Oceans & Potions

by Emery Belle

  Before I could return the greeting, Percival’s office door swung open and out stepped a petite, slim woman with ghost-white skin and straight black hair that hung to her waist. Her lips were painted in the brightest shade of red lipstick I’d ever seen, and her low-cut blouse revealed a raised, circular pink scar directly over her heart. She studied the room, hands on her hips, and I watched, somewhere between horror and fascination, as she ran a forked tongue over her lips.

  “Who is that?” I whispered to Sebastian, the awkwardness of our initial encounter completely forgotten as I stared at the woman. Though I dearly wanted to ask “What is that?” instead, I’d learned during my short stint as an islander that such questions were considered rude. Go figure.

  “The new editor-in-chief, Sandrine,” Sebastian whispered back, his breath tickling my ear. “Fresh from Romania.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at me.

  My eyes widened as the scar on her chest took on an entirely new meaning. “Really?” I breathed, slipping a sideways glance at her mouth in the hopes that she’d bare a fang or two.

  “No, I think she’s originally from Wisconsin.” Sebastian winked at me, and I swatted at his arm. “Seriously, though, having a vampiress as the boss is a big step for The Islander. We’ve never had a female editor-in-chief. Rumor has it that she beat out a bunch of qualified candidates by slowly and methodically draining their blood until they were too weak to show up for their interviews but not weak enough that they suspected anything.”

  “Very funny,” I shot back, my gaze never leaving Sandrine’s haughty face.

  “Who said I was joking?”

  I swung around to shoot him a nasty look just as Sandrine called out, in a deep, throaty voice that didn’t suit her small frame, “Staff meeting, two minutes, conference room.” Without waiting for anyone in the room to acknowledge her instructions, she turned on her stiletto heels and strode back into her office, slamming the door behind her.

  “She seems sweet,” I muttered to Sebastian as he followed me toward our neighboring cubicles in the very back corner of the newspaper offices. Truth be told, Sebastian and I were grunts—he, the obituary writer, and me, the newly minted gossip columnist—so it was little wonder we’d been stuck together like glue since we met on my very first day at the office. I’d decided to set my sights on a more prestigious position, though, and planned to speak to the new editor-in-chief about it as soon as I plucked up the courage—and with my instrumental role in tracking down the former gossip columnist’s killer, how could she refuse?

  I had just enough time to drop my purse under my desk before Sebastian and I joined the rest of The Islander staff in the conference room. I slid into a chair in the back, feeling painfully conspicuous as I noticed most of the reporters’ gazes sliding my way and then quickly back again before I could make eye contact.

  “Attention, everyone,” Sandrine called briskly as she walked into the room and positioned herself in front of a blackboard that spanned the entire length of the wall. Though it had recently been wiped clean, I could still make out the faint outlines of Percival’s handwriting, and a cold shiver ran down my spine.

  Sandrine’s gaze flicked around the room, lingering on me for an extra few seconds. “As you all are undoubtedly aware, The Islander Gazette has found itself in hot water financially thanks to the idiotic actions of your former editor-in-chief.” She flicked out her forked tongue and ran it along her lips again, allowing us to catch a fleeting glimpse of her razor-sharp fangs, and I could practically feel a shudder running through the room. This was clearly not a woman to be trifled with.

  “As a result, there will be cutbacks to the staff”—she held up a hand for silence as a murmur of unease trickled around the room—“and it will be up to each and every one of you to prove your worth to me. Unlike my predecessor, I do not pretend to be your friend. But I am your ally as we work together to rebuild this great institution and recover from the tragedies that have marred it in recent weeks. I expect diligent, accurate reporting, writing so clean you could lick it, and stringent adherence to deadlines.”

  Her dark eyes swept over the reporters, many of whom were now looking back at her mutinously. “If you can adhere to those three simple rules, you will do well here. If you cannot… well, I’m sure you’re all acquainted with where the door is.” She paused and clasped her hands in front of her tiny waist. “Are there any questions?”

  “I think it may be time for a new job,” Sebastian muttered to me an hour later as the shell-shocked staff trickled out of the conference room and drifted back to their respective desks.

  Sandrine had spent the rest of the meeting reviewing, in precise, painful detail, all of the grammatical and factual errors that had crept into the newspaper over the past few months, singling out the responsible reporters and demanding a convincing explanation for their shortcomings. It had not been a pretty sight, especially when Melvin, a shriveled gnome who had worked at the paper for the better part of a century, burst into tears and tried to curse Sandrine into a million pieces with one of the witch reporter’s wands. Sandrine had barely looked ruffled, and one more flash of her fangs was enough to squash the rebellion before it even got off the ground.

  “Not for me,” I said, swinging into my desk chair and powering on my computer. Sandrine may have scared the pants off most of my coworkers, but her words had left me feeling strangely empowered. I could tell she was a woman who respected ambition, and now was my chance to pluck up the courage to march into her office and make the request that had been playing at the corners of my mind for the past few days. I stared at an old pile of newspapers on my desk that were flipped open to the gossip column I was supposed to be taking over and shook my head decisively. I could do better than this, and once I made my case, Sandrine would have no choice but to agree.

  Before I could lose my nerve, I jumped up from my chair, ignoring Sebastian’s curious gaze, and threaded my way through the reporters standing around the room in nervous clusters, heads bent together as they discussed the new head honcho. More than once, I heard the words “wooden stake” being muttered, followed by a round of snickers, and my thoughts drifted once more to the scar on Sandrine’s chest. I had a feeling it would take more than a piece of wood to bring her to her knees.

  Sandrine’s office door was closed, and I could see her sitting behind her desk, idly stroking a grumpy-looking black cat that was perched in her lap as she perused the latest copy of The Islander. I tapped lightly and waited, heart pitter-pattering with nerves, until she looked up from the newspaper and waved me inside.

  “Hi, Sandrine,” I said tentatively as the cat perked up its ears and stared at me with its yellow eyes while chewing lazily on what looked horribly like a rat’s tail. “We haven’t met yet, but I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” Sandrine interrupted smoothly, turning her dark eyes on me as she shooed the cat from her lap and pressed her red-painted fingernails into the wood of her desk. She didn’t invite me to sit down, but I pulled up the chair across from her anyway and dropped into it. She raised her eyebrows but said nothing, merely looking at me expectantly, and it occurred to me that the pleasantries—if you could call them that—were over.

  I cleared my throat. “I, uh, well, I was hoping I could talk to you about my position here at The Islander. I was hired as the new gossip columnist, and—”

  “And thus far, you have yet to write one column,” she finished, removing an apple from her desk drawer and using the edge of her fingernail to begin peeling it. I watched in fascination as the peel spiraled from the apple and dropped to her desk in one unbroken piece before she raised the fruit to her lips and took a long, lingering bite, piercing into its flesh with her fangs. I had the sudden urge to grab my neck and make a break for it, but determination—and a healthy dose of fear—kept me rooted to the chair.

  “That’s true,” I said, tearing my eyes away from her fangs and forcing myself to meet her steely gaze. “Percival gave me permission
to investigate Cassandra’s murder and write a story on it, which I have.” I unfolded a few handwritten pages I’d grabbed from my purse and handed them to her. “They aren’t typed up yet because I wrote them while I was in the hospital, but I’ll be working on finishing them this after—”

  “Surely you haven’t requested this meeting with me merely to show me these scribbles,” Sandrine said, tossing the pages onto her desk with barely a second glance. “I am an exceptionally busy woman, Miss Winters, and don’t have time to stroke the ego of a reporter on the very lowest rung of the totem pole.”

  Ouch.

  “N-no,” I stammered, clutching my hands to stop them from visibly trembling. My God, this woman was terrifying. “I came to ask you to consider making me the new crime writer for The Islander. I worked diligently to track down leads in Cassandra’s murder, not stopping in my pursuit of justice even when I was threatened with jailtime by the chief of police. I interviewed suspects, developed theories, and, in the end, was instrumental in catching the killer, something that not even the police were able to do.”

  As I spoke, my shoulders straightened and my chest puffed out with pride. Sandrine was now looking at me with the barest hint of interest, which was the only boost I needed to continue.

  “I feel like my work speaks for itself. The Islander does not currently have a reporter dedicated to covering the crime beat, and, given my recent success, I believe I would be perfect for the job.” Having made my case, I sat back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest, feeling reasonably proud of myself.

  The corners of Sandrine’s mouth pinched down in a frown and her gaze bore into mine as she considered me, but this time, I refused to break eye contact. I needed to show her that I was a confident, capable reporter, serious about my job and unable to be ruffled by a vampiress whose fangs looked sharp enough to slice my carotid artery cleanly in two.

  “No.” Sandrine took another lazy bite of her apple, the juice dribbling down her chin, but she didn’t bother wiping it away.

  I frowned, certain I had misheard, and leaned forward in my chair. “No?”

  “No.” Sandrine tossed the rest of her apple into the garbage can and plucked up the cat, which had been meowing indignantly at her feet. She set it back in her lap, and it bared its teeth at me and hissed softly before settling against her and methodically cleaning its paws, never taking its yellow eyes off my face.

  “I don’t understand…” I began, my face beginning to flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

  “Then let me enlighten you, Miss Winters.” Sandrine’s jaw was set, her pale skin taut against her sharp cheekbones. “You were hired as the gossip columnist, and that is where you shall remain. You may have accidentally caught a murderer, but this is a newspaper, not a detective agency, and you have yet to prove your worth as a reporter in any way, shape, or form. Until you do, a promotion is out of the question.”

  When I opened my mouth to argue, she cut me off with a slash of her hand through the air that caused the words to die in my throat. I pressed my lips together and tried to blink back the tears of embarrassment threatening to spill down my cheeks. There was no way I’d give Sandrine the satisfaction of seeing me upset.

  “But since you’re here,” Sandrine added, opening her desk drawer and pulling out a bright pink piece of paper, “I have your next assignment.” She pushed the paper toward me, and I saw that it was a flyer featuring a photograph of an enormous yeti posing with his hand on one hip while wearing a crown of roses and what looked like a multi-colored cape. The words Snow Bunny Fashion Show were spilled across the top of the flyer, along with a list of designers to be featured.

  “What’s this?” I asked warily, setting down the flyer.

  “This is the premiere fashion event of the year,” Sandrine sniffed, as if I should have known better. “Each summer, the yetis shed their winter coats, which forces them to walk around wearing nothing but their pink skin—a source of great embarrassment for them, mind you. Many years ago, the yeti population would go into hiding until their fur grew back, until a group of famous clothing designers from around the world gathered together and created this event to serve two purposes: one, to showcase their latest and greatest masterpieces, and two, to provide the yetis with ample clothing options and the ability to ‘try on a new skin,’ if you will. Since then, it has become a worldwide phenomenon, and this year, Magic Island has the great honor of hosting the event.”

  “So you want me to cover the fashion show for the gossip column?” I asked, studying the flyer with renewed interest. I had never been to a fashion show, much less one featuring ten-foot mountain beasts modeling sparkly hats and couture dresses.

  Sandrine nodded. “Specifically, I want you to get to the bottom of a disagreement between Preston Parker, a world-famous designer whose collection is being featured this year, and Emeril, Magic Island’s most popular male yeti model who, until recently, was refusing to walk in the show. The show’s organizers were eventually able to convince him to make an appearance—his legions of fans were threatening to boycott the event if he didn’t—but he has outright refused to wear Preston’s designs, which is causing quite a stir in the fashion community.”

  She raised her eyebrows at me. “It is up to you to uncover the truth. And if you are as good of a reporter as you claim to be, then I can assume that won’t be a problem, despite your reluctance to perform the job for which you were hired. If it is a problem, I would be happy to make other arrangements for you. More permanent ones.”

  The semi-veiled threat hung in the air between us, and anger simmered silently beneath my skin. For the first time, I met her gaze head-on, refusing to let her get away with the belief that she was intimidating me.

  “You can count on me,” I said, my voice steel as I grabbed the flyer from her desk, tucked it under my arm, and stood up from my chair. Though I didn’t turn back around, I could feel her eyes tracking me as I walked out of her office, slamming the door behind me.

  Chapter 3

  “Don’t be nervous,” Garnet said to me as we followed Hunter into the Magic Island Academy, a long, low, red-brick building surrounded by lush grounds and topped with a cracked bell that was ringing insistently above the heads of the students milling about, waiting for the day’s lessons to begin. “I’m sure Lady Winthrop has good news for you already. She’s probably just waiting to tell you in person.”

  Hunter looked over his shoulder at us as we climbed the stairs into the building. “Don’t give her false hope,” he hissed, ever-practical. Then, seeing the crestfallen look on my face and Garnet staring daggers at him, he quickly added, “But I bet Garnet is right, at any rate. This whole mess will be over before you know it.”

  I nodded, trying to stay positive, but inside my stomach was tied in knots and my heart was slamming against my ribcage. I’d spent the better part of the night tossing and turning, my sleep plagued by nightmares, including one especially terrifying one where Lord Macon, rather than send me back to the mainland as punishment, had turned me into a gopher, slapped a collar on my neck, and forced me to become the High Court’s mascot. It had felt far too real for comfort, and I slowed my steps as we entered the classroom so I could prod at my teeth—still normal-sized, thank God—and check my skin for any lingering patches of fur.

  The box of training wands sat on Lady Winthrop’s desk, and I glared at them darkly as we took our seats and waited for her to arrive. A few minutes later, she swept into the room, smiling at each of us in turn, though her eyes swam with sympathy when they landed on me.

  “Welcome back, Miss Winters,” she said, inclining her head toward me as she sent the box of training wands soaring through the air toward Hunter with a flick of her hand. He caught them and handed one to Garnet, then looked at me and hesitated.

  “Miss Winters is allowed to use a wand in the classroom,” Lady Winthrop said, correctly interpreting his hesitation. Then, lowering her voice, she added, “But let’s just keep that
to ourselves, shall we?”

  Despite her earlier confidence, Garnet’s face fell and she glanced sideways at me, silently communicating what we both now knew to be true: the High Court hadn’t decided my fate yet after all. There was still every chance I would be kicked off the island, the first true home I’d ever known. Nausea bubbled up inside me at the thought, but I clamped my lips together and forced it back down, choosing instead to focus on the lesson. It was the only way to stay sane. Garnet reached over and squeezed my hand, giving me a small smile that I reluctantly returned.

  “Now then,” Lady Winthrop said, positioning herself at the front of the room and rolling up the sleeves of her emerald green robes, “while I usually reserve the spells you’ll be learning during our next few lessons for level one witches and wizards, in light of recent events”—she tipped her head in my direction—“I thought it would be prudent to teach you how to protect yourselves if such a situation ever arises again. We’ll start off by learning three basic defensive spells, and once you’ve mastered those we’ll move on to offensive spells. Do keep in mind that these are beginner-level spells, but at the very least they can buy you time if you find yourself under attack.”

  She glanced down at us over her crooked nose. “Miss Winters, would you care to help me demonstrate the first spell?” I nodded and rose from my seat, joining her at the front of the classroom, my training wand held loosely at my side. “Today we’ll be learning the bubble spell, which I’m sure all of you have seen performed at least once, especially if you’ve ridden the Magic Island Ferry. While it is most often used to allow underwater breathing, it can also work as a temporary protective barrier that wards off a number of curses.”