Crown of Whispers

by Isabella August

  Zoe looked up as Beatrice entered; her overly-green eyes focused oddly, and she frowned. “Are you... all right?” the secretary asked carefully.

  “Good morning to you too,” Beatrice drawled. “I had a long night. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Zoe pursed her lips worriedly—but she didn’t press the matter. “That’s... unfortunate,” she said slowly. “If you need Dorian, I’m afraid he’s out at the moment. I thought you were done with the office yesterday—did you forget something here?”

  Thank god, Beatrice thought, as Zoe mentioned Dorian’s absence. The last thing Beatrice needed right now was to face Dorian in the cold light of day. She grabbed a chair from next to the door and dragged it up toward the secretary’s desk. “As it turns out,” Beatrice said. “I’m not done with this office. And I need to talk to you, Madame Carter.”

  Zoe’s eyes widened. She forced a nervous laugh. “Oh,” she said. “Um. Why would that be? I restarted the computer this morning, like you told me to do.”

  Beatrice frowned at her. “I’m told you’re one of a very small number of people in possession of a particular secret,” she said bluntly. “I need to be sure that secret hasn’t ended up somewhere that it shouldn’t have.”

  Zoe blinked a few times, furiously. “Um,” she said, and she definitely sounded nervous now. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific, madame. You see where I work. I know a lot of secrets.”

  Beatrice sighed. “This secret has to do with Jean Belmont and Detective Jasmine Basak,” she said. “Your Lady was party to a promise involving them both. Do you remember?”

  Zoe relaxed her shoulders abruptly. Clearly, Beatrice thought, she had even more frightening secrets to worry about than this one. “Ah… that secret,” Zoe muttered. She gave a miserable little laugh. “No. I haven’t talked to anyone about that promise since it happened. And believe me, I was tempted. Jaz is pissed at me. All she knows is that I’m suddenly friends with the guy she hates. She won’t even talk to me anymore.” Zoe was clearly pained by the thought. “The deal seemed like a good idea at the time. Some days, I still think so. Other days… I’m pretty sure I’m an idiot.”

  Beatrice knitted her brow. “Dorian said that Monsieur Belmont made this promise to you,” she observed. “Why would you ask monseigneur to look after Detective Basak, if she hates him so much?”

  Zoe hesitated. “Jean Belmont is…” She sighed. “I don’t like him, okay? But after everything that’s happened, I guess... I think he’s the least awful vampire to be in charge of all the other ones around here. I told him I’d help him out on occasion. But he’s a tricky bastard, and he’s been a real jackass to Jaz, and I had to be sure he wouldn’t involve me in something that hurt her.”

  Beatrice frowned at that. I swear to hold Jasmine Basak’s well-being to be every bit as important as my own. That was what Jean Belmont had promised—and it was a pretty all-encompassing promise. With an oath like that, Jean Belmont would be unable to harm Detective Basak, even through negligence.

  At the first hint that the promise itself might have endangered Detective Basak, Jean Belmont had hired the very best security specialist he could find—and how could he not? He had sworn to protect the detective to the same extent that he would protect himself.

  “You’re absolutely certain you’ve never discussed this aloud with anyone else?” Beatrice asked slowly. “Not even with people who already knew? Maybe out in the open, where someone might have heard?” As Zoe opened her mouth to respond, she added: “I’m not calling you a liar. But I need you to think very hard about this. If someone inappropriate has learned about this promise, it could be bad for Detective Basak.”

  Zoe pressed her lips together. Beatrice could see the wariness in the secretary’s expression now—she was questioning her decisions, wondering whether she’d somehow put her friend into danger. But she threaded her fingers together, trying to think. “I don’t... I don’t think I talked to anyone about it,” Zoe said in a small voice. “I feel like I didn’t. But now, I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

  Zoe suddenly looked so pathetic and afraid that Beatrice felt a stab of guilt at the line of inquiry. Still… the truth was the truth, and she had a leak to find. “I’d like to take a look through your personal electronic devices,” Beatrice said. “Legally, you have the right to refuse me. But if you say yes, I promise that I’ll only be looking for any mentions of Jean Belmont or Detective Basak, and I’ll absolutely ignore any other information I find along the way.”

  I really, really hope I don’t find certain information on your devices, Beatrice thought. If she had to wade through any unprofessional messages between Dorian and his secretary, she might well have to search out some bleach for her brain afterward.

  Zoe pressed a hand to her face, suddenly miserable. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “Of course. I... I have a computer at home. But Simon and I both use it, so I’ll have to call him up and explain the situation.”

  Beatrice’s brain caught on the name. “Simon?” she asked. “Simon Leclair? The Lady’s other warlock?”

  Zoe nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “Why?”

  Two birds, one stone, Beatrice thought. “I’m eventually going to have to talk to Monsieur Leclair as well,” she said. “Do you think he’d be willing to sit down with me soon?”

  Zoe’s miserable demeanor softened at that for some reason. “I’m sure he won’t mind,” she said. “Let me give him a call.”

  “Is there going to be a problem shutting down the office?” Beatrice asked, as they ascended the stairs to Zoe’s loft in the Old Port.

  “I texted Dorian,” Zoe replied. “He won’t love it—but it’s not the first time we’ve had to do it. We’re only two people, and shit happens.”

  Beatrice shot the secretary a sideways glance, sizing her up anew. It was clear that Zoe wasn’t in charge at the office—and she certainly wasn’t a partner. But normal secretaries didn’t sell their souls to faeries and make dangerous deals with vampire lords. “How long did you say you’ve been working for Dorian?” Beatrice asked Zoe.

  “About six years now,” Zoe replied absently, as she unlocked the door. “It feels even longer, sometimes. We’ve been through a lot together.” She paused and frowned. “Oh, we’ve got wards on the place. I guess you’ll need to use some magic? Either way, you’re invited inside for the day.”

  Beatrice nodded. “Much appreciated,” she said. “I don’t strictly need the magic, but it’ll help—”

  She lost track of whatever it was she was going to say next, as the door opened.

  The inside of the loft looked like a wild botanical garden. Flowering vines climbed along the walls, splashed with every color of the mortal rainbow and then some. The entry area of the building had been air-conditioned—but the area beyond the door was hot and humid and somehow reveling in it. In the very middle of the room, in fact, was a willow tree, with its branches draped in lavender and dotted with outlandish flowers.

  “Oh,” Zoe groaned softly, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Uh oh.”

  Beatrice shot her a stunned look. “Uh oh?” she repeated blankly.

  Zoe’s expression turned pained. “She’s visiting,” the secretary said. “Maybe now isn’t the best time—”

  The tree at the center of the room shifted. Its branches stretched languidly, revealing a small, strange woman with lavender-colored skin. A crown of tightly-woven briars stretched atop her head, reaching alien fingers toward the ceiling. Too-green eyes opened upon them both, and a stab of immortal fear struck through Beatrice.

  That’s a faerie, Beatrice thought wildly. No, er—that’s a faerie lord. Oh my god. I’ve got a faerie lord staring at me right now.

  Beatrice gave a brief prayer of thanks to whatever deity was listening that she hadn’t opened her Witchsight to look at the wards. Even without her Witchsight, she could feel the sheer, eldritch power of the petty elemental god before her, pressing in against her skin—seeing that pow
er directly might well have driven her mad.

  The faintest touch of inhuman curiosity flickered across the faerie’s being as she considered Beatrice with those strange eyes… but the willowy woman quickly turned her attentions to Zoe instead, and Beatrice let out a sigh of momentary relief.

  “You are home early,” the Lady of Briars observed to Zoe calmly. Her voice was like the whisper of wind through a dozen trees. “I am pleased. Simon has made tea—we can enjoy it together.” Those mad eyes swept back to Beatrice, and she froze in place. “You have brought company?”

  “Uh... yes,” Zoe said, with a wary smile. “She’s a guest. I’ve already invited her inside.”

  Dimly, Beatrice noted the emphasis on the word guest. It was probably an important distinction—but Beatrice had never spent much time learning the intricacies of faeries and their bizarre rules. Most faerie lords were content to stay in their own realms, rarely if ever bothering the outside world—Beatrice had assumed she would never have to deal with one, as long as she didn’t go wandering in Arcadia. She’d never heard of a faerie lord choosing to walk the mortal world before without having first been summoned.

  “Zoe?” A male voice in the kitchen area drew Beatrice’s attention. A tall man in an emerald vest and button-down shirt leaned against the counter, where a pot of tea had just begun steeping. His soft smile and wireframe glasses suggested a pleasant manner; his stark, white-blond hair and otherworldly green eyes suggested his identity—the Lady’s other warlock, Simon Leclair.

  Zoe shot Simon a meaningful look from the doorway. “You didn’t mention we had company,” she said carefully.

  “We didn’t... when you called,” Simon said sheepishly. “Mother showed up not long after that. I suppose it’s been a while since we visited.”

  Mother? Beatrice blinked slowly. Somehow, no one had thought to mention that Simon was both a warlock and the son of a faerie lord.

  Great, Beatrice thought grimly. I’m about to insult everyone here by suggesting that one of these people might have let a secret slip. I’m sure the eldritch tree over there is going to take that super well.

  “I, um... just need to take a look at the computer for now,” Beatrice said slowly. “If that’s all right with everyone.”

  Simon shot her an apologetic smile. “Of course,” he started—but the Lady interrupted him.

  “You will have tea first, of course?” the faerie lord said, in a tone that implied doing otherwise might be impolite.

  Beatrice flicked her eyes sideways at Zoe, who winced. “I guess I’ll have tea first,” Beatrice said ruefully.

  This seemed to mollify the Lady, at least for the moment. The faerie lord settled herself delicately at the kitchen table. The willow branches of her hair curled around her, twining idly with the chair. Simon politely pulled out chairs for both Beatrice and Zoe and poured them each a mug of what smelled like lavender tea before sitting down himself.

  “This is Beatrice,” Zoe said, by way of introduction. “She’s working on something for Jean right now.”

  “Ah, the charming vampire,” the Lady observed. “I thought about keeping him, when he came to visit. But circumstances dictated that he leave to fulfill his duty, of course.” Her long fingers curled around the mug of tea in front of her, which sported a faded old Tim Horton’s logo on its surface. Beatrice had a moment of dissociation, taking in the tableau. Somehow, the idea of a faerie lord drinking out of a Tim Horton’s mug just didn’t jibe.

  Still, the comment about Jean didn’t pass her by entirely. The Lady seemed to be referring to the deal she’d overseen between Jean and Zoe. Beatrice seized on the conversational topic. “And what circumstances were those?” she asked the Lady.

  The Lady smiled mysteriously at Beatrice. “To tell would be impolite,” she said. “You may ask your employer, if you please.”

  Beatrice nodded slowly. The Lady doesn’t seem inclined to blab, she thought. That’s a good sign. It was probably as close as she could get to excluding the faerie lord from her search; she certainly wasn’t going to ask the Lady outright whether she’d told Jean’s secret to anyone.

  “Actually,” Zoe said to the Lady, with a weak tone that suggested she was currently summoning up her courage. “That’s kind of what Beatrice is here for. Someone might have found out about the deal, which would be... really dangerous, for both Jean and Jaz. You don’t happen to know if anyone else found out about it?”

  The Lady blinked those alien green eyes. Her attention sharpened on Beatrice, who found herself squirming in her chair. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

  “Ah, little witch,” the Lady said, in a soft, deadly voice. “Were you testing me, to see how loose my tongue might be?”

  Beatrice tightened her fingers on the mug in front of her, ignoring the way it burned her skin. It wasn’t just the words, or the sudden tightness in the air. Beatrice had no coin between her fingers, and no active magic on her person... but the faerie lord had still somehow identified her as a witch.

  No one had ever managed that before. Beatrice hadn’t even known it was possible.

  The Lady smiled suddenly. There was no sort of human emotion behind that smile—but it still seemed like a relatively good sign. “How clever,” the faerie lord said. “I do so love cleverness.” One of the yellow roses in her hair blossomed a bit further at the statement. “I have told no one, little witch. I could have told; I am not bound to secrecy. But the vampire lord showed great bravery when he faced one of my enemies. I am inclined to be generous toward him.”

  Beatrice let out a soft sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sure my employer will be pleased to know that.”

  Zoe and Simon both winced in unison, and Beatrice blinked. The Lady’s smile grew very broad. “Your debt has been acknowledged, little witch,” the faerie lord said, in a strangely kind voice. “Someday, I shall call upon you to fulfill it.”

  Simon reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “That’s very underhanded of you, Mother,” he admonished. “She clearly has little experience with faeries. And she is a guest.”

  The Lady shot Simon a bemused look. “The witch has acknowledged that I did her a favor,” the faerie lord said. “And so I have. I made her task easier. Someday, she shall repay me for that.”

  Zoe cringed. “Never say sorry or thank you to a faerie or their servants,” she muttered at Beatrice. “They both imply a debt. Ugh—I should have warned you. I just got a little side-blinded when we first got here.”

  Beatrice cursed herself. I’m sure I heard that rule somewhere, she thought. Why didn’t I remember it? Now, she’d inadvertently put herself in debt to a faerie lord.

  Well. That was a problem for another day.

  “If I’m going into debt,” Beatrice said, “I may as well get my money’s worth… so to speak.” She sucked in a breath. “You didn’t tell anyone about this deal yourself. Do you have any way of knowing who else might know of it?”

  The Lady of Briars tilted her head. “My warlocks have not given up this secret in any purposeful manner,” the faerie lord said. “They do not guard their minds from me, and I feel no guilt from them. Simon is quite good at speaking carefully, and Zoe has learned much in her work with the secret-keeper. I do not believe that either one has let something slip by accident... but it is not impossible.”

  Great, Beatrice thought dully. Assuming she found nothing on the computer and nothing on their phones, that meant she was obliged to continue her investigation into either Dorian or Jean himself.

  “Thank—” Beatrice caught herself just in time. “That’s very helpful,” she corrected herself. The Lady smiled at her again, clearly bemused by her near-slip.

  “The weather here agrees with me very well right now,” the Lady observed to Simon. It was an abrupt change in subject—but the Lady spoke with the air of someone who knew very well that she could guide the conversation as she so chose. “This city has such nasty, awful winters. But it is nea
rly bearable right now.”

  Beatrice surreptitiously wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. Nearly bearable, she thought ruefully. She couldn’t even bring herself to sip at her tea. The idea of drinking something hot right now made her actively queasy. Both Simon and Zoe seemed absolutely at ease, however, which made Beatrice wonder if the power of the Briars had somehow insulated them from the weather.

  “We’ll have to enjoy it while it lasts,” Simon said ruefully. “Winter will be back before you blink.”

  The Lady sniffed. “You shall simply need to visit me in the Briars more often, then,” she said. “I am very lonely, you know. It is not proper that I must beg my son to visit.”

  Beatrice raised one eyebrow very slowly. The conversation seemed strangely familiar. If it weren’t for the inhuman quality of the Lady’s voice, she might have mistaken it for the sort of phone call she regularly got from her own mother, guilt tripping her into visiting her old house in Rosemère, just north of Montreal.

  “I’m fairly sure I just visited you two weeks ago,” Simon reminded her wryly.

  “Is that so?” the Lady asked airily. “Time runs differently in Arcadia. It felt far longer, by my estimation.”

  Here we go again, said the expression on Simon’s face. There was a reluctant fondness there, however, and Beatrice was struck by the sheer humanity of the whole situation. Everyone knew that faeries had no real human emotions. But suddenly, Beatrice found herself questioning that common bit of knowledge. The Lady was surely bizarre... but there were flashes of real fondness in her behavior as well.

  “I’m fairly sure Beatrice has some work to do,” Zoe said quickly. “I’ll just... show her the computer, and leave the two of you to catch up.”

  Simon shot her a plaintive sort of look—but Zoe shrugged apologetically and pulled out Beatrice’s chair.

  Beatrice followed Zoe to a different corner of the loft, where a slim laptop currently charged on a small shelf. Simon and the Lady continued conversing quietly at the kitchen table—Beatrice shot them one last bewildered look as Zoe booted up the laptop.