by Emery Belle
“Come with me,” he said in a low, dangerous voice before he barreled straight through the middle of the office, not bothering to stop as he knocked into Glinna, who dropped the stack of papers she was carrying all over the floor.
Sebastian grabbed my arm as I started to follow Kellen and mouthed, “Be careful,” but the warning was pointless. I would have to be out of my mind to start any kind of trouble with Kellen. I had no idea what, er, species he was, but he looked like he could snap me in half like a twig with his powerful hands if I so much as looked at him the wrong way.
Kellen marched straight to Percival’s office and slammed open the door without bothering to knock. Percival gave a start, slapping the notebook he had been perusing closed and looking around at us in confusion. “Kellen?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he caught sight of me fidgeting behind him. “Is everything okay?”
“No, Percival, everything is not okay,” Kellen roared, dropping into a chair in front of Percival’s desk with such force that it groaned ominously.
Percival tipped his head subtly toward the door, which I closed in a hurry before perching on the chair next to Kellen and trying to look as if I weren’t scared out of my wits. Kellen glared at me, and then Percival, before leaning back in his chair, gripping the arm rests so hard that tiny cracks appeared in the wood.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he gritted out, his red eyes snapping with rage.
“With what, exactly?” Percival scratched his head with the eraser end of his pencil, frowning as he looked from Kellen to me and then back again. If Percival was playing dumb, then he was doing a pretty good job at it, especially as more steam spiraled out of Kellen’s nostrils.
Without warning, Kellen jumped to his feet, grabbed his baton from his waistband, and jabbed it into Percival’s chest. “Since when do you have the authority to set one of your reporters”—he spat the word—“loose on the island to meddle in one of my cases?” He swung the baton in my direction, and I shrank back.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Percival said mildly. “Has Wren done something wrong?”
“Don’t play me for a fool,” Kellen roared with a loud snort, pawing at the ground with his booted foot. “I just had a very interesting conversation with Fiona Thane, who told me that she”—another baton jab toward my head—“is running around questioning people about Cassandra’s death. In other words,” he said, speaking very slowly and clutching the edge of Percival’s desk as he leaned over it, “she is interfering with our investigation, and if it doesn’t stop immediately, I’m going to throw both of you in jail for obstruction of justice and then forget where I put the key.”
“I assure you that wasn’t our intention,” Percival said in a calm voice, steepling his fingers beneath his chin and gazing up at Kellen with bright eyes. “Wren is merely heading up the newspaper coverage for Cassandra’s death, and I suppose in her excitement she got a little carried away with herself.” He turned to me. “Isn’t that right?”
I nodded mutely, trying to ignore the droplets of nervous sweat beading my forehead.
“In the meantime,” Percival added to Kellen, his tone still carefully pleasant, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t barge into this office and harass my staff. The last time I checked, this is still a free island, and our reporters have every right to speak to potential witnesses and sources as long as we don’t cross the line.” His gaze hardened as it landed on Kellen, who refused to back down.
“This is your only warning,” he said, before shoving the baton back into his waistband, spinning on his heel, and storming out of the room, slamming the door so hard behind him that Percival’s windows rattled.
With a long sigh, Percival leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses, then rubbed his eyes wearily. Up close, I could see the fatigue shadowing his face, the lines of stress around his pursed lips.
“You okay?” I asked, frowning at him. Part of me worried that it wasn’t my place to ask him a personal question, but he had been nothing but kind to me since the moment I first stepped foot into the newspaper offices, and ignoring his obvious distress just didn’t sit right with me.
“I’ve been better,” he said, trailing his fingers down his cheeks. “It’s hard to be the one responsible for keeping morale high in the office after what happened to Cassandra, not to mention the fact that I just received the quarterly revenue reports. Our revenue and circulation are down for the third straight year, which isn’t surprising since everyone seems to be getting their news from the Magi-net these days.”
He waved his hand over his desk, indicating a pile of unopened envelopes marked third notice in red ink. “I’ve had to take a pay cut just to try and keep us afloat, and in the meantime, I haven’t been able to keep up with all of the bills.”
He stopped talking, then shook his head with a small smile. “Why am I burdening you with my problems?” Standing, he shooed me toward the door. “Go on now, forget all about Kellen and keep up the good work. You’re a smart girl, Wren, and a hard worker—you’ve only been here a handful of days, and you’ve already managed to piss off the chief of police. That’s a pretty impressive accomplishment.”
He grinned at me, his eyes twinkling again. “If I haven’t told you this before, then I’ll say it now: we’re glad to have you aboard this ship, even if it’s sinking.” Then he gave me a roguish wink and pushed me out the door before resuming his position behind his desk. When I glanced back over my shoulder at him, he had his head lowered over the stack of unopened bills and was raking his hands through his curly blond hair.
“What happened?” Sebastian asked, popping his head over the top of my cubicle as I sank back into my chair and shook my mouse to wake up the computer. My notes on Fiona Thane lit up the screen in front of me, and I scanned my eyes over them again, my stomach tightening with excitement when I reread her lie about Star Island. I needed to get to the bottom of where she’d really been on the night of Cassandra’s murder before she caught wind of the brownie revolt and changed her story. Then an image of Kellen, red-eyed and furious, flashed through my mind, and the excitement vanished.
“What is Kellen, anyway?” I asked, answering Sebastian’s question with one of my own. “Why is there always steam coming out of his nose?”
“He’s a minotaur,” Sebastian said, propping his arms on the cubicle wall. Then, noticing my puzzled frown, he added, “You know, half-man, half-bull. He only allows people to see his bull form when he means serious business.” He shuddered. “I saw it once, and I’d be eternally grateful to never have to witness that again.” He must have seen the fear flash through my eyes, for he asked, “Why? What did he say to you?”
“Basically that if I didn’t stop meddling in his investigation he was going to throw me in jail forever,” I said, trying to keep my voice nonchalant. After all, was I, Wren Winters, going to let a terrifying bull-man batter me into submission? Threaten me into silence?
I certainly was.
But then I remembered Cassandra’s pale face, the blood trailing behind the couch, the wand snapped in two… and a fresh wave of resolve washed over me. Here I was, sitting at Cassandra’s desk, chatting with her cubemate, and typing on a keyboard that should have been hers, if someone hadn’t stolen everything from her in the blink of an eye. I was going to see this thing through, no matter the cost. I owed it to her. And I owed it to myself to prove that my dreams of being a serious reporter were more than just that… a dream.
“Wren?” I blinked as Sebastian waved a hand in front of my face. “Are you in there?” He peered down at me. “Did you hear anything I’ve been saying to you?”
“Sorry.” I mustered up a smile. “I have a lot on my mind, I guess.”
“I’ll bet.” Sebastian pointed to my computer screen. “I was just asking what you were going to do about the investigation. Are you going to back off and let Kellen and his team handle it?”
“Absolutely,” I sa
id, typing in additional notes with a new ferocity. “Just as soon as I find out who killed Cassandra.”
After all the excitement of our last class, Lady Winthrop decided to take a brief break from spell casting lessons and take Garnet, Hunter, and me on a tour of Sparrow Manor, the coven’s headquarters, which was set deep in the jungle that made up the northernmost tip of the island.
“Some of our most senior members choose to live here,” she explained as we traipsed along a dirt path carved through the thick vegetation, “but most of the coven’s witches and wizards only visit for meetings or special events.” She batted aside a vine draped across the path in midair. “It’s just a tad secluded for my taste.”
A long, low howl cut through the air, and Garnet jumped and inched closer to Hunter, who had drawn his training wand and was holding it in front of him for protection. Although exactly what he planned to do with it if an actual threat presented itself, I wasn’t quite sure—spurt water at it?
“Are all witches and wizards part of the Sparrow Coven?” I asked, jogging to catch up with Lady Winthrop, who was using her wand to dry an enormous patch of mud blocking our way.
“The Sparrow Coven is the official coven for Magic Island and its territories,” she said, mopping sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her midnight-blue robes. The air caught in my lungs with each sticky breath I drew; it had to be at least thirty degrees hotter here than it was near the coastline. “Each of the seven magical islands has its own coven.”
“There are seven islands?” I asked, my jaw dropping. I was still having a hard time believing Magic Island existed.
Lady Winthrop nodded briskly. “One for each of the continents,” she said. “Centuries ago, the magical community used to share the mainland with the human population, but fear and persecution drove us to create a safe haven for our people. One island wasn’t enough, and so the leaders on each continent were tasked with seeking out the best location for their people, far from prying eyes, and we have been there ever since.”
She swatted away a fly buzzing around her nose. “Of course, some of us still choose to live on the mainland and enjoy the creature comforts of the human world, but those who do so must keep their magic hidden at all times.”
“Or what?” I asked, unsticking my sandal from a glob of mud. If I had known we’d be making this little field trip today, I would have picked out better footwear.
Lady Winthrop stopped walking and turned to me, her face grave. “It is of the utmost importance that this”—she swept her arm around to indicate our surroundings—“is never discovered. Though magical people are no longer outwardly persecuted, those feelings lie dormant in the hearts of all mankind. They do not seek to understand us; they only fear what they themselves do not understand. Any of our people who break this sacred covenant, who risk exposing our world to those who would do us harm, are executed.”
Despite the stifling heat, a chill danced up my spine. “So can a witch or wizard marry a human?” Since arriving on the island, I’d spent many hours daydreaming about the parents I never knew, and though I took it for granted that they were both human and had no inkling of my abilities, I couldn’t rule out the possibility that one of them was capable of wielding magic.
“Absolutely not.”
So much for that. Lady Winthrop’s tone was so severe that I frowned at her in confusion.
“The International Association of Magical Beings made it illegal, under penalty of death, for a magical person to marry a human,” she explained, turning on her heel without warning and plunging down the narrow pathway with surprising speed. Although I was practically wheezing with the effort of keeping pace with her, she looked like she was merely going for a relaxing evening stroll.
“Why?” I asked, trying not to peer into the lush vegetation surrounding us. I got the sense that something was watching me, biding its time until I was alone, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Did Millicent, the man-sized parrot guarding the courthouse, spend her free time in the jungle? Shivering with fear, I drew my sweater tighter around me and prayed that we would reach the mansion soon.
Lady Winthrop considered my question for a moment. “Well, I suppose the answer is two-fold. First, for the same reason the magical community fled from the mainland: protection. And second, because mixing magical and non-magical genes has proven to be very unstable. The witches and wizards created from such an unnatural bond were unable to gain control over their magic, and so they became an immeasurable danger to themselves and to those around them.”
I fell silent, trying to imagine all sorts of chaos that could be caused by unchecked magic, and remained lost in my thoughts until I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me and Garnet saying, “There it is!” in a hushed voice bordering on reverence.
I whipped up my head and saw the manor’s gabled roof peeking through the treetops, and it was my turn to gasp as two dragons, one with red-orange scales brighter than the sun, the other as ice-blue as the sea, swooped down from the mountainside and soared over the turrets.
“Those are Ignis and Glacies,” Lady Winthrop said, admiring the dragons as they spread their wings to their full size and perched on opposite ends of the rooftop before opening their mouths in identical fiery roars. “They are the keepers of the manor. No visitor is allowed entry without their permission.” She gave us a grim smile. “And if permission is not granted, prudent visitors would leave the manor grounds with the utmost haste.”
Hunter made a choking noise behind me, and I was certain that the terror I saw on Garnet’s face was mirrored on my own.
After a few more minutes of walking, we reached a black wrought iron gate that stretched several stories high and was guarded by two stone gargoyles. As Lady Winthrop reached for a gold knocker in the shape of two sparrows with entwined wings, the blue dragon spotted us, reared up into the sky, and dove toward us, the blast of air from his wings practically knocking us off our feet.
He landed on the other side of the gate and pawed at the ground with his massive claws, snorts of steam puffing from his nostrils, then fixed a silver eye on Lady Winthrop. Drawing her wand in front of her like a shield, she dropped to one knee and dipped her head. “It is I, Brunhilda Winthrop, senior member of the Sparrow Coven.”
“What business do you have here?” a disembodied voice rumbled in my head, and I stumbled backward a few steps as the dragon’s eyes swept over me before sizing up Garnet and Hunter. He continued pawing at the ground, leaving deep scorch marks in the grass, as he waited for Lady Winthrop’s response.
“With your permission, Glacies, I have brought the newest adult hatchlings to tour the manor.”
Glacies pressed his head against the gate, inches from our faces, and drew in a long, slow breath through his nostrils. “Very well,” he said after what seemed like an eternity. “You may enter these hallowed grounds, but do no harm to those who reside within.”
Lady Winthrop thanked him, but her words were drowned out by the dragon’s almighty roar that sent a shower of blue and silver sparks into the air. I watched as they were carried off into the wind that whipped up suddenly, causing our clothes to billow around us. The gate blasted open as the dragon took flight again, and Lady Winthrop stepped through, then beckoned for us to follow her.
Hunter, Garnet, and I walked shoulder to shoulder through the manor grounds, as if putting even an inch of space between us would leave us vulnerable to attack, either from the dragon or some other creature lurking in the shadows, unseen. But everywhere we looked, we were greeted by smiling faces as witches and wizards of all ages bustled around the courtyard, some alone, some in groups of two or three.
“Sparrow Manor functions as its own community, separate from Magic Island,” Lady Winthrop explained as we climbed several flights of steps toward a black and silver door carved with two outstretched wings. “Those who live here enjoy comfortable living quarters, several dining options, entertainment, and even a dedicated potioneer.”
Sh
e pushed open the door and nodded to a young witch sitting behind a desk and firing rapid instructions at a sparrow hovering in front of her, its eyes sparkling with intelligence. When she finished speaking, the sparrow flapped its wings once and dove through an open window, and I watched as it flew away, growing smaller until it was nothing but a gray speck on the horizon.
We traipsed behind Lady Winthrop as she gave us the grand tour of the manor, talking animatedly as she showed us the plush living quarters for the senior members, complete with around-the-clock butler service provided by a team of surly-looking goblins wearing tuxedos, an open-air restaurant with spectacular views of the island, and the potioneer’s shop, a wonderland of glass vials filled with liquids of every color imaginable. I longed to touch them, but when I reached out a hand to poke at a vial that looked like it was filled with bottled sunshine, the potioneer appeared by my side with a crack and literally pushed me out the door.
The manor’s hallways were carpeted in soft red velvet that my feet sank into, and portraits of esteemed witches and wizards lined every square inch of the walls, which were draped in shimmering black. Lady Winthrop came to a stop before a silver door intricately carved with symbols I didn’t recognize, and Garnet, Hunter, and I peered up at it with interest.
“Behind this door,” Lady Winthrop said in a hushed voice, “is the main reason why I brought you here today. But before you enter, I must warn you not to touch anything”—she shot me a severe look, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment—“for the consequences could be deadly.”
Then, without further explanation, she pushed open the door with a flourish and stepped aside so we could enter. Soft voices that had been echoing from the far corner of the room immediately fell silent as we approached, and I thought I saw a foot whipping out of sight before Lord Macon turned and studied us, his dark eyes glistening forebodingly as they landed on me.