Oceans & Potions

by Emery Belle

  “In my day, a beast like this one would end up on the supper plate,” Monty said, eyeing up the dog now sitting obediently at my feet, his tail thumping happily on the floor. “Plump and juicy… the perfect complement to a glass of the finest Italian merlot. Of course, it was always necessary to tell the children it was chicken—you know how delicate they can be. The manservant’s daughter once screamed for hours on end when her pet fox became the mid-morning snack. It was quite dramatic, and gave me the most spectacular migraine.” He scrunched up his forehead at the memory before sniffing the air in Pierre’s direction and slowly running his tongue along his bottom lip.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I snapped, tugging the dog to his feet and heading for the door. “In all likelihood I’m getting banned from the island just for using my training wand; can you imagine what they’d do to me if I let you cook and eat a familiar? I’d probably get thrown to the werewolves during the full moon… and that’s if I’m lucky.”

  Monty drew in his tongue and pouted his lips. “After all I’ve done for you, doesn’t Monty-poo deserve a piddly little snack?” He studied Pierre once more with a critical eye. “It doesn’t have to be the whole dog, I suppose, one of those meaty haunches would do just fine. The bumbling oaf would never even miss it.”

  “Let’s go,” I said to Pierre, shooting Monty a filthy look as I stepped outside, my familiar following close behind. I held the leash loosely at my side as we headed toward a small park a short walk from my dorm that was surprisingly busy for the middle of the day. Pierre seemed to come alive the moment our feet touched the grass, and he let out a happy bark and began dancing around on his leash.

  Laughing, I unclipped him and let him waddle free, following behind him at a trot as I rolled up my sleeves and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on my bare skin. I passed a group of toddlers brandishing toy wands who were busy trying to make a caterpillar fly while their mothers lounged on a blanket, chatting happily over a bubbling cauldron.

  Nearby, a zombie baby and her father crouched at the edge of a small pond, feeding chunks of bread to a duckling gliding on the surface of the water. As the father tore off another piece of bread, momentarily distracted, the baby lifted the duckling from the pond and, without warning, shoved it into her mouth whole, leaving nothing but a few feathers drifting to the ground.

  I tore my eyes from the unpleasant scene and looked around for Pierre, finding him waddling as fast as his legs could carry him toward a hot dog stand being manned by a bored-looking vampire wearing a sun hat and an apron with a giant red stain on it that I sincerely hoped was ketchup. As I shouted at him to stop—he completely ignored me—Pierre launched himself off the ground, neck rolls quivering excitedly, tore a hot dog straight from the shocked vampire’s hands, and swallowed it in one gulp. I ran toward him, face burning with embarrassment, and hurriedly shoved a bronze coin into the vampire’s money pouch before heaving Pierre away from the stand by his collar and dragging him toward a nearby bench.

  “Bad dog!” I hissed, shaking my finger in Pierre’s face. “Lie down.” I pointed to the ground.

  My familiar cocked his head, a mischievous gleam in his watery eyes, lifted his tail, and pranced around the bench. Then he plopped down in front of me, tail wagging, made a great gasping sound, and began gagging up the hot dog while the group of mother witches lounging by their cauldron watched me beneath raised brows, judgment written all over their faces.

  “Having a problem?” a familiar voice said, his words dancing with laughter.

  I glanced up, cheeks heating, and found myself face to face with the man in black—er, Cole—whose dark eyes were dancing with amusement as he gazed down at me and Pierre.

  “I’m not a wizard, so forgive me if I’m wrong, but aren’t familiars supposed to be a little more”—he paused, searching for the right word—“obedient?” He squatted down and tickled Pierre beneath the chin, and the dog promptly rolled over onto his back and stuck his legs in the air to accept a full belly rub. Cole obliged.

  “He’s not so bad,” I hedged, trying to save face. What kind of witch couldn’t even control her own familiar? I wanted to drop dead right on the spot… although I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t immediately come back as an equally embarrassed ghost.

  Picking up a stick lying beside the bench, I launched it across the grass and said, “Pierre, fetch.” The dog looked at me, then the stick, and stood up. I breathed a sigh of relief as he began walking toward it obediently, then he stopped, seeming to think better of it, turned back toward me, and lifted his leg, relieving himself all over my shoes.

  Cole doubled over, howling with laughter, and Pierre joined in, barking joyously and rubbing himself against my leg as I folded my arms across my chest and scowled at both of them. As Cole straightened back up, wiping tears from his eyes, and I kicked off my shoes, wishing I had a wand so I could perform a proper cleaning spell on them, I heard footsteps approaching the bench followed by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

  “Miss Wren Winters?”

  I turned toward the sound of my name and eyed a gnome standing at attention behind me, the top of his pointy hat barely clearing the back of the bench. He was wearing an expensive-looking gold tunic and matching pants, and the brim of his hat was embroidered with the letters “HC.” Curled in his leathery hand was a scroll, which he held out to me. When I took it, he gave me a courteous bow, turned on his heel, and scurried away.

  Cole eyed the scroll in surprise. “That was a High Court messenger,” he said. “Are you conducting some kind of business with them?” Then he shook his head, looking embarrassed. “Never mind, sorry to be so intrusive. It’s just that Lord Macon doesn’t usually bother with—” He stopped short and pursed his lips.

  “Lowlies like me?” I finished, unwinding the scroll, a feeling of dread creeping into my stomach. “You must not have heard, then, that I’m probably being kicked off the island. I’m sure this has to do with my disciplinary hearing. Apparently I broke the law when I used my training wand to ward off Percival when he tried to curse me into oblivion.”

  I scanned my eyes down the elegant script, which listed a date and time for the following week. “Yep. See?” I shoved the scroll toward him, noting the expression of outrage coloring his face as he read it.

  “Disciplinary hearing?” he thundered. “For catching a murderer?” He threw the scroll onto the ground, his eyes narrowing. “That’s the biggest load of unicorn crap I’ve ever heard.”

  “Yeah, well, Lord Macon hates my guts.” I grabbed the scroll, dusted it off, and shoved it into my purse, registering the shadow that passed through Cole’s eyes as he studied me. “What?” I said, frowning up at him. “Have you had run-ins with him too? If you ask me, he’s a miserable old goat with a huge chip on his shoulder and way too much time on his hands.”

  Pierre let out a single howl, as if in solidarity, and I patted him on the head. My hand immediately broke out in hives, and I scratched at it feverishly while Cole stood there, watching me absentmindedly, a tick going in his powerful jaw.

  “I have to go,” he said abruptly, then strode across the park without so much as a goodbye. I stared after him, trying to piece together what had just happened, when a flurry of wings passed overhead and Garnet plopped down on the bench beside me, her nightswallow swooping in to perch in front of her legs.

  “What was that all about?” she asked, watching Cole’s back as he rounded the corner and disappeared from view. “Do you know that man?”

  “No,” I said vaguely, hoping she didn’t notice my burning cheeks, which were a dead giveaway to the lie. “He was just asking me directions to the docks. I think he was a shifter visiting from another island.”

  “Huh.” She frowned. “With a body like that, I would have pegged him for a gargoyle.” She let out a dreamy sigh, then shook her head. “The gargoyles are hotter than the deepest level of Hades, but they aren’t the type of men you want to get involved with. Which is a shame.” She pull
ed a candy bar from her pocket, unwrapped it, and tossed it to Midnight, who plucked it out of the air before it hit the ground and began immediately squawking for more.

  “Why’s that?” I asked, careful to keep my voice casual. I didn’t want to betray my feelings for Cole, not that Garnet knew anything about him. And not that I actually had any feelings for him… I was just grateful that he had saved my life, that’s all.

  “They’re creatures of the darkness,” she said, unwrapping a second candy bar and taking a bite while the nightswallow watched her hopefully. “Their lives are shrouded in secrecy, and most of them take on the kind of jobs that the rest of us find… unsavory.”

  She shuddered, then leaned in closer and added in a whisper, “Word on the street is that if you’re looking to make someone disappear, the gargoyles can make it happen in a way that ensures it’s never traced back to you.”

  She raised her eyebrows at me knowingly, then winked, and though I forced out a laugh, I found my eyes drifting across the street to where I’d last seen Cole. The force of my attraction to him was undeniable—even though I spent much of my time trying to deny it to myself—but what did I really know about him? He was a virtual stranger, a mysterious man who kept to the shadows and who, if Garnet was to be believed, probably had a past that would turn my hair white. How did I really know he had been hired to be my protector, anyway? I had no one’s word to go on but his own… in fact, most of the time, I seemed to be the only one who could even see him.

  But despite all that, I couldn’t help but trust him. And if there was one thing I’d learned in my short time on the island, it’s that my own instincts were worth their weight in gold.

  Chapter 11

  This time, I climbed the mountainside alone, a cold wind enveloping me in its icy grip. Unlike the walk to the yeti shaman’s house for Emeril’s reckoning, the path today was completely deserted and poorly maintained. I kept getting my feet stuck in snowdrifts, though this time I was prepared with heavy boots, a fur-lined coat, and a pair of thick gloves borrowed from Garnet, who had begged to come with me the moment I’d confided in her. Although it would have been nice to have the company—Amelia was nothing if not terrifying, and I wanted to make sure her next upside down cake didn’t feature Wren as its main ingredient—I knew Emeril’s sister would refuse to talk to me if I didn’t come alone.

  Though the mountainside homes were largely deserted in the middle of the day, here and there I passed yetis roasting woodland creatures over an open fire, or playing fetch with their pet penguins, or taking a snow bath, not even bothering to cover up their private bits as I walked by. Most of them ignored me, but a few gazed at me with suspicion as I trudged toward the purple cottage located—of course—near the very peak of the mountain.

  Finally, I reached the rickety chain link fence surrounding Amelia’s cottage, hurried along by a penguin that had broken off its leash and chased me all the way up the last mile, nipping at my ankles. I paused, my hand on the fence, and took a deep breath. To say I was terrified to go into that cottage—and possibly never come back out again—was putting it mildly. Amelia had shown herself to be unstable at the reckoning, and as soon as I stepped inside her house, there was nothing stopping her several-thousand-pound self from squashing me like an ant under a shoe. I could only hope for the best, and tread as carefully as possible while still figuring out a way to get the answers I needed.

  I let myself in the gate and had just raised my hand to knock on the battered wooden door when it flung open, practically ripped off its hinges, and Amelia’s enormous furry face peered down at me.

  “Took you long enough!” she said in a sing-song voice, yanking me inside by the shoulder with one massive paw while holding a half-skinned hare carcass in the other. “I thought you weren’t going to show—I ate the entire possum cake on my own… sorry.” Looking anything but, she let out a belch that shook the walls and patted her stomach. As she spoke, she swung the hare around wildly, and I had to duck to narrowly avoid being smacked in the face.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I said, trying to keep the relief from my voice. “I knew I had a long walk ahead of me, so I had a snack before I left.” In reality, my stomach had been churning unpleasantly all the way up the mountain as I tried to come up with a plausible excuse for avoiding her cooking—how many people could convincingly claim a deadly possum allergy?

  She shrugged. “Your loss.” With a sweep of her paw, she welcomed me into her home, and I glanced around with interest as she led me into the living room. The interior was decorated in a mishmash of bright colors and jarring patterns that made my head spin, and everything—the walls, floors, and every piece of furniture—was covered in fur. I perched nervously on the edge of a beanbag chair while Amelia plunked down on the couch with a groan before slapping the hare across her lap, digging a knife out of her pocket, and sawing the meat off its bones while I tried to keep my breakfast in my stomach.

  “Now then,” she said, punctuating each word with a jab of her knife in my direction as I shrank back into the beanbag chair, my heart in my throat. “You told me you were going to help me figure out how that good-for-nothing Isla bamboozled my brother into leaving me penniless.”

  She drew her eyebrows together in a frown, looking absolutely terrifying. “I heard from my cousin Penny, who lives on the Frozen Island, that Isla moved into Emeril’s winter estate yesterday. Just showed up with a moving whale and made herself at home, like she owns the place.” She let out a snort of anger and hacked off the hare’s head, which bounced across the floor and came to a stop mere inches from my feet.

  “What’s a moving whale?” I asked, deciding not to point out that Isla did, in fact, now own Emeril’s property. I had no intentions of joining the hare on Amelia’s next dinner plate.

  Amelia looked at me as though I was daft. “A whale that helps people move, of course,” she said. “How else do you think they get their belongings all the way to the Frozen Island? The flying polar bears can only carry so much weight, you know.”

  Fascinated, I opened my mouth to ask precisely how the bears sprouted wings—I’d certainly never seen that on the National Geographic Channel—but stopped short when I saw the mutinous look on her face. By now, she had finished chopping up the hare and was absentmindedly stroking what was left of its tail.

  “I just can’t understand why my own brother, my only living flesh and blood, would betray me like this,” she said quietly. She peered up at me through eyes that were hazy with grief. “My mother died when we were young, you know. I dropped out of school to raise Emeril on my own, since our father had abandoned us years before to take up with, of all things, a bigfoot.” She practically spat the last word.

  “And how does he repay me? By embarrassing me in front of our entire community. Who do you think paid for his modeling lessons so he could learn how to walk the runway? If I hadn’t scrimped and saved and put in hundreds of hours of overtime at the snow factory, he’d still be lumbering around like a mastodon who’d had too much tequila.” Her mouth twisted in a snarl that raised the hairs on my neck.

  “Do you think there might have been something going on between Emeril and Isla romantically?” I asked tentatively, casting my mind back to the day of the fashion show. Had I seen any shared looks between them, any secretive smiles? “Maybe that’s why he left her his estate.”

  Amelia snorted, and several shards of ice spewed from her nose. “Trust me, Isla wasn’t his type. Besides, my brother was never the same after he and Preston broke up—”

  “What?” I said, sitting up so fast I practically tumbled out of the beanbag chair. “Emeril and Preston were in a relationship?” That explained Emeril’s over-the-top reaction to the designer’s supposed betrayal—broken hearts did funny things to people, so why should yetis be any exception?

  “Years ago,” Amelia said with a wave of her hand. “And it was all very hush-hush. I don’t think anyone else knew about it. But when Preston ran away with that beef-b
rained centaur and designed his next collection exclusively for the four-legged, Emeril never got over it. Took to his cave for weeks, weeping over magazine cutouts of Preston’s designs. I even caught him trying to fashion himself a second set of legs out of chunks of iceberg covered in walrus fur, thinking maybe that would win the little runt back. I finally had to lure him out with the promise of a fresh unicorn feast.”

  She shook her head. “That cost me a pretty penny, let me tell you. Fifty gold coins a pound, and that was a bargain—but it was worth it, because it got Emeril out of the cave and back into the real world. His career hit new heights after that, but I suspect it was because he was always trying to impress Preston, win him back. That takes a toll on a person, you know? Makes them vulnerable to snakes like Isla.”

  Her expression turned thunderous and she slowly and methodically cracked the knuckles on each hand while I pondered this surprising turn of events. Why hadn’t Preston mentioned that he and Emeril used to be an item? There had to be a reason he was keeping the truth under wraps, unless, of course, he didn’t want to give Kellen even more reason to point the finger at him for Emeril’s murder. I’d watched enough true crime shows in my day to know that ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the killer and victim were romantically involved.

  “So if Isla and Emeril weren’t involved,” I said, shelving this new development for later perusal and returning to the task at hand, “why on earth would he leave all of his belongings to her? No one’s that good of an assistant… right?”

  “She was terrible,” Amelia snarled. “Always late, fudged up his schedule so many times he was almost kicked out of last year’s fashion week for missing too many fittings, and”—she leaned toward me and dropped her voice to a whisper, even though we were the only ones in the house—“he even confided in me that he was planning on firing her.” She drew her finger across her throat, then shrugged. “But that was last year, and as you can see, he didn’t follow through with it. Don’t ask me why.”