by Emery Belle
“I know you aren’t talking about Sebastian,” she said, dropping her ponytail and scowling at me. When I pursed my lips and didn’t respond, she threw her hands up in exasperation. “Come on, Wren! How many times do I need to warn you about him?”
“What other choice do I have?” I demanded, plopping onto my bed and hugging my pillow to my chest. “I’ve only been on the island for a few weeks, so sorry I haven’t made friends with the entire magical community yet, Garnet…” I glared at my roommate, who glared right back at me, neither of us willing to back down.
“Ahem.” Monty cleared his throat loudly into the silence and rotated around on his chain until he was facing us. “I believe you have forgotten about your oldest, wisest, and most well-spoken option, my good lady, who would be more than willing to accompany you on this newest and most admirable adventure.”
I frowned at him. “Who?”
He drew himself upright—well, as much as a head could do that—and said, “Why me, of course.”
“You don’t have any arms,” I reminded him. “How do you plan on opening the safe deposit box, with your teeth?”
Monty screwed up his face in thought and began swinging idly on his chain as he reviewed his options. “Blast it,” he said after a few long moments, his head drooping sadly. “The devil is in the details.”
“It’s settled, then,” I said, moving back over to the wardrobe. I held the sundress up to myself in front of the mirror and scrutinized my appearance, then ordered Monty to turn around while I slipped into it—after much grumbling, he agreed—and then slid my feet into a pair of gold sandals. After brushing out my long brown hair and adding a pair of dangling earrings to complete the ensemble, I looked up only to find Garnet studying me, her face screwed up with suspicion.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her gaze sliding over my dress.
“Work function,” I said blithely, grabbing my purse and slinging it over my shoulder. So far, the man in black had been my little secret, and for reasons I couldn’t quite explain to myself, I wanted to keep it that way. Especially since I still didn’t know his true identity… although I was hoping that would change tonight.
Garnet stood up, her face flushed, and jabbed her finger in my direction. “You’re going out with Sebastian, aren’t you? Fine, Wren, do what you want, but don’t say I didn’t give you ample warning, okay? And when he’s tossed you to the werewolves, don’t come crying to me.” Then she turned and flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
“Women,” Monty said sagely as I stared after her, my mouth hanging open in surprise. “They are the most emotional creatures I’ve ever encountered. Sometimes I think the world would be a much easier place without them… and yet, I find them strangely intriguing.”
He licked his lips and eyed my bare legs with a lascivious gleam. “Now why don’t you come over here and let Monty-poo give you a little kiss on the cheek?”
“Shut it, you limbless beast,” I said, giving my reflection another quick check before heading out of my dorm room, but not before giving Monty’s chain a good, hard flick, sending him tumbling around uncontrollably, his eyeballs rattling in their sockets, a slew of swear words spewing from his lips.
The Feisty Frog was located on a dingy street between a seedy-looking apothecary with dragon wings displayed in the windows and a puff shop emitting all manner of exotic scents and smokes that made my head spin. A beefy man stood outside the bar, his skin tinged gray, and I recognized him vaguely as Magnus, the sea lion shifter who’d worked as a lifeguard at The Saltwater Gym, where I’d interviewed Fiona Thane about Cassandra’s murder. Even though only a few short weeks had passed since then, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Hello,” I said, stepping up to the front door and offering him a tight smile. I drew my arms around myself protectively as a tall, lanky vampire passed behind me, a little too close for comfort—I felt his breath tickling my neck before he slipped through the doorway of the apothecary with a swish of his cloak.
Magnus glared down at me, his arms crossed threateningly in front of his barrel chest, and shifted to the side so that he was blocking my way inside the bar. “Password?”
“Uh.” I looked around nervously at the empty street behind me as a cloud shifted over the moon, blocking out the light and casting eerie shadows over the sidewalk. “Sorry, but I don’t know anything about a password. I’m here to meet someone… a man… I don’t know his name, though.”
Could I possibly sound any shadier?
“No password, no entry,” the bouncer said, flexing his biceps. A swish of wings over my head sent me stumbling backward, almost tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, and I looked up to see a skeletal creature with red leathery wings soaring through the air. It perched high on a tree branch and peered down at me through silver eyes, regarding me with an almost human-like intelligence.
“Look,” I protested, goosebumps breaking out over my skin as a cold wind swept over me, “there must be some mistake.” I dug out the piece of paper the man in black had handed me at the fashion show and shoved it under Magnus’s nose, but he merely shrugged and pushed it back toward me, looking unimpressed.
“It’s okay, Magnus, she’s with me,” a voice said from the darkness behind me, and I swung around to find the man in black striding toward us, only this time, he wasn’t wearing black at all. His hands were shoved casually into the pockets of blue jeans that showed off the muscles of his powerful legs, and he was wearing an olive-colored button-down shirt that perfectly complemented his bronze skin. His dark hair was swept back in a short ponytail, and he was giving me an easy smile that did nothing to calm my nerves.
“Cole,” the bouncer said, stepping back and inclining his head in respect as the man in black came to a stop beside me. “My sincere apologies.” He moved to the side, allowing us entry, and I followed my mystery man into the dimly lit bar.
“Sorry about that,” the man in black—Cole?—said to me as he led me through a maze of mismatched tables, each occupied by various creatures playing cards, or clinking their tankards in silent toasts, or murmuring to each other in undertones. An ogre playing an instrument that looked like it had been strung with braids of human hair sat on a weathered stage, strumming idly and baring moss-green teeth at every woman who passed. Black orbs emitting soft light hung in the air, and a bar that stretched from one end of the room to the other was being manned by a centaur with flowing blond hair.
When we stepped up to the bar, Cole moved aside and gestured for me to give the centaur my order, but I hesitated. I had a feeling a place like this didn’t serve pomegranate martinis, my alcohol of choice in the human world, or watermelon whiplashes, the only drink I could identify so far on the island.
Cole, sensing my discomfort, smiled down at me, his chocolate-brown eyes twinkling in the dim lighting, and said, “A sea breeze with a twist, and a whiskey, neat.” The centaur inclined his head and got to work, using his arms and his legs to whip up our drinks before I even had a chance to perch myself on one of the rickety barstools.
Cole slid a few silver coins across the bar and grabbed our drinks—mine was an appealing sea-green color with an umbrella carved out of orange peels—and we weaved through the crowded room until coming to an empty booth tucked away in the very back corner.
“This okay?” he asked, setting down my drink, and I nodded and slid into one of the black leather seats. He took the seat opposite me, then raised his glass to me in a silent toast before knocking down half of his whiskey in one swallow.
I stared at him, taking in the jagged scar running across his cheek, and my heart did a funny little jig that was completely foreign to me. To gloss over the awkward moment, I took a sip of my drink, which tasted exactly how I imagined a sunny summer day at the beach would.
“You like it?” he asked, breaking the silence, and instead of answering, I set down my glass and leaned toward him.
“Who are you?” I breathed, my voice barely a
bove a whisper.
Cole chuckled and sat back in his seat, idly spinning his whiskey glass around with his fingers. “Who do you think I am?” he asked, staring intently into my eyes.
The intensity of his gaze unsettled me, and I glanced away quickly, breaking the connection. “I have no idea,” I admitted, tracing my finger around a deep scratch in the table. “At first I thought you were out to kill me, but after you saved me from Percival…” I trailed off when he let out a huff of surprise, followed by a deep, throaty laugh.
“I’m sorry you felt that way,” he said, a small smile playing around his lips, “when in fact, it was quite the opposite. I’m your protector—or I was, for a time. I was hired to make sure no harm befell you.” His eyes darkened. “I would have come to your rescue sooner that night, but I’m bound by the gargoyle code—I can only reveal myself to others when the one I’m protecting is in imminent danger, and so it wasn’t until Percival began to cast the spell that I was able to disarm him.”
“So you were watching me on and off the entire time I was trying to solve Cassandra’s murder?” Creepy. Although, I thought, sneaking another glance at the muscles bulging beneath his shirt, there were probably worse things in this world.
“No, I was watching you the whole time,” he corrected, sliding the whiskey toward himself again and draining the glass as I watched, fascinated, trying not to stare too long at his mouth.
“But I didn’t always see you following me.” I cast my mind back to the handful of occasions when I’d seen the man in black—on my first day at the academy, at the bar with Sebastian… not to mention the times when a stone gargoyle had seemed to appear out of nowhere. At least now I knew I hadn’t been going crazy.
Cole flexed his arms behind his head and cracked his neck from side to side. “Under the rules of my contract, only the one who hired me and the one I was hired to protect can detect my presence. I was always there, by your side, making sure no one brought harm upon you. You just didn’t always know where to look.”
“But who hired you?” I couldn’t imagine who on the island would care enough about me to hire me my very own gargoyle protector.
Cole gave me another one of his mysterious smiles. “Ah, that I cannot say. The contract is strictly between me and the one who hired me. My head would be on a spike if I revealed that to you.” I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not, then decided, on this island, nothing would surprise me.
I took a small sip of my drink and tapped my fingers against the tabletop, trying to make sense of everything he was telling me. “So why were you at the Snow Bunny Fashion Show? Were you hired to protect someone there?”
He inclined his head. “When there are celebrities present, my services are always in high demand.” A cloud passed over his face. “Though I wasn’t serving as Emeril’s protector, I wish I could have done something to prevent his death. It was a tragic event, and one I’ll not soon forget. I heard there has already been an arrest in the case, and I hope the perpetrator is brought to swift justice.”
I waved my hand impatiently, eager to get back to my main line of inquiry. We had plenty of time to talk about Emeril’s murder and Preston’s arrest. But first things first.
I glanced around to make sure that no one was listening, then leaned forward, not even bothering to push back my hair, which had fallen into my drink. “Are you still protecting me now? Is that why I could see you at the fashion show?”
“No, I am not.” He hesitated, his eyes boring into mine, but this time, I didn’t look away. “As for why you could see me… I have no idea.” He frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Truth be told, that’s never happened to me before, and I don’t know what to make of it. Unless…”
“Unless what?” I asked eagerly, leaning forward even further. His eyes roamed over my body, almost hungrily, and a thrill of anticipation shuddered through me.
Then he dragged his eyes away from me and pressed his lips into a thin line. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. Jumping up from the table without warning, he threaded his way back toward the bar, and I took a few minutes to collect myself before he returned with two more drinks.
He sat one beside me, even though my glass was still mostly full, and drained his own in the blink of an eye. Setting his glass on the table with a hard thunk, he shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, then leaned back in the booth once more. “So I take it you’re trying to solve Emeril’s murder,” he said, and I looked at him in surprise.
“How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “Call it gargoyle intuition. Anyway”—he fixed his gaze on me—“you need to be careful, Wren. I won’t be around this time to save you should things take a bad turn.”
I let out an indignant snort, ignoring his raised eyebrows. “I don’t need your help, thank you very much.” Then I paused, inwardly cringing as I remembered that this was the same man who had thrown himself in front of Percival’s spell for me. “Not that I didn’t appreciate it the last time,” I added in a small voice, wishing in that moment I could disappear right through the floor.
We sat in silence for several long moments, and though my shoulders were rigid with tension, Cole was looking perfectly at ease, not to mention almost… amused? A sliver of annoyance sliced through me, and I fiddled with the orange peel floating in my drink and listened with half an ear as the ogre onstage began singing in a voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
Cole bobbed his head along to the beat, and when I could no longer stand the silence between us, I pushed aside my drink with a sigh and said, “So, did you see anything in the moments before Emeril fell? Anyone acting suspicious?”
Cole dragged his eyes away from the ogre and studied my face. “Only a ball of flames heading toward the harness. Where it came from, I couldn’t say.”
“Kellen thinks Preston did it.”
Cole nodded. “So I’ve heard. Kellen has the capacity to be a strong leader, but he oftentimes rushes to judgment, which will be his downfall in the end.”
His tone was very matter-of-fact, but I frowned as I remembered Emeril’s confrontation with Preston onstage, which had to have been incredibly embarrassing for the designer. If being accused of stealing Emeril’s designs in front of the entire island wasn’t motive enough for murder, then I didn’t know what was. How could Cole be so sure that Kellen was rushing to judgment this time?
As if he could read my thoughts, Cole said gravely, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my line of work, Wren, it’s that everyone is hiding a secret of some sort. A man like Emeril probably had more than one skeleton in his closet. In fact…” He hesitated, and I waved my hand, urging him to continue.
He scratched his fingers idly down his chin, which was stubbled with dark hair. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, because I’m not in any hurry for you to run out and try to solve this mystery on your own”—he took a deep breath and shot me a sharp look—“but since you’re going to anyway, then I might as well try to help you out. Just before the fashion show started, I saw a yeti—a female yeti—arguing with security, demanding to be let backstage to speak to Emeril. She said her name was Amelia. The guards saw that she was on the list of people banned from attending the show and refused to let her pass, but later on, I saw that she had somehow slipped into the audience. You might want to check her out, see what her deal is.”
“Who do you think she—” I began, but was interrupted by a short, stocky man dressed all in black appearing out of nowhere beside our table.
He inclined his head to me, then leaned over and murmured to Cole, “You are needed.”
Cole nodded once to show that he understood, then slid out of the booth. “I’m glad we finally had a chance to speak properly, Wren. Please, stay and enjoy your drink. I’ll see you around the island… maybe.”
Then, without even waiting for me to respond, he turned and followed the man toward the front of the bar. When they reached the door, he turned ba
ck and caught my eye, then gave me the barest hint of a smile before both men disappeared into thin air.
Chapter 8
Hunter and Garnet looked deep in conversation when I walked into the mixology lab the next morning, but they stopped talking abruptly when I set down my mixology book and took the seat next to them. “What’s going on?” I said, leaning toward them.
Garnet tucked her hair behind her ears and pretended to be occupied with flipping through her own book, but Hunter looked from me to her and back again, then shook his head with a loud sigh. “Garnet is upset about your date with Sebastian last night,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose and peering at me over them.
Garnet slammed her mixology book shut and glared at Hunter. “Thanks,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Remind me never to confide in you about anything again.”
I’d expected Hunter’s face to turn beet-red—Garnet always seemed to have that effect on him, though he’d never admit it out loud—but instead he crossed his arms over his chest, looking resolute. “Look,” he said, addressing both of us, “usually I wouldn’t try to get in the middle of your little argument, but since the three of us are the only level zero students in our age range, we’re stuck with each other, whether we like it or not. And I’m not going to be put in the middle of this, so you’re just going to have to come to some kind of agreement.” When he finished speaking, he looked at us expectantly.
“For the last time,” I said with a sigh, “I did not have a date with Sebastian last night. But even if I did,” I added, ignoring Garnet’s sullen expression, “why do you care so much? You said what you had to say, and now it’s up to me to make my decision. We’re all adults here, so why don’t you stop acting like a teenager.”
