by LJ Rivers
The crime scene, as it were. Three police cars were parked in front of one of the buildings, and more police officers were busy raising a dark green tent behind the cars. Two men dressed in white hooded suits, blue gloves and blue shoe covers carried a large metal chest from the back of one of the cars and into the half-raised tent. Next to the tent stood our good cop/bad cop acquaintances from before. PC Fernsby held his phone to his ear, while PC Paddock scanned the crowd with an intense glare.
“It’s a girl,” said a voice to my right.
“Two girls, I heard,” said another next to the first one.
“It has to be Corinne and Liv,” I whispered to Charlie. “This is awful.”
Charlie nodded. “Hang on, I’ve got an idea.” She bent under the tape and walked towards one of the policemen guarding the scene.
“Hey! Stop there, young lady!” The police officer came running at her.
“Excuse me, Officer,” Charlie said. “I may know who the victims are, if that is of any help?”
“There’s only one victim. Now get back behind the tape, or I’ll have to cuff you.”
“I think I know them, I said,” Charlie insisted.
“You don’t,” said the policeman. “And it’s not them. It’s a girl. Now get going, ok?”
“I will, sorry.”
By the look on her face, I could tell she was split between the joy of having drawn the information from the copper and the fear of who the girl was. It could only be either Corinne or Liv, surely.
“Let’s get out of here,” Charlie said. “We can’t do anything here, and we need to find Dunc.”
I nodded, and we worked our way back through the crowd again—much easier going back than in. Charlie picked up her phone and tapped the screen a few times before holding it to her ear.
“Dunc? Where are you?” She looked at me, mouthing Old Willow. “Stay there until Ruby and I get there, all right? No, I don’t—yes, I know. Stay put!”
We picked up the pace, and soon we were running towards the pub. When we entered, only three students sat at one of the window tables, and one by the bar—Duncan. The majority of students were probably at the crime scene. Charlie grabbed Duncan by the arm and dragged him to a table back in the corner by the toilets.
“Is it Liv?” she said with a low but panicky voice.
“What?” Duncan said.
“You don’t know? The police are here, by the Founders’ Square. Seems a girl is—” She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “They’ve found a girl, one of the coppers said.”
“Oh,” Duncan said. “I didn’t think—were those sirens on campus?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked, anger stirring inside me. “Yes, the police are here, and I’m starting to wonder what you’re not telling us. Do you know where Liv is, after all?”
His eyes were full of fear and confusion when he turned to me. “No! I just came here to—I don’t know. Breathe for a few minutes. It’s been hell inside my head since she disappeared.”
I wanted to touch him so I could maybe tap into some of his memories but decided against it. He looked like he wanted to tell us something, so I tried another approach instead.
“You do know something, Dunc. And I believe you when you say you don’t know where she is. But you know what she is, don’t you?”
He sighed heavily, dropping his gaze to the table. Then his head started bobbing up and down, ever so slowly. “She had to run away. They caught her twice already, but she managed to escape. Her whole family is—”
He looked back up at me, then at Charlie, then back at me.
“They’re gone,” he said under his breath. “She told me a whole bunch of Harvesters came to the house one night. Her father tried to fight them but got slaughtered in front of his wife and daughters. Her mum started screaming, so one of the bastards jammed a knife straight through her throat.”
I swallowed, tears swelling in my eyes as Charlie took Duncan’s hands. He sniffled. “Liv and her sister, Violeta, were captured and taken to a dirty warehouse on the outskirts of Sofia, in Bulgaria. They’re Banshees.”
“Oh, crap,” said Charlie. “That’s why her mum screamed, right? They sense the death of family members or someone close, I think.”
I nodded. “They’re sort of cousins of—” I almost said us. “Of the Fae kind of Mags. I’m so sorry, Duncan. She came here to escape, is that it?”
“Yeah. Much good that did her.” He shook his head. “The warehouse was a Mag farm, but not a very sophisticated or modern one. She and her sister were tied to some pipes by a brick wall and left in the dark for two days without food or water. The Harvesters were not exactly like the professionals in England, which was both good and bad for Liv. One day, two of the Harvesters went away, leaving only one to guard the Mags. He was an idiot according to Liv, so she managed to overpower and kill him. When the others returned, Liv killed one of them and escaped with her sister. Problem was, her sister was already badly hurt, and died in the woods outside the warehouse.”
My blood had started to heat up as he spoke. I wasn’t going to defend the level of professionalism on “our” Harvesters, but still. I pictured poor Liv and her mum in those dirty surroundings, having just watched their two closest family members being killed. Smoke started to rise from one of my hands, and I had to focus hard to stop the fire from escaping. I glanced at Charlie, who reacted quickly.
“Listen, Duncan,” she said, dumping her jacket over my hands and grabbing him by the arm again. “Let’s go back home and figure out what to do next.”
She all but dragged him to the door. I stood to follow them but stopped when I saw the imprint of my palm burned onto the table surface. No one seemed to notice, though. I placed the little basket with spices and condiments over the burn mark and ran to catch up with the others.
Back in our flat, Duncan told us how Liv had escaped the Harvesters a third time, fighting off two of them with her bare hands. The young woman I saw swaying drunkenly at the party a few days ago had more fight in her than met the eye, it would seem. Not very typical of the peaceful Banshees, though.
“So, she hopped on a train and managed to sneak all the way to Paris, through a series of cargo carts. When she got there, she hitchhiked her way to Calais, and then through the Chunnel to England.”
A knock on the door stopped him. He jumped to his feet. “They’re going to think I killed her.”
“They’re not, Duncan,” I said, not particularly convincing to either myself or him. “Besides, we don’t know for sure the girl at the crime scene is Liv.”
The people outside knocked again. “Miss Morgan?” a voice called. “Police, please open the door.”
Duncan looked at me, pleadingly. “I wasn’t here,” he said and ran to Charlie’s room.
I looked at Charlie, who shrugged. “We have to answer,” she whispered.
Slowly, I moved towards the door, hoping to give Duncan enough time to climb out the window, which was what I presumed he would do.
“Police,” the voice repeated, more intensely. “Open the—”
“I’m sorry,” I said, opening the door. “I was listening to music.” I tapped my ear to indicate I had been wearing my headset. “What’s this about, Officer?”
“May I come in?” the officer said, and I stepped aside to let him. “I’m Detective Chief Inspector Davies. Are you Ruby Morgan?”
“Yes, I am. And this is my flatmate, Charlotte Hargraves.”
Charlie stood by the couch, smiling as if nothing was wrong.
“How may we help you, Inspector?” I said.
Before I could close the door behind him, Officers Fernsby and Paddock entered. I hadn’t noticed them behind him on the step outside. Fernsby nodded at me, a hint of sympathy in his eyes, while Paddock shot me a glance like the ones he had given me earlier, cold and judging.
Charlie gestured at the policemen to sit by the dinner table. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we have any tea prepare
d,” she said.
DCI Davies raised his hand. “No, please. We have some questions, that’s all.”
He sat on the chair across the table from Charlie, and I joined her on her side. Fernsby and Paddock remained standing behind the DCI.
“As you may or may not have heard, the police have secured a location on campus. It is, I’m sorry to say, the scene of a serious crime. Even though our crime scene investigators have yet to complete their work, we can confirm that a young woman has been found dead.”
I drew in a breath. Please don’t let it be her!
“Witnesses have confirmed it is the missing woman, the one who was here with false papers.” He looked down on his notepad. “Ilyana Makarova.”
“Oh, the poor girl,” Charlie said. “She was supposed to be safe here.”
“How well did you know her?” Davies asked.
“Not well at all,” I replied. “She is a—was a friend of Duncan’s. They were close friends. He helped her.”
“Helped her with what, exactly?”
I decided the only way now was the truth, and even if that would send the police in Duncan’s direction, I had to let the DCI know about Liv. And I also decided to stop calling her that. A small gesture of respect, perhaps.
“Ilyana lost her whole family to a group of blood Harvesters in her home town in Bulgaria. She managed to escape, only to find her so-called haven here in London to be the exact same kind of hellhole she left.”
Again, the mere thought of Harvesters roaming campus looking for—and killing—Magicals, ignited the fire in me. I took a few deep breaths again, and it seemed to help quell the flames I could feel slinking underneath my skin.
“Duncan’s only crime is that he helped a refugee, one society viewed as illegal, both as an immigrant and as a Magical.”
“What crime has and has not been committed is a bit premature to decide, Miss Morgan, but I understand your sentiment,” DCI Davies said. “Where is Duncan now?”
“Dunno,” Charlie said, touching my knee under the table. “My guess is he’s exactly where he’s been the last few days. Out looking for his friend.”
“Right,” Paddock scoffed. “Looking for his next victim, more like it.”
“That will be all, PC Paddock,” Davies said, his voice a gunshot. “Report to the scene. Crowd control.”
“Sir?” Paddock sighed.
“Now, PC Paddock!”
Even with the thought of Ilyana lying dead in that dark tent, I had to suppress a smile.
“Have you seen Duncan today, ladies?” Davies continued.
“No, sir. I’ve been in my room all day, studying. I just came out to ask Ruby if we should get something to eat when you knocked on the door.”
That was a big risk, and I think she knew it. At least four people at the Old Willow saw us with Duncan there, and maybe more had seen us walking back here together. Still, everyone was busy talking about or running towards the crime scene, so maybe they hadn’t paid attention to us.
“I see. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Not sure,” I said. “Sometime last night, perhaps? Lectures have started, and my head is a mess trying to keep up. It’s not quite the laid-back pace of upper secondary.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie as my head really was a mess, even if it had nothing to do with the introductory lessons.
“I can imagine,” Davies said. “Still, we have a serious situation here, and will need to speak to Duncan as soon as possible.”
“Have you tried his phone, perhaps?” Charlie said innocently.
“Yes, we have, Miss Hargraves. To no avail, I’m sorry to say. Maybe he will answer if you call him?”
Charlie pulled out her phone, but before she managed to dial, DCI Davies lay his hand across the table. “Put it on speaker, please.”
My pulse was racing. The fire, however, was nowhere to be felt. This was just pure anxiousness.
Charlie did as the detective ordered, and soon we heard the ring tone. Once. Twice. After the sixth ring, Dunc’s voice came through the speaker. “Hey! You know exactly who this is, seeing as you’ve called me. Leave a message, and make it interesting, so I may find it worth my time to call you back. Cheers.”
Davies nodded at Charlie, who leaned her head over the mic.
“Hi, Dunc. It’s me, your fave roomie. Give me a call as soon as you get this. It’s important.”
She tapped the red icon to hang up, looking across at the DCI.
“Were any of you aware of Miss Makarova’s heritage?” he said, looking back and forth between us.
“Her heritage?” I asked. “That she was a Banshee, you mean? Yes, Duncan told us.”
“When?”
“Not sure, really,” I lied. “Yesterday or maybe earlier. He made no secret of it after she disappeared. It was why she was here, fleeing the—” I wanted to say farm, but I had no idea what Duncan had meant by it. “A warehouse in Sofia.”
I had to ask Mum about Mag farms. The term alone gave me the creeps.
“I will level with you, ladies. The woman, Miss Makarova, was indeed a Magical. And yes, we believe the technical term is Banshee. As you may know, those are not the most sought after Magicals on the MagX scene. Not the, how shall I say, sexiest of powers. I believe the term was on Jeremy Kyle the other night.”
My stomach churned, and not only because the policeman watched that sickening show.
“The sexiest of powers,” I repeated, shaking my head. “That is such a racist way of putting it. I get that MagX has some qualities, drug-like qualities, that appeal to a certain group of people.”
I felt bad for Charlie but didn’t want to sugarcoat my words anymore. “But I hate that it does, and I hate that it’s being talked about in such terms. Like it’s fun for a Magical to get her blood drained and sold as a bloody novelty.”
Charlie kicked me under the table, but I ignored her. She just had to take it, I thought.
“I agree,” Davies said. “MagX is illegal, and so far that’s the only part of the magical society that is. I am aware of the proposals from some of the more right-wing politicians, banning Magicals altogether, but I can assure you the London police are on the same page as you, Miss Morgan.”
His words took me by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Even if the media likes to portray us as hitting down on Magicals, especially those who use their powers for criminal purposes, we have a policy—one that comes from the very top of the judicial branches of government, I might add. It clearly states that Magicals and humans are equal in the eyes of the law, and that is what guides us in our daily work. Frankly, I am willing to bet that is also the mindset of the thousands of policemen and women across the country.”
I noticed Fernsby shifting his feet behind the detective. Somehow I believed Davies, but I was not convinced he had the whole force on his side in the matter.
“Right now, however, we do have a serious crime to investigate.”
“You mean she was murdered, don’t you?” I said, looking into his eyes.
“I cannot comment on the nature of the crime at this stage, Miss Morgan, as I am sure you understand. You’re studying to become a journalist, are you not?”
“Yes,” I said, not sure why that mattered one way or the other.
“And back home in Cheshire, you have already published several pieces in the local newspaper about Magicals and the illegal blood market.” Not asking as much as stating a fact this time.
“That’s correct.”
“Then I’m sure you will be very familiar with sharing important information with the authorities. Please continue that tradition, and contact me as soon as you, or your friend here, think of something—anything—that might have to do with this matter. Even if it seems minute or unimportant.”
He lay two business cards on the table next to Charlie’s phone and stood to leave, PC Fernsby in tow. As they reached the door, I walked towards him, holding out my hand. He looked at it, puzzled, but
took it.
“Thank you, DCI Davies,” I said. “We’ll call if we hear or see something.”
When the door closed behind them, I slid to the floor. Charlie came running over, crouching next to me.
“What is it, Ru?”
“They—they—” I sobbed, the image from DCI Davies’ thoughts burning in my head. “They drained all her blood, Char!”
Chapter Eighteen
Charlie and I were both reeling with what felt like a bad hangover from the day before. I had half slept through my second day of lectures, while Charlie hadn’t even been to hers, and now I was bunked on a heap of pillows beside her bed again, both of us exhausted. Jen, however, wasn’t in the same sorry state we were. She stood in the doorway, tilting her head at us.
“Jeez, you guys are no fun at all today. Are you going to crawl out from under all that misery any time soon?”
“Nope,” Charlie replied, her voice muffled by the pillow hugging her face.
“Red?”
“Not today, Jen. I’m beat,” I mumbled.
“Fine.” Jen put her hands on her hips. “I’ll go to Diane on my own. We’re taking pictures for my Insta.” She practically scowled at us. “My audience isn’t interested in sad faces like yours anyway. I’ll see you both once you look like my friends again.”
She turned on her heels and disappeared down the hallway, the front door slamming shut.
“What’s her beef?” I asked Charlie.
“She thinks it’s a waste of time—you know, wallowing like we’re doing right now. None of us actually knew Ilyana. Besides, I think she’s scared, even if she doesn’t show it. Someone killed Ilyana, and whoever did it is still walking around free.” She lifted her head an inch. “Maybe she’s right. We should get off our sorry arses and do something useful.”
“Maybe.”
We stayed there a couple of hours longer until Charlie decided she was over it. “Can’t waste an entire day, I suppose. Not when there’s someone out there killing Mags.” She looked down at me with beady eyes. “What if they know about you?”
