by Zoe Arden
I walked past the rows of vendors with their fruits and veggies, realizing it had been far too long since I'd been down here. I knew several of the vendors—Heavenly Haven wasn't that big—and stopped at William Carney's stand. He was one of the two owners of Coffee Cove, where Lucy worked.
"Hey, Ava," he said.
"Hey, William." He had a small stand filled with cappuccinos, espressos, and iced lattes. "I thought Coffee Cove could use a little expansion. It just hit me a few weeks ago. Think of all the money we've been missing out on down here. Everyone wants coffee, even swimmers and surfers."
I agreed with him and bought an iced vanilla.
"Er, if you see my aunts later, could you maybe not mention that you saw me here?" I'd told Eleanor and Trixie I was running to the library.
William laughed. "Playing a little hooky today?" My cheeks grew warm, and I nodded. "Don't worry. Mum’s the word."
"Thanks."
I continued down the line of vendors. It reminded me a bit of the Coney Island Beach and Boardwalk in New York, but cleaner and without the amusement park rides. It was too bad. I missed the games the Boardwalk had to offer, especially the ones where you threw a baseball at a stack of empty milk bottles. I'd killed at that game as a kid. The guys who ran those particular games had stopped letting me play them because I kept cleaning them out of their biggest and best prizes.
Sweetland's Boardwalk, if you wanted to call it that, was on a smaller scale than New York's, but it was still nice. I felt a sudden pang of nostalgia for the state I'd grown up in. New York was vastly different from Heavenly Haven. I loved it here and wouldn't change my life for anything, but part of me would always be a city girl.
The fruit and vegetable vendors gave way to the fishmongers, and I slowed my pace. Snowball had described the vendor she'd seen Damon with as bald and greasy. Unfortunately, that described most of the fishmongers here.
There were five or six of them all lined up. They clearly thought I was in the market for some fish this morning.
"Hey, pretty lady, buy some fish? I'll give you a great deal," yelled one man in a green apron.
A man in a blue apron shouted, "Whatever price he gives you, I'll cut in half."
A third man in a yellow apron stained with brown splotches that looked like grease said, "My fish is better. I'll charge you full price, but you won't get sick."
I stopped in front of him, looking at the grease spots on his apron. I wasn't sure they were grease spots exactly, maybe fish stains? The other vendors yelled their protests when I showed my interest in him.
"No, pretty lady, you don't want his fish."
"No, come over here. Did I say half off? I meant sixty percent off. No fish is as fresh as mine."
The man in the yellow apron folded his arms across his chest and watched me, smug satisfaction on his face. He clearly thought he'd won. The sun glinted off his bald head. He was wearing one gold hoop earring and looked, I thought, a lot like a pirate.
I stepped closer.
"Good afternoon," he said, suddenly the businessman.
"Is it afternoon already?" I asked.
He looked at the sun. "Close enough."
I smiled at him and pretended to be interested in the fish he was selling. There was quite a bit of tuna.
"Are you here every day?" I asked.
"Not every day, but most days."
I nodded.
He said, "Everything you see is fresh. Me and my boys caught it ourselves this morning."
"You must get out early to catch all this."
He nodded. He had a pleasant sort of face. He had hard lines, but soft eyes that lit with good humor when he spoke.
"You might know a friend of mine," I said, testing things out. "Damon Tellinger?"
I waited for a flicker of recognition, but none came. Either he'd never heard Damon's name before, or he had the world's greatest poker face. When he saw I wasn't going to look at the fish anymore until he answered me, he shrugged.
"Sorry," he said.
I bit my bottom lip. "He's got dark hair and blue eyes. Lives in Mistmoor but I think he comes down here a lot."
"Dark hair and blue eyes? You know how many people you're describing?" He shook his head and began wrapping a fish in paper, adding it to a stack on his left. "Want any fish or not?"
He seemed suddenly hostile.
"I just thought you might've seen him is all. He's raved about your fish to me more than once. You're Ben, right?"
"Max."
"Max, right. That's what I meant. Damon says you have the freshest tuna."
"I tell you I don't know him. Now if you're done..." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and I took his meaning. Clear out.
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to... What about Grace Beyers? Do you know her?"
He blinked, startled, and shot me a look. "What makes you ask that?"
"I understand she used to come down here a lot." It was a lie, but he didn't have to know that. I was playing a hunch. At the Bridal Barista, Grace had mentioned her new perfume, Oceanside. But I had the feeling it wasn't perfume I'd smelled that day. It was the actual oceanside... including fresh fish.
He wiped his hands on his apron. "Never heard of her."
"Really? I thought you'd met before."
"Well, you thought wrong."
The humor had left his eyes and been replaced with malice. I wasn't going to get anywhere like this. I sighed and reached into my pocket, withdrawing a small wad of money I'd withdrawn from the bank on my way here.
"Are you sure you don't remember my friend Damon, or Miss Beyers? By the way, I think I'll take... three pounds of tuna."
He stared hard at me, his eyes unblinking. His lips pressed firmly together.
"I mean... five pounds of tuna." I gulped. It felt like his eyes were punching me in the gut. "Ten?"
Max broke into a smile. "Ten pounds of tuna? How wonderful. That's my entire stock for the day. I'll be able to wrap things up early and go home."
I handed over my money, and he gave me fifty cents worth of change.
He started wrapping tuna for me, putting it into a bag.
"So, have you seen my friend?" I asked.
"No."
I blinked. "But I thought... I just bought ten pounds of tuna."
"Yes, and I thank you for that."
"You're not gonna tell me anything?"
"There's nothing to tell."
I sighed, beaten. "At least it won't go to waste. My cat Snowball will probably scarf it down in a week."
The vendor paused. "Snowball? Fluffy white cat?"
"Yeah. She's my familiar. You... you know Snowball?"
Snowy hadn't mentioned that she actually knew the vendor.
"We all know Snowball," Max said and called to the others. "Hey, fellas, this is Ava, Snowball's witch."
The fishmongers all shouted a friendly hello and waved cheerfully at me.
Max said, "You should have told me you were with Snowball." He hesitated. "I know your friend, I think. The guy, I mean. Damon."
"You do?" I asked, excited.
"Yeah. He's been coming around here the last week or two. Heard he had some trouble over in Mistmoor, but this isn't Mistmoor, and his trouble doesn't concern me."
"When's the last time you saw him?"
Max's face tightened ever so slightly. "Why do you want to know?"
"I'm trying to find him. I need to talk to him. It's important."
"Haven't seen him in a couple days."
"Do you know where he's been staying?"
"Not a clue. But he usually comes around here right before closing, when it's dark."
“What about Grace Beyers?"
"Never heard of her."
"You might have read about her in the papers. She died recently. She was murdered in the Bridal Barista."
"Still don't know her," he said.
He handed me my tuna in a paper shopping bag. It was as heavy as a bowling ball. "Thanks," I muttered.
"Is there anything else you can tell me?"
Max ran a hand over his bare head. "Not all fish in the sea are eatin' fish. Some fish out there can't be eaten." Then he winked at me and said, "Say hi to Snowball for me."
"Sure thing," I said, confused. What the heck was that supposed to mean anyway? Not all fish are eatin' fish?
I sighed, tired of cryptic comments and questions that only garnered more questions. I headed back to the bakery with my ten pounds of fish, no idea how I was going to explain my purchase to Eleanor and Trixie, and no closer to finding Damon or figuring out who'd really killed Grace Beyers, Kendall, whatever.
* * *
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
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The Mystic Cupcake was in a lull, which suited me just fine since I'd forgotten my coffee this morning and we'd apparently run out of it at the bakery. My dad had just run out to get some more.
"You look tired," Eleanor said, studying my face closely.
"I am tired," I snapped. I hated it when people said that. It was one of those things that sounded like a harmless remark but really meant that I had dull brown bags under my eyes and my face looked puffy.
"Didn't you sleep well?" Trixie asked.
"No." I was sitting on a stool, my elbows propped on the counter as I leaned over it, trying to sleep sitting up. I'd lain awake till dawn thinking about my encounter with Max. Things just weren't adding up for me. I'd gone over the facts one by one until my head hurt, and it still didn't help.
Fact One: Grace Beyers was dead, and since she sure as heck hadn't stabbed herself, someone else must've done it for her. But was it a random killing, or had it been a purposeful attack? The picture in Damon's apartment pointed to it being a planned murder. Someone wanted to frame him, and they'd done a good job of it.
Fact Two: Damon was the prime suspect. I was sure he hadn't killed her, even though he had been found with the knife in his hand. His explanation of someone shoving the knife into his hand sounded weak, but I still believe him. For now.
Fact Three: Everyone involved seemed to smell like fish. Grace said it was her new perfume. Damon hadn't commented on it, but then I hadn't asked. I'd thought it was the dumpster outside our bakery that had smelled, but I knew now that I'd been wrong. Had Grace been hanging around the fishmongers, too? Maybe I should go back and question the other fishmongers.
Max's words played back in my head over and over again. "Some fish ain't for eatin’." At the time, I'd thought he was just being a wiseacre. Now I wondered if he'd been sending me some sort of message.
I shot up on my stool so fast it wobbled on its legs. "Are there any kind of fish that you can't eat?" I asked.
Trixie and Eleanor looked at each other.
"You mean, like poisonous fish?" Trixie asked.
"Yeah," I said. "I guess."
"There's those puffer fish," Trixie said. "I'm not sure that's the right name, but they puff up when they're being attacked and can kill a witch quite easily." She put one finger to her lips, nibbling on a nail. "Of course, people still eat them. But you have to cook them right or you'll die."
I scrunched my brow. "What about fish that aren't poisonous, maybe they're just... more respected? I mean, there are certain animals people just don't eat, like tigers and monkeys."
"In some countries, they do eat tigers and monkeys," Eleanor said.
I looked at her and frowned. "Ew. Really?"
She nodded.
"I don't know." I sighed. "Never mind." I wasn't even sure what I was trying to ask them.
"There's mermaids," Trixie said suddenly.
"Mermaids?" I asked excitedly and jumped out of my chair, running over to her.
Trixie looked startled. "Well, not just mermaids, of course. Merpeople. It's forbidden to eat them since they're more than just fish."
"So, mermaids and mermen are real?" I asked.
Trixie looked confused. "Of course."
My mind was spinning so fast I never even heard the door chime. All of a sudden, two strong arms wrapped around my midsection. I screamed and elbowed Colt in the gut as he jumped back, coughing and trying to catch his breath.
"Oh, my roses," I said. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have scared me like that! Are you okay?"
His face was red, and there were tears in his eyes.
"Wow, remind me never to sneak up on you again. I feel sorry for anyone who ever tries to mug you. They won't stand a chance. How's your right hook?"
"Ha ha," I said, the corners of my lips curving up. When Colt's face had gone from red to pink, I kissed him. His mouth was warm and wet and sweeter than the powdered sugar I'd sprinkled over some strudel this morning.
"Now then," he said, rolling his shoulders back. "What was this talk I heard about merpeople?"
Trixie jumped right in. "Ava didn't know they were real."
"I knew," I said. "Sort of." They all stared at me. "All right, I wasn't a hundred percent sure, but I am now."
"Has one been spotted near Sweetland recently?" Colt asked, interested. "They usually prefer to keep to themselves."
"No, none have been spotted... that I'm aware of." I wasn't quite ready to mention the half-mermaid half-werewolf. What would something like that look like anyway? Furry fish scales? The long snout of a wolf with a fish's tail on its rear?
Eleanor said, "Well, that's not really surprising, is it? Given their history with humans and paranormals?"
"What sort of history?" I asked.
Colt made a soft grunting noise of disapproval. "A century ago, merpeople were treated horribly by paranormals and humans alike."
"It was a dark time in wizarding history," Eleanor said. "Merpeople are highly magical creatures. Wizards thought if they could capture them, they could control them and hence control their magic."
"Right," Colt continued. "Dark wizards have always had the idea they could harness merpeople for war. Use them to win land and destroy other paranormals they didn't want around anymore."
"Luckily," Eleanor said, "merpeople are nearly impossible to catch."
Trixie said, "They're fast and they're smart. And most of our magic doesn't work against them."
Colt added, "Humans thought they made a nice trophy. They wanted to mount them on their wall."
I gasped, and my jaw dropped open. "How awful."
"Eventually, though," Colt said, "humans forgot about merpeople. They faded out of history and turned into lore. It's probably a good thing for them they did."
"What about merpeople and other paranormals?" I asked. "Do they get along now?"
Colt shrugged. "Nowadays, paranormals leave them alone. I'm sure there are those somewhere who might want to capture one for their own purposes, but I doubt it will ever happen. Merpeople know better than to blindly trust a wizard, even if most of us would never hurt them."
I considered everything I'd just learned and tried to phrase my next question so that it wouldn't sound completely ridiculous.
"Werewolves are real, right?"
Eleanor, Trixie, and Colt nodded.
"And merpeople are real. Has there ever been any sort of... mer-wolf?" I asked.
The three of them looked at each other then burst out laughing.
"A mer-wolf?" Colt said, his face red again. "What would even make you think of such a thing? No, there are no mer-wolves running around."
"Or swimming around," Trixie added.
Only Eleanor got herself under control enough to take my question seriously. "You have to understand that werewolves are an abnormality. People can't just shift into anything. If you're bitten by a racoon, for example, you won't turn into one."
"But what if a merperson was bitten by a werewolf?" I asked, and they all paused, looking thoughtfully toward the ceiling.
"I don't think that's ever happened," Colt said.
Trixie said, "Werewolves don't like water, and merpeople can't go on la
nd. At least, not for long stretches of time. A few days at the most."
"I just don't think they're compatible in that way," Eleanor said. "If a werewolf did bite a merperson, I don't think anything would happen."
I frowned, and Colt looked at me. "Why are you asking about merpeople anyway?" he asked.
I bit my bottom lip. "It was just a dream I had last night," I said and left it at that. I didn't know what Damon had seen in that warehouse basement, but it didn't sound like a mer-wolf.
Something slapped against my hand and my fingers instinctively closed around it. I looked down. Eleanor had just handed me a rolling pin.
"You can talk and roll at the same time," she said. "We might as well get a jumpstart on tomorrow."
I stared at the rolling pin.
"Something wrong?" Eleanor asked.
"No," I said. "I didn't even see you hand this to me. I just... felt it."
She exchanged a look with Trixie. "Well, now you can feel some dough for the cinnamon rolls. Let's get baking."
* * *
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
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I got to the fish market early the next morning, before The Mystic Cupcake even opened. Vendors were still setting up along the strip, and tourists were just beginning to take to the beach. Beach chairs and umbrellas were sprinkled here and there over the sand. By ten a.m., the beach would be covered with them like lichen on a fallen log.
The vendors I was looking for came into view. Five fishmongers were lined up in a row, the smells of the sea rolling off them in thick waves. Some of them were still setting up, others stood ready, just waiting for the crowds to wash in.
The air was warm and only a little humid but sweat poured down Max like a waterfall as he worked. He was busy unloading his fish from a truck. Two younger men, both in their twenties, helped him. They looked so much like him that I knew at once they were his sons. I hung back, not wanting him to see me just yet.
