by Erin Johnson
I nodded. "Maybe Cordelia bit him to make him forget his threats. But Dylan could've been the killer."
Wiley tapped the table. "And when he saw Eddy Kinn enter the records building, he might have known Eddy was looking for the same papers that would injure Cordelia. So he killed him and framed Francis."
"We saw Dylan, though." Maple pressed her lips together. "In the alley behind the dressmaker’s shop, moments after the alarm bells rang."
My eyes lit up. "I found a shard of magic mirror in the alley, close to where Dylan was. He could have transported back to the alley instantaneously. Then, maybe he broke the mirror and hid the pieces."
The table grew quiet as we all thought it over.
"He is a misguided boy," Annie conceded. "At best."
Within ten minutes, the sky outside the windows grew full dark, and the candelabras on the sills sprung to life, lighting themselves magically. We polished off the appetizers and I sipped the last of my peppermint coffee—I needed some caffeine to get through what might prove a long night.
On the way out to the tree lighting, I threw an arm around Sam's shoulders and hugged him close, Iggy's lantern dangling in my other hand. "You doing okay, buddy?"
Sam nodded. "Much better, thank you. You've all been ssso kind."
I gave his shoulder a squeeze. "We all love and care about you."
His pale cheeks grew pink and he dipped his chin in embarrassment.
"In fact," I continued, "I snuck down to the kitchen last night and made a bunch of gingerbread cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and sugared cranberries."
He looked up, his milky blue eyes bright.
"Just for you."
"For… me?"
I nodded. "I wanted to do something to cheer you up. I know you like gingerbread."
A wide smiled stretched across Sam's face. "It'sss my favorite. And I love cranberriesss. I've never had them with sssugar before, though."
"As soon as we're done at the tree lighting, I'll give them to you."
Sam's eyes welled with tears. "Thank you, Imogen. I never thought I'd have sssuch kind friendsss."
"Oh, Sam." I swallowed against the tight lump in my throat. "It's such a little thing." I smiled over at Maple and she made her aw face. Sam was the cutest. It made me want to pummel those stupid teenage boys who'd ganged up on him even more.
As we passed through the dark bar toward the lobby, I spotted the gamblers sitting at one of the booths, their numbers down to four with Eddy dead and the governor leading the tree lighting. On a whim, I drifted over and interrupted a deal. The four men looked up, eyebrows raised.
"Can I help you, miss?" one asked.
"I'm sorry to interrupt. We dined here yesterday and I saw Eddy with your group. He must have been a friend of yours."
The one by the wall snorted and his friends shot him stern looks.
"He wasn't exactly a friend, miss. He acted as the bookie. Always reminding us what we owed him."
The one by the wall scoffed. "Eddy was almost as bad as Bridger."
"You owed Bridger money?" I looked at the men around at the table.
The closest guy shook his head. "Naw. But Bridger was always going on and on about what the government owed him. Whatever that meant."
"Did Bridger have enemies?" Hank asked. He appeared at my side.
The men looked him up and down and then the one by the wall cupped his stein and shook his head at it. "No. Only Eddy—more of an adversary, than an enemy. Bridger was always in trouble, gambling and depressed. I think he might've been a rich man once, but after the treaty he didn't have anything left."
"Who knows though?" The guy closest to me, wearing a red beanie, scoffed. “He was a braggart. Stuck in the past—that’s probably why he was so into his precious Heritage Society.”
“Huh?” I frowned.
“Real closed group, that one.” The guy by the wall twisted his lips to the side. “Tried to join him for a meeting once. Got curious after he went on and on about it so much. But they wouldn’t even let me in the building—said it was closed for a society meeting and I wasn’t in the society. Humpf!” He shook his head.
“Who is in the society?” Hank leaned closer, one hand planted on the table.
“Gee, uh…." The guy with cap scratched at it. The gesture reminded me of Bridger. He must've been scratching at the bite wounds under his scarf yesterday.
Cap guy was rattling off names, and I didn't pay much attention until he came to Junie. "Junie Kingston, owns the Heart Witch. Minette, the dressmaker. And of course, Bridger was a member. Not anyone I'd ever expect to be friends, but they were a real closed-off group."
We thanked the men and let them get back to their poker. I mulled all that over as Hank and I caught up to our friends, who'd gone ahead outside. So Junie, who I'd seen casting spells and sneaking into the woods, and Minette, who'd seemed shifty and nervous, were both part of the same club as one of the victims. And the records building, where the group met, had been the scene of another murder and of arson. The society and the records seemed key to solving the case now.
Just as we reached our friends, who stood on the side of the cobblestoned street, an unearthly shriek sounded from somewhere nearby. It sounded like the yowl of a wild cat, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose.
Rhonda grabbed my shoulders, her big eyes wild. "That was Francis. He's in trouble."
My breath caught. "Are you sure?"
She nodded, grimly. "I know what Francis's shrieks sound like."
24
Dylan
Hank grabbed my free hand, while Maple and I exchanged wide-eyed stares.
"Where ees eet coming from?" Yann covered the ear muffs around his head and hunkered.
A dark mass swooped overhead, careening wildly. The whoosh of it ruffled my bangs. Like a swirl of smoke, Francis whipped from a one-winged bat to a one-armed vampire and hovered midair, with a shrieking Dylan clutched between his feet. While that may have worked as a bat, with Francis's shiny black loafers, Dylan dropped hard onto the icy street.
"Oof." The teenager lay still a moment before scrambling to his feet and backing away. His wide eyes darted from Francis to our group, and back to Francis again. He edged in jerky movements behind the vampire, crouched and ready to bolt.
Francis didn't even turn. "You know you can't run from me, Dylan."
His low drawl sent shivers up my spine. Normally, I found Francis hilarious and harmless. But I now saw just a hint of the danger that lurked below the surface. Then I noticed the wooden spoon protruding from Francis's chest and gasped.
Rhonda took the slowest, loudest inhale I'd ever heard. She held her breath and marched over to Dylan, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled his blanched face down to her dark and furious one.
"You jellyfish-brained, sea-snaking moron of a guppy! I ought to ram a barnacle up your blowhole and see how you like it?" She pointed a trembling, sparkly finger at Francis. "I'm assuming you staked my boyfriend?"
Francis calmly shook his head. "He used a crossbow. But yes, he sharpened the spoon to a rough point."
"A crossbow? Where did you get a crossbow?" She shook the boy who limply stared back at her, his mouth agape. She turned to the rest of us. "What is wrong with the teenage boys in this place? Beating up Sam, attempted murder?" She turned back to Dylan. With her lips curled back from her pearly teeth she brought her face close to his. "I'm going to make sure you pay."
Dylan's eyes narrowed and his pressed lips into a tight, white line. "She's worth it."
Rhonda frowned. "She?"
I stepped forward. "Lady Cordelia?"
His eyes slid to me, then back to Rhonda.
Across the street, in the town square, the tree lighting ceremony had commenced. Bruma carols sung by a choir on the stage drifted out to us. Bells hung magically suspended in the air all around their heads, swinging to play accompaniment. The light, ethereal music contrasted sharply with Dylan's pinched, red face. After the terror of bein
g caught by Francis, he'd found his anger again.
"So what if it is?" he sneered. "She's the most beautiful woman in the world. I'd do anything for her. And you—" He fumed at Francis. "—exposed her darkest secret in front of the whole village."
"So, you thought to punish me." Francis kept his face expressionless as he used his one hand to slowly pull the wooden spoon handle from his chest. My stomach turned, and beside me Maple gagged.
Even Dylan paled again and his face went slack.
"Did you know she was a vampire before Francis exposed her?" Hank asked.
Dylan's chest heaved.
"You didn't." Hank nodded thoughtfully. "But it didn't matter to you. You'd kill for her, apparently?"
Dylan threw a dark sneer at Francis. "He's already dead."
"Is that how you'd feel if someone tried to kill Lady Cordelia?" Maple huffed.
Dylan gulped but said nothing. His eyes dropped. That seemed to have gotten through to him a little.
"You've attempted murder, Dylan Hodder," Francis said simply. "Before the treaty, you would have been dealt with quite differently by a vampire."
Dylan shrunk away from his cold, hard voice.
"But these are different times. You shall have the law to answer to."
Hank nodded. "You're taking him to the jail?" When Francis confirmed, Hank rattled off three more names. "I want you to also report those other teenagers who attacked Sam. Even if the police force is elderly and unpracticed, we'll make sure they address these matters. This town appears to have a problem with its young men."
Hank turned to Dylan, his shoulders squared and his face grim. "Dylan. Did you kill those other men? Bridger and Eddy, because they'd threatened Lady Cordelia?"
Dylan shook his head, his eyes showing the whites. "No. No, I haven't killed anyone."
"Just attempted to?" Francis remarked. "Poorly, I might add."
Dylan sneered. "I hit you, didn't I?"
The vampire's lips curled back, revealing fangs that dripped with venomous saliva. "I let you. I wanted to see if you'd actually do it. Now that I know you're capable, answer me. Have you killed anyone else?"
Rhonda gave him a little shake. "Tell the truth."
"No. I haven't." The boy gulped, his eyes round.
Hank stepped closer. "We know about the records Bridger had. Did you plan to kill him after he came by the mansion yesterday?"
Dylan's mouth dropped open, but he shook his head. "No. He came by and—and I wanted to hurt him. He was calling Lady Cordelia names, and not showing her respect. But the butler held me back and then, when I listened at the door to the study to make sure she was okay…."
"What, Dylan? What did you hear?" Hank's voice was steady, but commanding. His prince voice, was how I thought of it. "Did you actually see Cordelia in the dressing room today?"
The young man shook his head, his lips pressed tight. "I won't tell you anything."
Hank straightened and took a deep breath through his nose. "Well. Maybe you'll tell the police."
He nodded at Francis and the vampire grabbed the boy by the collar.
"He's taking me?" Dylan's eyes showed the whites all around and his voice cracked. "No! No, I—" His cries were drowned out by the carolers as Francis sprinted down the street, faster than I'd ever seen anyone run without a speed spell, dragging Dylan along by his coat. In half a breath they'd disappeared past the next block and around the corner, headed for the police station.
Rhonda crossed her arms. "He's violent and a moron… but I think he's too stupid to have committed the murders."
Iggy scoffed. "That's sad when that's the best someone can say for you."
I gave a weak laugh. "It's true, though. I mean, if he thought he could openly attack a vampire and get away with it… well, he probably doesn't have the sophistication to pull these murders off and not get caught."
In the thoughtful silence that followed, the last note of the carol rang through the night, the sound bouncing off the buildings around us. Then the dull murmur of applause rang out.
"The lighting is about to start," Amelia commented, her eyes on the big tree in the town center.
Hank nodded. "With Francis away, we'd better go keep an eye on Lady Cordelia."
I lifted a finger. "And the members of the Heritage Society."
We looked both ways and stepped across the dark, shining street to the town square. The snow still lay thick over the grassy areas, but the cobblestone path stretched clear up to the stage. The applause died down as Lord Governor Allencourt stood and lifted his hands. His voice droned on about their community coming together in tough times. As we neared, the pungent, acrid smell of the burned records building grew stronger, and I crinkled my nose.
Annie pointed at the stage. "Lady Cordelia has to stay up there with her hubby and daughter, to do her duty. At least we can keep an eye on her."
I nodded my agreement. Though, I wondered how seriously the vampire took that duty. She and Pandora sat in long dresses and fur-trimmed cloaks on chairs toward the back of the stage, appearing to listen politely to the governor speak.
Wiley nudged Maple. "Eleven o'clock." We all turned to look. Up near the front left of the stage, on the ground in front of it, Junie Kingston, Minette the dressmaker, and a few older men and women huddled together.
"Do you think they're all in the Heritage Society?" Maple mused quietly.
I nodded. I'd bet on it.
After another moment, the members split up and moved through the crowd.
"Where are they going?" Rhonda demanded.
25
The Heritage Society
Soon they pushed through the crowd and dispersed from the town square, headed in five different directions. I glanced at the stage. Though she hadn't moved from her chair, Cordelia's eyes tracked their movement.
"Guys." I waved everyone into a little huddle close around me. "I definitely think the society is connected to the murders somehow, and to Lady Cordelia."
Hank nodded. "It's dangerous tonight, but I think we should split up, moving in pairs."
"I'll go alone and get Francis from the jail. Then we'll follow that one." Rhonda pointed at Minette who was just closing the door behind herself at the dress shop, the lights inside still off. Rhonda took a step and froze. She threw her head back, her eyes frozen open and unseeing as a spot on her forehead glowed. The villagers near us half turned and murmured between themselves. After a few moments she snapped out of it, looked dazed and then gave herself a shake.
"Imogen." She pointed at me. "You and Hank go after Junie—and don't forget Iggy."
"Why?"
"Why?!" Iggy demanded.
"I mean, of course I'm bringing you but—" I turned to Rhonda. "What's the significance of that?"
"Psh." Rhonda screwed up her face. "Like I know. I'm just the messenger."
Rhonda used a speed spell to sprint in the direction of the jail and was gone in a flash.
"Wiley and I—"
"Don't forget Cat." Wiley hefted up the little bundle of grinning monster tucked under his jacket.
Maple's face softened as she gazed on her terrifying pet. "And Cat. We'll follow that guy." She pointed.
"Yann and I will get that other man."
"Sam, you game?" Amelia and the snake shifter took off after the third lady.
By then, the surprisingly swift Junie Kingston had hobbled past us on her magical false leg and disappeared behind the inn. Hank and I whirled and took off after her.
"Speed spell?" he suggested, half teasing.
I pursed my lips and shook my head, my stomach turning with motion sickness at just the thought of it. Besides, how far could she have gone, really? We'd probably pass her without realizing it if we used the spell. After we rounded the back of the inn, and dashed past the horse stable and the carriage house where our sleds were housed, I spotted Junie out in the snowy fields behind.
We followed the trail of her footprints at a safe distance. My steps sunk into th
e powdery snow a couple of inches with soft crunches. The moon shone overhead, casting the smooth field a deep blue, the forest beyond darker, with white snow dusting the tree branches.
"We'd better hurry," Hank urged, as Junie neared the tree line. "We'll lose her path if the trees have blocked out the snow."
Sure enough, by the time we reached the edge of the forest, the snow thinned among the pine needles and her footsteps disappeared.
"Sea snakes," Hank cursed.
I turned to look back across the field we'd just crossed. The lights of the inn glowed golden, illuminating the snowy ground around it, and beyond, the lights of the big Bruma tree flashed bright and twinkling. They'd lit it. I looked back at the forest's edge, scanning the ground by holding Iggy aloft. I stepped past some brush under the tree cover and gasped.
"Are you okay?" Hank was at my side before I could answer.
I pointed at the glowing green ground. "Look!"
Hank's breaths came loud beside me in the quiet of the snowy forest, his nose red from the cold. He frowned. "I don't see anything."
"What?" I crouched and pointed at the glowing green path. "It was hidden by those bushes back there, but look. The path is glowing."
Hank shook his head. "It's not glowing to me, Imogen."
I looked at Iggy and he shook his little fire head. "Sorry, crazy. I don't see it either."
"I'm not crazy." I muttered. "C'mon." I led the way, following the twists and turns of the glowing path, deep into the forest until the fields behind were completely hidden by the dense, dark tree trunks.
26
The Hidden Graveyard
Tall, straight tree trunks, red and black and trimmed in white snow, loomed around us like silent witnesses as we reached the end of the path and entered a little clearing filled with graves. The glowing trail had led us straight here to a hidden cemetery in the middle of the dark forest. I held my breath—even that much noise seemed like an intrusion in this deeply lonely, watchful space.