by R K Dreaming
I had reached for the door handle, when the sound of an approaching voice made me pause. It was low and furtive. I didn’t need my psychic music to make the hairs on the nape of my neck prickle.
Instantly I recognised Bridgit’s breathy tones. “Through here,” she was saying to someone.
The person she was with groaned in discomfort.
I retreated swiftly back into the last of the two toilet cubicles, quietly locked the door, and stood in silence as Bridgit came into the bathroom.
It sounded like she was helping someone else into the room. Someone heavy with a shuffling gait. I heard the person groan deeply as they collapsed heavily onto the soft velvet chaise longue. Bridgit’s heels click-clicked over to the outer door and locked it shut. She heaved an audible sigh of relief.
A man cleared his throat and mumbled, “It should’ve been fine. I must have forgotten to take a dose.”
It was the minister. His jovial booming manner was gone. He sounded querulous and old.
“You really should have taken my advice, my dear,” said Bridgit, her breathy little voice displaying only the tiniest hint of distemper. “I can recommend a very discreet young girl who can take care of your needs. We can say she is your new junior assistant.”
“Why would I want that, when I have you?” the minister said.
I heard him grab her, and her squeal of dismay.
“No, no, don’t do that! You’ll spoil my dress.”
“But darling, I need you,” he moaned.
“I know. That’s why I brought you here,” she complained, still in that sweet voice. “But only take a little. Just enough to get you through the next few hours. Not too much.”
“But darling, you’re so delicious,” he wheedled.
“No, don’t kiss me,” she cried out. “Not like that. You’ll ruin my makeup!”
“But I like it like that,” he said.
There was a series of snuffling noises that I found very distasteful, but I stayed still and quiet, hoping they would talk some more.
And then a tiny wheezing noise came from my shoulder. I turned in alarm to see Squeak squatting and straining.
Oh no! What in heavens did she think she was doing?
“Seriously? Right now?” I mouthed to her, but she did not stop.
As the two outside continued to snuffle and fidget, Squeak continued to strain and wheeze, like a very quiet whistle. And then to my dismay, an egg popped out, rolled over my back and splattered on the tiles beneath.
I stared at her in horror. She opened her beak to squawk that cackling horrendously loud egg song, and I had to snap my fingers over her beak to clamp it shut.
“Don’t you dare!” I mouthed.
Outside my cubicle, Bridgit snapped, “That’s enough, Tiberius!” Her voice swiftly returned to beguiling and soft. “You know how you get. And we can’t afford for that to happen tonight. Imagine if it got out that you were unwell. The press might take it upon themselves to investigate. And we don’t want them finding out about your little problem, and all the trouble it’s caused.”
“No, not that. I couldn’t bear it,” said the minister. “The shame. I’d be hounded out of my position, forced to retire.”
I grimaced. Tiberius Ossias was one of those incubae who needed to feed at indecently frequent intervals because he could not regulate his energy levels and consumption. People called them leeches, because they needed to take a feeding mate wherever they went, sometimes even needing to feed in public, which many people found obscene. And Bridgit Corkmony was feeding the minister’s uncontrolled Hunger like he was a spoiled infant.
It was a sordid secret, but no reason to murder Rodan. I felt horribly disappointed.
“Yes dear,” she soothed. “But don’t you worry. It’ll be our little secret that you can’t regulate your energies. People would think it was so unseemly.”
“But I’m not dangerous,” the minister sulked, sounding like a petulant boy.
“No, you're just my sleepy teddy bear,” she crooned. “But society will never understand that. You know how they think.”
“Just a little more,” pleaded the minister.
I grimaced at the moaning, whimpering sounds of pleasure that he made. Intermittent impatient sighs came from Bridgit.
Finally she shoved him off. “No, Tiberius. If you take too much at once you’ll fall asleep.”
My mouth dropped open.
My pity for the minister turned to disgust.
That explained everything!
In his urge to cover up his own physical weakness, Tiberius Ossias had done the unforgivable.
The night of the murders, he could have fallen asleep after an overindulgent feeding. What if he didn’t know if Bridgit had left for some hours that night? What if he’d given her a false alibi because he was too ashamed to admit to his sickness!
Which meant Bridgit could have killed Rodan and Amelie. And Bridgit was cleverer than anyone gave her credit for.
And I had no way of proving it.
Chapter 21
CHARMING
By the time Charming tracked down Garrett and Noah Clooney, the men were already inside the Mayor’s Ball.
Charming eyed up the security team outside the mansion, who seemed extra vigilant, doubled checking the invitations of late arrivals.
Even if he had been in his normal form, he was unsure if he’d have been able to con his way inside Hardwick Hall.
But the potion he had taken had not worn off yet and he still looked like Antoine. He didn’t know which of these cops might recognise the sentinel.
Worse, Antoine had questioned the Clooneys. They would clam up the moment they laid eyes on him.
So how to find out which of the Clooney cousins had murdered Amelie?
An idea came into Charming’s head that made him smile. He called Oberon, who answered immediately as if he had been waiting for this very call.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You absolutely need my help and cannot do without it?”
Earlier Charming had told Oberon that he was too busy to talk and hung the phone up on him.
“Yes, actually,” said Charming. “Can you get over to Hardwick Hall?”
“Er, bit of a problem,” said Oberon. “I already gave Sigourney the spare invite.”
“Darn it,” muttered Charming. “What is she up to?”
Oberon did not know, and Charming felt a flash of alarm. What if she was on to the Clooneys too? He had to get to the killer before Sigourney did.
“Just get here, would you?” said Charming. “I’ll find some way to get you in. And bring a fancy dress. The women in your house must have some, right?”
He hung up before Oberon could ask why.
While he waited, Charming phoned Bridgit Corkmony.
She answered the second time he tried, saying breathlessly, “Hello, how can I help?”
“Bridgit, this is Chief Polliver. Remember me?”
There was a short silence and then she said, “You mean the first one. The fake one?” There was a hint of accusation in her tone.
“I’m afraid so. Don’t be angry. You must have realised by now how annoying the real Polliver is. I was only trying to get ahead of him on the case.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she said abruptly, sounding every bit like she was going to hang up the phone.
“Wait,” he said quickly. “I haven’t told anyone about your little secret, if that is what you are worried about?”
She hesitated. He could imagine her nervously chewing her lip, considering his words.
“Just give me a moment,” she said.
He heard her heels clicking on the flooring underfoot as she hurried to find a more private spot.
“I can speak now. Are you threatening me?” She sounded tearful. Afraid.
“Of course not. I think you’re doing admirable work freeing those enslaved sprites. But I do need your help. You’re inside the Mayor’s Ball right now, aren’t you? Can you
get one of my friends in?”
“Most certainly not!” she protested.
“But you’re the Trade Minister’s girlfriend,” said Charming. “I’m sure you can do whatever you set your mind to. I would really appreciate it.”
It took some cajoling, but in the end, Bridgit said, “Maybe. But this isn’t going to get me in any trouble, is it? The Hardwicks will not like me letting sentinels into the ball.”
“Don’t worry. My friend isn’t a sentinel.”
“What is your friend going to do?” she said nervously.
“Find a murderer.”
She gasped. Her voice went shrill. “You mean among the guests here? If you think that, you’re very much mistaken. The Reaper could not be one of these people!”
“Maybe he could. Let me worry about that. You do want to get justice for Rodan, don’t you?”
“Of course I do!” She sighed. “But… It’s not anyone terribly important is it? Tiberius would be so annoyed at me if you harassed one of his friends!”
“Is Tiberius friends with Hollywood stars?”
“Oh.” She gave a relieved laugh. “Not anyone political then. You really think you’re close to getting Rodan’s killer?”
“Let’s just say we need to question someone urgently.”
“I see. I shouldn’t really do this, but I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t help poor Rodan. I have a spare ticket that Tiberius donated to my charity. You could make use of it?”
“Thank you, Bridgit. I owe you one.”
She laughed gently. “You could take me to dinner some time. You’re an interesting man, Mr Mystery Sentinel.”
“But you’re not a single lady.”
“Ah, yes, there is always that.” She sounded wistful. “Please ask your friend not to make a big fuss? Tonight’s a big night for Tiberius. Whoever you need to question, if you could just persuade them to leave the ball first, I would really appreciate it.”
“We’ll do our best,” said Charming.
After agreeing she would dispatch the spare ticket with a servant, Charming hung up.
Oberon arrived shortly afterwards, dressed to impress in his tux, and eyed up the Antoine-looking-Charming most suspiciously when he insisted he was Charming.
“Where’s your favourite friend?” he demanded.
“Squeak’s with your sister, making a fool of her,” said Charming. He cracked a grin. “Did I pass the test?”
Oberon rolled his eyes.
Charming quickly recounted his findings about the Clooney cousins to Oberon.
“So what are you thinking?” said Oberon. “You and I head in there and persuade the cousins it’s in their best interests to come with us?”
Oberon raised an eyebrow, as if to say this was never going to work.
Charming gave him a wicked grin. “Ever heard of a honey trap?” He told Oberon what he planned.
Oberon looked down at the slinky dress he was carrying. His face fell. “No way. Not me.”
Chuckling, Charming waved a small bottle of the potion the witch had given him in front of Oberon. “Trust me. It’s the only way. Or are you too much of a man to be a woman?”
Oberon groaned as Charming uncorked the potion and carefully put a long strand of glinting blond hair into it, and shook it up. The potion turned a pleasant pale blue.
“Lucky you,” muttered Charming.
He handed Oberon the potion and shoved him into a thicket of bushes.
Ten minutes later, a woman emerged.
Charming’s first instinct was to laugh
His next instinct was to swallow hard.
Oberon gave Charming a twirl and said, “What do you think?”
Charming thought Oberon looked the spitting image of his mother. Of how Amelie must have looked back before she’d transformed herself.
Her hair was a gleaming deep brunette, falling in elegant waves around her face, which was so like Marilyn’s. Yet the jaw and nose and cheeks were a little more chiselled than Marilyn’s soft ones. Thick lashes framed her deep-brown almond-shaped eyes, that looked so like Marilyn’s blue ones.
She wore a full-length golden ball gown that draped lovingly to her curves. A mink was clasped around her elegant shoulders with a glinting diamond brooch.
The overall effect was that the woman before him looked nothing like Marilyn, and yet everything like Marilyn. Because this was who Marilyn had been underneath her disguise.
Charming almost told Oberon he looked like his mother. But Oberon had no idea of who Charming really was, or his relation to Amelie.
“You’ll do,” he said huskily.
“So I’m supposed to walk in looking like a dead woman, and what?” said Oberon. “You think the Clooney cousins will come running?”
Charming shook his head. “You don’t look exactly like her. Amelie changed her appearance to become Marilyn. You look just enough like the woman they loved to make this work.”
“Or it’s going to freak them out.”
“Or it’s going to work. Men always want what they can’t have. She’s dead now,” he added bitterly. “They can’t have her anymore.”
He handed Oberon a listening device he had stolen from the sentinels. “Stuff it in your ear. We’ll be able to hear each other.”
Oberon went back into his car, a very nice blue Jaguar, and drove a little further up to the parking valet, tossed his keys at the man, and headed inside, navigating the red-carpeted stairs precariously in his high heels.
Charming loitered in the bushes outside Hardwick Hall, frustrated at being unable to at least prowl.
Had he not already taken a batch of potion earlier, he would have much preferred to be doing Oberon’s job himself. He hated waiting.
At least the audio feed from Oberon was coming through crystal clear. Shortly after entering the hall, Oberon murmured into his hidden mike, “I’ve got eyes on the prize.”
“Which prize?” growled Charming.
“Both prizes,” muttered Oberon. “Gonna walk right by them.”
Then a minute later, “Done. The bees have noticed the honey.” He sounded amused.
A little later he said, “I’m at the bar. Might have been better if you’d come with me. Need a man on my arm to make them jealous, to want to win me over… Problem is Garrett’s wife is here. Clinging to him like a limpet.”
“Darn it,” muttered Charming.
Oberon then proceeded to flirt in a giggling girlish voice with every man at the bar. It took all of ten minutes for Garrett Clooney to come over to buy him a drink.
“But I’ve got one right here,” Oberon said, giggling.
“Yeah, she’s already got one,” said the other guy Oberon had been flirting with, trying to sound threatening.
Charming wished he was there to see it.
Oberon was one chilled out fella, playing a lady without batting an eyelid.
“Don’t gush too much,” Charming whispered into his microphone. “Amelie wasn’t the gushing type.”
“Goodness me,” said Oberon. “I never thought I’d meet Garrett Clooney himself tonight. It’s enough to make a woman gush!”
“Idiot!” Charming muttered.
He was pretty certain Oberon was batting his eyelashes at Garrett Clooney right now.
“Where’s your wife, Clooney?” said the other pugnacious man.
“Where is your wife?” cooed Oberon.
“Never mind my wife,” said Garrett smoothly. “A lady like you deserves a special drink. Not that swill.” He arrogantly ordered the barman to make up a drink to his specifications.
“So tell me,” he said to Oberon. “You must be a succubus, am I right?”
“Nuh-uh,” Oberon said in a teasing voice. “Guess again.”
“It’s none of your damn business what she is!” snapped the other guy.
“Oh hush, darling,” chided Oberon. “Let the nice man guess.”
“Well, in that case you’re a sprite. You look delicious enough
to be one. Water sprite, right?”
“Nope.”
“Not a wood sprite. Can’t be one of those. You’re too foxy.”
Oberon slapped his wrist loud enough for Charming to hear it. “Don’t be like that, silly! I know one or two gorgeous wood sprites.”
“Yeah, but wood. It’s so boring.”
“Maybe I’m a goblin,” he cooed. “How would you like that?”
Garrett Clooney burst into laughter. “No way, honey. Don’t say that. Now I need another drink. Barkeep! Get me another one of these.”
“Oh hush. You’re terrible, you are.”
“You sure you don’t have succubus blood? You look like someone I know.”
“Is that right? Anyone I know?”
“Take a guess…” said Garrett. “No? Let me give you a clue… Ma…Ri—”
“Marilyn Hepburn!” Oberon screeched. “Oh my gosh! People tell me that all the time! And you knew her? Of course you did. I read it in the paper. The secret wedding to your cousin. How exciting. But how terrible, what happened to her! The Reaper! It just makes me shudder to think of it. But so exciting!”
“I suppose you could say that,” Garrett Clooney crooned. “I’ve had an interesting few days.”
“Oh you poor darling! Tell me everything,” Oberon demanded in a scandalised voice.
“Maybe later,” Garrett said.
“You can’t tease me like that!” Oberon squealed in excitement. “Was she having an affair with The Reaper? Do you know who he is?”
Garrett Clooney chuckled. “If I did, do you think I’d be alive right now?”
“Gosh, how scary. So did you know Marilyn well? Don’t tell me you dated her? I bet you dated her before Noah!”
“She wasn’t my type. And anyway, I wouldn’t want to trespass on my cousin’s territory. Even if the poor boy wasn’t quite up to scratch for a gal like that.” He sounded a tad bitter.
Oberon knew exactly what to do with this. “He’s just your assistant, isn’t he? He totally lucked into marrying Marilyn. You would have been more her type, I’m sure. More suave. More sophisticated. Just what a woman likes.”
“Maybe she did,” Garrett said in a smug voice.
The other guy spoke up loudly. “Look Clooney, there’s your wife coming out of the powder room. She’s looking for you.”
