by Emery Belle
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” His voice remained gentle, but his tone brooked no argument. “Orion was a public persona not by choice but by necessity. He will be laid to rest only amidst the company of those who knew him well. Good day, Wren Winters.”
He turned and trotted away before breaking into a run, his silver hair streaming behind him, his hind legs powerful and gleaming in the sunlight. I watched him until he was nothing but a speck on the horizon, then continued meandering along the river, further into the centaur lands. It was only after I began replaying our conversation in my head, looking for clues that ultimately weren’t there, that I realized I’d never actually given him my name.
Given Orion’s fame and obvious wealth, I expected him and his family to live in a grand estate and be tended to by a team of servants, but his log cabin was just as humble as the rest I passed on my journey through the centaur lands. I’d had a difficult time locating it, since none of the adults I passed were willing to lead me there, but eventually I managed to convince a centaur foal to point me in the right direction. As I was walking away, I heard his mother berating him, and winced, feeling guilty. These creatures sure were a strange—and extremely private—bunch.
If I’d expected Orion’s wife, Vega, to be as humble as her home, I would have been sorely disappointed. As I gazed at her from the kitchen doorway as she made me a steaming cup of wheat germ and oat tea—her suggestion, not mine—I realized I had discovered where all of Orion’s vast amounts of wealth had gone.
“One sugar or two, dear?” she asked, her diamond bracelets jangling together as she ushered me into the living room and set the tea before me, along with a generous slice of fresh pineapple pie. She was draped in robes of pale gold that were also encrusted with thousands of miniscule diamonds that winked at me every time she moved, and she’d gotten so many magical enhancements done to her face that whenever she smiled it looked like her skin would split open.
“One, please,” I said, trying not to stare. Given the not-so-warm welcome I’d received since arriving in the centaur lands, I hadn’t really been expecting to be let inside when I knocked on Orion’s front door, which, along with the windows, was draped in black mourning cloths, but Vega had looked absolutely delighted at the prospect of having a visitor. Lyra, the couple’s only daughter, also joined us in the living room, though in contrast to her mother’s perfectly made-up face, she looked pale and drawn, and her eyes were red-rimmed.
“I just keep going over and over it in my head,” she said to me, wiping at a stray tear, “making myself crazy trying to figure out who could have done such a thing. My father was beloved by so many… he helped so many.” She traced her fingers absentmindedly around the rim of her cup. “Do you know that he never turned anyone away, even if they couldn’t pay? He believed that his gift meant that he was bound to serve others, and so that’s exactly what he did.”
“Yes, Orion was a wonderful centaur,” Vega added, lowering herself onto a floor cushion and arranging her robes delicately around her four legs. She had a glistening golden-blonde coat that held not even a hint of gray—I wondered how many bottles of dye it must have taken to keep her fur looking so young. “I have a very hard time coming to terms with the fact that I won’t be seeing him again until I’ve passed on to the next plane.” Her voice shook slightly, the only crack in her composure, and she quickly masked it by taking a long sip of her tea.
“Surely Orion must have made a few enemies along the way by those who didn’t exactly benefit from his visions,” I said, thinking back to the get-well-soon cards I’d snooped through. They had only given me the smallest possible insight into Orion’s world, and I’d already seen evidence that he’d exposed both a cheating husband and a thief. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that was only the tip of the iceberg.
“He did.” Lyra gave a loud sniff and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her black robes. I eyed Vega’s robes once more—in comparison to Lyra’s sedate outfit, the shimmering gold color she wore looked even more garish. Where was her mourning attire?
“My daughter is right,” Vega said, setting down her cup of tea with a sigh. “And I can tell you the first person to start with—a leprechaun by the name of Finn. He is famous for spending nearly all of his time at the casino downtown, and I know my husband had some sort of dispute with him recently. Over what, I can’t say—Orion never divulged what he saw in his visions. He would have considered it nothing short of betrayal to his clientele, who counted on him for his discretion.”
“Sounds like a good lead,” I said, jotting the information down in my notebook. I set down my pen and took a sip of tea, then immediately started gagging and spluttering.
“I take no offense, dear,” Vega said, trotting over to me and smacking me on the back until I stopped choking. “The wheat germ is an acquired taste.” She offered me another sugar cube, but I shook my head and stuffed my notebook back into my bag.
“Thank you both for your time,” I said. “I’m going to head over to the casino to see if I can track down Finn. In the meantime—”
“Mother,” Lyra cut me off. “Don’t you think we should tell her about—”
“No.” Vega’s eyes hardened as she stared at her daughter. If looks could kill, then Lyra would have just been blasted to smithereens. The two women continued facing off against each other, Lyra’s face flushed with anger while her mother’s remained pure stone and composure.
I waited for one of them to speak, but neither said a word. Glancing back and forth between Orion’s wife and daughter, I asked, “Am I missing something?”
“You are not.” I could practically hear Vega’s teeth grinding together as she bit out the words. “Sometimes my daughter lets her imagination get away from her. It’s why she has never become a proper seer like her father.” She gave me a swift, tight smile. “Please, dear, pay her no mind. Now, if there’s anything else we can do for you…?” Her voice trailed off on a question, and remained as friendly as ever, but I knew myself to be dismissed.
Still looking suspiciously at the two women, I slung my bag over my shoulder and allowed Vega to lead me to the front door. Before opening it, she clasped my hand in hers and said, “Thank you for what you’re doing for my family. Orion was a beautiful soul, and it’s hard to imagine anyone out there would want to hurt him, but here we are…” She trailed off, staring wistfully at a framed painting of Orion that hung over the living room fireplace, showcasing his lithe, powerful body in magnificent detail.
“A token of gratitude from one of his many admirers,” she said, nodding to the painting before turning back to me. “Please, Wren, find out who did this. Find out who ripped my husband from me, the only man I ever loved. We’ve been together since we were foals, you know.” She blinked furiously, then readjusted her diamond bangles and straightened a nonexistent wrinkle from her robes. Then she held the door open for me and ushered me outside before closing it with a thunk.
I started walking away then faltered, because I thought I heard, so faintly it could just have been the whisper of the wind against my ear, the sound of Vega weeping.
Chapter 10
The Magic Island Royale, the only casino on the island, was a dazzling building made entirely of green-tinted glass with a massive shamrock etched above the gold-plated front doors. It was the fanciest place I’d ever visited—from the outside, at least—complete with tuxedo-wearing dwarf valets, an enormous green marble fountain with jets of colored water shooting out, and a solid platinum statue of a leprechaun clutching a pot of very realistic-looking gold to his chest. When I reached out my hand to see if the gold was, in fact, true gold, the air around the statue sizzled and I was shot backward, landing on my rear in the middle of the sidewalk.
“It’s warded against sticky fingers like yours,” one of the valets said with a snicker, then added, as an aside, “But don’t feel too bad, sweetheart. I’ve been scorched more times than I can count, especially once I’ve gotten a few pints
of lucky ale in me.” He waggled the stubby fingers of his right hand—each tip was scarred—before looking me up and down with a frown. “Didn’t anyone warn you that the casino has a dress code? I can’t let you in looking like a homeless ogre.”
I glanced down at my regular jeans and T-shirt, then back up at his grass-green tuxedo. “I had no idea,” I said, then lowered my voice conspiratorially. “But can you keep a secret?” The dwarf nodded so eagerly his long beard flapped. I drew up my shoulders. “I’m here on official police business. Top-secret, but very important. Can you help me out, just this once?” I nodded toward the doors.
The dwarf stroked his beard thoughtfully. “You’d stick out like a sore thumb in those clothes, and I have very strict orders not to let anyone in who doesn’t have on formalwear. But…” He tapped his pockmarked cheek. “I may have an idea.”
Five minutes later, I was standing inside a dimly lit utility closet wearing pointed black shoes, a baggy bright green tuxedo, and a faux beard made out of braided and dyed unicorn hair. The dwarf valet, whose name I’d come to learn was Randy, was standing in front of me, scrutinizing me with pinched lips and shaking his head. “No, this won’t do. Not fat enough. You need another pillow.” He grabbed a fluffy pillow from a pile on the floor and shoved it down the front of my tuxedo.
“Watch it,” I said with a growl as his fingers brushed against my chest, but he waved me off impatiently.
“Trust me, I’m not interested.” He let out a snort of laughter. “You don’t even have a real beard.” Apparently, according to the dwarfs, that was the standard of beauty the rest of us old hags and ugly ducklings should aspire to. Randy stepped back, then gave my tuxedo jacket a sharp tug; by this point, the fabric was straining against my enhanced belly. “That’ll do,” he said proudly. “That’ll do just fine. Now you look like a real dwarf. A true beauty, too, I might add.”
I accepted the compliment graciously while praying that I wouldn’t run into Sebastian—or, God forbid, the man in black—then followed the dwarf out of the utility closet, through a long hallway, and out onto the casino floor. “Well, here’s where I leave you,” he said, then added, in a whisper loud enough to carry across the din, “Good luck with your police investigation.” A couple of dark-haired, muscled werewolves standing nearby shot me suspicious looks, and I edged away from them as Randy gave me a cheery wave and strode back toward the valet area.
“He had too much lucky ale,” I said to the werewolves, then skirted around them, adjusting my pillows as discreetly as I could. Randy’s trick had worked—I was practically invisible dressed as a valet; I could see the eyes of casino patrons and workers alike gliding right over me, which was rather depressing, but it would go a long way toward helping me get around without drawing too much attention to myself.
Even though it was the middle of a workday, the casino was packed with all sorts of creatures displaying various levels of drunkenness—from the zombie twerking in front of an audience of raucous gnomes at the bar to the brownies screeching and dancing on top of the slot machines. Fairies wearing short, low-cut dresses that left little to the imagination fluttered around with drink trays, flirting and batting their eyelashes for extra tips. Surly-looking security trolls wielding five-foot clubs were stationed at all the exits, and a wizard DJ was spinning disco music from his wand and jamming along to the beat.
It was almost too much to take in, and I started feeling overwhelmed as I craned my neck over the crowd, looking for any leprechaun who might be Finn. The problem was, the casino had at least quadruple the number of leprechauns than any other creature, and I hadn’t the faintest idea what Finn even looked like.
“Hiya, gorgeous,” a gruff voice slurred behind me before a particularly wet tongue slurped at my ear. I swung around, fists blazing, to find a very red-faced dwarf leering at my faux beard. “Can I touch it?” he asked, eyes glazing over as he stretched out a fat hand toward my face.
I knocked his hand away just before a security troll ambled over, grabbed the dwarf by the straps of his overalls, and heaved him out the door. He landed in a heap on the sidewalk, then stumbled to his feet and pressed his nose forlornly against one of the green-tinted glass panels. When he spotted me once more, his eyes lit up and he began smooching the glass, very loudly and very wetly.
“Don’t worry, he’ll go away eventually,” an amused voice said beside me. I glanced at the stunning woman standing to my right, shuffling a deck of cards. She was wearing a black, form-fitted tuxedo that showed off her curves, her long, jet-black hair was swept into a high ponytail, and her creamy skin was completely unmarred... not even a mole to be found. I instantly hated her.
She studied me out of the corner of her turquoise eye, a small smirk playing along her full lips as she took in my unicorn-hair beard and pillow-enhanced stomach. “A valet, huh? Well, your getup is good enough to fool Lawrence”—she tilted her head toward the dwarf still pressed against the glass—“and he’s only had a dozen lucky ales so far this morning. You might just be able to pull it off.”
“Pull what off?” I asked, my heart rate picking up.
The woman continued shuffling the deck, the cards flying expertly between her fingers. “Whatever it is you’re hiding.” She plucked the ace of spades from the pile, leaned over, and tucked it into the pocket of my tuxedo. “For good luck,” she whispered, then gave me a conspiratorial wink. Turning on her heels, she began walking away, her hips swinging from side to side, her long ponytail swishing.
“Hey,” I called after her, deciding to press my luck. “Can you tell me where I might find a leprechaun named Finn?”
“Try the back room,” she said over her shoulder without bothering to slow down. “He’s one of our big spenders, so he gets the royal treatment.” She continued sashaying away, the eyes of every man in the room following her, and I watched as she slipped behind a blackjack table and began dealing out the cards to a group of elderly witches cackling over tankards of green ale.
I glanced around the casino, searching for the back room, my eyes skirting over the various casino patrons—a hag huddled in front of a slot machine, clutching a sack of coins and snarling at a brownie who’d dared to take the seat beside her; a handsome vampire with slicked-back hair who was tracing his long fingers over a fairy waitress’s neck, though by her pink cheeks and bright eyes she seemed to be enjoying it; an off-duty troll security guard slamming back shot after shot of some kind of smoking orange concoction while a couple of dwarfs egged him on.
Finally, in the very back corner, mostly hidden by the enormous wraparound bar, I spotted a door marked VIP Only that was guarded by another security troll, though this one had his eyes half-closed and was leaning his bald head against the wall. Trying to look as casual as possible, I adjusted the lapels of my tuxedo, smoothed my beard, and sauntered over to the troll, who straightened up and rubbed his eyes as I approached.
“Whatdya want?” he grunted, crossing his massive arms over his chest and glaring at me. “You know none of the regular employees are allowed back here. It’s against the rules.”
I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, toward the front of the casino. “They need you outside,” I said. “There’s a situation.”
He narrowed his orange eyes at me. “What kind of situation?” His gaze roamed over my beard, and his eyes narrowed even further. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, and I don’t remember nothing about a new hire.”
Ignoring his last remark, and hoping he wouldn’t notice that my knees were trembling, I said, “A couple of werewolves wearing shorts and flipflops are throwing a tantrum because the valets won’t let them inside. They’re threatening to storm the casino and bite everyone in the building, so the manager asked me to come inside and get you. He said you were the only troll big enough to take them.”
“He said that?” The troll puffed out his chest a little more and flexed his fingers. “I have been working out, you know.” He spread his arms wide before striking a
body-builder pose and pulsating his muscles in time to the disco music still being pumped around the casino.
“Very impressive.” I layered as much flattery as I could into my voice. “Anyway, he asked me to man your post for a few minutes”—I waved my hand toward the VIP door—“while you take care of the werewolves.” I shooed the troll aside, then assumed his position in front of the door. One of the pillows began sliding out of my tuxedo, and I caught it just in time, stuffing it up as high as I could and folding my hands over my stomach.
The troll, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, turned back to face me. He squinted at my stomach, then back up at me, and then gazed toward the front doors, where a couple of valets could be seen laughing and joking together, looking the exact opposite of distressed. “Who did you say sent you?”
“The manager.” I pushed down the lump of fear that had lodged itself in my throat. “He said only you could do the job.” A little extra flattery couldn’t hurt, right?
The edge of the troll’s lip was now curled slightly. “Which manager?” he asked, and then he took a stepped forward, bent his head toward me, and sniffed me. He actually sniffed me. What the heck? Could trolls smell the difference between truth and lies?
“Uh,” I said, casting my mind around in a frantic search for a name and trying not to panic as the troll took another step toward me. “John… no! Patrick?” In a casino run by leprechauns, there had to be at least one employee by the name of Patrick.
“Patrick?” The troll let out a low growl, and my heart leapt into my throat. Then he reared his fist back and—I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable—punched the wall beside me as hard as he could, leaving a one-foot hole in the plaster.
“I shoulda known,” he roared. “That slimy little…” He roared again, showing off a row of broken teeth. “He’s always had it in for me, trying to get me fired at every turn. Now he wants me to get ripped apart by werewolves? Well, someone’s about to get thrown to the wolves, but it ain’t gonna be me.” He turned on his massive heel and stomped off, shaking the ground beneath my feet.