Artemus managed to finish his second magnum opus within two weeks of our coming up with the cure. The success of the cure boosted the sales of his book, giving him much-needed financial relief from his hardscrabble existence. Gabrielle has since installed him in the apartment overlooking Celestial Cakes and is practically his wife in all but name. I’m waiting on the official announcement any day now.
Raquel Berry promptly left the Island without fanfare, thank the Goddess. Probably on torrent of hair-flips, no doubt.
So, all turned out well. Until something ugly reared its head, that was. It's probably just paranoid fantasy, but I had to include it in this footnote.
It was three days after my unmasking of Bertha Crabtree as Druida's killer. David, Carbon and I were on Maude Dulgrey's doorstep, personally invited to her place of business by Maude herself.
David knocked, and we waited patiently for the ghoul pathologist's cheery welcome.
My hackles rose when she finally opened the door. Her usual sunny warmth was replaced by a look of troubled shock.
David saw it too. “What’s wrong, Maude?”
Looking at us uneasily, she said, “It will be a lot easier to show both of you than it will be to tell.”
Even Carbon seemed to pick up on our favorite coroner being ill at ease. He respectfully made no mention of cat treats.
One of the Crow Isle skeletons was on the slab. Muerte stood nearby methodically cleaning the surgical equipment. As the four of us got close to the skeleton, the zombie held up the tools for Maude’s inspection.
“Excellent as always, dear one,” she said to the zombie. “Go ahead and rest.”
Muerte put the tools down with a groan, and slo-mo'd to his chair. Maude turned her attention to us. Her eyes were bloodshot as if she'd been up all night and I noticed two full cups of steaming coffee close to the examination table.
“Now you’ll both recall that these skeletons had several spiral fractures throughout their bones,” Maude began. “I was able to determine that the source of those fractures were from a Tchernobog Club similar to the one used by Bertha Crabtree.”
“Which is, I’m assuming, what killed them,” I said.
“Oh, Hattie, Hattie, Hattie,” Maude said. “We both know that, in our respective lines of work, the first commandment is ‘thou shalt not assume.’ However, it is a very reasonable guess, given that the damage done to these meat-deprived guests of mine was engineered to make it look like a Tchernobog Clubbing.”
I raised my eyebrows. The gray-faced coroner was making no sense.
Looking over the blackened portions of the bones, David seemed to catch the thread I couldn't see, “So you’re saying that they were actually burned to death?”
“Yes, CPI Trew,” Maude affirmed. “But not by ordinary flames. The burn patterns on the bones are consistent with Dragon Fire.”
I gasped and I’m pretty sure David did too. Everyone in the Coven Isles knew that efforts to recreate the Dragons had been tried and failed during the Warlock Wars. But what if they were back…?
“And before either of you ask,” Maude said, anticipating the question. “Yes, I am sure about that conclusion beyond any doubt. I ran those tests a dozen times just to be sure I wasn't mistaken.”
Looking down at the skeleton, she added, “And oh, how I wish I were.”
David cleared his throat. “So far as we were ever able to tell, the Besnicks had no ties to the Warlocks or Dragons of old. Yet here's a Besnick affiliate, scorched in a way that's consistent with the old wives tales of Nanker. You've both heard about the dragon lore making a rebirth on that backward isle?" David peered over the rim of his glasses at both of us.
“Nanker would make a great location to hide a dragon, though.” I laughed nervously at my own ridiculous joke and added, “I’ve made enough deliveries there to be able to say it’s mostly craggy, windswept wilderness.”
“But dragons prefer caves,” David insisted. “Nanker doesn't have a significant cave system, does it?”
“Hardly the issue, CPI Trew,” Maude said. “That whole cave business is just more old wives’ tales, I’m afraid. Nanker folk tales are a poor substitute for actual evidence. But, recounting what I know from dragon lore, I think the beasts can prosper just about anywhere as long as they have food and water.”
"This is so weird," I said, hugging myself against an involuntary chill.
“You mentioned two reports when you called me earlier,” David said. “What’s the other one?”
"You'll recall, in her initial police interview, Bertha had advised that she left no evidence of her being in Druida's apartment." Maude shuffled through some papers while she spoke. "Probably because she didn't want the extra charge of 'breaking and entering' on her rap sheet."
Maude finally handed David the paper she was looking for. "A little forensic snooping and I can confirm that there were no DNA traces of Bertha ever having been on the premises," she announced.
"So, what're you getting at, ghoulfriend?" I asked, entirely puzzled.
"Well, there might not have been traces of Bertha Crabtree being in Druida's dwelling, but SOMETHING was."
She produced another sheet of notes. "Bottom of page two."
I took position behind David so I could read over his shoulder. We both caught it at the same time; I could tell because we tensed at the exact same moment. The chemical testing and sympathetic magic results showed that the trace samples taken from Druida's home were of the same genetic make-up as the dragon fire residue found on the skeletons.
"Impossible," David and I chanted in unison.
I felt the temperature rise suddenly, and I noticed David’s forehead beading. Carbon clicked his claws at the end of the slab. He curled his lips into a crafty smile, and licked them slowly. A burst of flames erupted before my heat-seeking cat. He spoke then.
“So, you’re saying I might have competition?”
About the Author
Who is Pearl, anyway?
Well, when she’s not talking about herself in the third person, she would likely describe herself something like this:
I’m a borderline crazy-cat-lady and I have an imagination much bigger than my small head can contain. So, I write it all out! I genuinely believe in magic of the Universal variety. A magic that can be accessed by every single human that’s lived, living or will ever live. I write about all this from a Witch’s point of view, of course. : )
Other larger than life passions I have are:
Concocting make-at-home, all natural lotions, and potions.
Nature in all it’s outlandish glory. If I could get away with it, I’d literally roll around in nature from dawn to dusk, whatever the season.
Meditation and human connection are what drive me forward and what make me try to be a better person.
Okay, okay, and cats. Even though they ruin my furniture and my sleep, I couldn’t imagine life without one. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear mine is the one responsible for feeding me my stories!
Oh, and keep in touch if you can. I'd love that. :)
http://bit.ly/2daURUn
@PearlGoodfellowbooks
www.soarfreepublishing.com/pearlgoodfellow/
Also by Pearl Goodfellow
Filthy Witch and Dead Famous
The Violet Countercharm
The Black Diamond Curse
The Witch of Bohemia: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 3) Page 21