Chapter Four
A door slammed. I woke up on a pink couch in a strange house with no clue why I was there.
Feet came up the stairs. A quick, purposeful stride which wasn't stomping.
Waves of red hair crested the banister. I recognized the shopkeeper and recalled that I'd zonked out in his chair. He must have moved me to the coven's common room.
“Where am I?”
“You, Miss Swift, are a liar. A good liar, but untruthful nonetheless,” Mordon said with a Thaumaturgical Tribune in hand. He wore the usual sorcerering robes, black with traces of dust and cobwebs on them, and polished shoes. Quite a fetching look when combined with all those rings on his fingers and a long triskele necklace dangling against his chest. It made him look a bit dangerous, but in a sophisticated way. He wasn't my usual manly-man type of guy, so I couldn't figure out why I was so into him. Had to be his voice.
He didn't sound angry.
So neither did I when I accused him with, “And you put a sleep spell on me without my permission.”
I stiffened, realizing what he'd said, staring blankly at my surroundings. Off to one side was a kitchen with a nearby breakfast nook armed with benches and a chair for the head of the table. A set of stairs behind the nook lowered down to what was Mordon's antiquities shop.
On all sides of the living room were various doors, each in their own style. One was a panel door with peach stenciling, one was plain white, another was painted tan, a fourth had runes carved in the door frame, and the final was a set of french doors with light pouring through gauzy curtains.
I'd heard rumors and warnings of sorcerers who riddled their residences with portals to other places. Open a wrong door, or reach into a cabinet, and a stranger could find himself half way across the world. Or in a volcano. Whichever suited the sorcerer's fancy.
“You were a flight risk,” Mordon said. “Are you ready to tell me the truth?”
No need to flip out yet. Who knew which lies he'd found out about?
“Sure,” I said.
How much had he learned? How far back had he gone? Had he discovered the link between me and Griff? Worse, had he found out how I'd gotten Railey killed at that spook house on Ferret Drive? I wished I'd tucked in my self-sufficiency and gone to Uncle Don instead. At least he knew the whole truth.
Except I'd never tried to tell Mordon about it, so I couldn't be lying.
This had to be about something else.
“What do you want to know?” I tried to act uncaring. “Did Constable Barnes say anything about the note?”
“The note is where this gets interesting. According to the decomposition of the spell which burned it to you, you received it on Sunday.”
“Sounds right.”
“And the Constabulary received a report of vandalism from Gregor Cole on Tuesday, claiming the damage had taken place late night Sunday or early Monday morning.”
“Oh. That's unfortunate.”
Mordon raised a brow. He unfolded the paper. “What is unfortunate that he claims she did it.”
My face snarled back up at me from the Tribune's want ad. It wasn't the best photo, though it would be hard to deny being the wanted person.
“And?” I asked, feeling breathless.
“And when you fell asleep downstairs, I moved you upstairs. This fell off your neck.” He held up my butterfly necklace, complete with Picasso's paints. “You happen to resemble this photo and that is definitely the same necklace.”
The air was positively pregnant with the expectation of a full, unconcealed disclosure. If there ever was a time to come clean with the deal, all of it, it was now. He was willing to listen, he'd seemingly forgiven my earlier transgressions. A fresh start would get this ordeal straightened out in no time.
Resigned to my inevitable fate, I said, “Well. This explains why I had bounty hunters crashing down my door at first light.”
Mordon was as surprised by my comment as I was.
“It's the truth. I had no idea. One of them busted open my door and said, 'You're dead.' I got out of there as fast as I could.”
“If you were clueless, why did you insist on coming to see Constable Barnes?”
“I did happen to read that article in the Tribune. And I did want to check up on the note, too. I just didn't feel comfortable telling you about the whole home invasion. It seemed like a tall tale on the heels of the theft.”
Mordon sighed, dropping the paper down on the table. A bit of his agitation seeped away.
Mordon asked, “So how are you involved with the thief?”
“He said he wanted to cool off from the heat. Then, he offered to train me.”
Mordon shook his head again. “Why would he train you? What specialty are you?”
Sweat broke out over my neck and I said, “Nothing. I have no specialty. I'm scint.”
Mordon's eyes darted over me. He snapped his fingers, and an ember appeared between his thumb and forefinger. He flicked it at me.
I ducked, but watched in shock when the ember stopped mid-air, the tail of the flame waving first one way then the next. I thought Mordon was controlling it, but when I wished it was farther away from my hair, the ember moved. Blinking in surprise, I held my hand out to one side, and the air moved it toward my hand, stopping just before touching skin. I held out my other hand, and the flame migrated to that one, then back towards my first hand. I made a circle in the air and the ember followed.
A smile broke out over my face. I laughed.
Mordon's face softened into a smile, too. He said, “No, you're not scint.”
I blew on the ember and it glowed brighter. I cupped my hands over it and felt it die down, then released it and flicked it back at Mordon, who snuffed it out entirely. I stared at him, mind buzzing with possibilities. “But this doesn't make sense. I haven't felt it in years.”
“Wind magic,” Mordon said. This time the shake of his head was in admiration. “There aren't nearly enough of your element.”
His face fell.
“They'll want to take it away, won't they?”
“Most likely.” Mordon looked like he didn't agree with the action, but knew it was probable.
I took in a slow breath and said, “I won't let them.”
Brilliant eyes met mine, peering into me. Mordon raised a brow. “No? What when your magic shows how feral it is and decides to overtake you?”
“I won't let it.” I was surprised by the conviction behind my voice. I was surprised by how absolutely certain I was. No, not certain. Determined.
Mordon reached up to stroke his chin as though he used to have a beard there. He looked down at his empty hand and shrugged. He said, “And what about a teacher, since you snubbed your last offer?”
I licked my lips and tried not to look around. “If all else fails, there are books to read.”
“Indeed there are,” Mordon said, as though that wasn't a very good option. Then he said, “How did you get in here? Who let you in?”
I felt a little pale, and produced the key from my pocket. All that was left was a handle and a round bar. The teeth were completely gone, as was the magic. I gave it to him.
He turned it over in his palm and smiled. “Made by Olrick. Beautiful craftsmanship, but the man himself is a thieving scoundrel.” Mordon looked at his door thoughtfully. “At least I know now that they have come up with a way to silence my wards. I'll have to work on that."
I was still sweating, but this time not from the heat. I folded my hands, wriggling my toes so he wouldn't know how nervous I was.
It was not long before I heard the door rattle, a woman yelled at the locked door, which soon obligingly swung open the door with a jangle of goat bells. The woman called for Mordon. Two more sets of feet follow, their steps as muted as their voices. The woman's voice blazed at Mordon, pausing long enough to hear his one-syllable answers.
I smiled to myself. Mordon seemed to understand that the way to endure a woman like that was to take her anger quie
tly.
“…had to hire Grog for the remainder of the day. If any other protector had left the Constable like that, they'd be in the streets within the hour…” the woman let her voice trail off, having reached the front counter. I couldn't see them yet, but I could hear her voice slip past the bookshelves.
When she came around the shelves, she wore a diplomatic smile. Her eyes were lit with indignation, and dark auburn hair was tied in three places down her back. A gray cowl sat about her shoulders, and she took a second to remove it, hanging it on a hook.
I thought I recognized her. Lilly? It had been a long time, so I wasn't certain. Her neutral smile did not fade, nor did her eyes register any sort of recognition for me.
Mordon stayed back, contented to lean against the front register and watch. The man who had gone chasing after Griff, apparently Constable Barnes, sidled next to him and started a whispered conversation.
A tall, slender man with a bald head and almost-pointy ears gave Barnes and Mordon a twitched frown. Mordon mouthed 'later', and the third man dropped his eyebrows in a resigned sigh, then pulled three chairs from behind the counter for me, the woman, and himself.
The new man sat across from me, and I was struck by his magnetic blue eyes. Recognition zipped through my body, and I suddenly felt hopeful—and terrified. His eyes were the only thing unchanged, dark about the rims, bolts of crystalline blue in the center.
That woman was Lilly, and this man was Leif, her brother. We had not talked since before the incident with Railey. Did they blame me? Did they miss me? Should I say who I was?…then again, this was Leif. I swallowed hard and gave him a tentative smile, which he returned with the same warmth that a host uses to make his customers comfortable.
Lilly skimmed her eyes over me, but she was looking at my various gashes and bruises, not in the least impressed. “I need to get a couple things from upstairs. Be right back.”
Leif nodded, not taking his eyes off me. His lips pursed and he squinted. A smile snuck on his lips. “Feraline, it is you.”
“Leif, I…” I didn't know what to say, my hands shook in surprise and excitement. I swallowed and tried again, “Leif, I've wanted to see you two for forever.”
He patted my back. “I know. It's been too long.”
“I take it that you know her well?” Mordon asked.
Leif hesitated, then cast sad eyes on me, “We used to be good friends, years ago. Such good friends, we were bound to be a coven one day. She, me, my sister, a girl called Railey, and a stray.” He met my eyes, but I looked away before he could pry memories from me. “Called Griff.”
He waited again for me to respond, but I stared at the floor. Leif continued, “One day, Griff was gone and Fera wouldn't talk about it. The next day, Railey was dead and our friend seemed to have lost her voice altogether.”
I had no doubt that was a dig at my mute refusal to speak of what happened with Railey. Shame and anger raged through me at once.
I slammed the burnt letter on an empty shelf between us. “That wasn't the only thing I lost.”
Crystalline eyes darted to the singe marks on the letter; he put his head in one hand. “Your magic. I thought the rumors were rumors.”
“Leif,” I started and stopped, embarrassed by my temper.
Leif shrugged. “It's old news. I've learned during my short time as a judge that people will talk when they are ready for it. I know your soul well enough to know that whatever you did then, and since then, you did with the best intentions.”
I blushed, and for a minute I stared at the crinkled remains of my letter.
“How will Lilly take the news?” I asked.
“Mmm,” Leif cut himself off as Lilly came back with a clutch purse. She dug in it and dropped a small jar of salve on the table.
“Start with that on your cuts,” Lilly instructed, not looking at me. I screwed the top off the jar and applied a syrupy salve to my scratches. As soon as I moved to a new cut, the old cut became pink skin, then my ivory tone. She unwound the bandage and tapped along the unbroken skin next to the splinter, muttering something. It healed.
Lilly sighed and straightened out her robes with flushed cheeks, “It's just been such a long day, then the thing with Mordon and the stuff he brings home—no offense.”
I nodded.
She squinted, leaning and staring, her face all lines. Then the lines went away. Lilly's face paled, her eyes opened wide, and her gaze darted up at me, over to Leif, back to me, to Leif, then me, and rested her eyes on Mordon. For a few seconds, nobody moved.
“You can't be,” she said. I nodded. Lilly spoke again, her voice higher, “No, you can't be! Fera…Fera would never in her life wear that.” She motioned to my jeans and tank top, and I found myself agreeing with her, and within seconds I felt heat rise on me cheeks.
“Railey would have,” I said, remembering a warning my parents had given me about living with a ghost. They were memories, they were imprints of life, and when they spent enough time with a living person, that person would gain the ghost's stronger traits. Railey had been subject to the whims of style. I'd been frightened of sunburns to the point of wearing long-sleeves year round. Whatever would hide my skin, I'd wear it, and it never looked fashionable. Much had changed.
“Railey?”
“Has been my partner for the last ten years.” I should have said had been. Old habits die hard.
Lilly seemed to have stopped breathing. “Sure, of course she has been. And there haven't been any photos or way to identify Feraline, so who could say that you are who you say you are?”
“I can,” said Leif. “And she is.”
Then Lilly faced me again, her eyes brimming. She launched herself through the distance between chairs. Her chest rose and fell like she was sobbing.
“Lilly?” I asked. She looked up and I realized she was half-laughing, half-crying.
“You're here—you're finally here.” Lilly pushed herself up, sitting on my legs without any concern for them.
Barnes' barking laugh rattled over the table. He said, “Heal while you talk, little one.”
Lilly blushed harder, bright red spots appearing over her already pink skin. Dabbing the syrupy goo on cuts I'd missed, Lilly said, “What have you been up to these last…I'd say about, a week? You have more spells on you than you have cuts! Drink this.”
She pulled a vial from her purse. I gave it a long, studying gaze before I raised my eyes to her and asked, “This isn't going to be like the time you mixed tomato sauce and baking soda and told me to drink it?”
Lilly rolled her eyes. I drank.
She pressed, “Where have you been?…not that it matters, Leif's been keeping me up to date whenever he found a new article in the Tribune. I bet that one of your cases bumped you into us.” She pulled from her purse a dozen cut out articles that had been carefully read, folded, unfolded, and read again many times.
I scanned through the articles. They were written as though they were a miniature detective novel, and I knew the cases even though the names of people and places had been changed. Well, all the names but my last name, and the real names of the creatures. One of the articles still had the header on it. Thaumaturgical Tribune, it read.
“You, err…Miss Swift…has quite the fan base!” said Lilly. “Though everyone thinks its fiction, you know. It's how it's written.”
What I did to earn a quick buck knew no bounds. I'd been earning tidbits from my interviews for two years now. “How long has this been going on?”
“Three years or so,” said Leif. “I was privately assured the stories were accurate. Are they?”
I nodded, thinking sourly that I was owed a year or so's worth of interviewing. Leif winked. “What's the story that got you entangled with Mordon? One word, what is one word to describe it?”
Barnes and Mordon had been watching with lukewarm interest up until now; Mordon was stroking his chin, as though wondering if I was an adventurer and journalist, or if I had been leading him on. I was n
ot looking forward to sorting out my story with him. Barnes leaned just a little, and Lilly watched me with sparkling eyes.
In one word? I sighed mentally. Leif knew exactly how to cut to the heart of the matter with me. “Death.”