The Imen we questioned seemed wary and tired, with glassy eyes and voices still trembling from grief. I wasn’t able to tell whether they’d been mind-bent in any way or not, but they still felt a little off. I tried to blame it on the trauma of losing loved ones.
After the ninth family, we stopped for a break and I made additional notes in my journal. There wasn’t a specific pattern in behavior, but there definitely was one in when and where the Imen disappeared. I knew it would be a lot clearer once we started putting some pins into a map of the city.
Rewa was kind and helpful as usual, with her coquettish mannerisms and fluttering eyelashes aimed at Blaze, making me simmer beneath the surface. I did my best to be a professional, but my stomach churned in her presence. The only thing that gave me some mild sense of comfort was the fact that Blaze was also in work-mode, offering only polite smiles and curt nods to Rewa’s barely veiled advances.
“The Spring Ball tonight is going to be wonderful,” Rewa said as I wrote down a couple more lines about the last family we interviewed. “I can’t wait to wear my dress. I have an artist work with the tailors for mine every year!”
She continued droning on about the Spring Ball, but I stopped listening. I looked up from my notes and found Blaze’s eyes settled on my face. I had a hard time reading his expression, as he was very still, but his midnight-blue gaze came across as smoldering, sending minor heatwaves through my chest and limbs. Rewa was still talking, seemingly unaware of Blaze’s attention focused on me. I held my breath for a couple of seconds, and noticed the corner of his mouth twitch, before Rewa put her hand on his arm and broke our quiet exchange.
“Did you hear me, Blaze?” she asked.
He clearly hadn’t. Neither had I, for that matter. We’d been too busy staring at each other.
But did we stare for the same reason?
I knew my reason, even though I tried to avoid thinking about it. Why had he been staring?
“I said, would you like to be my chaperone to the Spring Ball?” Rewa put on the sweetest smile, gently leaning into him.
I cleared my throat almost instinctively, tension making my jaw muscles twitch as I tried to keep a straight face. The question took Blaze by surprise. His eyes were wide as he gaped at her.
“Wait, what?” he croaked.
“I would like for you to be my escort tonight…”
He blinked several times, then looked at me, a hint of panic in his expression. I froze, not sure how to react or what to say. He raised his eyebrows, as if waiting for me to say something. I glitched instead.
“Uh, why not?” I said with a shrug.
And then I mentally slapped myself. I could’ve said no. But why would I say no? What excuse would I have given for saying that? That I wanted to go with Blaze to the ball tonight? Ugh. What is wrong with me?
“You think I should?” Blaze asked, blinking several times, as if he were having trouble processing that information. I couldn’t blame him. Even I was having trouble processing everything I was feeling in that moment.
All I could do was shrug again. It was too late to take it back.
He then gave Rewa a faint half-smile and nodded politely, prompting her to light up like a Christmas tree.
“Thank you, Blaze,” she said. “You won’t regret it!”
I am already…
“Okay, let’s go see the next family.” I quickly changed the subject to get my mind off what had just happened.
They both agreed, and Rewa took us to another townhouse. The family we needed to speak to was a couple who’d lost their son a week ago. They lived in the apartment on the ground floor, their windows facing the open square overlooking the plains and the gorges a couple of miles away.
They welcomed us with pale faces and dark rings around their brown eyes. They clearly hadn’t slept well in a while. The husband, Miron, appeared to be in his mid-forties, with graying hair and a sharp face. The wife, Adelia, was short and plump, with pale blond hair tucked beneath a bonnet. Her trembling fingers were trying to sew the hem on one of her lost son’s shirts as she sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace.
Rewa did the introductions, and I jumped right to the key questions, mainly because the couple didn’t seem so keen on small talk.
“When did you last see your son, Miron?” I asked, opening my notebook, ready to write down the essentials.
“Seven nights ago.” He sighed, leaning against a window frame.
“Did he seem angry, or upset?”
“No, he was fine. He was going to the tavern above, on the third level.”
“Did he have any enemies? Someone who might want to do him harm?” I noticed the dull expressions on both Miron and Adelia’s faces. The empty stares. The mechanical motions. I wondered how much of it was the actual shock of losing their son.
“No, everybody liked him,” Adelia interjected, her voice soft and blank.
“Where was he last seen?”
“We saw him leave the house. He was supposed to be back by midnight,” Miron replied.
“Was he meeting anyone? Did anyone else see him?”
They both slowly shook their heads. Something was off. My instincts were flaring up like crazy, but I couldn’t put my finger on what the issue was, exactly. Their answers sounded plain, almost rehearsed.
“Did you hear anything outside?”
All I got was another brief round of heads shaking. I exhaled, then glanced at Blaze and Rewa. The latter was busy gazing at the porcelain figurines inside a modest glass cabinet. My guess was that she wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation.
I didn’t get much else out of the couple throughout the rest of the interview. We left them to their silence and blank stares, and went outside, on the edge of the terrace, to go over their answers. I flipped the latest two pages of my notebook, pursing my lips. There was nothing there I could use, other than the fact that Gale, their son, had gone missing while basically going upstairs to the tavern.
I glanced around and noticed the two wide sets of stairs leading up to that level. Both were unobscured by tree crowns and were in full view. There were dozens of open windows facing the square, so there would have been plenty of opportunities for the neighbors to see something. But if Gale’s abductors were the invisible daemons that had attacked Scarlett, Harper, and the others last night, no one would’ve actually seen them coming.
“There was something off about them,” I muttered.
“They seemed quite… mechanical, right?” Blaze said, his gaze fixed on my notes.
I looked up, glad that he’d noticed.
“Yeah!” I nodded. “Like they’d rehearsed those answers a little too much.”
“They seemed fine to me.” Rewa shrugged.
“I don’t know.” I tried not to frown, analyzing the young Mara carefully. She clearly wasn’t made for the investigative aspect of this issue. She seemed more interested in Blaze and the Spring Ball, which came as a stark contrast to her tearful plea for help back on Calliope. It wasn’t enough to draw any kind of conclusion about her at that point, but I did make a mental note of it. Something told me I’d use it later. “Maybe it was shock. Maybe they’re still reeling from the loss.”
“Could be,” Blaze mused. “We could definitely do some more interviews tomorrow and see if the others have the same muted reactions as the ones we questioned today.”
I looked at him and Rewa, and started thinking that it might, in fact, be a good idea if Blaze acted as her date for the ball. He could get her to open up a bit, and help us assess her demeanor. Was it a lack of sympathy or interest toward the Imen’s losses? Or was it something more?
Whatever it was, Blaze could totally get to the bottom of it. Hell, if he was smart and cunning enough, he could even get her to spill the beans on whatever she was hiding.
If she’s hiding anything.
And if she didn’t, no harm, no foul. It seemed like a win-win, and a good way to make sure we weren’t chasing any bogus lead
s. All I had to do was get Blaze alone and talk to him about this first… And then suffer through them dancing at the ball.
Avril
(Daughter of Lucas & Marion)
I was having a hard time picking the right outfit for the Spring Ball. I was being ridiculously picky for an event I’d only found out about yesterday—I didn’t know why, but I wanted to look flawless. I wanted to wow.
I’d been through five dresses, but my tailor, Wynona, had been exceptionally patient and kind. She helped me slip into a sixth dress, and, as I stared at myself in the floor mirror, I took a deep breath and knew I’d found the right piece. It was a classic, nineteenth-century style ballgown, with a full skirt and a bodice. It was made entirely out of soft, fiery red silk, with countless layers of tulle beneath the skirt. Thousands of white pearls were sewn onto the bottom half, gently fading toward the upper half. It came with a red tulle bolero with silk hems, tied just below my chest. Wynona completed the outfit with a rich pearl necklace and earrings, and a pair of red silk pumps with more pearls mounted on the heel.
She’d pulled my hair up in a loose bun, and I knew that, once I’d styled it properly, I’d look like a porcelain doll in this ensemble. I was happy but feeling rather weird about it. After all, Exiled Maras and Imen were disappearing, and we’d come all the way here to investigate. I shouldn’t have been so determined to look good at an event from which I was supposed to sneak away to ask Arrah questions without any Roho family members around.
However, as I lifted the skirt and looked at the gorgeous shoes, I couldn’t help but grin. Wynona giggled with delight, pulled a small container with red lipstick from her accessory trunk, and placed it on my vanity table.
“You will look stunning with some red on your lips.” She winked.
The door to my room burst open, and Heron’s voice made me freeze.
“Come on, Avril, it’s taking you forever to…”
He trailed off, and I looked at him. He had stilled in the doorway, hand on the brass knob and jade eyes taking all of me in, every pearl and every inch of red silk. My heart skipped a beat, and I suddenly felt vulnerable, half-naked, with part of my skirt above my knees and generous cleavage provided by the bodice and red tulle bolero. I held my breath as our eyes met.
He was virtually dumbfounded, staring at me. His gaze darkened, and I could practically hear the blood rushing through his veins. I could smell his physical reaction to me. There were hints of musk and desire coming off him in delicate threads, and I took all of them in. He was stunned.
“What’s up?” I managed to ask, letting my skirt drop and straightening my back.
The move prompted his gaze to drop and lazily follow the silk hem of my bolero as it stretched over my torso before tightening beneath my shoulder blades with a bow.
“Heron?” I tried again, as he wasn’t at all responsive. “Heron!”
I startled him, and he seemed to break out of his reverie, making eye contact again.
“What?” he croaked.
“I was asking you the same thing. What’s up?”
“Oh. We, ugh… We need to get to the library. Harper already left,” he muttered, his gaze lost on my dress.
“I’ll be right out. I just need a minute to get out of this thing.” I shrugged, trying to keep my cool before him and kind of irritated that he’d just barged in. “Also, can you knock before you come into my room, next time? Just so I don’t fling blunt objects at your head if I’m half-naked or something.”
His scent was hot and intense, filling my lungs and sending my pulse on a frenzied race through my limbs. My temperature spiked. I’d never experienced something like this before. I’d gotten used to the cold of my vampire nature, but Heron seemed to turn it all up, almost effortlessly.
He nodded slowly, then stepped back into the hallway, without turning around and without taking his eyes off me. He blinked several times before closing the door in front of him.
“Well, then!” Wynona exclaimed. “You should definitely stick with this dress, milady!”
Her giggles made me turn my head to face her. She was positively titillated, grinning with genuine satisfaction, and I felt my cheeks catch fire. Had she noticed my physical reaction to Heron? Had she interpreted his shock in a particular way? What was she reading into all this?
What am I reading into all this? Heron’s a devout philanderer. If I look good, of course he’ll notice… Doesn’t mean it will lead anywhere good.
My voice of reason was back, knocking sense into me.
“Thank you, Wynona, this looks beautiful,” I said with a smile.
“Milady, this dress is meant to dazzle, and believe me when I say that it absolutely dazzled!” Wynona laughed lightly as she packed the rest of the clothes and accessories away.
I couldn’t help but take another look in the mirror. The dress itself was a sartorial work of art. Wynona had already told me that Exiled Maras all over the city used the Spring Ball as an excuse to compete with their most artistic and flamboyant fashions, and that all the outfits the tailors had brought over for us were meant as a more introductory line, to help us blend in, not necessarily stand out.
That was a good premise for us as GASP agents, but, as I glanced at my reflection, I wondered what the socialites amongst the Exiled Maras were going to wear, if this masterpiece serving as a dress was intended to help me blend in. I’d never been to such a sumptuous event before. Most of our parties involved cocktail dresses in the supernatural settings, and jeans and crop tops in the human nightclubs.
Harper
(Daughter of Hazel & Tejus)
Avril was taking a little too much time trying on dresses for the Spring Ball, so I went ahead and found the city library, up on the fifth level of Azure Heights. It was a majestic construction, stretching over three floors and half of the carved terrace, and was filled with ancient scrolls, leather-bound books of both fiction and nonfiction, history manuals, civic registries, and a plethora of newspaper-style publications. It turned out that the city ran a reputable news source, though it was small and mostly focused on local administration issues.
The library had a white marble façade and ebony wood interiors—as well as hundreds of bookshelves arranged over three floors, plenty of comfortable seating and reading tables, and even a small yard with a café at the back. It was a place of study and silence, and was home to a number of Maras who curated and looked after all the books written and stored by the people of Azure Heights over the course of thousands of years.
I pulled out the Five Lords’ family registries first, armed with a notebook and a pen for the copious notes I knew I’d be taking from those pages. I focused on House Kifo first. I needed to learn as much as I could about Caspian, his family, and their law enforcement efforts. My Mara tailor had been gracious enough to give me a brief history of the Five Houses and the fields they covered, from arts and infrastructure to laws and their enforcement.
Somehow, seeing Caspian in charge of correction and policing made sense. He had the brooding down to a dramatic level, and he was ridiculously protective of his people and traditions.
Fiona, Avril, and Heron soon joined me. We occupied one of the reading tables on the ground floor and spent a few good hours in there. Fiona and Avril researched the other Houses, while Heron browsed through the news articles, jotting down a timeline of how the disappearances had been reported. We were still looking for patterns, and our best bet was to look at historical records, including news coverage.
I managed to find out more about Caspian’s ancestors, including Lord Teller Kifo, the original Exiled Mara of the House and a good friend of Emilian Obara, the only living first generation Exiled Mara. Caspian had been orphaned at a very young age, according to his family registry. His parents were brutally murdered, but the culprit was never apprehended. Caspian was raised by his father’s best friend, Dillon, who had been reported missing a couple of years back.
He could potentially be counted as one of the daem
ons’ victims, but I figured it would be best to ask Caspian to confirm, rather than to assume. From what I could tell, the Kifo family had always been of military discipline, and Caspian had been raised in the same spirit.
“Here, there are a couple of editorials on Caspian, if you want to read through them,” Heron said, and handed me a book with article clippings.
“Thanks,” I muttered, and scanned the text columns, realizing they’d developed a printing press for higher volume publishing. It didn’t exactly come as a surprise, given how advanced and crafty their civilization was.
According to the editorials provided by Heron, Caspian didn’t like being involved in the public life, despite his lordship. His Correction Officers were best known for their covert operations, barely recognizable while out on patrol. They never divulged the officers’ names to the people of Azure Heights, either, and they didn’t talk about law enforcement much.
I couldn’t find any specific details on how they conducted the corrections part of House Kifo’s department, either. It was as if they were deliberately keeping this stuff away from the public eye. Not even my tailor had been able to tell me more about the detainees after they were taken and their families were served with a legal notice of their imprisonment.
“Avril, do you think you can try to find out more about the Correction Officers tonight, when you speak to Arrah?” I asked, nervously chewing on my pen. I didn’t have enough data, and it made me feel like I was swimming in murky waters.
“Yeah, it’s actually one of the main topics I want to approach with her.” She nodded with a smile. “Wynona, my tailor, told me a little about the Corrections Department, but she didn’t know much. Apparently, they’re all happy with obeying the laws and never seeing the criminals again. Which is basically what’s happening around here.”
“My tailor said the same thing,” I mused. “But they must have a prison or a detention center somewhere. It’s not like they feed them to the daemons…”