Poisoned Shadow: An Urban Fantasy Supernatural Detective Mystery (The Shadow Series Book 2)

by Candice Bundy

  Alvilda’s look of dismay was accusatory. “What have you done?”

  “We should rename it the puffball!” Yaeli exclaimed, having caught her breath.

  “It looks like you electrocuted it!” Ingrid said.

  Hanna, laughing, choked a little on her grape but seemed fine.

  Sigfrid had joined in with Yaeli’s laughter. “Electrocuted… or like a stable man did its hair!”

  There was another round of laughter, which Becka joined in on this time.

  Hanna cleared her throat. “It’s remarkable, Becka. Disturbing, but remarkable.”

  Becka pulled on her glove, and then took a swig from the bottle of hot sauce.

  “Hmm, who shall I name the winner? Yaeli or Becka?” Hanna asked.

  Yaeli stood and gave a short bow in Becka’s direction. “I yield to our heir. Although we all noticed her magical change right away, it was unexpected, and I haven’t laughed like that in ages.” She held up her hand, pointed at the bird, and then wiggled her fingers, restoring the bird to its original state of being. “Any objections?”

  To Becka’s surprise, there were none. She’d somehow won her first einvigi.

  Mother would be so proud. Come to think of it, Becka was proud of herself too. She’d never imagined she could compete with illusionists.

  As Becka bade them farewell, Hanna rose to go with her.

  “May I accompany you to your next appointment?” she asked.

  “Definitely!” Becka replied, smiling with the confidence of her recent win.

  “This was a lovely picnic. If you were to ask, I would advise you need more of these types of events to help increase your feelings of connectedness with your family.”

  Considering her upbeat mood, the fact that she’d laughed plenty, and had spent time engaging in conversation with women her age over the past hour, Hanna had a point Becka couldn’t discount.

  I think I agree with her. And I like it.

  Turns out Hanna wasn’t a bad relationship coach after all.

  Chapter 14

  Hanna, Shamus, and Lorelai accompanied Becka across the grounds to the sun patio outside of the infirmary. Becka entered, motioning for the others to wait for her.

  Although the windows of the infirmary were expansive and opened daily to bring in fresh air and sunshine, the patio allowed patients quick access to lounge in the sun for its healing properties.

  Today, the only occupant of the patio was Elder Alaetha, her father’s sister. She lay back on a chaise, feet up, gaze trained into the distance. She’d pulled her silvered hair back into a bun made from a single, large braid. The elder’s frame was slight, and Becka remembered Alaetha was Vott’s older sibling by a good two dozen years.

  Her willingness to travel at her age was a testament to Vott’s poor condition, but Vott had always spoken of Alaetha and their correspondence fondly.

  “I was not sure you’d be able to meet with me,” Elder Alaetha said, not looking her way, yet motioning for her to take a seat.

  “Elder Alaetha,” Becka said, sitting down on a couch across from Alaetha’s. “I am honored to make your acquaintance. Vott always spoke of you with warmth.”

  “Lady Becka,” Alaetha replied. Her piercing gaze turned towards Becka, taking her measure. “I am afraid I can’t say the same.”

  Becka held her tongue, unsure of what to say, and so let Alaetha make the next move.

  “I’ve been here just two days, niece. Can you guess what I’ve learned?”

  Her shoulders tensed and Becka folded her gloved hands in her lap, bracing for Alaetha’s response. What could Alaetha have learned in two days? Did she know about her relationship with Quinn, such as it was? Had Maura recounted to her all of the ways Becka hadn’t yet stepped up? Did she also think the Shadow-Dweller attack was an inflated children’s story?

  Becka didn’t want to know.

  “I would love to learn,” she lied.

  “It is a deep shame that my brother was poisoned as part of an attack on you. It looks like he will survive, but most likely at great personal cost. My first inclination was to grieve for you both equally. Through my many years I have witnessed the fae-touched jockey and vie for power for all manner of reasons. Sometimes it’s because of heated emotions. Sometimes because of political or territorial matters. I had assumed this hubbub was just another altercation.”

  Becka nodded her head, inclined to allow Alaetha to vent uninterrupted.

  “But this is no standard power play, just as you are no standard fae. Late to mature and returned from a life in the city, your powerful and dangerous gift has propelled you to singular status within the stream of never-ending back-channel gossip. I suppose you must think you’re special?”

  The sharp edge of Alaetha’s tongue had knocked her joy from winning the einvigi right out of her. Had there really been enough material about Becka to produce a constant flow of gossip? And did she think of herself as special? Becka didn’t think so, but she also thought of herself as being different. Separate.

  But that doesn’t equate to special. Does it?

  Alaetha sat, brow arched, awaiting her reply.

  Becka answered from her gut, hoping it would appease her Aunt. “I don’t feel that I’m special, Elder.”

  Alaetha burst into a joyless, rebuking laughter. “That is where you are wrong. You are special, if only because others deem you so.”

  That didn’t ring true to Becka. “But I’m not…”

  Alaetha raised a hand to cut her off. “You are special enough that others might prefer you dead over risking a future with you in it. And now that I have seen you for myself, I am beginning to understand why.”

  Her words fell like a weight across Becka’s shoulders. She had the impression Alaetha had been preparing this speech, and that she was conveniently responding to her prompts. She didn’t want to ask, but couldn’t not ask, either. “What do you mean?”

  “One expects the heir of a powerful house to behave with a certain minimal level of decorum. You, however, defy expectations, and not in a good way. Your gift is novel and powerful, but don’t think for a moment that your gift is the only thing fae hold in esteem.

  “You refuse to present yourself in the manner of your house. You shrug off our customs and avoid gatherings. You have a wonderful, high-born fiancé who you treat like dirt. You appear to prefer the company of shifters and enforcers over your own family.

  “There is a general concern over the mental stability of any fae-touched who would behave in this manner, ungrateful to her house and holding a power few yet understand. I have heard other houses whisper the question: is Lady Becka the best House Rowan can do?”

  Becka’s limbs felt heavy, almost as if the rumors and gossip from Alaetha’s lips had dealt her a physical blow. Somehow, the criticism coming from Alaetha after seeing Vott unconscious hit her fresh and at a whole different level, like she’d already been ripped open and wounded, then her aunt stepped in and poured on the salt.

  Alaetha was known for being a no-nonsense straight shooter. It was one thing to hear the same feedback from Maura week after week. But from an aunt she hadn’t seen in forever? It was an unexpected level of emotional impact. This time she felt it viscerally and Becka had to force herself to breathe deeply.

  As biting as Alaetha’s comments were, they weren’t cruel. If this was truly her reputation, she’d rather know. “I’ve attended council meetings. And I just came here from winning an einvigi at a tea party.”

  “An einvigi, how lovely!” Alaetha replied, a harsh bite in her voice. “And all it took was you and your father’s poisoning to make you finally step up?”

  No one could dish out guilt like an elder from the House of Whispers.

  Becka was too embarrassed to respond with the truth, which was that Maura had demanded she step up. “I have sworn to make an effort.”

  Alaetha shook her head. “I’m sure Vott will find that comforting. I too look forward to seeing the fruits of your esteemed
labors. You would do well to heed my warning. If they visit more pain upon House Rowan, it will be because of you.”

  Alaetha’s words hit literal home for Becka. As much as she hated to hear it, Becka knew she’d needed to hear Alaetha’s perspective.

  “Speaking of duty,” Becka jumped up, eager for any excuse to exit this conversation, “I forgot; I have a curse to cure. Perhaps we can discuss this further at a later date?”

  Alaetha shooed her off like a fly. “Do not let me stop you from being of use to your house.”

  “Elder Alaetha,” Becka replied, dipping her chin low before she spun and sped off.

  Flummoxed and heavy-hearted from Alaetha’s rebuke, Becka breathed a heavy sigh. “I didn’t even get to find out how Vott is doing.”

  “Do you want to go ask?” Lorelai replied.

  “No, I would have heard from Illan if there had been a change. Besides, I don’t want to be late for Berak and Saana.”

  Chapter 15

  They had added a few chairs to Berak’s testing chambers, which was convenient because Becka had Hanna and her entourage of guards. At least the fae guards remained outside the door.

  “Fair day, Lady Becka,” Berak said, taking in the group. “I didn’t know you were bringing an audience.”

  Hanna, Shamus, and Lorelai stood behind her.

  “I didn’t know either, Berak.” This is getting ridiculous! “Good to see you too, Saana.”

  The wizened old lady’s face wrinkled with a broad smile. Next to her sat an elder in a chair. His creased expression and downturned mouth made him look like he had a constant case of heartburn. He must be the one with the curse? His robes ran to the floor, and his frizzy hair was long and unkempt.

  “It’s no worry, dear,” said Saana. “Although I would recommend they remain in the viewing chamber, just in case something… unexpected happens.”

  Becka looked to her guards, who were an immediate no for whatever reason. Hanna fanned herself and shot her a smile.

  “We’ll leave you to it,” Lorelai said. “Luce and Saige are handing off with us.” She and Shamus were going off shift, and the other two walked in the door.

  “Thanks, Lorelai.”

  Lorelai inclined her head, and then she and Shamus showed themselves out. Berak shut the door behind them.

  “You’re staying too?” she asked Hanna.

  “I don’t see any point in leaving when they’re staying.” Hanna motioned to the shifters. “I’ll be safe with them. Besides, I’m here to support you. To work my magic, I need to learn all about you, your daily challenges, and what drives you. Only then can I heal the rift between you and your betrothed.”

  Becka smiled back at Hanna, grateful for her support. “Thank you. Hopefully you’ll get to see something special.”

  Hanna took a seat with great flourish, arranging her skirts in the shape of a perfect sunburst pattern on the floor in front of her. Becka shook her head, not even understanding how such a thing was possible, but perhaps it was trained into all fire elementalists at an early age.

  Becka placed her bag next to the central pedestal. “So, what’s the plan?”

  Saana gestured to the fae in the chair. “Becka, meet Elder Langdon of House Willow.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Elder,” she said. His unkempt appearance made more sense now, as she’d heard House Willow preferred to live a more rustic life closer to the land.

  “Well, let’s wait and see on that count,” he replied. “But I’ve made it here, so let’s get on with it.”

  Becka found his direct manner refreshing and wondered if it was on par for his house or just his personal taste. “Don’t sound so optimistic.”

  “No worries, youngster,” he snapped back. “I’ve had people trying to cure me for decades. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.”

  Becka grabbed a chair and pulled it across from Langdon and sat in it, her knees mere inches from his.

  “What’s the nature of his curse?” she asked Berak and Saana.

  “Why are you asking them?” the elder spat out. “You would think if they understood it, then they would have been able to cure it by now, right?”

  Neither Berak nor Saana said anything, and Berak took a step backwards. Becka bit back a laugh. After all she’d faced, this bitter old man wasn’t about to scare her. “My apologies, Elder. This is all new to me. Please tell me about your curse.”

  He guffawed. “See, how hard is it to give a little respect? Yes, young lady, I will explain my curse. See, it started back when I was a lad.”

  Becka was appalled. “Who would curse a child?”

  “My older sibling, Radford, who I followed everywhere. He couldn’t get free of me. So much so, he used his newfound abilities to prevent me from following him around.”

  “You’re from House Willow, so your powers are related to moon magic?”

  “Yes, which gets artsy and melodramatic, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’ve read about moon magic, but I have no direct experience,” Becka replied. Where was he going with this line of thought? “So how did his powers manifest?”

  “See, Saana, I like this girl. No one ever asks about Radford much, despite him causing all of this muck.”

  “Hmm, indeed,” Saana muttered.

  It was all the encouragement Elder Langdon needed. “Radford was a poet. His powers came on during his teenage years, and like many, were wild and unmanaged during that time. He’d see the moon and stars and opine with such froth that his very feelings would take on physical manifestations.”

  “That’s amazing. Can he still do that?”

  Langdon shook his head. “Gratefully, rarely, and nothing like what he could during his years of teenage angst. Honestly, harming me with his gift inhibited his trust of it. He’s not been the same since.”

  She heard a frog croak. Becka looked around, but as no one else reacted, she brushed it off.

  “He hated having you on his heels, and in the throes of teenage angst, cursed you?” she asked, fearing it was true.

  “Yes, he spouted off some poetry telling me to get rooted in the mud and leave him alone.”

  Sure, she’d had friction with her siblings, but cursing each other? What consequences had Radford received for crossing that line, beyond fearing his own gift? Whatever they were, it paled in comparison to Langdon’s lifelong curse.

  “Which damaged your feet?” she asked.

  “Well, it wasn’t just Radford’s magic. My mama was constantly singing these nursery rhymes. There were a lot of us kids, she had migraines, and she would sing this one rhyme whenever we got unruly or raised a ruckus. It wasn’t meanspirited, more like all she could do to hold things together for yet another hour.”

  “Let me guess, her song was about feet too?” she asked, enjoying the detective work of understanding his situation.

  There was another resounding croak. Becka looked around again but didn’t find a creature to pair with the noise. Where was it coming from?

  “Sort of. When she’d recite it we’d still be running around, but it would dampen the noise, as if our pounding feet didn’t even hit the earth.”

  “Clever of her, if it kept her sanity and migraines at bay. So what do you think went wrong?”

  “I know what went wrong. Radford hollered out his magic at the same time as our mother did hers. Somehow, they melded together, causing this.” He reached down and lifted his robes to his knees.

  For a moment, Becka couldn’t quite make sense out of what she saw. Instead of feet, he had wide, bulky protrusions that reminded her of mangrove tree roots. Covered with moss, dirt, and patches of a bark-like substance, the deformity reached up near his knees.

  Behind her, Hanna gasped, but everyone else was quiet. Becka shot her a quick look of censure, and Hanna hid her face behind her fan.

  “It appears your legs end in… roots? Like you’re a tree? Can you still walk?”

  “At first I could, but the growths have ex
panded over the years, so I haven’t been able to for some time. I can feel the wee tendrils reaching for something all the time. It feels the best when I soak them in a stream.”

  Becka couldn’t take her eyes off Langdon’s legs. Stream soaks would explain that snail hanging onto his… maybe it was a toe? Did he even still have feet under all of that? In fae society, those from House Willow were commonly derided as hillbillies who lived in swamps and mangroves, living lives that were simple but close to nature. Although Langdon looked every bit the part, Becka knew his problem was more than a comedic punchline. As an outcast, she’d been pigeonholed plenty, and knew all too well that people were rarely the sum of their component parts.

  “The challenge,” broke in Berak, “is in the combination of misaligned magic. Usually when fae work together, there’s a good deal of effort put into aligning the intention of the spells. Efforts to undo the magic have been hampered by our inability to untangle the threads.”

  “So this is less of a curse, and more of misconfigured magic?” Becka asked.

  “Is there a difference in practice?” Saana asked.

  “I’m just looking for your insight. You’re the experts in testing magic and curses,” Becka replied.

  “They’re experts at failed attempts,” Langdon said, laughing alone at his own jibe.

  Berak and Saana took his jibe in stride, both more or less ignoring him.

  A third croak resounded through the chamber. Where was it coming from?

  Langdon opened a pocket near his chest. “Pipe down, will ya? I’m doing my best here.” He turned to Becka. “These jokers tell me you might be able to do something?”

  Did he have a frog in his pocket? Again, no one else took any mind of Langdon, so Becka let it go.

  Saana and Berak’s callousness toward Langdon’s plight worried her. Becka didn’t want him going into this without fair warning, which she wasn’t sure the testers had been fully forthright about. She needed to put all of the potential outcomes on the table and make sure he understood the risks involved.