Hallow's Faire in Love and War

by Nova Nelson

  “You think we’re heading for another war?” The question had been simmering on my mind and seemed so melodramatic I was slightly embarrassed to ask it.

  Bloom didn’t answer right away, and I granted her a moment to think. It was the kind of question that required serious thought before addressing.

  “We’re heading toward a great conflict, yes. The difference between it being resolved for the benefit of all and it turning into a war, though… that’s usually a matter of a few key decisions made just as often by those who seem insignificant as those in power. There are always those moments, the ones that history hinges on, and all it can take to swing them one way or another is an ill-timed sneeze or arriving somewhere seconds too late—or seconds too early. I’m not a fortune teller, so I can’t tell you how it will go, only that the stage is being set, and there is a probability of war.”

  She still clutched Jingo’s copy of the Eastwind Watch in her hand, and presently she opened it and read off the headline. “Are There Doppelgängers Among Us?” She sighed. “They’re not going to let that one go for a while. Perfect tool for sowing suspicion. Did one of your allies suddenly have a change of heart? Must be a doppelgänger!” She tossed the newspaper into the nearest disposal as we passed through Fulcrum Park.

  “I see your point,” I said, “but on the other hand, how can you be sure the person you’re talking to isn’t a doppelgänger?”

  She smiled. “You can’t. Not right away. You might pick up on some inconsistencies once you get to talking with them, sure. After all, they’re not mind readers. They take on the body of another but not the memories. But most importantly, it’s one of those things you can’t control and can’t be sure of, so the decision then becomes: be constantly paranoid and miserable or decide not to worry about it and deal with possible issues as they arise? Mortals are much more resilient than you give yourselves credit for. If only I could get each of you to believe that, then you wouldn’t be on high alert all the time.”

  “I feel like I should be paying you for this therapy session,” I said.

  Man, I missed my old therapist.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “You are. It’s called taxes. And you’ll also be paying for my meal.”

  “Does the town pay for your meals, too?”

  “Nope. This will be straight out of your pocket since I assume you plan to drop a bombshell of a problem on me. It’s the least you can do.”

  I nodded. “Fair enough.”

  It wasn’t until we’d reached Stews and Brews and had put in our order that I saw fit to get to business. I grabbed the book, lugging it out of the bag by my chair, and set it on the table.

  Bloom’s blonde brows lifted heavenward as her gaze landed on the title. “I’m trying to think of a reason why you’re in possession of an Enochian book, and I’m coming up blank. So why don’t you just spell it out?”

  “The Culpeppers.”

  A deep crease appeared above the bridge of her nose, then she threw an arm over the back of her chair and crossed her legs. “Ah. Culpeppers plural. You must mean Dean and Aria. I suppose you’re after the same thing Tanner was earlier today?”

  “Did he tell you about their visit?”

  “He sure did. I guess you’re trying to figure out who killed them, too?”

  “No, actually. I’m… not sure what I’m trying to figure out just yet. But Aria showed me this book, and I found it at the library in a chamber with a bunch of books from my old world. I was hoping you could tell me what it’s about and maybe some of what’s in it.”

  Her eyes flickered to the title again, but she didn’t lean forward. “You said they just showed you a book? That’s it?”

  Her piercing gaze drew more from me. “And they mentioned that nature is dangerously out of balance. And finding this book might be a step toward righting it.”

  “That’s all they told you?”

  “Yes. To be honest, they were a little tight lipped. Especially Aria.”

  “I believe it. But my question is what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Huh?” I felt my face heat under her intense scrutiny.

  “I can sense the guilt coming off of you. You’re not telling me something about the encounter. And Nora, if you want my help, you need to tell me everything.”

  The last thing I wanted was the sheriff thinking I was up to no good. And she was right. I was leaving out a detail about the exchange, particularly about the setting and my wardrobe (or lack thereof). “Gah,” I grunted, then I gritted my teeth and said, “I was in bed with Tanner when they appeared.”

  Gabby threw back her head and cackled before rocking forward and smacking the table. “See? Don’t you feel better now that you’ve come out with it?”

  I hadn’t expected that reaction, so, uneasily, I laughed along. “I guess.”

  Grim was laughing hysterically under the table, and I gave him a light kick with my boot to shut him up.

  “By the way,” she said, leaning toward me conspiratorially, “I already knew. Pulled the same thing on Tanner.” She continued to chuckle and wiped a tear from her eye. “It’s just too fun to do that… I wish you could have seen the look on your face…” Then she added, “I don’t care, by the way, about what two adults do behind closed doors. But it is helpful to clear out the useless guilt to see what’s under there. And, yep, now that you’ve cleared that, I can tell you’re not hiding anything else.”

  As glad as I was to provide entertainment for the sheriff, I was growing impatient. Also, everyone else in the restaurant was staring at us. “Are you going to tell me what this book says or not?”

  She sipped her water to calm herself the rest of the way, then added, “I can’t wait to tell Ruby about that one,” before restoring her professional police demeanor and saying, “It’s a book about Fifth Winds.”

  “Fifth Winds? In Enochian? Why would there be a book about that in the same section as all the works from my old world?”

  She dabbed at the corner of her eye with her napkin one last time, then explained, “It’s terribly boring up in Heaven. The fact that you can only access it through the sky means there’s a dreadful lack of diversity there. Also, flocks of angels aren’t exactly great company, so most people who do find a way there leave before long. Anyway, to pass the time, angels have charged ourselves with the task of cataloging origins of various creatures. Fun fact: the same kind of creature has never evolved in two different realms. There’s always a single point of origin. So, for instance, Heaven is where angels originate, of course we usually assign ourselves to one realm or another to help with law enforcement or medicine. North, South, East, and West Wind witches all started out in a realm called Nowhere. When their world crumbled—long story—they had to find somewhere new. Want to guess about how many centuries ago it crumbled?”

  “Three?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Now, did you intentionally leave out Fifth Wind witches?”

  Bloom smiled at me with something like pride. “I did. Fifth Winds come from somewhere else. The book that is sitting on this table seems to be an exhaustive guide to Fifth Winds, as written by the angel assigned to the task.”

  I stared down at the book. How many answers about my powers were held inside? “And the reason it was on the same shelves as all the books from my world is because…?” But I suspected I already knew.

  Then Bloom confirmed it. “Because every Fifth Wind known to the angels has come from your world.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bits and pieces of my admittedly scanty knowledge of Fifth Winds buzzed around my head like gnats after a hot Texas rain. “But we don’t have magic in my world.”

  “Not true,” said Sheriff Bloom. “You have all kinds of magic, but your world suppresses it. Take Evangeline, for instance. I never expected a South Wind to pop out from your realm. But there she was. I puzzled over it for a while then decided it could only mean that long ago, a witch crossed through to your realm and either became trap
ped or decided to settle down. And then she passed her magic down through generations until it reached Eva, at which point something in Eastwind summoned her here. She’s always had magic, and I believe she’d sensed it to some extent, but she could never access it until she was away from the damper. And I assume the same holds true for you. At least it does for Ruby, who I’ve spoken to at length on this topic.”

  “I think there’s more to it than that,” I said. “When Rol—” I disguised my near slip-up with a cough and took a sip of water. I did not want to derail this conversation with mention of Roland O’Neill, my troublesome (and tragically handsome) past-life lover. “When I was exploring my past lives with Ruby, I found that I’d died in a certain way in each of them leading up to the current one. The last four lives leading up to this one ended in death by of each of the four elements. I was buried alive, drowned, burned, and…”

  Oh boy. I saw Bloom’s expression change from mild interest to the intensity of a bloodhound who’d just caught a scent. I might as well have just admitted a direct connection to the strange events when Roland O’Neill’s spirit possessed witches around town to make them commit crimes in a similar fashion. And now Bloom was keenly interested in what I was going to say next.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, you get the picture.”

  “Yes, I think I do.”

  “What I was saying is that I had to die a bunch of times in a particular way in my world before I could become a Fifth Wind. And even then, I wasn’t done. I had to die again. And then I found myself in the Deadwoods… So did dying make me an official Fifth Wind, or was I already one, and dying somehow opened the portal to this realm where my abilities were set free?”

  “That’s an interesting question,” she began, “and I believe the answer to it can likely be found in this book.” She set her hand on it, but removed it when the waitress, a nervous-looking faun, brought over our meals.

  “A beef and potato stew for you, Sheriff. A mushroom noodle soup for you, Ms. Ashcroft, and some spare beef ribs for your familiar. Anything else?” she squeaked.

  “No, Linny. This looks fantastic,” Bloom said, beaming.

  As soon as the girl scurried away, Bloom and I grabbed our bowls and swapped so we had the correct one in front of each of us.

  Growing impatient, I said, “So? Are you going to crack the cover and tell me all the secrets of my kind?”

  Bloom brought a spoonful of her mushroom soup to her lips and blew on it before giving it a taste. “Mmm… Perfect for a chilly October day. To answer your question, I have no plans of cracking the cover. For one, if I got broth on the pages, Helena would never forgive me. But also, I’m a slow reader, and a book like this would cost me time I don’t have.”

  “Is there a copy somewhere that’s not in Enochian? Preferably English or Honorian?”

  “Doubt it.” She nodded at my bowl. “That stew is too good to let go to waste.”

  I took her hint. She was done talking about this. I probably should have felt comforted by the knowledge that I’d told her everything I knew about the Culpeppers’ visit and she didn’t appear panicked. But the warmth of the stew meat in my belly gave me more comfort than her reaction did.

  When Bloom changed the subject and began praising Tanner’s work and regaling me with some of her favorite crime stories, I let her. There was no point pushing for more from her when she didn’t want to give it. All it would do would be to annoy an important ally of mine in town.

  And besides, her stories were pretty good.

  I picked up the check, as we agreed I would, and once we had reached Fulcrum Park again and were about to part ways, she planted her feet, looked me in the eyes and said, “I have reason to believe that you and Tanner are looking for the same thing. Or rather, both of the answers you seek will be found by following the same path. I’m sorry to say I was never able to close that case, but I followed many leads and interviewed half the town. I have my suspicions of how it went down, but it’s hardly fair to voice those from my position of power when there’s no evidence. The last thing I want is to ignite an angry mob set on vigilante justice.” She paused. “Not that I mind vigilante justice in certain cases. What I mean is don’t go hanging up your hat yet. I could always use the help. But you know what I mean.”

  Since I’d seen my fair share of angry mobs focused more on blood than truth, I replied, “I do.”

  “So I’ll tell you the same thing I told Tanner. If you want to know more about the Culpeppers’ murders, which I assure you you do, you should speak to the people who were with them the night that they died.”

  “And that was?”

  “The Stringfellows.

  “The…” My brain wouldn’t compute, though the answer was obvious.

  “Donovan’s parents,” she supplied.

  I stared at her blankly, comprehension settling in like brain freeze.

  “The plot thickens,” said Grim unhelpfully. He’d been mostly silent since he’d finished off the ribs at dinner, which was how I preferred him.

  Did Donovan’s parents have a connection to the murder?

  The notion struck me as perverse. But I had to know.

  And there was only one way to find out for myself.

  “Right,” I said, trying to prove to Bloom that I wasn’t completely thick. “Of course.” I forced a smile and hiked my heavy bag farther up my shoulder. “Thanks so much for your help.”

  She nodded. “Of course. All I ask is that you do me one small favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you figure out who murdered the Culpeppers, let me know before you make it public. Closing that cold case could help me really stick it to the High Council.”

  I nodded. “The least I can do.”

  As she headed back to work, I stood staring vaguely at nothing.

  One point stood out above all the rest, something that made my stomach do a somersault for reasons I didn’t care to examine too closely:

  I had to meet Donovan’s parents.

  Chapter Eight

  My next stop, then, was Franco’s Pizza. I needed to arrange to meet Donovan’s parents, though how I would go about making such an odd request without mentioning that they were possible suspects in the murder of Tanner’s parents was anybody’s guess.

  Fulcrum Park, where I’d split from Sheriff Bloom, was peaceful this time of night. It couldn’t be later than eight, but it had been well dark for hours and with Halloween only a few more hours away, and with the Winds of Change howling through, no one else seemed to have a mind to spend their time in the place.

  I strolled at a leisurely pace, ignoring the two spirits bickering behind me (I gleaned from their conversation that they’d been married in a past life, but playing marriage counselor wasn’t on my list of priorities at present). I was getting better at tuning out the ghosts hovering around me, and it helped that I had plenty else to occupy my mind. I tried to absorb some of what Bloom had told me while also formulating my request to Donovan.

  The bubbling of Fulcrum Fountain caught my attention for a moment, and I paused before passing by it completely. I had half a mind to throw a penny in it and make a wish that whatever path I was on wouldn’t end horribly, but I didn’t because they didn’t have pennies in Eastwind and I would need a lot more help than that, I was sure.

  The tug of memory pulled me back to my confession to Tanner while I had sat on the fountain’s outer wall. I remembered the hurt in his eyes when I told him it was Donovan, and felt a faint echo of the stab in my heart when he’d turned and walked away.

  He’d left me alone, but I’d deserved it.

  Well, no, not alone, actually. Donovan had shown up, hadn’t he?

  I shook myself free of the scene and continued toward Franco’s.

  Before my brain could register it enough to shoot adrenaline to my extremities, something tall and cloaked in darkness came hurrying out of the shadows at me. No, it wasn’t Grim. He was already loping alongside me, totally conten
ted with one of the rib bones still in his jaws.

  But I heard a gentle clatter as it fell from his mouth onto the cobblestones right as the dark thing jumped from the shadows.

  My hand flung up and clutched at my staurolite pendent through my shirt.

  Then I realized who it was.

  “Ted!” I snapped. “You just about scared the swirls out of me.”

  “Huh?” said the grim reaper, looking around. “Oh, sorry, Nora. Heh. Didn’t see you there.”

  “How?” I asked, a bit snippier than he deserved. “I’m not the one cloaked in darkness and lurking in the shadows.”

  “Oh. I was just looking…” He pointed at the sky momentarily before letting his gloved hand fall to his hip while his other one scratched at the top of his hooded head. “Hey, you wouldn’t have happened to see a, um, a bit of fire anywhere, would you?”

  “What? No.”

  “Not on a rooftop or… maybe a tree?”

  Ah. Right. His little hobby. “Nope. But glad to hear your attempt to restore the phoenix population is going according to plan.”

  “Heh. Not exactly.” He looked around again, scanning the rooftops of the nearest buildings before sniffing the air, presumably for smoke. “But they have returned to the Deadwoods, sure. And they love the new houses I built for them. Really warms my heart. Get it? Warms my heart?” I nodded so he’d move on from the bad pun. “However… I might have gotten more than I bargained for. There are a lot of them. And there’s this one who’s a bit of a bad apple, sort of a rebel, one might even call her a firestarter, since that’s what she loves to do. And the flock, they just follow right after her.”

  “Great. That sounds like good news for Eastwind.”

  “No,” he said, missing my sarcasm completely, “it’s actually terrible news. Thankfully with all this rain, everything has been too saturated to go up in flames like it normally would. I thought I’d managed to prevent them from leaving the Deadwoods by locating their homes there, but it seems they’ve—”