Bloodthorn Page 8

  Jordan swallowed. “It’s not as weird as you make it sound. People come and go all the time.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are they doing while they’re there, Jordan?”

  “I don’t know—hanging out?”

  “Hanging out?” I held back a laugh.

  “Could you be a little more specific?” Brent asked.

  Jordan’s cheeks reddened. “No, I couldn’t. You’re making it sound weird that I have friends who like to hang out, and it’s not weird! It happens to normal people all the time. It’s what people do—we hang out with each other. People who have friends understand that concept.” He shot me a glare.

  Silence filled the room until Brent finally spoke up. “Fine. How about we discuss something else. Did you know Mr. Duncan?”

  “I met him a few times.”

  “When was the first time you met him?”

  “He came to my show once. Never tipped me, but that’s okay. After the show, he came up to me afterwards and said he had some water moccasins in his pond back home he’d like me to get rid of—because I ate a baby rattler at that show—so, you know… that’s about it. I told him I only eat snakes, I don’t catch them.”

  “And when was the other time you met him?” Brent asked.

  “No, that was the only time.”

  “But you said you met him a few times,” I said.

  “I did?”

  Brent nodded.

  “Well, that’s not what I meant to say. I met him once. That’s it.”

  A knock came at the door, and Brent excused himself to open it. I glanced back and saw Officer Rakestraw standing on the other side. He gave Brent a manila folder, and then Brent returned to his seat. He leafed through the papers inside for a moment, closed the folder, and then gave Jordan a hard stare.

  “I want you to be very clear,” Brent said. “Are you certain that you only met Mr. Duncan once?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ever exchange anything at all—money, papers, anything?”

  “No. Nothing. I already told you he didn’t tip me, right?”

  Brent tapped the folder. “That’s odd. Do you know why it’s odd, Jordan?”

  “No idea.”

  “Because I’ve just gotten the initial results from the autopsy, and do you know what they found in Mr. Duncan’s system?

  He shrugged, but I noticed he kept his hands tucked in his lap, which was odd because he usually flailed them around to emphasize his point.

  Brent opened the folder and read the topmost paper. “A foreign chemical substance was found in the deceased. Test results concluded a positive match for a derivative of Aconitum napellus, commonly known as the Monkshood plant.”

  Monkshood. Interesting.

  “So? What’s that got to do with me?” Jordan said.

  Brent passed him a small plastic baggie with a few ounces of white powder inside. “Does this look familiar?”

  Jordan stared at the bag without touching it. He didn’t say a thing. Finally, he looked up. “I’d like to speak to a lawyer, please.”

  Chapter Nine

  “What was in the baggie?” I asked Brent as he walked me back to my booth.

  “A street drug called Possess. It’s been all over the place lately. Unfortunately for him, we found a similar bag in Mr. Duncan’s pocket, and it had the name Eros I. printed on it. Pretty dumb move if you ask me, putting your name on the drugs.”

  “Maybe for ordinary people, but it doesn’t surprise me that Jordan did it. He’s all about bringing attention to himself, so he would have wanted his clients to think of him every time they used their drugs. He’s got a god complex for sure. It also makes sense why he wouldn’t say who was at his trailer last night.”

  “Yeah,” Brent answered, “he was covering for his buyers. But now we have more questions.” Brent eyed me. “Do you think he killed Mr. Duncan?”

  I sighed. “No, I don’t think he did it. Even though you found traces of the drug in Mr. Duncan’s body, and even though we know Jordan sold it to him, something doesn’t add up.”

  “For one thing,” Brent said, “there’s no motive. Jordan barely knew the guy.”

  “Would you like my suggestion?” I asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Follow the drug trail. Jordan is probably the lowest man on the totem pole. Find out who he bought the drugs from and where the drug was made. The biological compound found in the monkshood flower is also found in this drug, and whoever killed Mr. Duncan also used monkshood flowers as their calling card.”

  “You think whoever is manufacturing this drug could have killed Mr. Duncan?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “All right,” Brent said, “I’ll look into it.”

  My booth appeared up ahead, and while I enjoyed sleuthing with Officer Sanchez, playing host to the fairy court, and entertaining Wult barbarians, the truth was I still had bills to pay, and I hadn’t had any clients all day. I intended to set up shop and hope someone with severe depression and an immense hoard of collectible dragons came by real soon.

  “I’ll see you around,” I said as I left Brent to enter my booth.

  He gave me a brief good-bye and went on his way.

  I hadn’t intended to, but I watched Brent—or Officer Sanchez—disappear into the crowd. I wasn’t attracted to him in a romantic way. It was more like… maybe I respected him for once.

  As I entered, I zeroed in on my mirror box, elated and a bit shocked they hadn’t taken it as evidence. Walking through my booth felt odd, as if the ghost of Mr. Duncan still lingered. Chills prickled my neck as I scanned the room. Nothing looked disturbed—the table and chairs, my basket of yarn, the knit scarves hanging from the coat rack, all looked the same—but it felt different.

  When I got to my laptop box, I slowly sat in the chair beside it. The silver glass gleamed in the sunlight streaming into the room. My pewter figurines were still arranged as they had been earlier, in their appropriate order and cleaned to perfection. Except for the dragon still lying on its side, each figurine stood in the red-velvet lining, looking as if they would start speaking at any moment.

  If I ever wanted to find out what was going on with my mirror, I’d have to touch it, so I stretched out my hand and conjured a negating spell in my mind. I closed my eyes, letting the magic flow through me until it gained strength, and then I uttered the magic word and released my magic.

  A spiral of amber and blue enveloped the mirror, and I held my breath as I waited for the spell to work.

  Tendrils of light combined and turned white. Sparks popped and dazzled my eyes. Usually, this spell dissipated in a second. For it to last so long now made me wonder what had happened to my mirror. If it had been spellcasted, then why hadn’t I felt the enchantment?

  I rested my chin on my hand as I watched the light show, trying to come up with a good reason for what had happened. Obviously, someone had tampered with my mirror. If they’d spellcasted it, they hadn’t left a trace behind, which meant they were either a very powerful practitioner, or the mirror hadn’t been spellcasted at all. There was a possibility that something beyond my understanding was going on, and if that were the case, then it was even more imperative I restore my mirror. My stepfather, Fan’twar, the sky king of Faythander, was possibly the only being I knew who would have answers. Plus, I needed to know why my magic had acted on its own to heal Kull.

  Finally, the light died away, leaving me with an empty mirror. My spell should have removed any foreign enchantments, but the real test came now. I slowly reached out and gently touched the dragon statue. When nothing happened, I grabbed it.

  The statue was deceptively heavy for its size, and its weight felt comfortable in my hands. I studied the statue, examining every scale and claw for even the slightest difference, but I found nothing out of the ordinary. I did the same with each of the other figurines and again found them untouched.

  Care
fully, I arranged the statuettes in the box and snapped the lid closed. I still had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right, and I still didn’t trust my mirror to use it as a portal, but for now, it was the best I could do.

  Someone coughed, startling me, and I spun around to face Princess Esmelda.

  She sniffled before speaking. Her eyes were puffy around the edges and wet with tears. “Hello, Olive,” she said. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

  “Of course,” I said, standing. “What’s the matter?”

  I led her to a chair, and while she sat, I found a box of tissues under the table and handed one to her. She took it and pressed it to her nose.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who else to talk to. Terminus is busy, and you’re the only other person I trust.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m—I’m just…” She took in a deep breath. “I’m dreadfully homesick. This world is so strange. Walking all the time. No wings to carry you whenever your feet get tired. There is no nectar to drink, nor apple blossoms to eat. There are no honeydew fields to flutter through. I haven’t seen a single nobbinfly or maywelter. They are our kin, you know, and this world seems to know nothing of them. The people here are oblivious to the true nature of fairies.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure it’s not easy to be in a strange world surrounded by so many unfamiliar things. Maybe we can think of a way to help you feel more at home. Did you have any hobbies on Faythander?”

  “Hobbies?”

  “Yes, like gardening or candle making?”

  “I was quite talented at weaving.”

  “Good. Let’s start there.” I stood and found my yarn basket. I hadn’t intended on using it to keep fairy royalty entertained, but if this helped the princess out of her homesickness, then it would be worth it.

  “Have you ever knitted?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Or crocheted?”

  “No, but I have woven shawls and skirts.” She eyed the yarn. “Except, I used flower petals and stems soaked in fae water—it makes them more pliable.”

  “I think crocheting shouldn’t be too hard for you to pick up. Here.” I handed her a crochet hook and demonstrated how to loop the yarn and make a chain. As I suspected, she picked it up quickly. Soon, she was on her way to making her first potholder.

  After a while, she was smiling once again, and I left her to keep watch at the front, assuming, perhaps foolishly, customers might come by today.

  A familiar face appeared in the crowd and headed to my booth. Mrs. Kaufman, the pub owner’s wife, was out of breath by the time she reached my booth. Time had not been kind to Mrs. Lydia Kaufman. Her reddish, graying hair was frizzy and never seemed to stay put, and the wrinkles and redness of her skin were proof it had seen too much sun over her lifetime. She was one of those people who would give of herself without a thought to her own well-being, which was why, I supposed, she looked the way she did.

  “Hello, Lydia,” I said.

  “Olive,” she breathed. “You must come with me.”

  “Come with you?”

  “Yes, please hurry!”

  I glanced back at the princess. She gave me a small smile as she continued to crochet. Would she be okay if I left her alone?

  “Please, Olive,” Mrs. Kaufman said. “It’s an emergency.”

  “Why?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”

  She shook her head. “Please, Olive.”

  I heard the pleading in her voice. She hardly ever asked favors of anyone, and for her to seem so desperate now alarmed me.

  “I’ll be back in a little bit,” I said to Esmelda. “Will you be all right?”

  She nodded. “I will be fine.”

  I reminded myself that I wasn’t her babysitter and that she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. In any case, it seemed as if Mrs. Kaufman needed me more.

  The crowd had grown larger since this morning, and I dodged through groups of people as I followed Mrs. Kaufman away from my booth and toward the bratwurst pub. What had her so disturbed? Her garish, green-and-red plaid skirt swished back and forth as she hurried along the path, pushing people aside, moving quicker than I thought possible for a woman her size.

  When we reached the pub, I was surprised to see the doors locked and the shutters closed. Mrs. Kaufman hurriedly unlocked the door and ushered me inside.

  With only a few lit candles illuminating the space, it took my eyes a moment to adjust. Mrs. Kaufman locked the door behind us with a click. Her hands shook as she replaced the keys in her pocket, making them jangle.

  “This way,” she said without further explanation, and she led me to the kitchen behind the counter. As we entered, I stopped, shocked at the sight I found.

  Mr. Kaufman lay dead on the floor, his body wrapped in vines. Underneath the vines, the skin on his face and arms had turned gray and had begun to mottle. He’d probably been dead for a few hours. His eyes had been cut out, and two flowers—red with yellow centers—rested in the empty sockets.

  It took me a moment to process the situation. I didn’t come out of my trance until Mrs. Kaufman cried out, sobbing and pressing her apron to her eyes.

  “I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry to bring you into this, Olive, but I had to do something. You’re a doctor, and you know about magic things like this… I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I know this must be incredibly hard for you, but we need to notify security.”

  Mrs. Kaufman didn’t seem to hear me as she knelt beside her husband. She reached for his face, then drew back and turned to me. “Can’t you save him?”

  My heart fell. “I’m sorry, Lydia, but he’s already passed. There isn’t anything I can do.”

  “What? Why not? You haven’t even checked on him—his pulse or heartbeat… why can’t you save him?”

  I swore, becoming a doctor was the worst decision I’d ever made. People expected miracles out of me, and as far as I knew, there’d only been one power in the history of the planet capable of raising the dead.

  I knelt beside Mrs. Kaufman and placed my arm around her shoulder as she shook with sobs.

  “He was fine this morning. Said he wanted to come in early to check on things. I shouldn’t have let him go, what with the rumors and all…”

  “Rumors?”

  “Yes. The beast haunting the grounds. Oh, but how did this happen? Simon, wake up. Wake up! I can’t do this without you.”

  She sank lower to the ground as her crying grew louder. For the next several minutes, the sound of her sobs filled the silence. Finally, she spoke up. “I can’t understand who would do this… it’s so horrible… and to my husband. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have any answers yet, but I intend to find out.”

  A knock came at the front door. She looked up, her face startled. “I can’t let anyone in right now.”

  “I’ll handle it,” I said and made my way to the front, trying to wrap my mind around the enormity of the situation.

  I tried to think up a logical explanation for the deaths, but my mind came up blank. Was a beast from Faythander’s undiscovered land responsible? Was a human involved? I remembered Mr. Duncan arguing over the meat—Mr. Kaufman’s meat—and that couldn’t have been a coincidence. But what did the meat have to do with any of this?

  The knocking grew more insistent as I reached the door. After unlocking it, I opened the door a crack. Officer Rakestraw stood on the other side.

  Great. Just the person I needed to see right now.

  “Miss Kennedy,” he said, then gave me a small nod. “I’ve had a few complaints come in about the quality of the meat here, and just now I noticed the shop isn’t open. Is everything okay in there?”

  My instinct was to try and stall him before he discovered the body. I wasn’t in the mood for playing answer-the-two-billion-questions with him. I also knew that, once again, I had been found near a dead body and would
now become even more of a suspect than I had been before.

  I had two choices. I could lie and try to misdirect him, or I could tell the truth and possibly end up jailed.

  This so wasn’t my day.

  Chapter Ten

  Standing at the door of the Kaufman’s bratwurst pub, I faced Officer Rakestraw and decided to go with the truth. He would find out sooner or later, and if I stalled him, it would only make me look guiltier.

  Despite his earlier attempts at civility, he wasn’t smiling now. In fact, he looked enraged.

  “Miss Kennedy,” he said, “either you let me inside, or I enter forcefully.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I was just about to call you. There’s something in here that you’ll probably want to see.”

  I cracked the door open for him, and he stepped inside, somehow seeming much taller than I remembered. A light shone from the kitchen, and the officer zeroed in on it. I followed as he made his way across the room.

  “Mrs. Kaufman came by my booth a little while ago,” I said. “She wanted me to come back here with her, so when I got here, I wasn’t sure what to expect. So the thing is—”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” he asked.

  I stopped and waited as he entered the kitchen. Officer Rakestraw froze, then turned back to me, his eyes wide.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Umm… this is what I was trying to tell you.”

  The officer grabbed the walkie-talkie unit on his shoulder, pressed a button, and spoke hurriedly into it. I didn’t understand half the words he said—J-9, 10-4, R2D2? I did catch the words “suspected homicide” and “witnesses present,” though.

  “Just so you know,” I said after he’d finished, “I’m not a witness, and I wasn’t present when this happened.”

  He gave me a hard stare. “Look,” he said, “I get it. Officer Sanchez has a history with you, so he’s taking it easy on you. If you ask my opinion, he needs to be reassigned. So far, you’re the best suspect we’ve got, and he refuses to take you downtown. It’s bullshit if you ask me. But no one asks me.” He flexed his fists. “Not anymore,” he added quietly.