Wednesday: Scale of 1 – 10, how important is it?
Me: Maybe a 9.
Wednesday: I’m working overtime tomorrow so as long as they give authorization, I can get them done in the morning. What do you want me to test them for?
Me: Ketamine and lotus.
IT WAS A FEW MINUTES past eight in the evening by the time I left Clio’s library, and the skies outside were already dark and unblemished by moonlight. The fog covering the walkway was much thicker, too, but even so it wasn’t at all hard to identify the tall, lean figure coming out of the dense gray mist.
I stopped dead in my tracks. “Paul?”
The fog faded from view as his outline came into prominence, and I quickly suppressed my smile. Even after all this time, it still seemed surreal that Paul also happened to be the Greek god Apollo. The first time we met, he was this mysterious, well-dressed regular at Panda’s who liked to keep to himself. I had secretly called him Mr. Handsome in my head –
And continued to think of him that way, I thought ruefully.
Not that I’d ever tell him that, of course.
“Hello, beautiful.”
Faint color heated my cheeks at the words. Since uttering a lie could literally cause the truth god pain, I knew he had to mean them. And wasn’t that the craziest thing?
Paul took my lips as soon as he reached me, and when he lifted his head, my head was reeling and I found myself absently clutching the shirt under his blazer. He grinned, and I grimaced. It was always like this, and sometimes it made me feel like our days were nothing but a sitcom rerun.
“What are you doing here?” I asked somewhat grouchily.
“Picking you up?” When I opened my mouth to argue, Paul inserted silkily, “That was the deal, remember? Troy and Philip work incognito, but I get to drive you whenever I’m free.”
“And are you really free this often?”
He spread his hands in mock appeal. “Alas, sweetheart. It is time you accept that you’ve fallen for a man of indolence.”
I snorted. Like heck I did. According to Troy and Philip, Apollo was one of the rare few immortals who truly understood the definition of work even though he could get things done with a snap of his fingers, literally.
“Stop frowning, Blair.” His fingers smoothed the creased lines on my forehead. “A boyfriend picking you up from work is not the end of the world.”
True enough, but I just couldn’t stop worrying about how things would look to other people. I wanted the world to see me as his equal, someone who had the strength to work by his side – and not someone he had to cosset like some weak, fragile neophyte.
Even though I really was that, I thought glumly.
“Will it make things better if I told you I came to meet you for work-related purposes?”
My gaze narrowed suspiciously. “You’re not ly—-” I saw his lips twitch, and I stopped speaking. Oh, cast it, Blair Vavrin. Why do you keep forgetting this man was also the god of truth?
“I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth...so help me Zeus.”
A choked laugh escaped me. If anything, those last three words made his entire oath inadmissible, since if there was one thing that Zeus was woefully dreadful at, then it would be his ability to speak the truth. The thunder god, charming as he might be, was an unredeemable philanderer, and I had long given up understanding why Hera continued to put up with his womanizing ways.
When my laughter faded, Paul tipped my chin, asking softly, “Feeling better now?”
I burrowed into him with a sigh, and a pair of strong arms immediately closed over me. “I’m sorry I’m always making a fuss over stupid stuff like this,” I mumbled against his shirt.
“I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t, and that just makes it worse.”
His lips brushed the top of my head. “Your honesty will always be a delight to me.”
Cronos save me, but he really was just too sweet. I couldn’t help but squeeze his waist hard, and Paul laughed.
“Try not to crack my ribs, Agent Vavrin. I can’t have us flying if I’m injured.”
My head jerked up. “Flying?”
Chapter Eight
To my beautiful daughter,
When you grow up,
I pray to the One Above that you do so with grace and kindness.
P.S. Just between you and me, daughter,
I have also asked the Fates for a favor;
Rest assured you will be a much better driver than your mother.
- Letters for the Unborn Goddess: A Compilation
“I don’t know about this, Paul,” I said uneasily half an hour later. When Paul first suggested we join the flying session the harpies had planned for tonight, it had sounded like a good idea. At thousands of feet above ground, with everyone busy minding their own business and no CCTVs to worry about – what self-respecting thief could resist such a golden opportunity to steal some more?
So yes, a really good idea – until I realized it also involved having us take off from the edge of Silver Mist’s highest cliff.
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Agent Vavrin?” Paul teased.
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “Your kind doesn’t die. Mine does.”
He grinned down at me. “Do you not trust me to take care of you?”
“I do, of course—-” I frowned when he started walking away. “Where are you going?”
“I need to get something from my car.” Paul unlocked the trunk of his SUV, and I let out a gasp when he came back into view.
“No way.”
Paul laughed. “You sound like a seven-year-old boy given his first bike, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t even argue. I did sound that way because that was exactly how I was feeling right now.
“Is that...is that...” I gulped. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Go on,” Paul coaxed with a smile. “Touch it.”
It was impossible to resist such an invitation, and taking a tentative step forward, I carefully ran my fingers over the broom’s handle. Wood carved from oak trees nourished by the soil of Mt. Olympus, and as expected, the handle vibrated under my touch, the power contained within its gleaming body overwhelmingly tangible.
My gaze moved to its sweeping tail: razor-sharp blades of grass turned merlot red by the blood of Ancient Greece’s slain heroes. With but a single word of command from its owner, these blades would shoot off lightning speed and strike down its target with the same accuracy and force as one of Eros’ poison-dipped arrows.
It was, in other words, both an unparalleled work of art and an unquestionable killing machine, which was also what one could only expect when the broom had been crafted by the goddess Charis, Hephaestus’ little known but highly skilled wife.
When I glanced back at Paul, he raised an inquiring brow in response. “Ready to take it for a spin?”
Was I?
Witches were only permitted to ride their broomsticks and undergo flight training if they made it to Level 5, but since I was still struggling to pass the mock exams for Level 2, learning how to fly had never even entered my mind.
“Come on.” Taking my hand, he helped me straddle the broom before positioning himself behind me. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” His arms went around me as he took hold of my hands and guided them to the handle. “Ready?”
“Nope.”
“Off we go then.”
“I said I wasn’t reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—-” The rest of my words turned into a scream as our broom dove off the cliff without warning.
Oh my Gaea, I’m going to die!
Paul’s chuckle tickled my ear. “No, you’re not.”
Oops. Had I said those words out loud?
His hands tightened over mine, and following his lead, I gradually gained control over the broom until we were flying upright.
“Now slowly point it up to increase altitude.”
My heart fell to my stomach as I pulle
d the handle until its tip was pointing upward –
“Aaah!”
The broom’s upswing force took me by surprise – it was like losing control of the wheel, and I let out a strangled gasp as I fell back against Paul as it shot up like a rocket.
Oh my Gaea, now we really were going to –
Paul’s hands slid past mine, taking hold of the handle in a firm grip, and in another moment, the broom had once again righted itself.
A sigh of relief escaped me. Thank Cronos I was wrong again.
“Scared?” Paul asked gently.
“Just a bit,” I admitted, “but I’m working on it.”
“That’s the spirit.” I gulped when I saw him carefully release his hold on the handle, and I gulped again as I felt his hands settle on my waist. Brooms and sticks. My heart was racing again, but for a far different reason this time.
For a while, we cruised steadily at 8,000 feet above ground – the average altitude of a helicopter – and only when I had visibly relaxed did Paul suggest we move up to 30,000 feet, thus putting our broom at par with commercial flights.
“We’ll need to move just a bit higher if we want to get close to the harpies,” Paul told me. “Are you up for it or do you want me to take the reins?”
“The latter,” I decided after a moment. As fun as this whole exercise was, I couldn’t let myself forget that something more important was at stake.
Paul had the broom climbing all the way up to 45,000 feet above ground by the time we spotted the group of harpies flying in synchrony, and I quickly pulled my wand out to weave a spell in the air and have it turn into a pair of binoculars.
The device automatically zoomed in as I peered through its lenses, and the letters written on the back of their shirts slowly became legible.
Gotcha.
The harpies belonged to the harpy association that had booked rooms at Hotel Nyssa, and in a short while I was even able to single out Marlee, her wings flapping alongside her friends.
“Will they know we’re observing them?”
“No. This broom is top of the line, and we’re currently flying on stealth mode.” Paul’s tone was calm and confident. “I can get us even closer if you wish?” At my nod, Paul wrapped one arm around my waist, and after pulling me close, he used his other hand to steer the broom down into a nosedive, and my lips parted in a silent scream.
I’m going to die, this time I’m really, truly going to die –
When the broom righted itself again, we were literally flying below the harpies, completely undetected.
And I’m still alive.
Looking up, I took my time studying each and every one of them, trying to see if anyone was showing signs of suspicious behavior. If I could just catch one of them in the act –
Oh!
“Paul?” I pointed to the couple flying several meters ahead of the harpies. “Do you see those two?”
We sped past the harpies, and in moments we were gliding right next to the couple.
Brooms and sticks.
It really was them, I realized with a start.
The harpy whose large wings flapped rhythmically behind his back was none other than Graham, and next to him, seated sidesaddle on an old but majestic-looking broom, was the former queen of the Napaeae.
Chapter Nine
“It’s exactly as you feared.”
Wednesday’s call came in just as I was having lunch at home, and my salad fork clattered against my plate as I sat up straight at her words. “They tested positive for ketamine then?”
“And lotus, too,” Wednesday added darkly.
I knew it.
Correctly reading into my silence, Wednesday guessed, “I take it that’s a bad thing?”
“It’s a major lead, but the implications are bad, yes.”
“Anything else you need to know?”
“Just that for now, thanks. And I’m sorry I had to bother you with more work on a Sunday.”
“It’s not like I’m doing it under duress,” the other girl pointed out, “so don’t stress it.”
Picking my fork up, I absently stabbed a piece of lettuce and popped it into my mouth as I tried to make sense of my newest discoveries.
Just as I had suspected, someone had used the Graeae’s forbidden recipe to enslave both harpies into unconsciously stealing their own belongings.
As for the ketamine found in both crime scenes, magic always left a trail of evidence, and it was the kind that only people with the right skillset, experience, or tools could effectively get rid of.
In Graham’s case, the spell would have had him toss his pipe out of the boathouse’s porthole, after which any individual could have taken the item and made a run for it.
Marlee’s case, however, was more interesting. Evidence of ketamine found on her bathtub would suggest that the spell had Marlee drop the ivory comb into the drainage hole, but as for retrieving the item?
That would be a tricky process, and a very telling one at that. The hotel’s plumbing pipes had to be modified or a trap installed under the drain gate to prevent Marlee’s ivory comb from falling all the way down to the sewers.
Either way, such a plan required time to strategize and execute. Lots and lots of it, and there were only two types of persons who could afford to spend that much time in Hotel Nyssa without arousing suspicion.
They were either working there, I thought, or staying as a long-term guest.
Graham was out on the deck when I reached his boathouse, smoking what seemed like a cheap new pipe, and wary surprise flickered in the older man’s eyes when he saw me. “Good afternoon, Agent Vavrin.” He put his pipe down on a ceramic plate as I came up to join him. “Is this...is this about the blood samples your friend took this morning?” Swallowing hard, he said haltingly, “Because if she found out some unfortunate side effect of my surgery—-”
Oh, so that was what he was worried about.
“Not at all,” I said hurriedly. “But actually, she found something else.” The harpy listened quietly as I explained about the brew that had been used to put him under another person’s spell, and when I was done, I asked quietly, “Can you think of any way you could have been made to drink the brew without knowing it?”
“I...no...” Graham’s shock was made evident by the sudden pallor of his face. “I can’t think...I can’t even believe why anyone would go to such lengths – for a pipe?”
Me neither, I thought. “Was the pipe something you bought or did someone give it to you?”
“Online gray market,” the harpy admitted reluctantly.
Which meant there’d be no official documents to trace its sale history, I thought. So that was one possible avenue of information down, but maybe there was another angle I could look into?
“So, last night...” I cleared my throat. “My, umm, partner and I happened to be flying, and I thought I saw you.”
“That’s right,” Graham confirmed. “I actually went flying with Caren – you know her, right? I hope it’s okay, but we talked about the burglaries. I told her what happened and she told me that a similar thing happened to one of her guests.” His forehead pleated in a suspicious frown. “You think there’s a connection, don’t you?”
“It’s too soon to speak of such things,” I lied, “but that’s one of the possibilities we’re looking into, yes.” I changed the subject then, asking casually, “Did you and Caren get to know each other here in Silver Mist?”
“Actually, no.” Graham reached for his pipe and started turning it around with his fingers. “We met online, a dating website, and when one of the harpy associations booked her hotel, she convinced me to come down here and join their flying party. I used to avoid my kind as a rule, but Caren convinced me that everyone in the group was nice—-” A brief smile appeared on Graham’s lips. “And they really are.”
“I’m glad that worked out for you,” I said sincerely, returning his smile. There were still burglaries for me to solve, but it was nice to know at least on
e good thing had come out of it.
“I’m glad, too. Caren was also the one who recommended the boathouse actually, and I love this place. I hear its owner is looking to sell it, and I’m thinking maybe I could buy the boathouse and move here.”
“That’s, umm, nice.” But my voice was faint, my thoughts dwelling on Graham’s last words even as the harpy went on talking about his plans for the future. Wasn’t it too much of a coincidence that Caren’s hotel turned out to be the location of the first burglary and now Graham was telling me she was the reason why he had chosen to stay at the boathouse, which also happened to be the location of the second crime scene?
There was something here that I was missing, but what?
A memory kicked in, reminding me of the files Lana had emailed earlier – something I had yet to read – and I hurriedly said my goodbyes to Graham. As soon as I got into my car, I got She-Ra to read the files out loud, starting with the case report about last month’s veterinary clinic theft in Portland.
The break-in occurred at 1:34 AM, as indicated by the timestamp on that day’s recording just before the CCTV camera was smashed into pieces. Supplies approximately amounting to $2,500, together with cash amounting to $546.25, had been stolen.
Standard theft, in other words, and no indication that magic could’ve been involved.
A phone number of the responding officer had been listed down, and when my call went straight to the man’s voicemail, I left a message to ask for a return call.
She-Ra was still reading the PDF on Graham Lewis when I made it back to my place, and everything in it so far confirmed what I knew of the harpy and what he had told me himself. He was, indeed, the first successful survivor of gender reassignment surgery for a harpy, and he had also been actively participating in dating websites in the past few years.
The last file attached to Lana’s email was a PDF on Marlee, and my hopes of finding a clue continued to ebb as I listened to She-Ra read its contents out loud. Just as it had with Graham, the file only confirmed what I knew of her and what she herself had said.
A Season of Gods and Witches Page 23
