Bloodthorn

by Tamara Grantham

  “Let me put it this way,” he said. “If you don’t answer my questions, that’s called impeding the investigation. Worse, if you know something and don’t tell me, I could detain you, book you, and—depending on how much you know and how involved you are with the apparent murder—you could serve time. It’s your choice. Either you can sit down and we can have a civil conversation, or you can leave and I’ll have Officer Rakestraw arrest your ass for being an accessory to murder.”

  “Murder?” I sputtered.

  He nodded. “If I were you, I would take a seat.”

  I glanced at the door, then back at the metal chair. Maybe I should let Officer Rakestraw arrest me. How could sitting in a jail cell be worse than this?

  Either way, I knew I wouldn’t get the opportunity to search for the killer, so I sat.

  Brent removed a touchscreen tablet from his briefcase, then pulled out a slim digital recorder, pushed play, and gave me the rundown on privacy laws and such. He asked me the same things as Officer Rakestraw, and I wasn’t sure why I had to answer the same things twice—to see if I changed my story, maybe?

  “What did the body look like when you found it?” he asked.

  I gave him the description and didn’t leave anything out. He raised his eyebrows when I mentioned the flowers in the eye sockets.

  “I noticed the flowers, too,” he said. “Very strange. Do they have any significance to you?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  He tapped a stylus on the table. “Whoever placed the body in your booth arranged it in a ritualistic manner and may have done so to send you a message.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Can you think of any reasons?”

  I ruminated over the last couple of weeks but came up blank. “No. I haven’t really interacted with many people here. I’ve had a few clients, but not many.”

  “Can you remember the names of your clients?”

  “Sure. Mr. Kaufman; Madame Glitter, the palm reader—she visited once; Mr. Duncan’s wife, Ruth—she was a regular client of mine; Eros the Irresistible—”

  “Eros the Irresistible?”

  “It’s a stage name. His real name is Jordan Young. He’s an idiot. He mainly comes by to flirt and remind me of how unattainably attractive he is, but I am somehow miraculously immune to his good looks. He’s come by every day since the festival started. Sometimes twice a day.”

  “Really? Sounds like he’s got a crush on you.”

  “Ha, you’re funny.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “No, I don’t. I’m not sure why he comes by my booth so much, but there is definitely something off about the guy.”

  He wrote something on the tablet, then turned to me. “May I give you some advice? Off record?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  He turned off the recorder, then threaded his fingers together. “I’ve seen some pretty gruesome, sick stuff since I started working these cases. It’s nothing like architecture. When I worked as an architect, my job was in seeing the beautiful—making things that people would enjoy, finding angles and shapes that worked together. Harmony. But now, every day I see the evil side of human nature, and it’s appalling. I’d have nightmares every night if I thought of it too much.

  “Whoever has done this to Mr. Duncan is a sick individual—and it’s my opinion that they’re most likely one of your clients. Olive,” he said quietly, “it’s also very possible that this person is targeting you. Most of your clients have been mentally compromised in one way or another.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Be careful. That’s what I’m saying.”

  I crossed my arms. “Fine. But may I please express my opinion?”

  He smiled, a smirk that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’d give it to me whether I asked for it or not.”

  I rolled my eyes, although he was right. “I know you don’t believe in magic or Faythander, or pretty much anything I’ve devoted my entire life to, but this time, I think you ought to hear me out.

  “There may be a dark creature that’s escaped and is wandering these fairgrounds. I’m not sure what it looks like, or even if it’s real, but there is a possibility that whatever has done this to Mr. Duncan is not of this world. If so, you can’t confront it. Faythander creatures are powerful in magic. Guns won’t have any effect on them.”

  He gave me a condescending smile. “Let me get this straight. There is a monster here that may or may not be real, but you’ve never seen it, nor do you even know what it looks like. There is a possibility—although you have no evidence—that it may be attacking people. And all this doesn’t matter anyway because there isn’t a way to kill it. Do I have that about right?”

  I was silent for a moment. “Yes. Sounds about right.”

  “Sometimes you baffle me, Olive. How can you expect me to take you seriously?”

  “Let me do some research,” I said. “I have some friends who will know more about this. They’re fairies, actually.”

  “Fairies. You mean they’ve dressed as fairies for the Ren Fair?”

  “No. I mean genuine fairies from Faythander.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Why did I skip my coffee this morning?”

  “Brent, please! Let me go. Let me talk to my friends. If it turns out I’m wrong, you’ll have nothing to worry about. You know I’m not the killer. We were together for two years, for goodness’ sake—you know I’m not capable of doing anything like that. Let me go. Let me find out what’s happening. I promise I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “Help? I’m not even sure I want your help.”

  “Yes, you do. You know I can solve this.”

  “You? Awfully bold words, don’t you think? Why do you think you can solve it?”

  “Because I’ve dealt with mental patients for years now. If this really was one of my patients, then let me help you find them.”

  He worked his jaw back and forth, debating. “Fine,” he said, “but only because you know these geeky freaks better than me—and that’s the only reason. Are we clear? I’m not granting you any favors, and you’re still not off the hook. Oh—and you’re not allowed to leave the fair until the investigation is over. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Good. Why don’t you come back when you’ve got something useful to tell me?”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “You’d better. Don’t think that because we were together once means I’m letting you off the hook. You’re number one on our suspect list right now. Help me, Olive, so I can help you.”

  Chapter Five

  I left the office without another word to Officer Sanchez. Outside, the wind picked up. Large thunderheads loomed and lighting sparked through the towering clouds.

  Yellow police tape blocked the park’s entrances, and news crew vans waited amongst a gaggle of police vehicles in the parking lot. Other than that, the place was empty. Fairgoers had been turned away pending the investigation.

  The Ren Fair was losing money because of this—I only hoped they didn’t blame me. I ducked under the police tape and made my way toward the campgrounds.

  Gravel turned to grass as I left the parking area and passed campsites. Not many people were outside. Maybe they were dodging the approaching storm, or maybe they’d left altogether.

  My insides knotted as I approached the yellow-and-white tent.

  Voices came from inside, and I paused before entering. This all felt so surreal. My life had been dull and depressing for the last ten months, but at least it had been predictable. And easy. I hadn’t made any quests or felt the pressure of saving anyone. No one had begged me to save the world. I’d avoided both foreboding prophecies and tyrants trying to kill me.

  But now it was changing again, and I didn’t like it. I needed to ask Prince Terminus what else he knew about the bloodthorn—whether it could have possibly killed Mr. Duncan—and if he knew about the strange purple flowers I’d found in M
r. Duncan’s eye sockets. If I didn’t find out soon, I could be sitting in jail in the near future.

  Mustering my courage, I entered the tent.

  The inside of the tent looked different. For one, it was filled with people. Prince Terminus and Esmelda stood in the center, surrounded by three Wults whom I recognized.

  My heart gave a nervous flutter as Brodnik, Rolf, and Heidel turned to face me. All three wore silver leaf pendants. Memory charms, perhaps? Thankfully, I saw no sign of Kull.

  Good.

  Brodnik looked as I remembered, with his large belly and rust-colored beard. He was Viking in all sense of the word, and he didn’t have any trouble letting you know it.

  Rolf had finally grown his beard and looked much older than when I’d seen him last. The boyishness was gone from his eyes. Instead, he stood tall as he held a spear at his side.

  So, it had been actual Wults I’d seen yesterday and not just my imagination. Praise be! Perhaps I still had a little sanity left in me.

  Heidel, Kull’s sister, had also changed, although I had trouble discerning how. Her appearance hadn’t changed. She still wore the silver breastplate and arm guards around her wrists and arms. Her dark hair was still long, and she still wore it in a braid slung over her shoulder. Her fair complexion, her dark gray eyes—all the same. But when I noticed her weapon, I finally discovered how she’d changed. She no longer carried the goblin blade. Instead, she held a short silver sword, crafted in the typical Viking way with a thick metal pommel and wide blade.

  “Oy, Olive!” Brodnik bellowed as he made his way toward me. “It’s about time you showed up.” He grabbed me in a tight hug, which caught me off guard.

  Rolf and Heidel also clapped me hard on my shoulders.

  “I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” I said as they backed away.

  “Aye,” Brodnik answered. “Rolf and I arrived days ago to scout the area for the fairies. We would have greeted you sooner but thought it best to wait.”

  “How are you?” Rolf asked.

  “I’m doing well,” I answered.

  “You are?” he said, surprised.

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, I thought maybe… after what happened in Faythander… you would be disheartened.”

  “Why would I be disheartened, Rolf?” The kid had a habit of sticking his foot in his mouth. Looked like he hadn’t changed quite as much as I’d thought.

  “You aren’t lonely? You know, without…”

  I crossed my arms, ready to give the boy a piece of my mind, when Heidel spoke up.

  “I am certain she has no reason at all to be disheartened about anything, or especially anyone. Am I right, Olive?”

  I threw Heidel a grateful look. “Yes, you’re right. To be honest, I’ve enjoyed my solitude.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Rolf asked.

  “Positive.”

  Prince Terminus walked forward. “It is good that you have returned, Olive. We’ve much to discuss. My sister and I have prepared a noonday meal. Will you join us?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The three Wults and I followed the fairies through the tent. The room arrangements had changed from how I’d seen them earlier. The vines had branched out to create a larger space. A round table made of a huge mushroom cap took up the center of the room, and seven chairs, made of vines that hung from the ceiling, surrounded the table.

  Deep red roses and bright blue hydrangeas sprouted from the vines, giving the room an otherworldly ambiance. As we sat, food appeared at the table. Fluffy loaves of warm bread, bunches of grapes, honeydew melons, lemon cakes in the shapes of daffodils, candied fruits, and, of course, teacups filled with steaming dark liquid.

  The smell of fresh-baked bread filled the room. Esmelda arranged the food on platters that were made of woven leaves and then passed the plates around. Beside me was an empty seat, and I had a good idea of who was supposed to be in it. I almost inquired after him but held my tongue.

  The Wults fumbled with the food, their hands dwarfing the dainty teacups.

  Rolf’s face wrinkled with disgust as he tasted a flower cake. “Olive,” he asked casually as he set his cake aside, “were any of the booths open today, particularly those that were selling—what were they called—the turkey legs?”

  “The grounds were still closed when I left, but I’m sure they’ll reopen soon.”

  “Let’s hope they do,” Brodnik answered.

  I turned to Terminus. “Have you had any luck finding the starstone?”

  “Yes,” he said and nodded to his sister. “Esmelda has discovered something interesting about her ring.”

  She removed her rose-shaped ring and passed it to me. As I took it from her, I noticed that the rose jewel now glowed red.

  “Why is it glowing?” I asked.

  “It is because we are now in closer proximity to the larger stone,” Prince Terminus said. “On Faythander, if the one wearing the ring ever left our village, the color would fade and only become bright again once the wearer returned. Something similar may be occurring here—which means that whoever has the stone is close by.”

  “How close?”

  “In Earth terms, I would estimate fifty miles at the most.”

  “Fifty miles? So either our thief is here at the festival or roaming through the Houston suburbs. Can you narrow it down more than that?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  Brodnik sat up straight. “We’ve still yet to discuss who has this fairy stone. I don’t know who I should be searching for—and I don’t like being kept in the dark when I’m expected to track someone down. Tell us, Terminus, who are we tracking?”

  Terminus shifted nervously. He still hadn’t told his sister his theory about the bloodthorn, and I wasn’t sure if he’d ever meant to tell her. “We are not sure—”

  “Brother,” Esmelda interrupted, “do not spare us from the truth on my account. I’ve heard the rumors just as well as you. I know what monster we are searching for.”

  “Monster?” Rolf asked. “No one told us it was a monster who took the stone.”

  “It is no ordinary monster,” Esmelda answered. “This is a cursed creature of darkness that wants only despair and gloom to fill the world. It is evil in every sense of the word. It has no regard for the welfare of anyone, mortal or fairy. My brother has tried to spare me from the truth, for which I thank him, but I know as well as he that the rumors are true. The bloodthorn has returned.”

  Esmelda seemed more knowledgeable about this creature than her brother. Outside, thunder rumbled through the sky. Terminus glanced nervously overhead as raindrops began to pelt the tent’s roof.

  “Sister,” he said, “you were not supposed to know of this.”

  “I know more than you realize,” she answered.

  “How?”

  “I overheard your conversation with the fairy council. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to listen in, but after I heard it, there was nothing I could do to change it.”

  “Yet you still came with me. You weren’t too afraid?”

  “Of course not! The creature frightens me, yes, but I would not let my fear stand in the way of returning the stone to its rightful place.”

  “Sorry,” Heidel interrupted, “but what exactly is this beast capable of doing?”

  Before the fairies could answer, the tent flap swung open and a tall, looming figure stalked inside. In the light of the fairy flowers, the shape of a man came into view. No, not a man. A king.

  I swear, thunder actually boomed as he entered the room.

  Of all the people who had changed since I’d seen them last, Kull won hands down. He was leaner for one thing, and his eyes were dark and shadowed. A black cloak billowed behind him, and his footsteps were heavy as he walked inside the tent.

  When he got closer, I noticed his shirtsleeve was torn from shoulder to wrist. Blood dripped from a wound beneath, pooling on the ground. This wasn’t Kull. This was
the king of the Wults. King Kull of the Skullsplitters.

  King Skullsplitter.

  The three Wults stood and then bowed with fisted hands to their chests as he approached.

  Seriously? They’re bowing? Am I supposed to bow?

  It didn’t matter, because he immediately turned away from us to enter the room with the black vines, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

  I wasn’t even sure the man had recognized me.

  “He is unwell,” Heidel said. “Brodnik, where was he?”

  “Scouting the forest. Do you think he was attacked?”

  “I cannot say for sure. Rolf,” she said, “go and check on him.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, he likes you better than us.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He treats me just as poorly as he treats the rest of you. I refuse.”

  I scratched my head, wondering at the strange change in the Wults’ attitudes toward their beloved leader. When I’d been with him last, Rolf had treated Kull like a god. He would have jumped at any opportunity to help him—especially if his idol had been injured.

  I scanned the blood drying on the floor. It was bright red, indicating a possible arterial wound, and the drops were the size of half-dollars, which meant he was losing a lot of blood at a fast rate.

  “He hates me,” Rolf said. “Why don’t you go? You’re his sister.”

  “Ha!” Heidel crossed her arms. “And end up in the dungeons again? I think not. Brodnik, it’s your turn.”

  “Mine?” Brodnik said. “I’ll shave my beard and dress in women’s clothing before I’ll be the king’s nursemaid.”

  “Fine,” Heidel said. “Then none of us will go. Perhaps he doesn’t need us anyway.”

  “Agreed,” Brodnik answered.

  Rolf nodded, and we went back to our meal.

  I tried to ignore the sight of the blood on the floor but found I couldn’t stop looking at it. Assuming he’d been injured in the woods and had been bleeding out from the edge of the forest to the tent—approximately thirty yards—and he was losing about ten ounces per minute…

  I shook my head. Stop thinking that way. It wouldn’t do any good to let my anxiety run wild.