I didn’t know the time, but I didn’t need to, thanks to the view. Archer Caine was due to arrive at sunset. Judging by the light, that would be any minute now. Except he wasn’t going to come, since I’d convinced him to run for his life. I should have felt relieved, but I was feeling more and more anxious as the sun dropped lower on the horizon.
The sky was now turning from blue to purple. Soon the fluffy clouds would be lined with crimson. Like blood. I clenched my fists, making them ache where the spikes had pierced them. The pain only made my mind race faster. What had I done? What was I going to do next?
Zara tries to be a good secret agent. Zara tries not to blow DWM operations by instructing the chief suspect to get out of town. Zara is not much of a secret agent, as it turns out.
The base of my skull felt cool for no reason. Was I being watched? My skin kept crawling, and I couldn’t shake the sensation I was being looked down upon. Probably spy cameras from the department. For my protection, they’d say, but I wouldn’t believe them. The footage would be for their future dispassionate review, for scientific reasons.
I paced over to the window facing the coastline leading toward Wisteria. Was Archer Caine on his way to Wisteria now? I hadn’t told him where to go, just to go. I should have been more specific. What if he was, at that very moment, knocking on the door of my house? Asking my sixteen-year-old daughter if she knew the man next door—the man who looked exactly like him? I didn’t want the guy to get melted, but did I want him in my life?
I reached for my phone so I could send Zoey yet another warning text, but my hand passed over only pleated fabric. My dress had no pockets. And besides, Rob and Knox had confiscated my phone when they fitted me with their DWM microphones and mini earpiece.
I leaned out the window and took in fresh air. Down below, a couple walking along the beach stopped and looked up at me. They waved. But of course they waved. Given the way I was dressed, in the corseted off-the-shoulder medieval dress I’d borrowed from the castle by way of my mother’s closet, they would have assumed I was one of the costumed staff. The bell ringer who works in the bell tower. Dressed up in her finest black and gold. I waved back, smiling broadly to preserve my cover. Nothing to see here, folks. I’m just up here checking the clapper return springs! I’m not some lunatic guest who’s thinking about casting a body-lightening spell on herself before leaping out of this window and running away!
Still fake smiling, I pulled back from the window and rested with my back against the stone. What have I done? Chet is going to strangle me when he finds out I blew the mission. Rob and Knox won’t be too thrilled, either. Rob will never call me Riddle again. We’ll never get to spar.
Something high up in the belfry rustled. I peered up into the shadows. The rustling could have been bats. Bats were a classic belfry staple, yet there was no scent of droppings. The base of my skull felt cool again, like someone was touching it with a cool hand.
I called up into the darkness, my voice sounding small and girlish, “Ribbons?”
The wyvern dropped like a falling stalactite, flipping his wings out at the last second and landing on the wooden yoke holding up one of the middle bells. The bell didn’t ring. It would take far more impact for it to make a sound. Ribbons bent one wing and brought his tendril-like fingers to his mouth in a shhh gesture.
A voice in my ear asked, “Riddle, do you need assistance?” That was the voice of Rob, coming through my mini earpiece, though the effect was not dissimilar to how Ribbons was able to speak directly into my mind. When I didn’t respond immediately, Rob asked, “Is someone else there with you?”
Ribbons shook his head.
“No,” I said hesitantly. I kept my eyes on the wyvern, even though I had no reason to worry. If Ribbons had venom from a female wyvern that he was planning to melt me to pudding with, he could have dropped it on me when I wasn’t paying attention. Or he could have torn me apart with those claws of his that dug into stone as though it was soap.
“It’s just nerves,” I said into the microphone near my bust. “Just nerves, Agent… what is your last name, Rob?”
“Everyone calls me Rob.” Someone in the background spoke, then Rob came back on. “Zara, we’ve got a visual on Archer Caine. He’s headed up, should be there in less than five minutes.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised. Is there some reason you’re surprised?”
Chet’s voice came on over the headset. “Zara, is there anything you’re not telling us?”
I took a breath and calmed my voice before answering. “Seriously, guys, it’s just nerves,” I said. “Agent Rob, are you and Agent Moore both down in the wine cellar?”
Chet answered, “We’re in a secure location. Don’t worry about us.”
I heard the echo of his words through Rob’s microphone. They were together, wherever they were.
Across the bell tower from me, Ribbons blew a twirling tendril of orange fire from one nostril. They’re directly below us, Ribbons said inside my head. They’re behind the clock face.
I couldn’t speak out loud to the wyvern without the guys hearing me, and something told me the wyvern’s presence would complicate matters, so I offered him a thumbs-up for sharing.
Over my mini earpiece, Chet said, “Zara, you just worry about distracting the parasite. Tell him one of your charming stories that goes on and on. Perhaps about the things people put through the book return slot at the municipal library.”
There was a note of snarkiness in his voice. Like he was feeling smug about pulling a fast one on me.
Ribbons bobbed his head, keeping up by reading my mind. He deceived you.
I thought back to my last interaction with Archer Caine, down in the hair salon. He’d been so friendly and amenable. He’d not been at all perturbed, not until Patty the hairdresser had rubbed her cola stain instead of blotting it. That should have been my clue right then and there, but I missed it.
“Agent Rob,” I said. “I’ve got a bit of a strange question I hope you can help me with.”
Rob replied, “Talk fast, because Archer Caine is heading up the stairwell now.”
“Did Agent Moore get a haircut today?”
“Yes,” Rob said. “It looks stupid, too. Why do you ask?”
“Never mind.” Ribbons and I exchanged a wide-eyed look. “Agent Rob, I’m going to be quiet now, so I’m not talking to myself like a madwoman when Mr. Archer Caine shows up. I’d hate for him to get a bad impression of me as his final human act as a living, breathing entity before you guys turn him into pudding.”
There was a pause, and then Rob said simply, “Affirmative.”
You are strong, the wyvern spoke in my mind.
I shrugged. I didn’t feel very strong.
Ribbons flicked out his long, purple tongue and licked one eye and then the other.
As I watched him grooming himself I wondered, if the little guy had eyelids—and I knew he did because I’d seen him both blink and wink—why did he lick his eyeballs?
Because I can, he replied, reading my mind.
Okay, smartypants. I nearly laughed out loud. If you’re so clever, and you can read minds like they’re Reader’s Digest magazines, tell me who killed Jo Pressman and what it had to do with Chet’s lookalike.
I don’t know who killed the girl, he communicated. I would have told Charlize if I knew. But I don’t, probably because the affairs of humans are beneath the concern of wyverns.
And yet here you are, hanging out in the bell tower, waiting for some very human affairs to go down. I held my hands out, palms up. Where’s your girlfriend? The one who provided the wyvern venom for the red potion that the gnome gave Jo?
Ribbons blinked one eye and then the other. Clever witch.
Thanks. Zara tries to be a clever witch. I took a step closer to the little monster, leaning forward so I could look him in the eyes. Now tell me what you—
He suddenly jumped into the air and shot upward like a rocket. There was a
scratching sound and the flap of wings high above me, and then silence. The belfry was now inhabited once again by a bat. A giant, scaly, fire-breathing sort of bat.
There was a loud, wooden creak.
The trap door opened, and a man’s head appeared. It was Archer Caine, whose hair had not been cut today, and who therefore had not been warned away.
He looked directly at me as he walked up the ladder and into the cramped quarters.
Chapter 36
Archer Caine, the man who was about to become pudding, gave me a slightly stunned look and asked, “Why do I feel like I’m walking into a trap?”
“Because you are.”
“I’ll say.” He chuckled. “That dress. That body. You’re a killer, all right.”
“If you only knew,” I said. And then something occurred to me. Why couldn’t he know? Not that I was a witch, but the other stuff. Why not? Time was running out for the man. Heavily armed secret agents were standing by, directly underneath us. Archer was about to get one heck of a surprise reunion with the man who was either his twin brother or the original document to his photocopy. It was all about to happen, any minute now. I just had to quickly explain the whole situation, without sounding crazy.
Archer ran his hand through his dark hair and gave me a bashful look. “You look so nice. That dress is so very old, and you are so very young.”
I was temporarily sidetracked by his compliment. “Thanks.” How did he know how old the dress was? And since when was thirty-two so very young? Something about the guy was off kilter. But did it matter? Awkward compliments were not good cause for being turned to pudding.
He smiled and ruffled his hair a second time. “I tried to get a haircut tonight so I wouldn’t look so scruffy for our date, but someone bumped me from my hair appointment.”
“I know you got bumped from your haircut,” I said. “Chet Moore bumped you.”
“My brother?” Judging by the lift of his eyebrow, he was more amused than angry.
“That’s right. And what I’m about to tell you might sound crazy, but it’s absolutely true.” I reached out and grabbed his forearm. “Unless you can provide some excellent proof that you’re a legitimate person with a past, and not some ancient warrior monk playing tourist in a rented chunk of flesh, Chet Moore is going to bump you right out of existence.”
“What?” The muscles in his forearm flexed under my grip.
So much for not sounding crazy.
In my ear, Rob said, “Zara, that’s not quite the direction we planned for this conversation.”
I let go of Archer’s arm, grabbed the tiny device in my ear, and yanked it out. I held the green, bean-shaped receiver in my palm and offered it to Archer. “See this gadget? A secret agent named Rob is giving me orders right now. They’ve got a SWAT team right below us, and they’re going to capture you any minute now.”
Archer leaned forward and looked at the device. “That’s a jelly bean,” he said. “A mint one, I think.” He grabbed the bean, tossed it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Nope. Not mint. Green apple, maybe?”
“This isn’t happening,” I said in disbelief.
He picked at his teeth with a fingernail. “I don’t think that was a jelly bean.”
“No. You probably shouldn’t eat things people pull out of their ears.”
“I thought we were playing a game. A role-playing game. Something about two secret spies meeting in the bell tower at sunset?”
I gave him a wary look. “Are you a spy?”
He gave me a sidelong, flirty look. “Do you want me to be a spy?” His green eyes flickered as though lit from within. I felt a lightness in my body, like a spell, but different. My feet were touching the ground, and yet they weren’t.
Archer stepped closer, leaning in for a kiss. A voice in my head whispered, Don’t kiss him.
I tore my gaze away and looked up at the belfry. Was that you, Ribbons? Are you going to help me out here, or what?
There was no reply from the wyvern. I could feel the heat from Archer’s gaze on my throat. What was happening here? Feelings of arousal can make the flesh feel hot, and people experiencing attraction can interpret the gaze of their crush as feeling hot, but this was different. Archer’s gaze actually was hot, like a fire that licked without burning.
My mind blanked. I’d never felt this fiery sensation before. Well, I had once, but I’d chalked it up to the Barberrian wine coolers.
The voice in my head whispered again, Don’t even look at him.
Was it Jo Pressman’s spirit? Making a helpful appearance for a change? Or was it the wyvern, disguising his voice?
Avoiding Archer’s super-hot eyes, I looked down at my costume-like dress. My mind felt shaken in addition to blank, like a snow globe. What was I doing here? Had the thing in my ear actually been a jelly bean? Was any of this even real?
I reviewed the facts. My mother was back from the grave. An old friend had come to visit. There was a new man around who looked exactly like Chet except he was more fun, and not engaged to Chessa. This was exactly the sort of thing I would dream.
Giving in, I looked up into Archer’s face again. His eyes were closing, and he was kissing me. This dream felt awfully familiar.
Time passed. Everything was blurry. Kissing Archer Caine in the bell tower at sunset was not like kissing him in the storage room. For one thing, I was the one in charge of my lips, not the ghost.
The kiss was perfect. And I wasn’t dreaming. This was real. This was happening. At last.
And then he was pulling away. He took a few steps back—as far as he could go with the limited floor space—and turned to face the window with the view over the ocean.
“What a day,” he said. “I don’t want it to end.”
My lips tasted like cinnamon, and hot peppers, and sweet red cherries, and strangely enough, red food dye.
I didn’t want the day to end, either. I joined him at the window and looked up at his face in profile.
“Archer, everything I said was true. Chet wants you dead.”
He tensed his jaw. “Sibling rivalry never goes out of fashion.”
I reached out to touch the side of his face but stopped short. I rested my hands on the windowsill to help stay grounded. The dreamlike feelings might come again, and I needed to stay focused and present.
I asked hesitantly, “Archer, what are you?”
Without looking at me, he brought his hand over to mine, which was now gripping the stone windowsill, and stroked his index finger across the top of my hand. The surface of my skin lit with fire. The flames didn’t hurt, and immediately flickered out.
“Cool trick,” I said. “But that’s doesn’t answer my question at all.”
“Do you want me to say the word for the benefit of the people listing to this microphone?” He reached down my corseted top and deftly plucked out the other device I’d been fitted with—the one he hadn’t yet eaten. He flicked the microphone and its wires out the window like it was nothing.
“You dummy,” I said. “That was your chance to tell them you’re innocent.”
“How do you know I’m innocent?”
“They know that Jo Pressman bought a red vial of wyvern venom. She got it herself, and then she poisoned herself. She wasn’t murdered, except for, well, by herself. The poor thing must have gotten the wine glasses mixed up.” I paused before telling him the final key piece of information. “She meant to give the potion to you.” Softly, I added, “You were there. You were inside her apartment when I came to the door. It had only just happened. You must have been in a panic. I’m sure if I hadn’t been banging down the door, you would have called for help.”
He kept staring out over the sea.
“Archer? Is that what happened? Give me a clue, will you?”
He lifted his chin. “I could see by her eagerness that she was up to something, so I switched the glasses.” He shook his head. “It was a rookie mistake on her part, but what I can’t figure out is why she eve
n wanted to kill me.” There was genuine pain in his voice as it cracked. “I thought she liked me.”
All at once, several puzzling pieces of the case clicked into place. “Archer, she didn’t mean to kill you. Jo Pressman believed the red vial was love potion. She used the blue one, and it worked, so she had no reason to doubt what the gnome told her.”
He suddenly turned his head and looked at me. “What?” His green eyes were bright and ringed in red.
The heat of his gaze slowed my response. “She bought two potions. The first one, the anti-love potion, she used on her ex-boyfriend to get rid of him. That one worked as intended. But I guess the other one was not a love potion after all. Any idea why the gnome wanted to use Jo as an assassin?”
“That’s obvious. I’d never drink anything he gave me.” His eyes narrowed. “Not that he would ever do anything like that on his own.”
“He was taking orders from someone else, wasn’t he?”
Archer didn’t answer. His expression turned from shock to something else. Rage. Fiery rage. A perfect match for the sky outside, which was crimson and gold.
And then, time moved forward, as though coming unstuck. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the light filtering into the bell tower turned cool and thin. Archer’s expression was calm again. He leaned forward and pecked me on the forehead with a burning kiss.
“Thanks for the unforgettable night,” he said, and he started toward the trap door.
“That’s it? You’re leaving?”
He lifted the trap door then backed away from the hole in the floor, hands in the air.
“Easy now,” he said. “Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.”
His match, Chet Moore, was coming up the ladder, holding a weapon pointed squarely at Archer’s chest. The weapon appeared to be a normal handgun, but considering what I knew about the DWM, it could have been anything.
Chapter 37
Chet spoke, his voice deep, growling, and also snarky. “You’re not leaving yet, I hope. We haven’t even been introduced.”
Archer took a step back, which would have been a normal reaction to encountering a man with a gun, except it wasn’t. He stepped back as though leading a waltz. He had a pleasant smile on his lips, and his eyes showed no signs of shock or horror.
Wisteria Wyverns Page 27