by Beth Lyons
“I heard about the accident, of course.” I studied his face. Farley Edjrest looked like a man struggling with fear.
“Helena’s death has given him quite a shock. She was so young, full of life. No one thought he’d outlive her.” He shook his head. After a moment he muttered, “The Morningstar’s library? They live next door to Nori Hawktite, but that doesn’t make sense.”
I studied his face. “What doesn’t make sense?” He ignored my question so I tried a different tack. “Farley? Tell me more about your father. What’s his day like? Does he get out much?”
With narrowed eyes he said, “I don’t appreciate what you’re implying. The servants have to lift him in and out of that chair, Miss Swift. He can’t stand without help, much less walk.”
Much less strangle a girl and carry her across the backyard and into a neighbor’s house. Farley seemed set on clearing his father of suspicion. He finished with, “Any physical exertion would likely kill him.”
“I’d like to take a look at your father’s house at some point. It would be good to understand the neighborhood a little more.”
He shrugged in response.
I took one more glance at the jumble of brushes, clothes, and shoes that made up Helena’s side of the dressing room and walked past Farley into the hall. “Speaking of your father, he’s not a fan of Sheet Night?”
“My father is an old man. He can’t take crowds like those.” He nodded toward the bar. “Getting his chair through would be a nightmare. And besides, he wouldn’t be able to see anything for the people standing at the stage.”
The beat of the music grew loud. The singer was barely audible over the music and from what I could tell, that was all to the good. “Whose idea was it to invest in the Lamplighter?” I gestured in the air. “Good money in drinks and song, eh?”
“We didn’t get where we are by thinking narrowly. There is money to be made all over the city. One simply needs to keep both eyes open.”
I cocked my head and smiled. “Same in my line of work.”
“If there’s nothing else, I really must—”
“Did Helena have any admirers? If she left the club Saturday in such a hurry, maybe she was meeting someone?” The Helena that I knew, the cold body on the library floor, didn’t excite any admiration, but I assumed that in life she’d had some of the charisma of her older sister.
“No, nothing like that.” He paused and stepped close to me. “Well, tell me, can you be discrete, Miss Swift?”
I’d given up on getting him to call me Vox. “If you got something to say, let’s hear it.”
“It’s just,” he said, “I don’t want this to get back to my father.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. “Discretion is our middle name.”
“There was one young man – I think his name is Byrd – Beltine Byrd, and he had a bit of a crush on Helena. Auggie, the barman, can verify that I have his name right.”
“And this Byrd, he was here on Saturday? Anyone see them leave together?”
“Good lord no! This will sound odd – my father was a bit jealous of Helena’s admirers. She was quite aware of this herself…” His voice trailed off.
“So you’re telling me that if she had a beau, she kept him under wraps.”
Farley nodded silently.
I slid back into my spot at the bar and laid five silver on the bar. “When you get a break,” I told the barman, “I want to hear about Beltine Byrd.”
He shrugged and wiped the coin into his hand. “No break, but I gotta swap out a keg. Come on.”
I took a quick pull on my cider and hurried around the bar. As I followed his lumbering form down the stairs I tried to make myself heard over the creak of the floorboards. “Helena Grimwell and Beltine Byrd. Spill it.”
“Heh heh. You’re the quickest elf I ever saw. Grab that.” Auggie flung a rope at my head and said, “Heard Helena ended up dead.”
“Bad news travels fast.”
“Pull. Yeah, it does.”
“Can I have—” I paused with the effort of helping to pull the full keg out of its resting place. “Can I have my money back?” I grunted with the strain of not dropping my side of the keg. “You owe me, I’m thinking.”
He grinned. “Trying to pin the murder on Bryd? Not going to stick. Helena could have snapped him in half, if she wanted. Had him wrapped up like a bow. He wouldn’t have harmed a hair on her head.” He paused, “I’ll tell you what friend, tough dames, those Grimwell girls… Moneybags up there, he better watch himself.”
“Moneyb— You mean Farley? Farley Edjrest? Are he and Jana…?”
Auggie grinned again as he lifted the keg to his shoulder. “Two peas in a pod, those two.” He glanced up. “But you didn’t hear that from me, yeah? I like my job.”
I followed the barman back up the creaking stairs. Farley Edjrest and Jana Grimwell? He certainly hadn’t acted like a protective lover. If anything he made it seem that he’d been rejected by her. But then a millionaire businessman and a lounge singer? What would his father say to that? Not that Miles would be around all that much longer, and then his son would have not just some of the companies but all of the money and freedom that comes from being your own man.
I couldn’t see how Helena’s murder tied in with my new knowledge about Farley Edjrest’s love life, and maybe it didn’t. Maybe Helena Grimwell dead in the Morningstar’s library was just so much bad luck.
Chapter 8 Seeing Even
After the din of the Lamplighter amateur night, Thornbury’s streets seemed extra quiet. I’d promised reports to both Clarissa Morningstar and Boleian. And that was forefront in my mind as I walked home. I wasn’t sure which one scared me more, the socialite or the wizard. That meant I had to get both of them done by morning. Perhaps I could write the one and then just tailor the other in small ways to fit the audience.
But no, that wouldn’t work. I had almost no information to give Mrs. Morningstar and many interesting things to tell Boleian. Of course I should write Boleian’s report as if Miles Edjrest would be reading it, too. That meant no discussion of the rumor about Farley and Jana’s romantic connection and no mention of Beltine Byrd, Helena’s supposed admirer.
I turned onto Jackton, and ahead I spied a black and white figure I hadn’t seen in months. Even Weymoor’s cat Riksah sat on my top step taking a bath. She’s a big, fluffy black and white cat who makes no bones about people she likes and dislikes. She seems to like me – at least she used to. Why was she sitting on my steps, though? Where was Even?
“Hey Rik. Lovely night for a bath.”
The cat ignored me and continued to lick her back leg. I unlocked my front door. “Are you hungry? I could—” The cat trotted into the apartment the moment I opened the door. “…Make you something,” I finished as the cat jumped onto my couch to continue her bath.
A few minutes later I emerged from the kitchen with a slice of bread and butter. Riksah paused as I sat beside her. “Where’s Even then? Did you two have a fight?” I chewed a bite of bread. “She’s not standing here invisible, is she?” I swiped a bit of butter off the bread and held my finger out to the cat. “You’d tell me if she was here, right?”
Before the cat could move, I heard a knock at the door. “I know that’s not Even. When has she ever knocked?” Wiping the butter back on the bread I stood to answer the door. I wasn’t about to leave the bread within Rik’s reach on the couch, so I brought it with me. “Who’s there?” I called out. After ten o’clock in Thornbury, can’t be too careful.
“It’s me.”
When nothing else was forthcoming I said, “Me who? You can’t just say ‘It’s me’ and expect someone to open their door to you.” I paused. “Certainly not at this time of night.”
“Vox Swift, so help me—”
I opened the door. A pretty young woman with long tangled hair and faded robes stood in the doorway. She looked about my age, but I knew she was much older. “Even Weymoor. What a pleasure to
see you. Do come in.”
“I’m looking for Riksah. Is she—?”
“She’s right there.” I gestured to the couch. “Wait, she was there. She was taking a bath and—”
“Alright, very funny.” Even turned toward the door. “We were heading to St. Albec’s, but Rik disappeared and I thought— Never mind what I thought.” She paused. “You look good, Vox. Sorry I disturbed you.”
“She’s really here, Even. I swear. I just got home, and she was – did she go into the kitchen?” I poked my head into my tiny kitchen, no cat. “She must be in the bedroom.” I took the two steps to my bedroom door. ‘You know how she likes my bed.”
As the words came out of my mouth I regretted them. The last thing I wanted was for Even to see my bedroom. I glanced at the wall and the object leaning against it. At least it was covered.
I heard Even walking toward me. I stepped sideways to block her view of the far wall. Riksah had stretched out across the foot of my bed, her back legs out so that her belly made full contact with the bed. “I guess,” Even said, “she isn’t ready to go to St. Albec’s.”
I might never get a better opening to ask about Marilye Forlone. “You two working on anything special?” I asked.
“Oh this and that,” Even’s tone was airy. “You just getting home? You got a case?”
I took a bite of bread and butter and shrugged. “You hungry? I have nut butter.”
She gave me a shy smile and turned back to the living room. “If it’s not too much trouble. It’s been a long day.” She sat on the couch and unwound her scarf. Three months hadn’t changed her at all. Her hair was still a ropey mess, and her robe had a stain on one knee.
We were being careful around each other. It’s as I imagined lovers would act after meeting again.
I handed Even a slice of bread and sat down heavily on the couch. “Have you found— You haven’t found Marilye, have you?” I shrugged again. “You said you were going to.”
Even was chewing, and she held one finger in front of her mouth. “I’ve seen you, a few times, running around with messages.” She swallowed and nodded. “Good you’re keeping busy.”
“So you haven’t found her? Marilye. You haven’t—”
“No.”
We ate in silence. I heard a thump that indicated Riksah had jumped to the floor. A moment later she joined us in the living room. Even broke the silence. “I’ve been spending time at St. Albec’s.” She glanced quickly at me and looked away. “Trying to, you know, get back some of my cleric skills, I guess. Being a mage doesn’t really suit me.”
“That’s great, Even. Really great. I’ve been working with Underwood. When I can. It’s slow but—”
“There’s a missing girl, Vox. An orphan and I think – I think Rik came here because she knows I need a hand.”
Another case? Sunday morning I had no cases; Monday night and I got two? “Of course,” I said. What else could I say? “Of course I’ll help. How old is she? What do you know? Was she swiped off the playground, or did she run away…?”
“She’s of age. Fara Fram – that’s her name. She turned 18 last summer, but she works at the orphanage – St Albec’s, I mean. She wants to be a teacher, I think. I don’t really know her.”
I nodded and finished my bread. Boleian says it’s best to let people wind themselves down. Often the last thing they say is the most important.
“She’s quiet. Dreamy. Sings in the choir. Not the type to run away.”
“I thought you didn’t know her.”
“Well I know of her! I know what people told me.” Even shifted on the couch, facing me. “I’m sorry, Vox. I get so testy around you. That’s—”
I snorted involuntarily, and then quickly said, “What’s she look like, this Sara Sam?”
“Fara Fram. She’s – I dunno – between my height and yours. Blonde hair. Plain face. Little chunky. Probably just baby fat.” She shrugged. “I’ve only met her a few times. Nothing memorable about her, Vox. Is that bad to say? She might be hurt or…”
“I know that bards have a spell for this.”
“Locate creature. Yes, mages can cast it, too. Didn’t help.”
I thought of Marilye. “If someone doesn’t want to be found—”
“True. Or if someone is now technically a something…”
I shook my head mutely. As usual, she’d lost me.
“If a person is dead, Vox they aren’t someone anymore. They’ve ceased to be – well, they’ve ceased to be. Period.” She paused. “I hate to think that’s what happened, but I have to wonder. I know the spell really well.”
“Locate object then.”
Even shrugged. “Worth a try, I guess, but you know what dead people look like – or rather what they don’t look like. They don’t look like themselves.”
I thought about Helena Grimwell, her lifeless body on the library rug. More than one person had called her “pretty”, and I couldn’t see it. Her buck teeth, the nose, she was, well, she was plain. I felt a little bad thinking it, but Helena illustrated that personality could trump looks.
“Well,” I said, “what have you got? How can I help?”
“She lives at the orphanage, and the nuns have granted me access to Fara’s things. That’s where we were headed when Rik took her detour.”
I stood up and walked to the dark window. “She’s laid up in a little nest with a boy.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Or a girl. Couple of days she’ll be back at work with the little kiddies like nothing happened.”
“I dunno, Vox. She doesn’t sound the type. Maybe you’re right. But I feel like there’s something wrong.”
“You’re worried about this girl? Really worried?” I searched Even’s face, and after a moment she nodded. “She’s just a girl, Vox. She’s spent her whole life at the orphanage. Did she leave on her own? One nun said she’s been secretive lately, but she’s a growing girl! Who wouldn’t want some privacy? But if she left, how’d she get the money?” Even chewed her lower lip. “She’s in trouble.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Will you come with me? To St. Albec’s, I mean. I could use a second set of eyes. I don’t— I mean I’m not as good at this as you. Will you come? It’s close by here.”
“Now? Right now? It’s late, Even. I have these reports to write. Boleian…” I let my voice trail off.
She sighed heavily. “Alright.” She stood. “I understand. Thanks for the snack.” Even looked around the room. “Riksah? Come on, we—”
At her words the cat stretched out on the living room floor. She had her front legs out and her back legs extended. She spread her toes, and I could see the tufts of fur that grew there. “She can stay,” I told Even. “I don’t mind.”
Even looked at me for a long moment. “You’ve changed, Vox Swift. You seem – I don’t know – sad, I guess. And that’s understandable. It’s—”
“Why does everyone keep saying that! I’m just the same. Well, except I don’t wear ties anymore. And that’s your fault! You’re the one who told me to be true to myself. And that’s what I’m doing, alright?” I patted my chest. “I’m being true to Vox.”
“I was just going to apologize, Vox. That’s all.” Even’s voice was low. “I knew you were hurt, that Marilye had wounded you and—”
“I’m not a little girl. I’m not your little orphan girl in need of rescue.” I walked to my front door and opened it. “Good night, Even.”
For a moment Even simply nodded and then she walked out without a word.
I closed the door softly and put my head against the wood. Why had I lost my temper? It wasn’t like Even was wrong. I had been wounded. I’d been used and discarded. Marilye told me to trust her and then… she was gone.
And with each day that passed since that day, my anger had grown. The hole in my heart shrunk while the fire in my mind grew. Marilye would pay. For every time she charmed me, for each kiss, for every lie that fell from her lips Marilye Forlone would pay. “Th
at is a promise.” I said aloud.
To keep that promise though, I had to find her. I had to find a sorcerer who didn’t want to be found, and sorcerers are among the most dangerous of spellcasters. They needn’t have ever studied magic – for which I envy them – and they can bind an animal to them as a familiar. I’d never seen Marilye with an animal, and maybe she’d lost her familiar.
Unlike wizards, sorcerers can cast any spell they know, making them unpredictable opponents. Of course the same could be said of bards. Once we know a spell, we can cast it without having to pray about it or memorize it.
But what does it mean to know a spell? That was exactly what I’d been using my nights to understand.
I slipped off my jacket and tossed it on the couch, unbuttoned my shirt and my pants and walked to the bedroom. What I had to do next required concentration and for that I needed physical comfort. Without glancing at the object propped against the wall I sat on the bed to take off my shoes.
Maybe tonight, I told myself. Maybe tonight would be the night I finally find Marilye. With a sigh I stepped in front of the covered rectangle propped against the wall. I sent a silent prayer to the goddess Shayna and pulled away the cloth to reveal a silver mirror.
Chapter 9 Scrying
Conventional wisdom for a scry spell says that you have to have an ornate silver mirror worth at least a thousand gold pieces. The mirror in my bedroom had cost a fraction of that, but it had quality all the same. At least I thought it did. When I’d failed the spell a dozen times I asked my teacher Helio Underwood about spell components like silver mirrors and ornate rings and perfect feathers. Maybe it wasn’t me – maybe I really did just need a better mirror.
“Be honest,” I said. “Who makes the rules on this sort of thing?”
Underwood stroked his beard. “Where do you think magic comes from, Vox?”
“Can’t I, just this once, get a straight answer?” His only response was to raise one eyebrow. “Fine,” I said. “Fine.” I looked at the wood grain of the bar. “Magic comes from me. Comes from the air, the wood of this bar, the water in that glass.”
