by Erin Johnson
A small iron cauldron bubbled on the worn wooden countertop. I crinkled my nose as he uncorked a bottle of what appeared to be toenail clippings and shook a dozen or so into the concoction. The liquid flashed a brighter green, then returned to a low simmer. He recorked the dusty, cloudy bottle and slammed it down next to a dish of ice-blue gems, a tray of speckled feathers, and a jar of dried, brown frog legs.
Heidi shivered and rubbed her arms, then scooted closer to me. I didn’t blame her—except for right in front of the magical flames heating the cauldron, the place was just as chilly inside as it was out in the rainy street.
“So.” Alabaster narrowed his cloudy eyes at each of us and slammed his gnarled fingers onto the countertop. “What can I do ya for?”
Will raised his brows at me, and I cleared my throat.
“I’d like to ask you some questions about Letty Jones—was she a customer of yours?”
The old man gave me a long, hard look, then his lips split in a devious grin, revealing several rotten teeth. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, missy.” He winked. “Good try, though.”
The old man turned around and hobbled to a tall bookshelf behind him and ran a finger with a broken nail over the dusty bottles. I flashed my eyes at Will, and he rubbed his fingers together—the universal sign for cash.
Ah—duh. I needed to bribe the guy.
I dug around in my pockets and fingered the several gold coins there. Luckily, I’d been paid for my last case with Peter a few days ago and still had some money left after paying back rent to my landlady, “the dragon,” as she was so lovingly known around the Darkmoon.
I licked my lips as I scanned the shelves of glowing, bubbling potions. “Do you, uh, have anything for allergies?”
Alabaster glanced over his shoulder at me, eyes narrowed. “I might.”
I nodded. “Yeah, with the wind kicking up pollen.” I grimaced. “It’s been rough.” I sucked on my lips as I pulled out the coins and placed them on the counter, the metal tinkling together. The old man’s eyes zeroed in on them. “I was hoping to find out about the potion you made for Letty’s strawberry allergy. I hear she had bad allergies, too.”
A little crease appeared between his bushy white brows. “Had?”
He hobbled closer and scooped up the coins, shoving them into the pocket of his apron.
I nodded, watching his expression carefully for his reaction. “She was found dead earlier this evening, at her wedding.”
A cloud passed over the old man’s expression, and his shoulders drooped. “You don’t say.” He patted behind him till he found the tall wooden stool, then slid onto it, shaking his head. “That’s… that’s a real shame. She was a sweet girl.”
He twisted the gold band around his gnarled ring finger, seemingly lost in thought.
Heidi leaned on the counter, her lips pulled to the side. “Are you married?”
“Hm?” He looked up, startled, as though he’d forgotten we were there. “Oh. I was.” He looked down and realized what he’d been doing, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his ratty trousers. “My wife passed away some time ago.”
Heidi’s brows pulled together. “I’m so sorry.” She sighed and laced her fingers together under her chin. “I hope I get married someday.”
The old man’s gaze softened as he watched her. He let out a quiet chuckle. “Best thing that ever happened to me. She looked a little like you.”
Heidi brightened.
“’Cept prettier.”
She frowned.
He rose and shook his head. “Some things a potion can’t cure.” He pulled a flask from his apron pocket and took a swig. “Broken heart is one of them. Though it won’t keep me from tryin’.” He took another swig, then choked.
My eyes slid to Will, who watched the old man with his lip curled. Yeah—the old kook had taken my gold, and as much as I felt for him for losing his wife, I wanted some answers about Letty.
I raised my brows at the old guy, who roughly wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy arm. “So Letty was a customer?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Like you said, I made anti-allergy potions for her. She had a nasty strawberry allergy.”
“How bad?”
“Heh.” He shook his head and slid off the stool, then hobbled over to a chest of tiny drawers. He slid one out, revealing a crunched mess of tightly filed notecards and slips of parchment. He rifled through them. “Pretty strong. Anaphylactic.”
I raised a brow.
Will leaned in. “It affected her breathing—her throat and windpipe would have closed up if she was triggered.”
“Aha. Here we go.” The old man withdrew a scrap of parchment with scribbles in black ink all over it—a recipe. He hobbled back to us at the counter and set it down. “See? It’s why I made her the potion in a vial form, if she could drink it.” He flipped the card over and tapped the ink on the other side. “But I also gave it to her in shot form, in case her throat closed up and she couldn’t swallow.”
I frowned down at the card. “Peter didn’t mention finding a vial or a shot of that potion.” I bit my lip—had someone stolen it from her, or had she possibly run out? “When was the last time Letty filled a prescription for this?”
“Ha!” The old man barked out a laugh. “I’m working out of an alley in the Darkmoon—you think I go off prescriptions?”
Fair point.
“But let’s see…” He looked over the card, dates scribbled down the right-hand side of it. “I remember seeing her recently. Yes, here we go—about ten days ago.”
I shook my head. She definitely hadn’t run out if she’d just stocked up on it. So where were the vial and the shot then?
I patted the counter. “Thanks.” I was about to suggest to Will and Heidi that we go, but another thought occurred to me. “One more question.”
The old guy narrowed his pale eyes.
“Let’s say someone had been cursed”—I scratched the back of my neck—“several years ago and she didn’t know exactly what curse had been used, but she’d lost her powers and—”
The old guy interrupted me. “Girl, listen good to me.” He leaned forward. “It’s dangerous to even try curing something like that.”
I sucked on my lips. “How dangerous? I know someone who wants to try.”
He paled and looked between Will, Heidi, and me. “You lot shifters?”
Will and I nodded.
He backed up, shaking his head. “Ludolf’s testing on you?”
I frowned. “How’d you know?”
He held up his palms. “I don’t want any part of this.” He dipped his chin, muttering to himself. “That man’s obsessed with finding a cure.”
I darted a quick glance at Will, who looked as confused as I was, then snapped my gaze back to Alabaster. “A cure? A cure for what?”
He looked up, eyes wide. “You working Letty’s case? Are you that gal working for the cops?”
I had a sinking feeling that this interview was over. “Yeah.”
He pointed to the door. “Out! Now! And you forget you were here.”
I held my ground and glared at him. “What is Ludolf looking for a cure for?”
He shook his head and came around the side of the counter, brandishing his wand.
“Eep!” Heidi held up her palms and slid toward the door. “We should go, guys.”
Will grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the door, but I kept my eyes on the agitated old man.
“A cure for what?!”
He shook his finger at me. “I’ve said too much already. Out! And don’t come back!”
“Jolene! Let’s go.” Will dragged me after him.
“Fine.” I gave the old man one last hard look, then turned and followed Will and Heidi out.
The second we stepped onto the stoop, the door magically slammed behind us, locks clicking into place. I let out a heavy sigh—we’d come here for answers, but now I had more questions than ever.
11
FA
MILY CREST
The next night, Peter, Daisy, and I stood on the top step of the castle’s entryway in front of the tall, arched wood doors. The Sansea Winds whipped around us, blowing my hair into my mouth. Yeck.
Peter cast me a doubtful side-eye. “Sorry—you’re telling me you went to see an unlicensed potion maker?”
I nodded. “Yeah—the one who made Letty’s anti-allergy potion. He said he gave it to her in a drinkable vial form and as a shot.” I raised my brows. “Where the shell were those? Your team didn’t find them anywhere?”
Peter let out a heavy sigh. “No, they didn’t.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before shooting me an exasperated look. “Again, though—an illegal potion maker?” He lifted a broad palm. “I am an officer of the law, you know?” He curled his lip. “Are you going to at least tell me where this guy is so I can shut him down?”
I smirked. “Yes, I know you’re a cop, but I’m not.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “Which is how I get you this secret intel sometimes.” I winked, but Peter just shook his head and turned back to the door.
“I’m not comfortable with this.” He lifted his fist to knock, but hesitated. Pointy iron rivets studded the medieval door.
A jolt of annoyance ran through me. Yeah, and he wasn’t comfortable with me being a shifter, either. The guy needed to let go of his rosy view of how the world should be and accept what it was.
I pointed to his right, and he followed my gaze to a gilded rope. He reached up and tugged, and a deep bell rang inside the castle.
A few moments later, footsteps clicked inside, then the door swung open and a maid with dark hair all dressed in black blinked at us. “Officers!”
Peter bowed his head in greeting. “Good evening. We’d like to have a word with the Harringtons.”
A few minutes later, the maid showed us into the family gathering room—an imposing, sober space. A shield emblazoned with a black bat decorated the dark, wood paneled wall above the stone fireplace. The orange flames cast flickering shadows across the dimly lit room.
Mr. Harrington sat in a wingback chair near the fire, a leather-bound book in hand, while Chaz lay out on a chaise lounge, his hand thrown over his forehead in a dramatic pose of mourning. Mrs. Harrington sat on a plush, tufted sofa, her ankles crossed on a stool. The maid bowed her head, then hovered near the door.
Mr. Harrington slid a leather bookmark into the book, then closed it in his lap and looked up at us, half his face in shadow. “Please, come in.” The words were pleasant enough, but the grim set of his mouth conveyed very little pleasure at seeing us.
Peter gestured at the sofa across from Mrs. Harrington. “May we?”
The blond arched a brow at Daisy as we crossed in front of the fireplace and sat across from her. I settled onto the plush sofa and couldn’t help but compare it to my own threadbare one. I had to lie on that just to avoid being poked by the springs, but this thing felt like it was made of clouds and butter. I settled in, a satisfied grin on my face. I took a deep breath—the place smelled of cedar, fire and—I smirked—privilege.
Mr. Harrington angled himself toward us, his back to the fire and features in shadow. “How may we help you, Officer? Have there been any developments in Letty’s case?”
Mrs. Harrington scoffed. “Her case? Please, Teddy, the girl killed herself in one of our guest rooms. The sooner we put this behind us, the better.” She glared at Peter, her nostrils flared. “Tell me this is over.”
Peter shifted in his seat and looked between the husband and wife. “Actually, we wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Still slumped back on the comfortable sofa, I lifted a finger. “First, where can I get a couch like this?”
Mrs. Harrington rolled her eyes. “It’s custom.”
“Of course it is.” I nodded. “Second, did anyone find Letty’s anti-allergy potions? It would have been in a vial or a syringe.”
A muscle jumped in Mrs. Harrington’s jaw, but she kept her lips pressed tight together and crossed her arms.
Beside the door though, the maid choked.
Peter, Daisy, and I snapped our gazes to her.
Mr. Harrington, with his dignified gray hair and deep voice, addressed her. “May, did you find something?”
She darted an uneasy glance at Mrs. Harrington, then looked down at her feet. “I—I found something in one of the trash bins after the wedding, when I was helping clean up.”
“What?” Peter scooted forward and perched on the edge of the couch. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He looked at me, then back to the maid. “I thought our department bagged everything up.”
Mrs. Harrington snorted.
I glanced to my left at Chaz and caught him peeking out from under his hand. He caught me staring and immediately covered his eyes again and went back to being devastated. I frowned at him. Were the dramatics an indication of his guilt, or just a normal part of being a politician?
May wrung her hands in front of her. “I was nervous, not used to just standing around.” She shrugged. “I wanted to help tidy up—to do something to take my mind off Miss Jones.” She bit her lip and darted another glance at the back of Mrs. Harrington’s head. “And I did tell someone.” Her throat bobbed. “I gave the syringe to Mrs. Harrington.”
Peter and I exchanged looks. I’d told him Letty should have had a syringe of her anti-allergy potion nearby. We both turned to stare down Mrs. Harrington on the sofa across from us.
“What?” She bared her teeth at Peter, then huffed and flipped her blond locks over her shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell the police?” Peter’s face turned an alarmingly blotchy shade of red.
She sniffed. “I didn’t want rumors flying around about it.”
“You—rumors?” Peter spluttered and leapt to his feet. “I should arrest you for that.” He raised his brows. “How about the rumors that that would start?”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Gah!” Peter jolted, and Daisy barked. Who’s there?!
A short, balding man rose from the corner of the room farthest from the fireplace. He came forward out of the shadows. “Apologies for startling you. I’m the Harringtons’ lawyer and family friend.”
Mrs. Harrington cast him a simpering smile.
He placed a hand on the back of Chaz’s chaise. “I wouldn’t expect a low-level officer like yourself to know this, but the Harringtons are big donors to the police department.” He shot Peter a toothy smile, though it contained no humor.
“I’d have to have some strong words with your inspector if you arrested Marcy, here.” He gestured toward Mrs. Harrington, who winked at him, then glared at Peter.
I tugged on Peter’s sleeve, and he shot a blazing look down at me. I raised my brows at him, and he blew out a breath, his expression softening. He cleared his throat and addressed Mrs. Harrington. “Fine. Give me the syringe. We’ll give it to the lab to be tested and fingerprinted and will ignore this—mistake—this time.”
The blond slightly turned her head and called back to the maid behind her. “May, be a dear and go fetch that syringe for the officer.”
The maid bowed her head and hurried out the door.
Peter tugged at his uniform jacket before settling onto the couch beside me again. I gave him an encouraging nod. I mean, I wanted to throttle these people as much as the next person—and to steal their ridiculously comfortable couch—but we also didn’t need Peter getting suspended again.
Peter glared at the family lawyer for a moment before turning back to Mrs. Harrington. “One more question—a witness mentioned they saw you and Chaz arguing before the wedding.”
The blond’s eyes narrowed.
Peter leaned forward. “What were you arguing about?”
Mrs. Harrington’s cheeks burned red as her husband shook his head and reopened his book. Getting no help from him, she turned back to Peter and shot him a smile that screamed, “I’ll shank you in your sleep.” She delicately cleared her thro
at. “Argument? I don’t recall…”
Chaz let his arm drop from his forehead and pushed himself up to sitting. “Just normal wedding nonsense.”
His mother nodded emphatically as their lawyer looked between them.
Chaz plastered on his smarmiest smile. “Probably seating charts and whatnot. Weddings are stressful. We were both just on edge is all.”
Mm-hmm. On edge enough to kill your bride? And I doubted the fight Joe Santos had described was over seating charts.
I glanced over to Mr. Harrington to gauge his reaction and noticed a black bat hanging upside down from the mantle. “Uh.” I pointed. “You have a pet bat?”
Mr. Harrington, frowning, looked up from his reading. “Hm?” He followed my gaze. “Ah, you mean Bartholomew.” He nodded. “He’s more of a mascot than a pet. Been in our family for generations.”
“Oh. Because of your crest?” I pointed to the shield above the mantle.
Mr. Harrington nodded.
“Great.” I stood, grinning. “I’d love to read his mind.”
12
BARTHOLOMEW THE BAT
Bartholomew the bat winged ahead of me out of the library and into the hallway.
“What in goddess’s name?” Mrs. Harrington spluttered before the door swung shut behind me.
It was cool. I was sure Peter could explain about my abilities—hopefully.
The bat flapped over to a silver suit of armor and hung upside down from the helmet. I passed a row of oil paintings, all of scowling men who looked a lot like old-timey Mr. Harringtons. I paused to frown at one—severity must be a family trait.
I padded along the carpet runner and stopped in front of the armor, which stood beside a tiny marble-topped table with a guttering candelabra on top.
I let out a few squeaks. Bartholomew—can I call you Bart? I want to ask you a few questions about the girl who died last night, Letty?