward her, intending to give her a piece of my mind.
“Don’t.” Lakin’s hand clamped around my wrist. I whirled on him, a fiery retort on my lips, but the silent plea in his yellow-orange eyes gave me pause. “This isn’t the time.”
Larana’s sobs started up again, and I glanced to where she sat on the floor, her shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands. The weighty gazes of the crowd standing behind me settled onto my back, and I knew that I was only holding things up.
“Alright.” I pulled my wrist from Lakin’s grasp. “Ask for Comenius over at Witches End,” I muttered as I brushed past him. “He has w
hat you’re looking for.”
Lakin started, but I didn’t wait around – my four hours were up and it was time I got back to the palace before the Chief Mage decided to fry my ass.
Chapter Fifteen
I threw open the doors to the Chief Mage’s study and stormed over to his desk, where he sat reading a thick, leather-bound book.
He barely looked up as I slapped down a newspaper on his desk, simply flicking his eyes up from the tome he was studying before returning to it. “You’re late.”
I balled my hands into fists, then unclenched them before I did something I would regret. “Sorry. I was a little busy dealing with the aftermath of another murder.”
The Chief Mage lowered the book onto his desk.
Taking that as an invitation to speak, I plowed on. “I was visiting Roanas’s grave when I got the news. Councilman Finehorn was murdered.”
Iannis listened as I recounted the story, his expression unreadable. When I was done, he simply gave me a look. “While alarming, there is no proof of interracial involvement here, or that silver was involved either. In fact, from what I’m hearing, Chieftain Baine sounds like the prime suspect.”
“She didn’t do this.” I ground my teeth. “Believe me, if I thought she did I would be the first to step aside and let the authorities nail her. But I heard the doctor – he said it looked a lot like silver poisoning. You can’t tell me it doesn’t sound like there’s a connection. And if that’s not enough, there’s also this.” I slapped my hand on the desk, drawing his attention back to the newspaper.
A frown creased the Chief Mage’s alabaster face as his eyes flicked down toward the paper, and then back up again. “I saw this headline this morning. Why are you bringing it to me now?”
I grabbed the paper – a copy of the latest issue from the Herald – and shook it in front of his face. “‘Strung-Out Shifters – The Newest Danger in Solantha,’” I recited, the headline burned into my retinas. I’d seen a copy of it fluttering from a newsstand on my way back, and had grabbed it. “Are you seriously saying that this piece of bullshit propaganda means nothing to you?”
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