by SM Reine
“I’m not missing you,” she said.
"Don't play with my heart."
Gwyn put an arm around my shoulders, steering me away from the winery. "I don't make a practice of having a heart when I'm dealing with people without them."
7
Town Hall
Our walk leaving Rebecca’s winery was warm and pleasant. Appropriately, Town Hall was at the center of town, beyond the market and beside the murder scene, and Gwyn chose to cut through the valley instead of taking the longer forested road. Heat shimmered over the dirt. We were flanked by fields of grapes and corn.
On the way, I captured a very crunchy grasshopper. I finished eating it before we got back to Flynn Bay.
“Is it a coincidence that the scene of the crime is so close to the winery?" I asked.
"Everything in Haven is close,” Gwyn said. She kept a hand on her belt when she walked, as if reminding herself of the sheriff’s star. “This is a pocket dimension. If you have a couple days and strong legs, you can walk a full circle around the whole thing. Pretty much a tiny inside-out planet.”
“How does night happen, then?”
"The sky you see is fake, nothing but magic.” She waved like she could swat it out of the air. “You’re smart to think about how close everything is. Haven is tiny. Everyone knows each other. I'm surprised that we haven't had more murders by now.”
“Why haven’t you murdered Miss Draconia?” I asked.
I liked her chuckle. “Not everyone adds nice things to the community, like Mavis and Catherine. Doesn’t mean we can kill ‘em.” Gwyn walked ahead of me, so I wasn’t sure if I imagined her muttering, “Unfortunately.”
The trees outside Town Hall were bright-orange in contrast to the rosy pink surrounding the Farmer’s Market. Carved pumpkins smiled at me from the doorstep. Crimson garland trimmed the table with the guest book inside.
The foyer was very large. I didn't like it one bit. I’d quickly grown accustomed to being in smaller, safer places.
When I wouldn't get away from the door, hunched up and hissing, Gwyn scooped me into her arms and carried me like a human baby.
I thrashed. "Let me down! How dare you! I am a man with dignity!"
"If you act like a baby, you get treated like a baby. Those are the rules." She hefted me through a doorway and down spiral stairs.
"I am not a baby! I'm a cat!”
Gwyn set me on the basement landing hard and kneeled in front of me. Her weathered face was kind. “I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again: You look like a person now. Learning how to pass as human might keep you safe someday.”
“I have no interest in it,” I said. “Aside from one dead vampire, the Haven is always safe.”
"Cat or human, you’re young. You don’t know what’s going to happen down the road. Plus, the hissing and spitting is a waste of time. I’m trying to solve a murder, and just because I’m immortal doesn’t mean I’ve got all day.”
She softened her words by petting me. She rubbed the spots above my eyebrows that I liked so much. It was difficult not to melt into her expert hands.
"Very well," I said resentfully. "But…"
"What?"
“This building is very big and scary and I can't see very far.” Its ceiling was so high that it was dark. I couldn’t see around any of the doors, either. The sounds that came from other rooms were confusing, since everything echoed. “Will you hold my hand?"
I had rejected such a demand earlier and it would have been justice for Gwyn to do the same.
But she took my hand and walked me through the Town Hall’s records room.
Gwyn’s fingers were wrinkly-soft. I focused on the dots of increased melanin on the skin, her dull-tipped nails, the little gray hairs. Zombie hands were familiar to me. They made me feel like I was safe.
A desk in the back was staffed by several red-robed creatures. Gwyn approached one noncat that resembled an animal rather than a human—something with oblong eyes, a curly little beard, and horns jutting from her forehead. The hands protruding from her robes were childlike as mine.
“What do you need, Sheriff?” asked the horned thing. She sounded like a human, too.
“I know you’re busy, Onoskelis, so I’ll keep this short.” Gwyn took out the photo. She didn’t warn Onoskelis that the dead body was coming; she simply placed the photograph on the desk.
Onoskelis looked at the photo. Her mouth didn’t move.
I heard her thoughts, though.
Azoic. Unfortunate.
“I don’t recognize him,” Onoskelis said aloud.
Her words and thoughts seemed to be in direct contradiction. This was a phenomenon that noncats engaged in frequently: lying. Cats don’t bother lying because we can always tell the truth. This was more often because of physical signals, like twitching whiskers, than being able to read thoughts directly.
“He’s wearing a black cord like the folks authorized to help maintain records here,” Gwyn said. “You’ve been in Haven ever since it got reopened as a retirement home for immortals. You’d have tied that cord around his wrist yourself.”
One hundred thirteen years ago. Yes. Azoic served almost fifty years.
“I will have to refer to my records,” Onoskelis said.
Her thoughts cascaded, faster and louder, as she thought her way around the problem. Reading her felt like trying to track a fly around the room.
He is dead. I must complete the records.
It will be easier to correct the course of things without outside intervention.
Do not give the Sheriff information.
“It may take time to find the information you want,” Onoskelis said. I was dizzy from trying to chase down her train of thought.
Gwyn sighed. “I know this might seem like it’s not a rush to you. An immortal dead among a lot of other immortals? But now that we’ve found the body, the murderer’s gonna know they’ve been found. They’re gonna try to slip the Haven.”
“Monitor the juncture. Close the passage.”
“There’s gonna be a big stink if I do that,” she said. “And I’m going to make the biggest stink of all because I’ve got to get this kid back to his family as soon as possible.” She forcefully ruffled my hair. “Is there anything I can do to make this go faster?”
Onoskelis gave her a blank look.
Inside, the horned thing was thinking, I will execute the killer tonight.
Gwyn slapped the brim of her hat against her palm. “All right, I get it. You know where to find me if you find any information on this guy.”
We headed back toward the stairs.
I waited until we were several meters away from the desk before saying, “She’s lying.”
“What? How can you tell that?” Gwyn asked.
“She was thinking it loud and clear.”
“I can’t hear what demons are thinking,” she said.
“Oh,” I said. “Evidently I can. I assumed it was a human trait.” Out of habit, I started licking the back of my hand. Gwyn slapped my wrist. “Ow!”
“Remember, pass for human,” she said. “Or at least like a human-to-animal shifter instead of the other way around.”
“Pray tell, how am I meant to do that? I didn’t realize that humans cannot read demon thoughts even when they’re thinking so loudly. I don’t know how you groom yourselves. You can’t even lick the dirty parts without help.”
“Let’s start by stopping that licking,” Gwyn said sternly. “Can you read my thoughts right now?”
I stared at her face the way I had been staring at Onoskelis’s, but I could not hear any inner voice from the sheriff. “Not right now.”
“Interesting. Wonder if it’s because I’m a zombie. We’re nulls for a lot of powers.” She surveyed me thoughtfully. “You swallowed that ring and turned human first thing. Then you got a whole lot of smarts out of nowhere.”
“I’ve always been very clever,” I said matter-of-factly.
“And it took a mi
nute, but now you’re psychic,” she said. “Who knows what other powers you might develop?”
Perhaps I would become flexible enough to give myself the tongue-bath I so desperately needed. Humans were filthy.
“If I’m getting to be too much of a handful, you’ll have to find a local sorcerer to fix me before my mummies come home,” I said. “Surely the risk in being handled by a second-rate magician is still less than letting my magical powers grow unchecked.”
“Nice try, kiddo. I can handle any powers you’ve got. I’ve helped raise divines!” She held my hand more firmly and began walking me to the stairs again. “What was Onoskelis lying about?”
“She knows the victim,” I said. “His name is Azoic.”
Gwyn’s eyes brightened. She swung on her heel to weave through the bookshelves instead. “Azoic. Good. We can look him up. Anyone who’s ever visited or lived in Haven is listed down here. The Librarians keep perfect records.”
I lurked at her back as she searched the stacks.
After some time, she found a large book, which she carried to a desk before opening. It was so big that its open pages covered the entire surface.
She muttered to herself as she flipped through the pages.
“Azoic, Azoic… Gotta be the last of the A names…”
“What are you looking for?” I asked, tracking the delicate feathers of the pages as they fluttered through the air.
“This is a work log,” Gwyn said. “Anyone who’s worked for or with the Haven’s listed in one of these logs. I’m not sure how far back we’ll have to go—”
“He went missing fifty years ago.”
“Then I’ve got the wrong book,” she said.
She shuffled back into the stacks, but I remained with the book. I nibbled on the page corner. It tasted woodsy, like something I might nibble in my mummy’s yard.
Gwyn caught me. She swatted me on the back of the head and I slunk away.
She went through several of those huge books before finally exclaiming in victory. “Ah ha! I found Azoic! Full name was Azoic Kanen, and he lived down on Springview Court.”
“Do we need to research Springview Court too?” I asked, eyeing a few tasty books.
“Nope, we’ll just head over,” she said. “You’re not going to believe who currently lives on Springview Court.”
8
Azoic
Springview Court was a cluster of cottages overlooking a field of wildflowers. When we approached, I was pleased to see that Mavis and Catherine were sitting on the wraparound porch in front of a pink cottage. Gwyn stepped back into the trees before they could see her.
“I can’t question Catherine without upsetting her,” Gwyn said. “Go over there and find out what you can about Azoic.”
I stared at her. “You want me to question a suspect in a murder?”
“She’s not a suspect, and you’ve been watching me question people all day. You’re a smart little guy. You can get the information we need.” She ruffled my hair again. “All the nice things Izzy and Suzy say about you are true.”
I swelled with such satisfied warmth that I felt ten feet taller.
Alone, I marched down the court to the pink cottage. Mavis and Catherine brightened when they saw me coming.
“Here kitty kitty,” Catherine said, holding her hand toward me.
I obligingly trotted over.
“Careful, she’ll definitely pet you,” Mavis said.
“Yes, good,” I said, butting my head into her hand. Catherine happily stroked my hair. “Hello Catherine. My name is Mr. Poe.”
“Mr. Poe,” she said warmly, fondly, raking her fingernails behind my right ear. It felt just as good in noncat form as it was in cat form. “You’re a handsome boy, Mr. Poe.”
“Yes I am,” I said.
“So cute,” Mavis said. “How can we help you, Mr. Poe? Are you lost?”
“Not at all. I’m helping Sheriff Gwyn investigate a murder.”
Mavis set her phone down and gave me her full attention. “You're helping her investigate a murder? It doesn’t seem very responsible to me. You can’t be very old.”
Approximately five months old, in fact.
“I’m quite mature for my age,” I said, and then I resumed trying to figure out how to purr over Catherine’s ministrations.
I caught a glimpse of Gwyn waving her arms at me from the forest. She was making some violent gestures, which I interpreted to mean I should stop behaving like a cat. I was a human for the moment. Humans apparently did not accept pets from other humans.
“Murder?” Catherine asked. Her fingernails felt so nice. She looked much happier than yesterday. Gwyn may have feared for my future, but for the moment, I was perfectly safe and happy and not going to reject a good petting.
“A man named Azoic was killed fifty years ago,” I said. “He lived here. Did either of you know him?”
Mavis looked puzzled. “That’s well before my time. Catherine?”
The old vampire couldn’t seem to respond. Her crimson eyes were wide, her jaw slack, eyebrows trembling.
I wondered if I could listen to them the way I had Onoskelis. I ignored my physical ears and focused inward.
Azoic. Azoic. Azoic. Azoic. Catherine’s thoughts were painfully repetitive, which gave me a headache.
Mavis’s thoughts were no more interesting. Such a cute kid, talking so articulately. He reminds me of a tiny faerie John Oliver. I should finish watching John Oliver. My finals for 21st century TV are coming up, aren’t they? I should ask Bucky about it. God, why hasn’t Bucky kissed me yet? Mom needs to come back so I can stop caretaking for Catherine long enough to leave Haven for a date. Ugh, but I always miss Catherine when I leave. I don’t want to leave. Bucky should get a visa.
If it were possible to bite someone’s thoughts, I would have. It was such a noisy jangle.
“Who was Azoic?” I asked.
Catherine said, “My husband. She killed him.”
Azoic. Azoic. Azoic.
“I thought Grandpa went missing,” Mavis said. “Dad told me that he went to the Nether Worlds.”
Catherine shook her head as if trying to clear cobwebs from inside of her skull. “I’ve told you that’s wrong before. He was never missing. She killed him and nobody ever believed me. Even then, she was too popular.”
“Who?” I asked, listening closely to her thoughts.
Azoic. Azoic. Azoic.
It had been fifty years since her husband’s death, and his name was still the only thing on her mind.
“Nobody ever believes me,” she said, looking down at her hands.
A familiar feeling suffused me—a magnetic draw to pain. It was as though my soul could hear Catherine’s soul weeping. Whenever one of my mummies cried, I would curl in her lap and purr until she no longer had reason to cry. I could not do this with Catherine. I resembled tiny faerie John Oliver.
But I could take her hand. I could deliver the news.
“Catherine, your husband’s body was found,” I said. “He was buried undead and starved to a permanent death.”
Mavis looked horrified. Gwyn was shaking her head at me from the trees, paler than even a zombie should have been.
But even though Catherine’s crimson eyes filled with sadness, she was smiling, too. “I knew it.” She bowed her head over our joined hands and wept tearlessly. I could not purr, but I remained. For almost an hour, I remained.
9
Purl Two, Stab One
Of course, Sheriff Gwyn had already solved the murder by the time I returned to her.
“I heard everything,” Gwyn said grimly, shoving her phone in her front pocket. “I’ve spent the last hour clearing what we’ve gotta do next. The justice rushed the warrant through, so we’re good to go.” She caught my hand and took me toward a street I knew well—the street that I lived on. Except instead of taking the road, where people rode bicycles, she took me through the gardens behind the houses.
“What do we ‘gotta do
next’?” I tromped through long grass happily, watching the gnats swirl when I disturbed them.
Gwyn was like a hunter hacking through the jungle of weeds with grim determination. “You’re a smart boy. Tell me who you think committed this crime.”
“Miss Draconia,” I said promptly.
She missed a step. “Wow.”
“What? Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re right,” she said. “I’m just surprised you figured it out that fast. What tipped you off? The fact that Catherine accused someone popular? The close proximity between the pink cottage and Miss Draconia’s back yard? The fact that Miss Draconia was in a hurry to get everyone out of the wine cellar before anyone could see the body?”
“You were eager to get permission to finish this case and she’s your rival,” I said.
Her expression got pinched. “You read my mind.”
“I didn’t have too. I’m simply very clever.”
“You’re not clever enough to hear me when I tell you good sense,” she said. “Some people take Catherine seriously. If she calls you out for being a cat, they’ll know something’s up. You’ll be in danger.”
“I heard you, but I have elected not to care,” I said. “Cats are much more practical than noncats. I’m not going to invest into new skills when I have no intent of remaining human, Ard, shifter, or whatever I am.”
She opened a garden gate so I could go through. “Sinead’s not sure you’ll ever turn back. Some magic sticks when you get it inside. I’m not saying it to scare you, or make you cry, but because—”
“Because you have experienced discrimination in the past and you would like to spare me from the same.” I trotted through someone’s flowerbed. We were getting close to the big pink house.
“That’s not… How did you know?” Gwyn asked. “Wait. Because you’re a very clever boy.”
