Heir to the Alpha” Episodes 3 & 4: A Tarker’s Hollow Serial

by Black, Tasha

Was something still down there?

  Could that be the shadow darkening his thoughts?

  He would have to find out.

  For the safety of his pack. And his family.

  Chapter 6

  Cressida led the way to Madam Calypso’s Arcane Emporium with great interest, Grace’s shorter stride leaving her trailing slightly behind.

  Though Esmerelda Calypso was obviously a fraud, Cressida sort of admired the woman’s sense of the melodramatic and she had been looking forward to the visit.

  Plus she suspected there would be some type of snacks. If the movies had taught her anything, it was that weirdos like Esmerelda always had tea and little cakes around. It was almost a rule.

  “Oh, wow,” Grace said as they approached the storefront.

  They stopped for a moment and took in the enormous display window. There was a ton of hippie crap in there, tie-dyed blankets and brass incense holders and all kinds of jewelry and stuff covered in moons and stars. There was even a creepy doll with a kerchief on its head, a badly disguised and yellowed Fletcher’s Cove Bicentennial Celebration snow globe acting as her crystal ball.

  The sign above said:

  Madam Calypso’s Arcane Emporium

  Smaller handwritten signs beneath it read:

  Psychic may not tell you what you want to hear. If you don’t want to know - don’t ask.

  Fireworks 50% off.

  Grace shrugged and pushed open the door.

  A cascade of bells sounded, their high pitch tickling Cressida’s ears.

  Then the smell hit her.

  Damn patchouli-loving hippies.

  The scent of incense was so thick in the air that there was no way her sensitive wolf nose would be able to get anything useful out of the visit.

  She followed Grace inside, fighting the instinct to pull her shirt up over her face to block the smells.

  The shop was filled with all kinds of occult stuff: dusty old books, tarot cards, incense, crystals, bottles of oils and essences, jars with gross preserved animal parts, candles, and weird little statues.

  Some of the statues were not exactly different from the snake someone had given to Joshua.

  Esmerelda sat behind the counter, resplendent in a shimmering cloak and snow-white turban that made Cressida think of Bugs Bunny cartoons. She was dealing out cards with pictures on them that looked like the creatures from Labyrinth or The Dark Crystal. Cressida would have expected her to lay them out at a dreamy pace. Instead, her bejeweled fingers shuffled and flashed as fast as a Vegas blackjack dealer.

  “Greetings,” Esmerelda said in a thick accent, like a movie vampire - she really wasn’t letting any stereotypes go to waste. “I have been expecting you.”

  “You have?” Cressida asked, incredulous.

  “Well yeah,” the psychic replied, her faux-Transylvanian accent suddenly replaced with a thick Jersey one. “Youse guys made an appointment, didn’t cha?”

  Oh yeah.

  “Yes,” Grace said in a pointedly businesslike tone.

  “Okey-dokey, then,” Esmerelda replied. “The usual price for a single reading is twenty-nine bucks. But I’ll do you both for fifty.”

  She looked expectantly at Cressida.

  Cressida turned to Grace.

  Grace sighed and reached for her wallet.

  “How long have you been in the business?” Cressida watched the psychic expertly swipe Grace’s credit card.

  “Oh, it’s kind of a family tradition,” Esmerelda replied. “My mom had the sight, and so did hers. She was the original Esmerelda Calypso. Moved here and opened the shop when the park was still new, passed it on to my mom. I moved away for a while, thought about opening my own place somewhere a little more happening than Fletcher’s Cove. Funny thing though, the farther away I got, the less reliable my vision became. Must be something in the water. So I ended up back here, right where I started. Guess I should have seen that coming, huh?”

  Cressida laughed.

  Grace cleared her throat and slipped her card back into her wallet.

  “Right this way,” Esmerelda said in a hushed voice, pushing aside a beaded curtain and leading them into a dimly-lit back room.

  At the center of the small room, a large crystal ball sat on a table with thick red velvet cloth.

  “Please, have a seat.” Esmerelda gestured to the stools surrounding the table.

  Grace and Cressida seated themselves as Esmerelda fussed around lighting candles.

  Great. Might as well add a few more smells to the mix.

  Cressida avoided making eye contact with Grace for fear that she might start a giggle chain. But she could practically feel Grace rolling her eyes.

  “So, uh, does this thing work?” Cressida pointed to the ball as Esmerelda bent to put away the matches.

  “What, that?” she asked. “Nah, that’s just for the tourists. They like the whole experience, the accent, the mystical crystal ball. They want it to be like it is in the movies. I’m not gonna argue.”

  She shrugged and began to remove the dozens of rings she wore. They were probably just costume jewelry from Claire’s or something, but they flashed madly in the candlelight.

  “But,” Esmerelda said, removing the last ring and then stretching out her fingers luxuriously, “not you guys. I have a feeling you’re looking for something a little more… authentic.”

  Nice.

  One prediction in the bank. Good job, Esmerelda.

  “That crystal is lovely,” Esmerelda murmured, leaning forward to gaze raptly at the shard around Grace’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite like that.”

  She reached out to touch it.

  Quick as a pouncing tiger, Grace grabbed her wrist.

  “Ouch,” Esmerelda cried.

  “Sorry,” Grace muttered. “I think I’m just kind of on edge after the last few days.”

  “I don’t blame you, sweetie,” the psychic said, understanding filling her dark eyes. “It’s been crazy. That poor family.”

  Cressida would have been impressed except that there wasn’t much sincerity in the woman’s tone.

  “Time to get down to business,” Esmerelda said, rubbing her wrist and looking to Cressida.

  “So what do we do?” Cress asked. “Tea leaves? Were we supposed to bring a chicken or something?”

  “I just need to see your palm,” Esmerelda smiled. “Dominant hand please.”

  “It makes a difference?” Cressida asked.

  “Of course,” the psychic replied. “The other hand is what you were born with. I’m more interested in the one you made for yourself.”

  Cressida shrugged and put out her right hand and Esmerelda took it.

  There was a warm tingle as she traced the lines of Cressida’s palm with a long, blood-red fingernail.

  “Interesting,” Esmerelda said.

  “You have no idea,” Cressida smirked.

  Across the table Grace shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  “You are an actor,” Esmerelda said.

  “I’m a waitress,” Cressida replied.

  Grace shot her a furious look.

  “When I’m between photography gigs, that is,” Cressida amended. “But not an actress.”

  “I don’t mean your profession,” Esmerelda said patiently. “I mean you. You pretend to be what you are not.”

  Cressida winced, afraid she’d blown their cover.

  “You always have,” Esmerelda continued.

  Maybe not. It sounded like she was talking about something else.

  “There is power in you,” Esmerelda said reverently. “Untapped. Ignored. You only need to spread your wings.”

  Cressida thought of the crow totem and what Tokala told her back at the amphitheater, that night that felt like a century ago.

  “Wow,” Cressida said with an uncharacteristically nervous laugh.

  Esmerelda gave the impression of a deep bow with just the inclination of her head and a little flourish of her hand.

/>   “Now, you, my dear,” she said, holding out a hand for Grace.

  Cressida found herself very curious about what would happen next.

  Grace placed her hand in Esmerelda’s willingly enough. The other woman traced the lines in her palm as Grace sat with a serene expression, seemingly unconcerned.

  “I see missed opportunities,” Esmerelda said at last. “There is a wall between you and true happiness. You must break it down. You have to open the doors, even if you are afraid of what might be on the other side.”

  Grace blinked as if she were trying to process what the woman was saying.

  “Let go of what is holding you back,” Esmerelda said with conviction. “You have to give up control.”

  Cressida waited with bated breath, wondering if Esmerelda was going to tell her friend she needed to get laid. It was outstanding advice. If the psychic came out with it, Cressida might believe the woman had the sight after all.

  But Esmerelda hesitated, a furrow of concentration forming between her eyebrows.

  “I also see…”

  But instead of telling them, she groaned like a hungry bear and her eyes rolled back until Cressida could see the whites.

  Startled, she looked to Grace for her reaction, but her friend was watching the psychic intently.

  Cressida looked back to Esmerelda in time to see her dark brown eyes flash a brilliant blue.

  The woman shook herself like a dog coming in out of the rain.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes back to their normal brown. “I thought there was more.”

  “It’s okay,” Grace said, looking a little shaken. “We really should be going.”

  Cressida stood immediately, instinctively putting her body between her friend and the other woman.

  Esmerelda hopped up as if she didn’t notice anything was amiss.

  “Well I’m so glad you came,” she said, leading them through the beaded curtain once more and out into the shop. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Cressida said, grabbing Grace’s arm and making a beeline out the door.

  The tiny bells jangled behind them and they were back under the sky breathing fresh air once again. Cressida gulped it down greedily.

  They began to walk away from the shop at a pretty good clip. When they were about a block away they slowed down again.

  “So she’s pretty much full of shit, right?” Cressida asked carefully.

  “Yeah…” Grace said. “Totally.”

  She didn’t need to be a wolf to know her friend was lying. There had been something very odd, but very real going on in there.

  The psychic’s advice for Cressida herself echoed in her head once more.

  You only need to spread your wings.

  Chapter 7

  Grace sat opposite Chief Glenn Hershey at the diner, watching him drown his scrambled eggs in Sriracha.

  She wondered idly what else they might have in common besides their careers and their taste in breakfast food.

  “Something wrong?” He was watching her watch him, she realized.

  “Oh,” she said. “Sorry, I was just thinking about the case.”

  He nodded and grabbed a sip of coffee, interest sparkling in his hazel eyes. He looked ready to pick the whole case apart.

  Grace felt a rush of anticipation. It was funny, but something about Glenn put her right at ease. She was usually friendly, but slow to bring new people into her circle of trust. She could tell Glenn was going to be an exception to that rule soon.

  “So you came here to track a fugitive,” he said. “Who is it?”

  Well, maybe he wasn’t going to be that big an exception. There was no way she could tell him about the moroi.

  She improvised instead.

  “It’s a bad situation,” she began. “The former Tarker’s Hollow police chief, Clive Warren, went off the rails a few months back.” At least that much was true.

  “Oh,” Glenn said, nodding slowly. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story,” Grace said. “But it wound up as basically assault and confession to murder.”

  Glenn whistled softly.

  “That’s rough, Grace. I’m sorry to hear it. Always hurts to see one of our own go down like that.”

  “He dropped off the grid afterward,” she went on. “We had a tip that he was seen in the area. I figured he was looking for a place to lay low. Fletcher’s Cove seemed like a good choice for him since there aren’t many people here in the off season, and it’s easy to disappear into the crowds when the tourists arrive.”

  Glenn nodded in agreement, pinching his lips together.

  For a moment Grace felt bad about worrying him over Clive when Clive wasn’t actually around. But of course the moroi was much, much worse. Better that everyone be vigilant in these dark times.

  “We suspect he has ties to someone local,” she went on. “But we don’t know who that is yet. So that’s why we came up with the cover story. We knew any mention of police on his trail would have him heading for the hills again.”

  “Makes sense,” Glenn agreed. “Well, it probably goes without saying, but you have the support of my department if you need it.”

  It didn’t go without saying.

  There was absolutely no obligation for him to assign his resources and his people to helping strangers solve their case.

  Grace found herself deeply grateful.

  Glenn was a genuinely nice guy. And he trusted her, just like that.

  And oddly enough, she found herself warming up to him.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He gazed back at her and smiled. The din of the diners around them seemed to fade and she looked into his kind eyes and wondered if there was anything to what Cressida had said about him liking her. He sure did seem to like looking at her.

  She broke eye contact and took a sip of coffee.

  He did the same.

  “Any news on Joshua’s murder?” she asked, digging into her meal to try and mask how much interest she had in his answer.

  She was sure it had nothing to do with the moroi. The crime scene bore none of the telltale signs. But somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be some kind of connection.

  “According to the family, he didn’t really have any enemies,” Glenn said. “And the only motive we have is that he was about to take over the family business.”

  “Would that put the focus on Lincoln Monroe?” Grace asked. “He’s got to be next in line for it.”

  “That was my first thought,” Glenn nodded. “But apparently, he’s not crazy about the idea. He refused the father’s official offer this morning.”

  Interesting.

  “So who’s next?”

  “Still waiting to hear,” he said. “But it doesn’t look like there was a clear line of succession after that, so it dilutes the strength of the park as a motive quite a bit.”

  “How about the crime scene?” Grace asked. “Did forensics turn up anything?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m still waiting for the results of the toxicology report. But we don’t really need them to tell us he was poisoned. There were no fingerprints outside of the family. The door was forced just like they said, so it was locked from the inside at the time of death.”

  Grace nodded and sipped her coffee as she thought it all through. She’d been right in the first place. This was literally a locked room mystery.

  Somehow, they seemed much more fun in the mystery novels she read.

  They finished their meal in companionable silence. It was a comfort to Grace. Silence was harder than conversation, and not many people could pull it off.

  When the waitress came with the coffee pot for the second time, Grace covered her cup.

  “No, thanks.” She snagged the check before Glenn could make a move.

  “Grace,” he protested.

  “You’re offering to help me,” she said.

  The waitress disappeare
d into the crowd again.

  “Can I take you to dinner?” Glenn asked.

  “Without any fresh leads, will there be much more for us to talk about?” Grace asked, surprised.

  “Oh,” he said with a strange expression. “I was thinking…”

  Shit. He was asking her out.

  How could she have missed that?

  “Oh,” she said stupidly, unable to follow up with a single word.

  “It’s fine,” he smiled warmly. “It was stupid of me to ask. I’m sure you have someone waiting for you back in Tarker’s Hollow.”

  “No,” she said, covering his hand with hers. “I’m sorry. I recently lost someone close to me. My head isn’t really in the game.”

  Suddenly his warm smile was gone, replaced with something… else. Though she couldn’t have named it, Grace had no trouble recognizing that look.

  It was the same expression she saw every time she looked in a mirror. Glenn had lost someone as well.

  Neither of them said anything for a moment. Grace gazed into his haunted eyes, feeling like they had both been stripped naked.

  Glenn stood up, fished a few bills out of his wallet and shoved them under his coffee cup.

  “Look,” he said gruffly. “I’m planning to go to Castaways tonight around nine to have a beer or three. I’m used to drinking alone, but if you feel like stopping by to talk - just talk, you know where to find me. Sometimes talking helps. Sometimes the beer helps more.”

  He gave her a quick, warm smile, then walked away without waiting for a response.

  Chapter 8

  Javier paced back and forth in the small area behind the counter of Hollow Hardware.

  He had memorized the shapes of all the different key types, the mottos on the flashlights, and the homey handwritten invitation to drop off storm windows for glass repair.

  The last few months of working for MacGregor at the hardware store had been bittersweet.

  Javier was the kind of guy who liked to lend a hand, and J.D. MacGregor definitely had too much on his plate between teaching and running the store. His last couple of employees had been lazy and the store showed it.

  Javier spent his first couple of weeks doing all the odds and ends he’d done when he first arrived at Ainsley’s house - fixing drips and overflowing gutters between customers. For someone who owned a hardware store, Mac clearly wasn’t very handy.