by R K Dreaming
“Squeak!” I said in alarm. “What the heck are you doing here?”
She had landed on my head, her sharp little claws digging into my scalp. I managed to entangle her with great difficulty, because she was holding on with quite a lot of determination.
“Dratted chicken,” I growled.
Oberon was looking admiringly at the little beast. “I forgot she snuck into my pocket,” he said with amusement.
“That’s what you get for filling it with sunflower seeds,” I chided. “She’s a greedy little thing.”
“I’ll take her back,” he said.
But when he reached for her, she pecked him rather hard, and flew up onto the roof out of reach, from where she glared down at us, and squawked at me a complaint.
“Squeak, come down,” I begged her in alarm. Charming was going to be furious if she got hurt or lost on my watch.
“I think she wants to stay with you,” said Oberon.
“More like she wants to be an interfering little beast and tell him exactly what I’ve been up to,” I muttered, half convinced this really might be the case. I raised my voice and said to her, “Okay, fine. I’ll keep you with me if I must. Just come down here!”
She promptly flew to perch on my shoulder, actually crooning like a purring kitten. It was the most adorable sound.
“Don’t even try to be cute,” I complained. “You’ll always be a pint-sized monster to me.”
After Oberon and Allegra had left, I dug out the wizard’s business card from my pocket, along with the folded up bit of paper with the strange and mesmerising circle drawn on it.
Getting my bearings, I navigated the busy streets of Soho, heading towards the wizard’s shop. It was late afternoon by now, and dark. Even so, I got quite a few curious looks from passers-by which made me uncomfortable until I realised that they were peering at Squeak, who was snoring quietly on my shoulder.
Ignoring them, I stalked along, a doubt niggling me. Polliver could not really be The Reaper, could he? I was fairly certain by now that The Reaper had not murdered Amelie and Rodan. Polliver being in town was just a coincidence.
These past few years it had been my biggest fear that The Reaper might have found out about the existence of my daughter. And that this would give him more reason to come after me and her, since he had an obsession with killing mothers in front of their children.
And now I finally knew that The Reaper definitely did know about Gaia’s existence. He had found out by reading the letter that Gaia had left for me.
The letter was how he knew, I told myself. He could not have been Polliver all along. I shook my head, dismissing the thought from my mind. It was distracting me and I had other things to do.
I was furious at Charming. And worried he knew far more than me about this case already. He had overheard every word of what Polliver and his team said at that restaurant, and all I had heard were frustrating snatches. Not enough to know anything. And Charming had no intention of telling me either.
He thought that he could find the killer without me, did he? He wasn’t going to believe me that the killer was not really The Reaper, that it was someone else? Then I was just going to have to prove it to him.
The kiss crossed my mind again, and I forced it out. When we found the killer, Charming would finally be free of the curse and the lamp. He wouldn’t have to be at my beck and call any more. I bet he couldn’t wait to leave me behind, like just another wish-maker who’d forced him to do her bidding.
I would be better off thinking about what my final wish should be, because I would need to get on with my own life too.
This brought me to a jarring stop, because it hit me that if The Reaper had not killed Amelie, then Charming would be free before I found The Reaper. This was a horrific thought.
What was I going to do? How was I going to deal with The Reaper on my own?
And just like that, my emotions were roiling again, to the extent that Squeak gave an angry squawk, and I realised that I had reached up to hold her, but had squeezed her a little too tightly.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
I had arrived at the address on the business card.
Before me was a small store-front with ‘Gwydion’s’ written in large scrollwork above the window. It looked like a run-down pawnbrokers, from the outside at least. The window display held assorted old jewellery, gold watches and other bric-a-brac. I peeked in the window, but couldn’t see anyone inside. Not any customers, and not Bellamy Gwydion himself.
I dug the wizard’s business card out of my pocket again, though I was certain I was at the right place.
Bellamy Gwydion, Purveyor of Needs.
Rodan Hale must have needed something. Maybe like a new identity so that he could run away with his lady love Dianthe to begin a new life in Sao Poalo.
I expected this wizardly purveyor of needs was going to be a canny chap, who would not be forthcoming with his information. And my psychic powers had shown they were nowhere near what they had used to be.
With a sigh, I pushed open the door of the shop and stepped in. A bell rang softly, and a smooth and very posh English voice said, “Good evening. How can I help you?”
I blinked in surprise. A man was now standing behind the counter. In his mid-forties, his brown hair was peppered with a dash of grey at the temples. He looked good in his brown tweed suit, and I particularly liked the little glasses perched adorably on his distinguished nose. A veritable silver fox, not that he knew it.
I found myself smiling. This man was a world away from the annoyingly smarmy Charming, with his roguish handsomeness, and I was glad to find myself able to appreciate him. Maybe this was what life would bring me after Charming was gone. Someone safe and smart.
Squeak squawked a sound of utter contempt upon my shoulder. And boring, she seemed to be saying.
“Oh hush!” I chided her.
Mr Silver Fox, who had to be Bellamy Gwydion, pushed his glasses up his nose and peered at her.
“Goodness me, a chicken, is it?” he asked. “Rather small one.”
He had a distracted air, as if his mind was still on the dusty leather-bound book in his hand. I was sure that he had not been there when I had looked in the window, and that he had appeared out of nowhere, yet he looked like he had been standing there for at least the past hour.
“I always did have a liking for people with chicken familiars,” he said, but then peered at me more closely, his eyes scanning my tall, lean frame in a dispassionate way, taking in the jeans and short jacket that I still felt slightly uncomfortable wearing, having spent a lifetime in the sumptuous long floaty dresses that people expected oracles to wear.
“But you’re not a, er, yes… never mind,” he observed.
His smile was slightly nervous, as if he was socially awkward, but then he launched into speech. “Welcome to Gwydion’s. I’m sure I know what might have attracted your attention, madam.”
He reached into the window display and, retrieving a case of jewellery, held it towards me with a flourish. It contained various necklaces and pendants, and he picked up a long silver chain. Dangling off it was an elaborately wrought cockerel with a glimmering ruby comb and wattles.
“It was this beautiful piece, yes? Real rubies, you know, exquisitely hand-crafted. It came from a lady who adored her flock. Not an antique, but handmade for her during more prosperous times, and very well-loved. I did think it would catch a discerning—”
He paused. I had slid his business card across the counter towards him. He’d taken a look, and stopped speaking. He put his finger on it.
Worried he might take it, I pulled it away again.
Now he smiled, and a twinkle came to his eyes. He put the box with the necklaces back in the window display.
“Ah,” he said. “I did wonder if a lady like yourself had come here for something a little more out-of-the-ordinary, but one has to be careful. Please, come this way.”
He came out from behind the counter and walked strai
ght through a wall.
I had seen this magic before, but even so, I followed a little warily, putting my hands out before me to touch the wall that was not there.
I followed him through to the other side of the illusion, and emerged into a larger room crammed with shelf-upon-shelf of books and jars and ornaments and witching paraphernalia.
He marched straight to a rack of glass bottles and tubes and vials, all filled with concoctions of different colours and consistencies.
“These have been very popular with ladies recently. Wonderful for all the usual little ailments and inconveniences. I must warn you though, that if you require anything stronger, especially if it needs any slightly more contentious ingredients, I do have to ensure the proper licences are in place before I can make you a batch.”
A small smile spread over my face. “Midlife remedies?” I asked, raising my brow.
He flushed suddenly, and looked discomfited. “Oh sorry, I did not mean to imply…” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat in embarrassment, and gestured around the store. “Perhaps you’d prefer to peruse at your leisure? Unless there was something specific you already had in mind?”
“Actually, yes,” I said. “What I’m after is a key.”
On a hunch, I handed him the slip of paper with the ornate circular symbol on it.
I had no idea if this would make sense to him, but I hoped my false confidence would help. I waited with baited breath as he looked at it.
He did not look confused. He eyed the paper with an expression of severe distaste, quickly folded it up and handed it back to me.
“As I said, we don’t deal in anything contentious or dangerous here,” he said, his smile gone.
He turned back towards the non-existent wall again, one arm flapping as if to usher me out.
“Wait!” I said. “Mr Gwydion, may I call you Bellamy? I know my friend came here, and I only want to speak to you about it.”
“I’ll tell you what I told your gentleman friend. There is no key to that,” he said bluntly.
My heart fluttered. So there was a key and he knew exactly what it was.
I, on the other hand, had no clue, but knew I could not betray this or he would refuse to cooperate entirely.
So I said with perfect confidence, “Of course there’s a key to that. And I’m here because my gentleman friend who came to you asking for it is now dead.”
This had the effect I had hoped for. Bellamy Gwydion looked horrified, alarmed even.
I felt a stab of satisfaction. “The Conclave of Magic is investigating his murder. You may have read about it in the papers. He was the man who was killed along with the actress, Marilyn Hepburn.”
“Good heavens,” he exclaimed. “I had no idea. He never gave me his name.”
I nodded. “So, I take it that the Conclave have not come here yet to ask you about it then?”
There was an unspoken threat in my question. I was letting him know I knew of his association with a high-profile murder, and it was in my power whether I would inform the Conclave or not.
I raised my eyebrow. “Perhaps you and I can have a little conversation about it instead?” I suggested.
“Well!” Bellamy Gwydion swelled up in dignified outrage, and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m terribly sorry to hear about your friend, and if you wish to send the Conclave here, you are welcome to do so. I have nothing to hide!”
Darn it. I had misjudged him and used entirely the wrong approach.
“I’m sorry, Mr Gwydion,” I said in a placating voice. “I think I have misunderstood what is going on here. I did not mean to offend you.”
He looked a little mollified, but was still ushering me towards the exit.
“My friend’s name was Rodan Hale. He was a good man. All I want is your help to find his killer.”
“Then you should have gone to the Conclave, not come here.”
“I can’t. Have you been in Brimstone Bay recently? The local Chief of Police is a buffoon, and the sentinel chief on the case wants to pin the murder on anyone and everyone. I need to find who did this to Rodan and Marilyn.”
“My dear lady, you must give that paper to the Conclave and be done with it,” he said briskly. “Better yet, burn it and never speak of it again. I implore you. You are out of your depth.”
My heart was racing now. The man seemed very worked up. He knew something, and he was a good man who just might tell me if I appealed to his better nature.
“Please will you help me?” I said softly. “I just need some clue what is going on here. I don’t think The Reaper killed them. I think it was something else, but I have no idea what. I promise I won’t disturb you again. Just tell me what you know.”
He sighed. “I do not know what you hope to achieve here. Sometimes there is no justice to be had, if this is what I think it is. My dear lady, this is not some exciting adventure. You are not even a witch. You cannot hope to find these killers—”
“Killers?” I said sharply. “I know I am not a witch, but believe me, I have more than enough experience with this sort of thing. I would not have come to you if I wasn’t desperate. More depends on this than you can possibly understand.”
“I cannot help you,” he insisted. “I wish you had not brought that paper here. You really must leave now. And you should heed my warning to burn it. You do not want to meddle with these people.”
I blocked his way before he could get to the wall. “Clearly you know what this is. I know that Rodan got the key. If he didn’t get it from you, where did he get it from?”
He shook his head. “That’s impossible.”
“It is possible. Rodan had it.”
“You said he was dead.”
“I spoke with him. He said he had it.”
He looked towards his store-front as if hoping another customer would arrive to save him from me. None did.
“I want nothing to do with this,” he said. “I really must ask you to leave.”
I stayed where I was. “I can’t leave until you tell me what you know.”
He contemplated me for a long moment. He took a neatly pressed handkerchief from his pocket and patted his forehead. The worry on his face made me deeply uneasy.
He shook his head. “You said you spoke with him. You meant after he was dead. You’re a Seer then?”
I nodded.
He pursed his lips. “And yet you can’t even see the danger in front of you. So often it is this way.”
“Then tell me. Warn me.”
“I told your friend there was no way on this world or the other of helping his girl. Nobody would make him that sort of key. Not if the girl was the property of the Grey Queen. I said he should take the poor girl back before the fae caught them both and… Well, obviously my warning was futile. He did not listen to me.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “The Grey Queen? You can’t be serious. She’s a myth. If you are going to tell me a story, at least make it a believable one.”
Now it was his turn to huff. “People’s refusal to believe a thing does not make it unreal. The Queen of the Fae is no myth. That symbol in your hand is her symbol. It marks the girl your friend was insistent on running off with as her property. Woe betide he who steals a drop of water from the Grey Queen, let alone a drop of her own blood.”
“So what are you saying? That Rodan was murdered by the Grey Queen?”
I was disbelieving, shocked, disappointed. Was he saying the key was to free a girl from the Grey Queen? I had wanted the key to lead me to The Reaper. That it might not was crushing.
“Nonsense. The Grey Queen doesn’t need to murder people. She has her agents. I imagine in this case that if she had ordered him dead, then your friend would have disappeared without a trace. They would not have left this horrendously messy crime scene, nor wanted all this attention. No, if I had to guess, I would say the fae hadn't caught up with your friend yet. Some other person has murdered him.”
“Who?” I asked urgently.
His mind seemed to be buzzing away, reaching some sort of conclusion.
He looked pained. “Your friend was very persuasive and at the end of his tether. I confess I may have referred him to a contact who may have known someone who could help. Only someone with extremely powerful magic would even be able to attempt to undo a lock belonging to the Grey Queen. Nobody else would dare.”
He held up his hand before I could interrupt. “There is no point planning to go after my friend’s friend. You will never find him or her, and you’ll be barking up the wrong tree.”
“Because?” I nudged him impatiently.
“Because you said your friend already had the key, and to get someone to make that particular key would cost a fortune. It makes more sense to look at where all that gold came from. We are talking of a small fortune, possibly a large one, which your friend did not have.”
“How do you know he didn’t have it?”
“Because of his despair when I told him how much it may cost. He reassured me that he could liquidate some business assets. It would have been fruitless for me to pass on the name of my contact otherwise.”
I shook my head. “This all sounds like an unbelievable story. Rodan seemed so sensible. And smart. Why would he do something this mad?”
He sighed deeply. “That is ever the question. Unfortunately people’s hope and madness are what keep me in business. The things people will risk for their child. It almost makes me feel lucky to not have one.”
My mouth dropped open. I, of all people, knew what lengths a person would go to in order to protect their child. And suddenly I believed that Rodan Hale would have risked stealing his own blood back from the Queen of the Fae. Because Dianthe was Rodan’s child.
Chapter 17
SIGOURNEY
“So what do you think, Squeaky?” I said to the chicken.
I had walked down the block from Gwydion’s to a sushi bar to grab some dinner. Sushi was a delight that my brother Oberon had introduced me to recently.
Squeak, the greedy gobbler, ignored me, so I prodded her gently with the tip of my finger. “Whodunnit?”
