by Nova Nelson
“Mm-hm.”
“But the actors were facing the crowd, which means they could have also seen the top of the tower above everyone’s head.”
Bloom nodded and didn’t speak right away, which Ruby took to mean her theory was sound. Finally, the sheriff said, “All the more reason to speak with the troop.”
Of course, if the actors themselves had anything to do with the death, then there was little chance of getting useful information out of them. But as far as she could surmise, their maximum contribution to the situation could be no more than, perhaps, supplying a convenient distraction for whomever had wished to push the elf... if that had been the circumstance.
It was like trying to complete a connect-the-dots picture when you could only see every sixth dot. Was it a horse? A baseball? A lemon meringue pie? But that was what investigation was for, to collect all the data points. And they had only begun to do so.
The first resonant toll from the bell tower at the heart of the Emporium caused Ruby to jump just as they entered the open-air market. Was it noon already?
The place was crowded, and where Ruby and Bloom had entered the Emporium put them just to the left of the stage. Standing shoulder to shoulder, with Clifford sitting just ahead of them, they observed the movements of the actors. The production was already ten minutes in, judging by the noon bells. The angel allowed Ruby to entertain her theory that the actors themselves could have seen Bron Danann fall, and she gazed up toward Fallia’s Eye. Even without the added leverage of a stage, she had a clear view of the edge of the upper lookout.
Most of the bell tower was solid all the way up, all four sides a smooth stone that might have been rough before time itself got the best of it. The tower was, by Ruby’s estimate, fifty feet high. But toward the top, the smooth sides opened up to better allow the bells to echo through town, and four stone columns, one at each corner, extended for perhaps eight feet to brace the rounded roof. It would have been from the platform between those columns that Bron had jumped. Forty feet straight down to an unforgiving cobblestone landing.
Sure enough, she could see that area just fine from where she stood so near to the stage. Were anyone to stand at the edge of that drop, she could have easily spotted it. She knew about the concept of the fourth wall actors went on about, but surely even that couldn’t have obscured their view of the elf as he plummeted. Why had none said a word about it? Was it a case of the show must go on? Seemed like it wasn’t entirely up to them to decide such a thing when a man had just fallen to his death.
The introductory tune of the bells completed, the presumably largest in the collection began to ring out the noon hour.
Doooom…
What had the actors seen? Was it just Bron Danann up there? Or was there also someone else who had pushed him? Had he stood at the precipice for a moment, staring out, examining the distance between him and the ground, or had he hastily appeared out of the shadows and stepped off without a second thought?
Doooom…
She tried to imagine it herself, and for a shadow of a moment, she believed herself to be doing an exceptional job of it. But then she realized it wasn’t her imagination projecting that tall elvish figure on the top of the tower, creeping closer to the edge…
Doooom…
And someone was there. Another elf. He or she—it was impossible to tell from this distance when all elves wore their hair long—stood on the edge, looking straight ahead. Ruby’s heart raced, and her breath threatened to recoil deep into her lungs.
Doooom…
She’d only just managed to point and shout, “Gabby!” before the elf took a step over the edge and dropped out of view.
Chapter Eleven
Ruby braced herself for the sound of the impact, of bone on stone. But she never heard it. The twelfth and final teeth-rattling toll of the bell must have drowned it out.
And meanwhile, not a single person in the crowd seemed to notice.
What they did notice, however, was Sheriff Gabby Bloom soaring low over their heads at what seemed to be Mach speed.
Ruby’s brain only vaguely registered the voices of the actors as they continued their play despite the new development and the waning focus of the audience. Consummate professionals, clearly.
Clifford helped clear a path between the sardined bodies, making a beeline for where the elf was undoubtedly lying dead on the cobblestones. She wasn’t looking forward to the sight, but she was obligated toward it, nonetheless.
When she was finally able to push free from the throngs, she discovered Bloom kneeling, her wings still partially extended as if ready to take off at a moment’s notice.
Ruby rushed to her side, bracing herself for whatever gore might await her.
But there was none. Sheriff Bloom was holding the elf in her arms, and Ruby gasped when she saw who it was. Although Dalora Greyborn looked quite out of sorts, she didn’t look gravely injured or dead.
Movement at the corner of her eye caused Ruby to tear her attention from the elf to look at Ted, who was looming nearby. The reaper shifted on his feet awkwardly and rubbed absently at his left arm once he was noticed. “I guess I’m not needed here anymore. Heh. Nice catch, Sheriff.” Without another word, he turned and left the Emporium.
Unfortunately, a murmur was already starting to spread through the crowd, beginning with those in the back who had only to turn to see the strange scene taking place behind them—an even stranger one, no doubt, than the spectacle that had been taking place in front of them on the stage.
And in her initial confusion, Ruby had missed one crucial detail. But thankfully Clifford had not. She hadn’t even seen him leave, and suddenly he was returning, a cloth in his jowls. He offered it up to Bloom who quickly pulled it from him and draped it over the elf, covering up the familiar berry stains on her shirt.
Ruby was well aware that Bron Danann had written 5th on his shirt, and the knowledge wasn’t precisely pleasant. But seeing it for herself on a second elf’s clothing, Dalora’s nonetheless, sent chills down her spine, and she was no longer keen on keeping her back to the rest of the crowd.
Bloom stood, the unconscious elf in her arms now wrapped snugly with the cloth.
It was almost a burial shroud, Ruby thought.
The angel turned to her. “Meet me at the healing house.” And then she extended her wings, causing those closest in the crowd to take a quick step back. She launched herself skyward.
* * *
Sheriff Bloom knew it would take Ruby a fair bit of time to make her way from the Emporium to Hemlock Healing House on foot. She could have cut the time in half by simply taking a broom, but the Fifth Wind had sworn those off not long after she’d tried it for the first time years ago and nearly landed herself in the healing house straight away.
She stared down at Dalora Greyborn, who was sleeping peacefully in a soft bed by the window. Hemlock had set her up with a room right away, which was not unexpected. Many institutions in Eastwind worked as fast as a worm crawled, but the healing house wasn’t among them. Every person working within these walls showed genuine care and concern for the patients, and Bloom got along with them well because of it.
A shiver ran down her spine when she thought about how close the elf had come to lying in a grave instead of a bed. Inches. If Ruby hadn’t so inarticulately hollered her name and pointed at the precise moment she had…
Not for the first time, Bloom was relieved to know Ruby had Clifford by her side. If anyone had managed to glimpse the words on Dalora’s shirt before she could cover it, word would travel fast, and rumors weren’t known for painting anyone in a favorable light. To have one elf paint such a thing on its clothing just before jumping was a strange enough oddity, but twice was something else entirely.
Someone or some ones were trying to send a message. That was obvious enough.
There was a knock on the thick oak door of the private suite, and a moment later, Ruby peeked her head in. Bloom motioned for her to enter.
&nbs
p; “They said Cliff had to wait outside,” Ruby griped. Her curly hair was in quite a tangle, and barring any massive storm blowing in as the cause, it was clear she’d hurried over as quickly as she could. Her cheeks held a little extra color from the exertion.
“Do you want me to talk to them?” Bloom offered. Her line of work meant she knew each of the healers by name. She also knew the names of their spouses and children; that wasn’t part of the job, it was just good manners and came in handy when she needed to butter them up.
Ruby waved it off and absentmindedly patted her hair. “No, no. He’s happier out there, I think.” She took a seat across from Bloom, near the foot of the bed. “What’s the latest with her?”
“She’ll be fine. I was able to stop her before she hit the ground, thanks to your sharp eye.”
“And articulate reaction, too, huh?” Ruby said dolefully.
Bloom chuckled quietly. “You said all that needed to be said to save her life.”
“Oh, please. You saved her life. Had it been Deputy Titterfield with me, my inane shout-and-point method wouldn’t have done much to cushion her fall.” She leaned forward in her chair to look again at the elf in the bed. “Dalora Greyborn. I can’t believe it.”
“I wouldn’t either, if I hadn’t seen it all happen with my own eyes.”
Ruby said, “Her shirt.”
Bloom nodded. “I think I covered it up in time. That was quick thinking by Clifford. I always forget he can read. I’ll bring him a treat next time I see him.”
“Even still. This was the second time someone has fallen from the clock tower after having painted—”
A stirring next to them cut Ruby’s words short, and she jumped to her feet to see what was happening.
Bloom leaned forward, putting her elbow on the side of the bed, and brushed a few strands of blonde hair from Dalora’s forehead as the elf mumbled. Would she wake enough to speak? Bloom knew she could make it happen, could rouse the woman simply by laying hands on her and summoning the right intentions, but that wasn’t always a huge success. Sometimes the body remained asleep to avoid pain. If Dalora had become injured prior to the fall, perhaps in a tussle with an assailant, waking her prematurely could land her in undue agony.
But she was spared the decision as, slowly, the elf’s eyes opened.
She blinked, looked around groggily, and when she spotted the sheriff’s face hovering over her, she smiled blissfully. Bloom was aware her appearance did that to many people. She was often described as beautiful, but there was more magic to it than that. She came from Heaven, and for all the unfortunate parts of that place, those who left it still carried the peace of it with them wherever they went. The contagious serenity had helped her calm a frantic suspect or victim more times than she could count. And now it was helping bring Dalora Greyborn calmly back to consciousness. Until…
The elf’s eyes shot open, and she gasped and tried to sit up. Bloom gently but firmly held her down.
“What happened?” Dalora asked. “Where am I? Why are you here?”
Bloom shushed her and she began to settle down until she noticed the tiny black-clad woman at the foot of her bed. “Why is she here? Oh Mother Earth! Am I dead?”
Ruby cleared her throat, no doubt to cover her snickering.
“No, you’re alive and well and not in trouble,” Bloom assured her. “Relax, and we’ll explain everything. Ruby? Would you mind fetching her a cup of water? And don’t tell the healers yet.”
Ruby left the room, and Dalora calmed even more. “Does anything hurt?” Bloom asked.
The elf scrunched up her face and moved various parts of her body. “No. Nothing. I have a bit of a headache, though. And I’m hungry.”
Bloom nodded. “Both of those can be easily cured.”
“What happened? How did I get here?”
“You were nearly injured, but I saved you and brought you here to have the healers check on you. I don’t believe there will be any lasting injuries if there are any to begin with.”
Ruby slipped back into the room and waited until Bloom had helped the elf into a comfortable sitting position before handing her the cup. She drank it all in one tilt.
When she handed the empty cup back to Ruby, the witch asked, “Were you watching the play?”
Dalora nodded.
“And what is the last part of it that you remember?”
After a moment’s pause, she said, “The revolution was in full swing, and the guards had taken the queen up to the highest tower to defend her.”
Bloom arched an eyebrow at Ruby. Even though neither of them had truly watched the play yet, it wasn’t a bad question to ask. However, it carried a heavy implication she didn’t like, which was that at some point, Dalora had stopped remembering things. The response to her next question was crucial. “What prompted you to write on your shirt?”
The elf’s face scrunched. “Huh?”
“Your shirt had some… never mind. What was your goal in climbing the stairs of the clock tower?”
Her face un-scrunched in a hurry as her eyes went wide in alarm. “I did what?”
For Heaven’s sake. She didn’t remember any of it. It was as Bloom had feared.
She shared a quick glance with Ruby, who nodded.
It looked like she needed a psychic on the case after all. Because a black-out like what Dalora seemed to have experienced could only mean a few things, and one frightening possibility now rose to the top of Bloom’s list: possession.
Chapter Twelve
“Remind me who else Liberty suggested you speak with when you interviewed him?” It had already been a long day, and it wasn’t even four in the afternoon. The hot sun felt amazing on Bloom’s skin, though, after the chilly air of the healing house.
Ruby walked between the sheriff and Clifford. After a quick stop by a sandwich stand, the hellhound appeared in a bit of a coma from devouring the slab of roast beef Bloom had bought him as a reward for his quick thinking, but despite that he was doing an outstanding job of presenting as a protective and intimidating guard.
“He mentioned Dalora Greyborn and… shoot. What was the other one’s name?” Ruby struggled with it, running through a few sounds aloud before giving in and saying, “Clifford, do you remember it?” A pause, then, “Ah, yes. You’re right. Nothing gets through that steel trap.” She patted him on the head. “Magnus Taerwyn. I suppose we should go check in with him soon, shouldn’t we?”
“Probably so,” replied Bloom as they passed through Fulcrum Park and headed toward the south side of town. “But where we’re going now seems like a higher priority at the moment, don’t you think?”
“My Insight says yes. I feel like Magnus is likely safe for the moment. However, my body is screaming for tea.”
“It’ll have to wait. But I suspect you’ll be offered tea when we meet with them.”
“And should I drink it?” Ruby mused.
“I’ll leave that to Clifford’s judgment.”
The hound had a nose that was beyond skilled, as far as Bloom was concerned. It was magical. His scent training had definitely helped him identify different poisonous elements in foods, drinks, and so on, but there was really no accounting for the times he’d sniffed out a magical spell that had saved Ruby’s hide.
Because they’d missed the end of the play and not had a chance to speak with the actors afterward, they’d been forced to do some old-school questioning around the Emporium after they left the healing house. Finally, a minotaur had stoically divulged that he had seen the troop checking in at the Ram’s Head Inn. Bloom hadn’t read into the stoicism too much, since minotaurs were always that way.
So that’s where they were heading now.
“You asked her what the last thing was she remembered,” Bloom said finally, though she still wasn’t able to frame a complete theory surrounding her new suspicion.
“Yes,” Ruby said, “I did ask that. And she seems to have lost time.”
“You thinking what I’m thi
nking?”
“I assume so, but I just don’t see how it could play in.” Ruby chewed her bottom lip for a moment as they walked. “An angry spirit? A necromancer flying below the radar? Some other magic entirely? There are potions that can lead to a loss of memory and high suggestibility.”
“Right. And then there’s the possibility that the trauma from the fall stole away those last moments leading up to it. A good bit of fear can do that.”
“Any visible head trauma?”
“None. I checked. I only just caught her in time, and her head snapped back a little. I was worried it might have hit the ground. But there was no swelling, and at that speed, there would have been. She’ll have a stiff neck, but I don’t think a concussion could be to blame for the memory lapse.”
“Then I suppose we need to gather more information.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
There were no lack of small hotels and bed and breakfasts around Eastwind, places where wealthy weekenders from Avalon could stay to relax and enjoy the slower (and cheaper) way of life in this realm. But that would undoubtedly all change once Cair Crestfall opened in the high-end shopping district. Avalonians only thought they wanted a genuine Eastwind experience. But as soon as luxury accommodations were available, they would no doubt choose those instead, only venturing out into the rest of the town in short spurts to feel like they got an authentic experience without gaining too much exposure to the locals. And then the tiny hotels and bed and breakfasts would have to close down.
It was unfortunate. And yet, if the Ram’s Head Inn shuttered its doors forever, Bloom wouldn’t be too upset. The old stone building was located on the edge of the Outskirts, and that location made perfect sense for the seedier dealings that went on in the stagnant old rooms. But it was, ahem, affordably priced, and she supposed that if an entire troop wanted to stay together, that was likely the best place for it. Perhaps the hotel’s reputation for turning a blind eye to illicit activity had nothing to do with the fairies’ choice of location.
