Amanda finished her glass and set it aside on the coffee table.
Scarlett took a sip of her own drink too, and then tried again. “Blackmail him for what?” she asked.
Amanda shrugged. “I don’t know, really. For nothing, I guess. Maybe she was making up stories about him. People lie all the time. Jade seemed honest enough to me, but sometimes people have a dark side they never show you. Until they do. Ronnie was Jade’s boss. Maybe she felt like he did something… inappropriate. Or said something. Or he didn’t, but she was going to accuse him of doing something, even if it never really happened.”
From Amanda’s tone, Scarlett knew that she was hinting at something sexual. Sexual harassment, or maybe even sexual assault. Amanda seemed to be guessing, shooting in the dark, but that kind of accusation wouldn’t be at all unusual in an office environment. It rang true. True enough to be believed, even without proof. Ronnie might have said something or done something wrong, and his employee might want to make it public, or she might threaten to make it public as a way to get some kind of advantage over her boss.
But another thought occurred to Scarlett. Something more troubling still.
Ronnie had another secret. A secret few people knew, not even Amanda.
But Scarlett knew his secret.
Ronnie was a werewolf.
What if Jade had discovered his true identity, or suspected it? Perhaps she saw him transform, or had come across some other clue that made her suspect that Ronnie was not everything he seemed, not the real estate hot shot that he played in public. Not even… human.
Would that have given Jade reason enough to blackmail him?
It might have.
And what would Ronnie do if threatened with exposure?
Would he kill Jade to keep her quiet?
Scarlett was alarmed at the thought, but she had to admit, it made a lot of sense. She had no proof at all, except for what Amanda had told her, but she could see a scenario with Ronnie, Jade and blackmail playing itself out.
On the other hand, Jade didn’t die from an “animal attack.” She was poisoned. If Ronnie had killed her, a rage-filled retaliation in his werewolf form was far more likely.
Poison was cold and calculated.
“Ronnie’s been very upset by the whole thing,” Amanda said. “First, by the blackmail. Now, by what happened today. Her death. It’s all such a mess. I don’t know if he can take it. I don’t know if I can, to be honest. Ronnie said he feels like his whole world is falling down around him. Everything he built, everything he ever dreamed of. That’s what he said. Ronnie needs me now. Now more than ever. I have to go over there. I have to be with him.”
“Of course,” Scarlett agreed. “You should go to him.”
Amanda wiped her eyes. “I just came over for some clean clothes.”
And with that, she stood, grabbed her overnight bag, and left.
+++
Clarke’s Quarters, RAF Bicester
Tim arrived back at his quarters. He was tired and ready for a proper meal. He’d been drinking nothing but vending machine and take out coffee all day and his body needed some proper nourishment. He checked the time. It was still early enough to hit the officer’s mess before turning in. He just wanted to check on a few things first.
He’d gone all day without checking in with the Oxford police about his case. They’d all be off shift by now, but maybe they’d forwarded their case reports through to him. He sat down at his desk and opened up his laptop.
The screen sprung to life, populated with the webpages he’d had open when he had left earlier that afternoon. Property adverts cluttered his web browsers. He felt a twinge, remembering what had happened at the estate agent’s office, and quickly closed them.
He clicked to open his email client and wandered into the bathroom while they downloaded.
He returned a few moments later, drying his face and hands on a towel. He dumped the towel on the bed and sat down, immediately absorbed in sorting through the array of information.
There were preliminary forensic reports, and interview lists. That wasn’t what he was after though. He searched through the senders. Nothing from the county coroner yet.
Ah… there it was. A personal email from the officer in charge. Rogerson. The name caught his eye.
He clicked it open and read down through the message. It was short and to the point. There was no blood found around the perimeter, as it turned out. They had also deduced from a stock take that there was blood missing, and it was mostly of the AB negative variety.
He quickly flicked open the preliminary forensic report in case there were any pertinent details. No signs of any other useful leads.
He checked the time again. Danny Gregory would still be at his desk. Probably. Tim called the landline, just in case he wasn’t. If he called his cell he might be home, or off duty… in which case he didn’t want to disturb him.
The phone rang, and was picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?” It was Danny’s voice. He sounded tired, but relaxed. Probably not in any hurry to head home right away.
“Danny, hi. It’s Tim.”
“Tim. Hi. What’s up?”
“Just checking in, sir. I’ve been catching up on the hospital incident…”
“Oh yes?”
“Yes. No solid leads. But it looks like the blood that was taken was mostly AB negative.”
Danny Gregory half chuckled. “Our hostile has a specific taste?”
“Looks like it,” Tim confirmed. “Unless there is a scientific reason… like he has AB type blood himself. Until we catch him we won’t know. Thought that might be of interest though.”
Gregory sighed quietly on the end of the line. “Yes. It is actually. I’ll be able to use that as a tidbit to keep Moseley in his lane. He’ll be dying to find out the reason, and might be more inclined to support us bringing it in alive. Only a matter of time before he sees the initial reports and starts putting us under pressure to find the bastard.”
Tim wiped a hand down his face and perched on his bed. “Yes. I understand.”
“You find anything else?” Gregory asked.
“Not much. No leads. No blood found inside the search perimeter. No sign of discarded blood bags. No tire tracks.”
“So the trail is dead?”
“Looks like. Plus, we’ve still have no body, so technically this is likely going to go down as a missing person case.”
“Well, Tim, if it’s a hostile, he’ll strike again, and anything else that happens will give you new intel. You’ll catch the bastard. You always do.”
“Yes, sir.” Tim broached the real point of his call. “In the absence of any forensic leads I’d like to suggest I make a quiet inquiry into the surrounding hospitals. See if any others have had any missing blood in the last three months. Might show up something.”
Gregory’s tone brightened. “Okay. Good thinking. Do it. Though, as you say, on the DL. Last thing we want is any whiff of this getting out. As laughable as the idea of vampires might be, it’ll only spur other conspiracies which might be believed – like satanic rituals, and rogue medical professionals… You know the drill.”
“Yes, sir. On the DL it is.”
His boss hesitated for a moment. “Err, Tim.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Is err… everything ok with you?” Danny’s voice was softer now. He sounded more like a kindly uncle than his CO.
“Yes, sir. Why do you ask?”
“Doris tells me that you took the afternoon off.”
“Oh, right…” Tim paused, contemplating how much to tell him. Deciding there was a high probability of him finding out separately, he thought it would be better coming from him. At least then he could control the narrative. “Yeah, I er… witnessed a death this afternoon. Needed to help the police with their enquiries. By the time I got done, I thought it would be more productive to take the rest of the day to process it.”
“Oh, good lord. What happened?”
“A woman keeled over in the estate agent’s. It was… unexpected. Quite a shock, in fact.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed.
“Oh. I’m… sorry.”
“It’s ok. We are trained for this, but… You know.”
“Well, it’s different when the enemy is a plane ride away. You going to be ok?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back at it tomorrow.”
“Ok, then, Tim. Keep me posted. And if you need some more time, just give Doris the heads up in the morning. Better you keep your head on straight and deal with it properly.”
“Yes, sir,” Tim agreed.
“Ok then. Good night.”
“Good night, sir.”
+++
Slater Residence, London Road, Bicester, England
With Amanda gone once again, Scarlett wondered what she should do for the evening.
After flitting between reading her book on Group Theory and the one on the Constitution of Britain, she decided that the reason she was feeling antsy was because she really needed some exercise.
She put on her walking shoes and gym gear, and then wrapped up in her weatherproof running jacket. Soon, she was stepping out the door, the night air hitting her nostrils like a welcome, calming aroma.
The neighborhood was quiet but there were a few people around here and there: walking home, or walking their dogs.
She used to walk this neighborhood a lot for the exercise. But lately, she only walked to and from work, rarely stopping to appreciate the place.
Now, as she walked, she took some time to appreciate the quaintness of the houses, the lawns and the gardens. Many residents of the neighborhood had flower gardens that bloomed with color and life.
Already, the exercise and the breeze on her face were beginning to clear her head. She could feel the stress of the day melting away.
Up ahead, she saw a man picking plants from his garden, illuminated by his porch light. His back was to her. He wore a hat and a dark sweater. It was difficult to tell exactly what color on account of the darkness. As she continued along the sidewalk approaching his driveway, he seemed more and more familiar to her. He was bent over his herbs, so she really couldn't judge his height or shape but something about him tugged at her memory.
He must've heard her footsteps on the pavement because he turned to greet her. Now able to see his face, she saw that it was Tarquin.
"Oh, hello," she said in surprise.
He stood, smiling. "Well, now. Scarlett! And what are you doing, besides walking in my neighborhood?"
She returned his smile. "Walking in my neighborhood.” She winked at him, in a friendly way.
He laughed. "I guess were neighbors, then."
"Or nearly so," she said. "I'm about ten minutes that way." She pointed back the way she had come. "Now that I think about it, I pass by your house walking to and from work almost every day. It's funny I didn't even know you lived here."
"Most people believe I live at the bookstore,” he joked. “And they're not entirely wrong. I suppose I keep rather strange hours. I'm not usually here when others are likely to see me."
"Serendipity, then," she said.
"Indeed."
"I suppose that garden of yours keeps you coming back."
"It does, at that. One of my little hobbies."
"My aunt has an allotment, and I help out with some of the gardening," Scarlett said before remembering Tarquin already knew all about it. He, Ronnie and Cliff had used her wheelbarrow and shovel on the night they buried Bill Knight.
She didn't want to think about that night again, and she certainly didn't want to talk about it out in the open.
Fortunately, Tarquin must've felt the same. He simply nodded, and let the thought pass by unacknowledged.
She looked away from him, embarrassed to have broached the subject. Her gaze went to the portion of the garden that was still lit by the porch light.
"Lovely garden," she said to change the subject.
"Why, thank you. It is a passion of mine. And not merely a necessary chore of my profession."
His profession? she thought. What does gardening have to do with running a bookstore?
It took her a moment to realize he wasn't talking about selling books. Tarquin was more than the proprietor of dusty shelves. His true profession was as a sorcerer.
And then she understood the purpose of the garden. He was collecting herbs. He still had the shears in one gloved hand, but in the other he held a plastic bag with freshly cut blue flowers.
He's brewing something up, she thought.
"My Aunt Tabitha sometimes picks herbs at night," she commented, still putting it all together in her brain.
Tarquin glanced up at the darkening sky. "Sometimes night is the best time for flowers. The energies open up."
Scarlett looked up and saw the full moon. She hadn't realized that it would be a full moon tonight, and wondered if that meant something to Tarquin. Her aunt would often pick herbs on the full moon, too.
It must be a powerful time do that. She made a mental note, given that this was soon going to be her profession too… of a sort.
"So tell me, Scarlett. How are your studies going?" he asked.
"My studies?" She wasn't sure what he was referring to.
"Your, ah, botanical studies," he said.
Her magical studies! The grimoire, she realized, and laughed nervously.
"To be honest, it hasn't been easy,” she confessed. “The reading is pretty slow going."
"Most of the old books are," he observed.
"There's a lot to learn. More than I ever imagined," she confided.
"Seems like there should be a magic word," he quipped. "Just snap your fingers and abracadabra you know it all.” His eyes glittered in the half light from the house. “Sadly, it doesn't quite work that way, does it?"
"No, I suppose not,” Scarlett agreed. “My aunt says it takes a lot of practice."
"Like any true art," he pointed out. "Let me know if you are ever in need of a tutor. I could be of some assistance."
The offer came as a shock. She had always seen Tarquin as a lone wolf type who kept to himself and his books. He did sometimes come across as a bit professorial, but less the Oxford don than the mad professor who’d spent a few too many years in the lab experimenting with mercury.
"Thank you," she said. "Very kind of you to offer. I'll think about it."
"You have a lot to think about these days, I imagine."
"Yes."
"Well, you have your aunt to guide you. But my offer is open, if you ever need it."
She thanked him again and excused herself. Tarquin returned to his flower garden, gathering petals for potions as Scarlett made her way into town. She made a note of the bluish purple flowers he was picking. If they came up in her studies then she’d have another point of reference to remember them by.
+++
Bicester Vintners, Bicester, England
The next morning, Scarlett walked to work feeling a little better. Yesterday had been a hard day, a terrible day, and she wished she could simply put it all behind her.
Of course, she knew that wasn't possible. There was so much that was unresolved. The sadness over Jade's death remained, but the shock of it had faded. She knew that her world would return to normal soon. She did not know Jade very well. But Jade's death would affect other people she cared about, particularly Amanda and Ronnie.
She didn't know what to make of the story Amanda had told her about Jade blackmailing Ronnie, either. It seemed like Amanda didn't entirely believe it herself. But what Scarlett knew about Ronnie made her suspect there was some truth to the blackmail idea. Ronnie had a secret identity. He was a shape shifter, a werewolf and, like vampires and witches, it was possible that he would go to extremes to keep his secret safe.
She got to work early, and opened up the shop. She handled several customers before Karl came into the store. When the last of the mid-morning shoppers left and Scarlett was alone at the regist
er, Karl stepped out of the back office to talk with her.
"How did it go yesterday?" he asked.
"Someone I knew died," she said. "So, not that well, I guess."
Karl seemed unmoved by that. "I know you talked to the police."
She hesitated, suddenly realizing what he was getting at. "Everyone there talked to the police," she shot back.
"What did you tell them?"
"The truth as far as I know it," she said.
Karl’s face was stony and serious. "Don't play games with me, Scarlett. There's too much at stake. This was Ronnie's employee, and it happened at his office. It brings a lot of attention to him."
Scarlett waved a hand at Karl, as if to bat him away. "Ronnie loves attention."
"Not like this, and you know it,” said Karl. His voice was stern and unwavering. “Don't get cute. Get smart. We don't want any of the negative attention that might fall on Ronnie to fall on us."
"Us?"
"You know what I mean."
He fixed her with a dark stare, but if he was trying to compel her, it wasn't working. She thought he knew well enough now not to bother trying.
"Yes," she said, softening her tone. There was no need to escalate this into a fight. "I do know what you mean."
"So let me ask you again. What did you tell the police?"
"What I saw, which wasn't much. I told the truth, but as little of it as I could without lying. Fortunately, they don't know the right questions to ask."
"And if they start asking those kinds of questions, you need to tell me." It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
It was Scarlett’s turn to glare daggers at Karl. "So you can do what? Kill people?"
"That is rarely necessary," Karl said, as if to reassure her. "We can't always stop people from asking uncomfortable questions, but we have to be vigilant."
She nodded but said nothing.
Karl continued. "Silence is a shield. It protects us. All of us. But there are times when that silence breaks and must be restored."
"Compelled, you mean."
"Yes."
Scarlett thought of the grimoire. "I guess that means I have some studying to do," she said.
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