Deadline

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “You still have that potion from the druid that will let you talk to animals,” Peasblossom suggested. “Why not try that?” She pointed at the maple tree in my front yard. “That squirrel is always here. Bet he saw something.”

  My cheeks warmed and I refused to look back at the rodent in question. I’d already used the potion Peasblossom was talking about. I had, in fact, used it to talk to that squirrel. There’d been trouble with a stubborn dryad, and I’d wanted to know if she’d been hanging around my house. The squirrel had been unhelpful, having little to say besides a few snarky observations about how many Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs I’d eaten last spring.

  “I’ll stick to talking to people,” I muttered.

  After a second of hesitation, I got out my cell phone and texted Vera, telling her about the bomb. There was no sense hiding it from Anton. If I was suddenly worth killing, maybe it meant I was getting close. And if I was getting close, she should know it just in case…

  I tapped send, then put my phone into my coat pocket. “Let’s go inside. I need to look through those books again.”

  Peasblossom landed on my head. “Books? What books?”

  I paused. “I forgot to tell you, didn’t I?”

  Peasblossom stomped on my head, sending a shooting pain over my scalp. “Tell me what?” she demanded. “I told you about Dabria, and now you’re saying you had information you didn’t share? This is what I get for spying for you? Do you know how far I flew today?”

  That made me stop walking. “Wait a minute. Cleveland is over a hundred miles away.”

  “I know!”

  “You can’t fly more than forty miles an hour.”

  “I can so!”

  “Not for long distances!” I stopped and took a deep breath. “Peasblossom, how did you get home so fast?”

  She hesitated.

  “How?” I barked.

  “I went to Goodfellows and asked the witch to send me home.”

  I grabbed Peasblossom off my head, barely remembering to be careful of her wings. “You what?”

  “I needed to get home fast!” Peasblossom complained. “She’s a friend of Mother Hazel’s. It’s fine.”

  Frustration tightened my voice, but I forced myself to remain calm. “I thought you didn’t take favors from strangers?”

  Peasblossom sniffed. “Don’t insult me. I traded favors. She said she’d ordered too much honey, and said if I ate the excess, then she’d send me home. Said I had to tell Mother Hazel ‘hi’ from Granny.”

  I blinked. “Granny?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  I relaxed and almost sank to my knees. “You didn’t tell me the owner was Granny.”

  “And you didn’t tell me you got more files!”

  “All right, all right,” I said, putting her on my shoulder. “Tybor Aegis was murdered last night. It looks like the same ritual Flint used.”

  “Really?” Peasblossom kicked her feet as I walked through the garage and let myself back into the house. “So Flint killed a wizard?”

  “I don’t think so. Something just doesn’t feel right. I was hoping if I could find the ritual he used, I might be able to figure out who else could have done it, but I can’t find it.”

  I opened the file on Tybor’s case. Peasblossom hissed, and I cursed and put a hand over her eyes. “Don’t look at those pictures.”

  “I’m older than you,” she said crossly, trying to climb over my hand. “Let me see!”

  It was incredibly human of me to think of Peasblossom as a child. She was so tiny, and so excitable. It was hard to remember that she was, as she’d said, older than me. Still.

  “Why don’t you go get a cookie?” I suggested.

  Peasblossom perked up. “Really?” She hesitated, then gave me a sly look. “How many?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “One. You didn’t have any dinner, and you’ve already had honey.” I wagged a finger at her. “A lot of honey, apparently.”

  “Maybe these pictures are better than just one cookie?”

  “Maybe the offer of a cookie pre-supper is good for the next five seconds. Five, four…”

  Peasblossom scowled and flew for the pantry. There was a good chance she’d eat as many cookies as she could while I was distracted by the files, but I had to take that chance. Priorities.

  Reading the files was better than standing at the murder scene, but it was still awful. My brain was all too willing to provide sensory memories of what that blood had smelled like, what that lingering death had felt like. I read the autopsy report and frowned.

  “No defensive wounds,” I murmured. “Who just stands there and lets someone put a gun to their head?”

  “Are you all right?” Vera asked from behind me.

  I spun around, my heart in my throat. Magic crackled against my skin, my nerves spasming as my brain reminded me of the last time I’d let my guard down in this room. “Blood and bones, please don’t sneak up on me like that!” Sweat beaded at my temples and I put a hand to my chest, willing my heart to slow.

  Vera winced where she stood just over the boundary where beige Berber carpet ended and kitchen linoleum began. “I’m sorry. That was horrible. You were just nearly killed, I should have known better than to sneak up on you.”

  I frowned and looked from her to the living room. “How did you get in?”

  Vera pointed at the floor. A small gargoyle sat on the line between the living room and the dining room. The creature had an almost feline head with thick paws and sharp teeth, like a jungle cat, only smaller and with the ribbed wings of a bat.

  “A gateway gargoyle?” I asked.

  Vera nodded. “Yes. He’s been with Anton since before this world came to be.”

  I nodded a greeting at the small creature. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Shade Renard.”

  The gargoyle’s voice held the echo of stone grating against stone. There was something about the way it said my name that unnerved me. As if it knew me. I shrugged the feeling off and returned my attention to Vera. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came as soon as I got your text.” Vera wrung her hands. “You said someone tried to kill you. With a bomb?”

  I nodded, then paused. “I don’t suppose that’s how the first two people your husband hired were killed?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek, then nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Well, that might have been good to know before.” I sounded pissed, and I was. I pointed to the computer screen. “Flint didn’t kill Tybor.”

  “What?”

  I pointed at the reports lying on my desk. “Flint’s first two victims were shot outside, from a distance of over three hundred yards. They were expert shots.” I lifted Tybor’s file. “In this case, the coroner found particles of soot and unburned powder in the wound track. Which means Tybor’s killer pressed the muzzle of the gun to his head and fired.”

  “That doesn’t rule Flint out,” Vera objected.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think he did it. Tybor had no defensive wounds, nothing to suggest there was a struggle. I don’t think Flint walked in and pressed the gun to his forehead and Tybor just stood there.”

  Vera’s eyebrows rose. “You think someone used magic to restrain him.”

  “Just like someone used magic to restrain the guards,” I said, nodding.

  Vera’s eyes darkened. “Isai could do that spell even without his book. It was one of his more frequently used tricks.” She clenched her hands into fists. “And Isai was the one to research the spell when Anton first discovered what Flint had done. That ritual wasn’t in his spellbook, it was in one of his texts. He would still have access to it.”

  I stared at Vera. “If Isai performed that ritual, he would have access to all of Tybor’s knowledge.”

  “And thus, all of his spells,” Vera finished. She nodded. “I think you may have just solved the case, Shade Renard.”

  I waved a hand, my pulse pounding hard enough that it was
difficult to swallow. “Wait, wait. We don’t have any proof. Flint could have an object of power that would let him restrain someone the same way Isai does—that is not a complicated spell. And if Dabria found out Tybor played a part in warding Serafina’s castle, then she would have the perfect motive for stealing his knowledge. We don’t know it was Isai.”

  “I will share your concerns with Anton when he wakes.”

  She turned and I stumbled forward. “Vera, wait.”

  Vera looked over her shoulder, and I clenched my jaw. “You and I both know what Anton will do to Isai if he believes he’s the one who stole that book. I have to be one hundred percent certain.”

  “I assure you, Anton shares your desire for one hundred percent certainty. I am certain he will refrain from any permanent action until after he hears back from you.”

  I waited until the gargoyle transported her away, the air between my living room and dining room shimmering as she stepped through it, followed by the gargoyle. As soon as they were gone, my shoulders slumped.

  “I have less than twenty-four hours left. I don’t think the vampire likes waiting until the last moment. I need proof.”

  “He doesn’t like waiting, and he’s probably going to like waiting even less when he finds out Vera was hurt,” Peasblossom pointed out. “He loves her, you know.”

  I stared at the pixie. “What did you just say?”

  “I said—”

  I held up a hand. “Wait.” An idea hit me and I dug in my pocket for my phone.

  “What?” Peasblossom demanded. “What are you up to?”

  “The blood.”

  “What blood? There’s blood all over this case.”

  “Vera’s blood.” I looked up at Peasblossom, my heart pounding. “Listen. What if Dabria stole the book? It was locked with blood.”

  “Anton’s blood?” Peasblossom guessed.

  I tapped the side of my nose. “And like you said, he loves his wife. And he doesn’t just love her—he’s bonded to her.”

  Peasblossom’s eyes widened. “Vera’s blood. You think that’s what the confrontation with Isai was about. You think Dabria put on that whole show because she knew Vera would try to stop her and she’d been able to get her blood.”

  “Exactly.”

  Peasblossom gave me a sly look. “Then you owe me a thank you.”

  “Why?”

  “I took it.” She took another bite of cookie, her eyes shining.

  I tightened my grip on my phone. “You took what?”

  “The handkerchief.”

  I paused, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. “What handkerchief?”

  “The one Dabria used to clean her blades. The one with Vera’s blood on it. She tried to be sneaky, tried to wipe it while Vera was getting Isai down, but I saw her. I saw her wipe Vera’s blood onto a handkerchief, and she put it in her pocket.” She puffed out her chest. “And I stole it.”

  My jaw dropped. “You have Dabria’s handkerchief with Vera’s blood on it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why didn’t you say that before?” I demanded.

  “You almost got blown up! I was distracted!” Peasblossom scowled. “Besides, I didn’t know it had anything to do with the case. I like Vera, I just didn’t want that wench Dabria to have her blood. A lot of nasty things can be done to someone if you have their blood, you know.”

  I smiled, so wide that I almost couldn’t talk. “Peasblossom, you are brilliant. Where is it?”

  “I hid it. It’s—”

  “Wait, wait! Don’t tell me. Don’t tell me.”

  She paused before taking another bite of her cookie, looking at me over the crumbling treat. “Why?”

  I sat down at my desk, hands dancing over the keyboard. “If you don’t tell me, then no one can make me tell them. I have a plan.”

  “Oh.” She licked some of the cream off her cookie. “So do you think Dabria killed Tybor?”

  “Probably. I think he was killed to frame Flint.”

  “Then call Anton. Tell him you solved the case!”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. It’s just a theory. I need proof.”

  “I don’t like that look. What are you going to do?”

  I opened my browser and searched for the phone number to the Westin. “I’m going to confront Dabria.”

  Peasblossom squeaked and almost fell off the shelf, dropping her cookie as she scrabbled to stay seated. The Oreo landed on the floor with an explosion of crumbs. “What? She’ll kill you!”

  Pieces of a plan fell into place with beautiful clarity. “Not if she can’t use magic against me.”

  “You’re going to bind her?” Peasblossom scoffed. “You don’t have that kind of control.”

  “I’m not going to bind her. I’m going to lure her into a ward.”

  “Same problem. Your wards are woefully basic—they won’t be more than dense fog for her. For the gods’ sakes, she got through Anton’s wards. You think you can do better?”

  “No,” I said smugly. “But Arianne can.”

  Peasblossom growled in frustration. “You’re not making any sense. Arianne won’t help you. You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kill you just for making a nuisance of yourself.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t have time to explain—I had to start preparations. Dabria’s attempt to kill me had failed, but I wasn’t sure she knew that yet. I had to act before she put any other plans into motion. More effective plans.

  My first call was to Suite Dreams. Only this time, I reserved a room. Peasblossom narrowed her eyes, listening with rapt attention as I made arrangements with the concierge using a fake name. When I finished, I entered the phone number for the Westin. I took a slow, steady breath, staring at the digits on my phone’s screen in black and white. This is it.

  A soft hand on my knee made me pause before hitting send, and I looked down into Peasblossom’s worried face.

  “Is it scarier than you thought it would be?”

  I stared hard at the screen, concentrating on the phone number and not the person said number belonged to. “What are you talking about?”

  “Being a detective. You thought about it a lot, but it’s not the same as doing it, is it? It’s different when people try to kill you.”

  “I’m not afraid. I’m excited.” I tightened my grip on the phone, staring at the number. “I’m about to solve this case.”

  “You’re about to run headlong into an angry sorceress because you’re in a hurry for this case to be over. Flint scared you, and Dabria might have tried to kill you. You want it to be over, but challenging two angry sorceresses is not the way to ensure your safety.”

  “Hence the reservation at Suite Dreams.” I looked away from the phone to meet Peasblossom’s eyes, my own pounding heart echoing the fear I saw there. “The one thing everyone seems clear on is that Arianne is the best at wards. And your spies told you the police are there a lot, and Arianne is paranoid.”

  “So?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “So, a ward strong enough to protect me from Dabria isn’t something I can buy. It’s a talent I don’t have—yet. So I need to borrow Arianne’s.”

  Peasblossom’s eyebrows met her hairline. “You think Arianne will activate her wards to protect you? She doesn’t even like you.”

  “No, she doesn’t. But she’d protect an FBI agent.”

  “Oohhh.” Peasblossom frowned. “No, I don’t get it. She knows you’re not FBI. And your previous attempts at disguises have been nightmares. Remember when you tried to dress up as Catwoman for Halloween?”

  I scowled. “That was a good costume.”

  “You looked like a rat. Everyone said so.”

  My mouth tightened into a thin line, and I attempted to heave the conversation back on track. “I’m not dressing up like an FBI agent. I won’t have to. I’ll have a real one.”

  The wrinkles between Peasblossom’s brows didn’t go away, her confusion still pressed into her tiny forehead. I took advantage of her
silence and called the number before I could lose my nerve. It took very little time for the concierge to connect me to Dabria’s room, and the wretchedly inconsiderate woman answered on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Dabria? This is Shade Renard. Mother Renard.”

  I imagined I could hear her surprise in the shocked silence that followed. My nerves sent a rush of energy flowing through me, and it swept me away before I could fight it, throwing me into a well of bloated self-confidence.

  “I’d imagine you’re surprised to hear from me, what with your little deathtrap in my driveway. So sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Mother Renard,” Dabria started, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “How lovely to hear from you. I’m sorry, I don’t know what trap you’re referring to, but I’m so pleased you’re all right.”

  “Oh, I’m more than all right,” I responded, my voice equally saccharine. “I’m enlightened. You’re the murderer I’ve been looking for.”

  “Murderer?” Frost shattered her sugary tone, leaving her voice ice cold. “Careful, witchling. I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t committed any crimes as far as you can prove. And it seems to me I was the one to turn you down when you wanted my help stealing from the vampire.”

  “Don’t like to do the same trick twice?”

  The sorceress growled. “You are making a very serious mistake.”

  “No, you made a very serious mistake. You made a mistake when you killed Helen Miller. You made a mistake when you stole that book. You made a mistake when you tried to blow me up. And you made a mistake when you tortured the wizard.”

  There was a brief silence filled with the crackling energy of an angry magic wielder. When she spoke again, her voice was the harsh almost-whisper of someone planning violent retribution. “Let us meet in person so you can say these lies to my face—and take the punishment such lies deserve.”

  My hand holding the phone trembled, and I clapped my other hand over it to make it stop. “I would love to meet in person. Because you also made one more mistake.”

  “And what is that?”

  The satisfaction in her voice made me think she could hear the tremor in mine. It was time to fix that. I sat up straighter and stuck my chin out. “You lost your handkerchief. All that effort to get Vera’s blood, and you lost it. And now I have it.”