by Nova Nelson
“Why only among the elves? Now that I know it’s possible, I should like the same. No unwanted visitors.”
“It didn’t spread beyond the elves because the elves didn’t tell anyone about it. Like I said, this group doesn’t like to mix much with others. So I told them, fine, I’d help them set up an invisible avenue so long as they didn’t tell anyone about it and definitely didn’t tell people I was the one who made it possible.” He shook his head. “If word got around, I’d be so pestered by everyone, I’d have to give up my seat on the High Council and go into invisible construction for the rest of eternity.”
Ruby grinned. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
He waved her off. “Oh, I’m sure it is, or I wouldn’t have told you.”
“But you should know that Ezra and the sheriff are also well aware of Tearnanock.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his tree trunk legs. “The sheriff knows because I ran it by her first. And Ezra knows because, well, of course he does. He has a nose for anything that could prove strategic for him.” Liberty beamed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he already had a safe house somewhere up there, in case one of his dealings went wrong and he needed a place to lie low.”
“You too?” Ruby asked.
Liberty arched an inquisitive brow.
“I just mean, everyone lets Ezra get away with things. And I understand when it comes to most people—he can supply them with what they can’t get elsewhere. But you’re a genie, for fang’s sake! Can’t you just snap your fingers and have all of this suddenly appear? You don’t need Ezra’s help.”
Liberty listened intently, sipping his tea as he did. “You’re right, I could technically create all of this on my own, but I have to hold the idea in my mind first. The rotating bookshelves, for instance. I can’t create them if I can’t imagine them. And Ezra has one of the best imaginations I’ve ever encountered. When I first built this place, it was mostly empty. Very uninspiring. I would think up little things here and there and magic them into existence, but for hundreds of years it lacked the details you now see. When I met Ezra only a handful of decades ago, however, I surmised immediately that he had a mind for the ornate, so I enlisted his help. He assisted me in imagining up so many of the luxuries and intricacies. And so, yes, I turn a blind eye to whatever unlawful activities he might partake in, so long as they don’t injure anyone else—Eastwind has far too many unenforceable or simply ridiculous and restrictive laws, you know. Besides, Ezra is simply a joy to be with.”
She brought her own teacup to her lips to disguise the small grunt of annoyance. Liberty wasn’t wrong. Ezra was a joy to be with. And if she wanted sympathy for her situation, for how things had turned out between them, she was unlikely to get it from an immortal who similarly never aged.
“Back to Bron,” she said. “You were in the Emporium when he died. Any chance you saw it happen?”
“If I had, I would have alerted Sheriff Bloom immediately. But I was busy watching the play. It was quite something. A historical tragedy—not generally my favorite as I enjoy a good bit of comedy in my entertainment—but it was good for what it was.”
“Yes,” Ruby mumbled. “I keep hearing that.” She stared at the fire for a moment, wondering if this was all in vain, if anyone had witnessed the death at all, and if they had, what useful information she could mine from it. After all, from the severe angle on the ground looking up, it was unlikely that anyone would have seen a pusher, if there was one. Likely, they’d have only glimpsed the elf falling. “Any known enemies?” she inquired.
Liberty sighed. “Again, I didn’t know him that well. No one did except his inner circle. You should talk to one of them, if you can.”
“Do you know their names?”
He nodded slowly, and Ruby wondered for a moment if he’d refuse to provide her this crucial bit of information. “Dalora Greyborn and Magnus Taerwyn are the two I’d point you toward. I’m sure Bron made more friends in the years since he came to town, but those two were the ones he moved here with and the ones I worked with most closely on Tearnanock.”
She asked for a description of each, and he supplied it.
“Do owls deliver to Tearnanock?” she asked.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “You can be as invisible as you want, but the owls can’t be fooled or influenced by any enchantment.”
“So I could theoretically send word to one of these elves to speak about what they knew of their dear friend.”
“You could, but I would do so with great care. Elves trust Fifth Winds even less than the average person, and they’ve just lost a long-time friend. You haven’t…?”
“No,” she said, already knowing where his mind had gone. “If I’d spoken with him, things might be much easier. But it seems that, whatever happened to him, he is at peace with it. Either his death came by his own hand, or he somehow expected whoever did this to give it a shot.”
Liberty nodded. “You might tell Magnus and Dalora as much when you speak with them. Knowing their friend is at least at rest in the afterlife will be a great comfort, I’m sure.”
Ruby scoffed, not impolitely. “I wouldn’t go so far as that. But a small comfort, perhaps. And when it comes to death, that’s all we can hope for.”
Chapter Six
Ruby and Clifford traveled down the footpath through the field, away from Liberty’s home and back toward Eastwind. She would send an owl to Magnus Taerwyn and Dalora Greyborn as soon as she could. But for now, the short walk, like the bourbon, was exactly what she needed. She felt a surge of excitement each time the prospect of visiting an invisible avenue crossed her mind. Obviously, it would be visible from the inside… wouldn’t it?
She knew it was best not to make any assumptions about magic so far beyond her own abilities, but Liberty’s house had been incredibly visible from the inside.
Why did he ever bother to leave it? If he could conjure whatever he needed, he could fill rooms with gold coins.
He could be even richer than Count Sebastian Malavic.
The thought made her feel giddy. Did Malavic realize that? If he didn’t, she wanted to be the one to break the news and wipe that perpetually smug expression off the vampire’s face. He thought he owned the town with the wealth he’d amassed over the centuries (or millennia—she wasn’t sure), but if Liberty had more and could outbid him if need be, then maybe the town wasn’t totally doomed by the High Council.
Of course, from what she knew of Liberty’s politics, he wasn’t nearly as likely to pour money into the town’s coffer as Malavic was. It wasn’t that Count Malavic was any sort of genuine philanthropist—anyone who’d spent the kind of time around him that she’d been forced to endure would know that. He simply knew that every gold coin he gave to someone was a debt they owed him, even if not explicitly established in the exchange.
Liberty clearly understood that as well, which was exactly why the freed genie was so averse to giving people things that left them feeling indebted.
The town could use a genuinely benevolent philanthropist, though. That way the Sheriff’s Department could have the funds to hire a real investigator and Ruby wouldn’t be on the hook for this sort of thing. There wasn’t even a ghost involved! It seemed like she was getting sucked into cases that didn’t play to her strengths more and more, and perhaps that was why she was feeling more jaded than usual about assisting.
Helping solve murders was definitely the right thing to do. Well, possible murders. Bron Danann could have simply been depressed or upside down in debts and walked off the edge on his own.
But the berry stains… those were suspicious. 5th. Yes, that didn’t look great for her, but there were plenty of other fifths. Maybe he’d lost his mind, thought he was one-fifth bat and four-fifths elf and decided to try out his ability to fly. Who knew, really?
Dragon blast! If only she could say “Who knows?” and simply move on. But that wasn’t how it worked for her. Nope.
Instead, she had to go from house t
o house, interviewing people who had very little chance of providing her with anything useful.
She stopped by the Pixie Mixie Apothecary on her way, and Kayleigh Lytefoot was generous enough to let her use the store’s owl to send messages to the two elves Liberty knew to be closest to the deceased. She wondered if she’d hear back at all.
The next person on her schedule of interviews was Ted. His house, however, was nestled deep in the Deadwoods, and she had no desire to brave the many hidden and not-so-hidden dangers living among those ancient trees. While the werewolves and the occasional werebear or were-elk might enjoy a romp out there, it was less conducive to survival if one was a witch. Clifford would have been fine, but she could hardly expect him to protect both himself and her from his fellow hellhounds or the hidebehinds who were supposedly so good at hiding behind trees that no one ever saw them until they were already being dragged away to be eaten by one.
Ruby had been in the Deadwoods only once, and it was the very same night she’d arrived in Eastwind. It was among that heavy canopy of trees that she’d found herself, post-death and groggy. It was definitely for the best that she hadn’t realized what kind of danger she was in at the time, although seeing a giant red dog—she hadn’t yet learned about hellhounds—blocking her exit from the dense forest had given her enough of a scare. And then he’d spoken to her telepathically, warning her to be careful in these parts, and offering to chaperone her safely to her next location.
And the rest of her life with Clifford was history.
No, she wasn’t going to brave a visit to Ted’s shack. But where they had arranged to meet wasn’t much safer, if she were being honest.
The Outskirts was a part of Eastwind that most avoided if at all possible. It bordered the Deadwoods on the south end of town and was inhabited almost entirely by werewolves, and not the ones that descended from those who had faired reasonably well following the last great war and now lived in the gated community of Hightower Gardens. The werewolves of the Outskirts were the generational remnants of all the ways the war had beaten and demeaned werekind. And now they’d had three hundred years of eating the bitter fruits planted when the witches came to Eastwind and claimed it as their own. Three hundred years of justified rage that had warped into a culture of meanness and animosity.
And Ruby was walking right into that culture to have a drink with Death.
Chapter Seven
Ted had written that he knew a little place that wasn’t half bad where they could grab a drink and chat without all the bustle and conspicuousness of meeting at Sheehan’s.
Ruby should have known better than to trust a grim reaper to take safety into account when choosing a location.
As the rows of buildings began to lose stories and spread out, Clifford walked closer by her side, and she could feel his senses heighten. The sparse buildings turned to dilapidated structures and she could almost feel the rot of them coating her skin when she passed too close by, a sure sign she’d reached the Outskirts. While currently it was still light outside, she would have to keep her visit with Ted short so she didn’t end up here once the sun began to set.
She knew the moment she laid eyes on the shack, even before she saw the sign, that this was the place Ted had designated for their meeting. For one, it was the only building that looked mildly habitable in this area, but it also fit his description: a narrow wooden structure facing the edge of the Deadwoods.
So this was the neighborhood bar, was it?
She walked down the desolate road that ran past it and paused when she saw the sign glowing above the entrance. Pale Horse Saloon.
Were she and Clifford really going to have to enter alone? What if Ted was running late?
But she needn’t have worried, because just as she took a step toward the entrance, the reaper’s voice called to her. She turned and saw Ted strolling from the direction of the Deadwoods, using his scythe as a hiker might a walking stick. Seemed a bit cavalier to her.
“Right on time,” Ruby said, feeling a wave of relief wash through her. But it was short-lived. Because as soon as Ted was only a few yards away, she felt the usual shroud of mortality wrap around her. The reaper carried this grim aura with him everywhere he went. It was just part of the gig. Not that she was especially bothered by the reminder that her life was finite, just that it was hard for that knowledge to coexist with a sense of safety.
“Thankfully, I’m off work today,” he said.
“Yes, I’m sure the entire town would be relieved to hear that.”
“Heh. You’re right. Come on. Let’s grab a drink and chat. They always save a booth for me in the corner.”
Pale Horse Saloon was about what Ruby had thought it would be, which didn’t say much for it. She usually expected the worst in hope that it wouldn’t come to pass and she’d be pleasantly surprised—the pessimist’s bliss. But in cases like this, when her expectation for the worst was fulfilled, she felt only mild satisfaction in being right.
The place was a dump, to start. Many of the floorboards were rotted out in places, and she had to be careful where she stepped to avoid finding herself trapped up to her knee.
The clientele didn’t subvert any of her unkind assumptions, either. They looked ready to round on her, circle her as predators like them would, and then… she shuddered to think of it. The only reason they didn’t do that, as far as she could tell, was that she was accompanied by one ferocious hellhound and a grim reaper. Not bad as far as a posse went. She wasn’t convinced they respected Ted so much as feared him; but either way, when he looked around, spotted the bartender and said, “They’re with me,” she could feel some of the roiling aggression in the room subside. Not that it wasn’t still there, but it wasn’t bolstered by the hope that anything could be done to act upon it.
The bartender only had one eye. But unlike the handful of genuine cyclopes around town, he didn’t appear to have been born that way. He wore a leather eye patch, and a thick, raised scar peeked out on either side of it, easily visible even in the dim light.
The corner booth was unoccupied like Ted had said it would be. Ruby settled in carefully on the wooden bench, keeping an eye on a sharp bit of the seat where the wood had cracked and an ornery splinter jutted out, no doubt eager to lodge itself deep into the buttock of the first person feeling spunky enough to slide across it.
Ted brought over two tankards of beer, neither of which Ruby trusted to be free of grime, the bartender’s spit, or even poison. She thanked him for it all the same.
In another situation, Clifford might have made himself comfortable under the table. But under the table seemed to be the only place filthier than the tabletop in this place, and anyway, his hackles remained up and would likely stay that way until they were clear of the Outskirts. So he stood beside her, his back to the wall, front facing every miscreant who might get it in his head to try something.
Ted had no problem putting his back to the rest of the place, and why would he?
“Try it,” he said, nodding at her tankard. “It’s a great blend. Not too hoppy. They only serve it in the Outskirts.”
Try it? She wouldn’t even touch her lips to the rim. “Maybe in a moment. I’ve just come from Liberty Freeman’s, and he offered me a drink while I was there.”
“Ah, of course he did. Heh. Does that mean you need a little food to sop up the alcohol? They have a delicious stew that they make to help sober up the clientele and keep them drinking. I could order you some.”
An image of a large simmering cauldron popped into her mind. The bartender’s missing eyeball bubbled to the surface of the broth.
Ruby’s stomach clenched. “I’m fine. Thank you, though. Maybe we should get right into it, huh?”
Ted took a long draught from his drink, the lip of the cup disappearing underneath his dark hood for a moment. “Sounds great.”
“Perfect. Yesterday, you said you were at the Emporium on business, correct?”
“Yes.”
“The busines
s had to do with Bron Danann’s demise.”
“It did. Obviously, I didn’t know who it would be prior to it happening. That’s just the way it works with us reapers. Lore has it we used to know, but too many of us kept stepping in and preventing the deaths of our friends. The nepotism didn’t go over well with the powers that be, so now we don’t know.”
“But you know someone is about to die, yes?”
“We know someone is in mortal danger and has a very good chance of dying. Every so often, fate or luck intervenes, and the death doesn’t come to pass. And then we get to go home early. Heh.”
“I’m sure you’re not the only ones thrilled with that outcome.” She raised her arm to grab her drink, then remembered and balled her fingers into a fist that she set firmly in her lap. “So you knew someone was going to die. I assume you were looking for it?”
“I was, but I tell you, that play was something else. So much drama! All the things you would want in a theatrical production—war, star-crossed lovers, betrayal, revenge!”
“You didn’t see Bron fall then?”
Ted hung his head. “No, I didn’t.”
“But you knew the moment he landed, presumably.”
He brought his gloved hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “Erm, no, not really.”
“You don’t get some sort of bodily indication when the death has actually come to pass?”
“I do. But, well, I was so engrossed in the play that when I felt what I usually feel, I assumed it was because Queen Naifa had just died in the arms of her guards.”
Ruby tried not to lose patience. “You felt a man die in the way that your kind have been conditioned, if not bred, to feel since the dawn of time, and you thought it was due to a dramatic performance?”
“Heh. Well, when you put it like that, it sounds kind of silly. But yeah, that’s what happened.”
