I twirled a strand of my hair and eyed him, wondering just how serious he was. I’d seen him in action at this very party, and I was old enough to know that I didn’t want a drama-filled relationship. ‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘If I’m still here this time next week, I’ll go out with you. One date.’
He grabbed my hand again. ‘Well now you’ve given me even more incentive to make sure you stay. Come on. Do the rounds with me. Show every supernatural in Riddler’s Edge just how fabulous you are.’
I stood up, gently pulling my hand from his and gathering Fuzz into my arms. ‘Maybe in a while. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed right now. I’m going to head upstairs for a few minutes.’
‘But you’ll be back?’
I nodded. ‘I’ll be back.’
≈
I opened up my one suitcase, and neatly packed all of my clothes. I kept one outfit out for tomorrow. My final day, probably. Because no matter what Jared said, I knew there was nothing any of them could do to change Arnold’s mind.
Abby Albright, the woman who most likely was not my mother, had left the magical world for a reason. She knew what sort of man her father was, and she also knew better than to try to change him. I wouldn’t put it past the old guy to go ahead and wipe my memory, and then wipe a little bit of everyone else’s memory so that they’d forget I’d ever been here.
And even though I was falling in love with Riddler’s Edge, I wasn’t so sure that losing my memory of it would be all that bad an outcome. Because if I was going to have to go back to Dublin without finding out who murdered Bathsheba, then I’d rather not have it eating away at me forever.
I soon packed everything that could be packed, but I still wasn’t in the mood to go back downstairs. Fuzz jumped up onto my lap, head-bumping my belly in the cutest way.
‘Whatever happens, Fuzz, promise me that you won’t let me forget you. Sneak onto the train. Sneak into my bag. Do all the sneaky things you’ve got to do, but just … stay with me.’
As I spoke, I realised just how deeply I meant every word. I loved this cat even more than I loved Riddler’s Edge. In a few short days he’d managed to make himself a permanent – and necessary – feature in my life. If I had to leave him behind, I thought my heart might just well break.
‘I know you’ll find a way,’ I said, snuggling closer to him. ‘Because you know by now that I’m kind of in love with you. And I dunno about you, Fuzz, but I would do anything for love.’
The cat purred and head-bumped me again.
‘That’s all Arnold was doing, I guess,’ I rambled on. ‘He was doing it for love. He loved his daughter so much – too much – that he wanted to protect her from the world. He …’ I abruptly stopped talking, as a thought entered my mind.
I stood up, placing the cat on the bed. ‘Sorry, Fuzz,’ I said. ‘But I’ve just had a thought and … well … I’ve got to go and annoy Detective Grumpy Pants about it. I’ll leave the door open so you can get out, okay? Not that you actually need it to be left open, my crafty little cat.’
Fuzz began to lick his paws – a sure sign that he was quite all right on his own – so I ran from the room, sped down the stairs and searched for Greg.
≈
‘I know you’re home,’ I said, banging on the door of the lighthouse and talking through the letterbox. ‘It’s night time, and your car is here. I seriously doubt you’d go out without your car at night if you could help it.’
The door was jerked open, and Detective Quinn stood in front of me, wearing nothing but a towel. ‘I wasn’t ignoring you, you nutjob!’ he barked. ‘I was in the bloody shower.’
‘Oh.’ I did my best not to let my eyes linger on his upper body. Yeah, it was a little on the pale side, but it was ripped. Seriously ripped. ‘Well, what do you expect me to think? I assumed you were being just as rude as you usually are. Are you em … are you alone?’
His hands shielded his eyes, and he stepped back into the hallway. ‘Of course I’m alone. Come in, you idiot. Before I get a rash.’
I stepped inside. ‘You mean a rash because of the darkness, right? Not a rash because I’m irritating?’
‘I’m thinking both are equally possible,’ he drawled. ‘So why are you banging on my door in the middle of the night? Shouldn’t you be off enjoying the party that lover boy is throwing for you?’
He reached a hand up to towel his hair, and my eyes followed the motion. A little hungrily, I guess, because he suddenly said, ‘You know what – hold off on whatever you’re about to tell me until I get dressed.’
‘Good idea,’ I said with a gulp as he walked towards the stairs. ‘I’ll put some coffee on.’
≈
Five minutes later, I was still pawing confusedly at his coffee machine. I had pressed the button that I figured I ought to press, and fiddled about with some levers that looked like they needed fiddling with, but nothing seemed to be happening.
‘What are you doing?’ He appeared behind me, fully clothed, shaking his head and pressing a button that I’d already pressed. ‘You need to switch it on, genius.’
‘I already pressed that button, though,’ I said, then trailed off as the machine went into action. ‘Or maybe I just pressed one that looked like it. I mean, it’s great to have a coffee-maker that looks all sleek and shiny and everything, but a label here or there wouldn’t go amiss.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll get onto the manufacturer. Why are you here, anyway?’
‘Oh. Yeah. That. I was just wondering … did you do anything to discount Donald from your suspect list?’
His eyes bulged. ‘Donald? Listen, I know there are some detectives who think it’s always the spouse. But trust me, this time it’s definitely not the spouse.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, did you even go down that avenue?’
‘No. Why would I? Vlad’s Boys were behind the rest of the murders, and they were behind this one, too. I just have to find the proof.’ He sat into a stool at the kitchen counter. ‘You never saw Donald and Bathsheba together. I did. They were the real thing, Miss Smith. True love. I already told you how they only turned into vampires because they couldn’t bear to be without each other. He could no sooner kill his wife than he could himself.’
I sat down next to him. ‘Detective … I can see the twelve zillion photos of you and the beauty queen all over this lighthouse, so I know you know what love is. And love like that – big love – that’s exactly why I think it was Donald. Bathsheba couldn’t bear being a dayturner. She told me as much on the train. She said she hated her condition. And she told me that her husband made her the coffee in her vacuum flask. Did you even test that flask?’
He shot me the sort of look that seemed to say: I didn’t think I could find you more irritating than I already do, but it turns out I was wrong.
‘Miss Smith, why in the world didn’t you mention this flask before?’
My mouth hung open and I shook my head. ‘I did!’ I spat. ‘I mentioned it just before you had Gretel shoo me out of the dining car. I assumed that even though you hated me on sight, you would have at least followed a viable lead.’
He stood up and gripped the countertop, his skin turning even paler than usual. Well, now I had no idea what he was thinking, but seeing as he was probably thinking it about me, then I doubted it was pleasant.
‘I don’t hate you,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘I thought I explained already. I was keeping my distance because I was annoyed about what Arnold was doing.’
I gritted my teeth. He wasn’t that annoyed. If he was, he would have been at the party tonight, doing what Jared and the others were doing – trying to find a way that I could stay. ‘Whatever. Look, why are we arguing about this?’ I said, brushing my irritation aside. ‘Did you test the flask or not?’
He swallowed. ‘I … I don’t even remember seeing a vacuum flask. I mean, I vaguely remember you babbling about something when I was telling Gretel to get you out of the dining car but … no. We didn’t take a flask into evi
dence. Are you sure you saw one? I mean, we went over the place with a magical tooth comb. Maybe you imagined it.’
‘Oh, you did not just say that.’ I stood up and glared at him. ‘I’ve been accused of imagining things all my life, Detective Quinn. Those people were wrong to accuse me, and you’re wrong now. There was a flask. And if you’re struggling to think of where it could have gone, then I suggest you go into a different line of work. I’ve only known about this world for a few days, and even I know how quickly vampires can move, how they can vaporize themselves, get in and out of anywhere without being seen. Just remind me again? What manner of supernatural is Donald?’
He clenched his jaw. ‘It wasn’t Donald. I’m sorry, but it just wasn’t.’
I opened up my bag, my hands shaking with anger. ‘Greg let me borrow his laptop,’ I said, trying to keep my voice calm while I pulled the computer from my bag and switched it on. It booted up quickly, and I found Greg’s photo folder, then opened up a picture of Donald and copied it into the aura-matching program. ‘Greg used one of his aura filters when he took Donald’s photo,’ I explained. ‘He had no intention of testing Donald against the murder scene. He wanted to see if grief had an effect on a person’s aura.’
I glanced at Detective Quinn while I worked. His jaw was still clenched, and I could tell that he wanted me to be wrong more than anything. Had I really believed this conversation would go differently? I knew he hated Vlad’s Boys, and I couldn’t say I blamed him, but I had hoped that he would at least take me seriously.
I had defended him to Arnold. To Jared, too. And right now I had no idea why. Maybe he was inept. Maybe he couldn’t see far enough past his hatred of Vlad’s Boys to be able to do his job. I quickly finished typing in the commands Greg had written down for me, and looked up at the detective as the aura-matching program began to run. ‘We’ll soon know whether I’m imagining things or not. Won’t we?’
As I spoke, his face was growing paler than ever. I looked back at the screen, and I could see why. It read: One hundred percent match.
He swallowed, took a set of keys from a bowl on the counter and tossed them my way. ‘I’m going to go grab my night gear. Start the car.’
≈
‘Explain to me again why I’m driving?’ I asked as I sped erratically along the forest road. It was ages since I’d driven, but I doubted regular practice would improve my skills behind the wheel.
‘Because I have a million calls to make,’ he replied agitatedly. ‘I need to get a search warrant. I need to get the Wayfarers there, too, in case Donald tries any tricks. I’ll need to get a Potions’ expert, as well. Because even if we do find the Thermos, we’ll need to test it for Night potion. And I’ll want to have that done straight away, so I’ll have to try and get someone into the lab. And–’
He realised that I had slowed to a stop, and his babbling halted along with me. ‘What? Why are you stopping? We need to get there. We need to search his house.’
I turned off the engine and looked at him. ‘Detective, do you really want to go off half-cocked again?’
‘Half-cocked?’ His voice went a little high-pitched. Oh dear, I did seem to be developing a habit of saying exactly what he didn’t want to hear. I might feel bad about it, sometime in the future when he stopped being a pig-headed idiot. ‘Again? You mean like with Gunnar, right? You know what, you really will fit in at Arnold’s paper, seeing as all the old goat ever does is accuse me of being bad at my job.’
‘Whoa,’ I said, glaring at him. ‘If you want people to stop accusing you of being bad at your job, then maybe you should get your head out of your behind, stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with being good at your job.’
I bit my lip, gripped the steering wheel, and wondered if I should just get out of his car right now – because if I didn’t, he was probably going to throw me out.
‘I guess I deserved that,’ he said quietly.
I cleared my throat. It seemed safer than responding.
‘I do feel sorry for myself,’ he went on, his voice still quiet. ‘I never thought I’d be the sort of guy for self-pity, and yet here I am.’ He turned in his seat, and I got the feeling that, somewhere beneath all of that night gear, he was looking right at me. ‘Someday I’ll tell you how I became a dayturner. Maybe then you’ll get why I hate Vlad’s Boys so much. But you’re right – I need to stop feeling sorry for myself, because it is affecting my job. Miss Smith … Aisling … how do you want to play this?’
I looked at him. ‘Whatever Donald did, I believe he did it for love. So I’d like to try, oh, I dunno – maybe talking to him.’ I held my hands up. ‘Before you argue with me, hear me out. You can call your people, have them on standby. But I really believe that talking to him is the best way to go. And in a few days’ time I’ll be miles away from here, working for the Daily Dubliner again with no idea that any of this ever happened. But you’ll remember. You’ll remember tonight. So tell me, how do you want to remember it? You want to recall yourself as the guy who couldn’t at least give me one win before I get magicked back to Normalsville?’
For some reason, he was shaking a little. He seemed to be … no … he couldn’t be. ‘Are you laughing at me?’
A great big bellow escaped his mouth. ‘I’m trying very hard not to. But you really are hilarious. Come on. Start the engine back up. We’ll do it your way.’
I held out a hand and wiggled my little finger. ‘Pinky swear?’
I was sure I saw him do an eye-roll behind those sunglasses, but he caught my finger in his. ‘Pinky swear – you madwoman. And by the way, I’m going to do my best to make sure you get to stay.’
≈
All the lights were blazing in Donald’s house. I could see him through his window, sitting by the fire, sipping a glass of something red and viscous and crying into a photo album.
He looked up as though he knew we were there, and left his seat. A moment later, he drew open the door.
‘I know why you’re here,’ he said. ‘And I’ll come peacefully.’
The detective’s eyes grew round. If this were a less upsetting situation, I might be feeling the urge to gloat.
‘She asked me to do it,’ Donald went on. ‘But that’s not really what matters, is it? I heard that a young man from Vlad’s Boys is your chief suspect. I know what they are. I know what they stand for. Gunnar was always horrible to my wife, and that group do poison dayturners, I know they do. But even if Gunnar and his group killed those other dayturners, they didn’t kill my wife. I just wanted one more night, here with my photos of my Bathsheba, before I handed myself in.’ He gave us a shaky smile. ‘She made me promise not to follow her to the afterlife,’ he said. ‘That’s why she insisted on the Night potion. So it would look like the other deaths. No one would know I did it, and I could go and live my life without her.’ He wiped his eyes and blinked back tears. ‘But I don’t think she knew what she was asking of me. I can’t let that young man take the fall – no matter what sort of person he is.’
23. The Test
It was late on Friday afternoon, and I was sitting across from Grace, twiddling my thumbs while she checked her make-up in the mirror. I wasn’t sure why it needed so much attention, seeing as it looked just as perfect as always.
‘Just tell me you hated my story,’ I said. ‘I’m a big girl. I can take the criticism.’
She looked up, her eyes wide. ‘Why would I tell you that? It would be a lie.’ She put her mirror on the desk and pushed it across to me. ‘In case you were wondering, I wasn’t checking my make-up,’ she said. ‘It’s another Aurameter. Different design.’
I picked it up and looked into it. Instead of my reflection (which was, no doubt, absolutely horrendous) I saw Grace, surrounded by that same golden light.
‘I still can’t see any power when I look at you,’ she said. ‘But everything that you’ve done since you’ve been here … it made me want to see something, so badly.’ Her long lashes fluttered. ‘You look so much like h
er, but so did the other three girls. It was never about looks. They might have had the right colouring, but they were nothing like Abby. You are.’
I looked down at my hands. I didn’t want to hear that I reminded her of Abby. Because the more I heard it, the more I might dare to hope. And to hope I was related to a dead witch? That was the sort of hope that was going to bring nothing but misery.
‘Anyway,’ she said, her voice sounding strained. ‘That hardly matters, does it? Arnold chose you for the same reason he chose the others – because you are like Abby. He, um … he read your piece.’ She reached for a handkerchief. ‘Excuse me. Allergies. Anyway … it really was more than satisfactory.’
‘Oh.’ I turned the latest Aurameter over in my hands. ‘Good. Satisfactory is … good.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, it is. Now. He wants to meet with you again this evening. For the final test. It’ll take place at his home in Riddler’s Cove. I thought … well … I thought maybe I could accompany you?’
I gave her a grateful smile. ‘That’s a nice thought, Grace. But I need to do this alone. And, em … is there anything else you want me to work on for the rest of the day?’
She shook her head, golden curls bouncing. ‘I think you’ve earned an afternoon off, don’t you?’
≈
I didn’t know how to feel as I walked through the Wandering Wood. All my life I’d convinced myself I didn’t care who my mother was, or why she’d left me in front of the hospital. I told myself that what mattered was who I was, and who I became. I told myself that I was perfectly fine on my own.
Sure, the fact that so many foster families had dumped me had probably made me a little unsure that I was perfectly fine. But it had made me get used to the fact that I was born to be alone.
A Magical Trio Page 30
