Moggies, Magic and Murder

by Pearl Goodfellow

  He smiled. “Clever girl who knows royalty…where, pray tell, did you first hear of me?”

  “Actually,” I said, not wanting him to get the sort of inflated ideas about me that Hinrika already had. “Eclipse, here told us that we were here to see the Autumn King. So, as you’re sitting on a tree throne. It didn’t seem like that big of a stretch.”

  The Autumn King spread his hands. “Indeed, indeed. Cait Sidhe words you did heed.”

  I remembered something then. “As far as I know, the Ankou were the last people to die in any given year. They then became something like the grim reaper in the afterlife.”

  “In my honor are such spirits named,” Ankou affirmed, sitting back down. “But the process is trickier than claimed.”

  “Well…no offense, cousin Ankou,” Fraidy said carefully. “But you Unseelie’s don’t work that hard at inspiring your own bad press.”

  Ankou returned Fraidy’s observation with a shrug that looked positively French in its indifference. But, I was stunned by how Fraidy had so casually mentioned that our host was of Unseelie blood. Ankou noticed my shocked expression. “Yes, Hattie dear, I am Unseelie,” he said lightly. “ And, your previous visit here is now known to me.”

  “Baphomet,” I guessed aloud. “I’m surprised he’s not here right now to be part of the welcome wagon.”

  “Alas, Baphomet and Oof have much to atone,” Ankou said, his face turning grave. “It does not do to oppose the Dying Throne.”

  Eclipse frowned. “But why? Because he took out that murder contract on Aurel Nugget?”

  Ankou shook his head. “All things die, though they may not know why.” The Autumn King chuckled and folded his withered hands over his hollow belly. “No, my fuzzy friend, that’s not the reason. Baphomet is guilty of treason. He did not gain our leave to take out the contract. Hagatha Jinx was a forbidden contact.” The King spoke of Aurel’s wife, Hagatha, who had entered the contract to have her husband killed, by the devious, slimy Baphomet.

  So, that hideous creature who had shown no qualms about taking Aurel’s life had done so without obtaining permission from the highest in the Unseelie courts, our Autumn King here. Fascinating, but this was old news. I wanted to know more about what was going on NOW.

  “I know I’m not a relative like my cats,” I said, taking a step forward. “But would I be out of line if I asked you a few questions about…certain things that have been happening in our world?”

  “It’s a question you have already spoke,” Ankou said. “But, never let it be said that I am less than generous to folk.”

  I cleared my throat. Okay, now all I had to do was just ask the King of the Unseelie Court if he or his people were mixed up in murder. No problem…if you were Conan the Barbarian.

  “Did you have anything to do with or know anything about the murder of Morag Devlin?” I finally asked, hoping my bluntness wouldn’t get us killed.

  Ankou held up a hand and said, “By the sacred sap of this tree do I swear that neither my people nor I were ever there.”

  “Phew,” I heard Fraidy mumble under his breath.

  Okay, I thought. That was an easy one. Let’s try something a bit harder.

  “There’s been a big spike in Fae activity, and let’s just say it hasn’t been exactly benign. Our world has been besieged by Unseelie hostility over the last several months…what do you know about this, and what do you have to do with it?”

  Ankou shook his head sadly and gave me a look that seemed full of pity. “Though my court is not your friend, all’s not what it seems in the end.”

  “Well, there have been murders. Too many for our isles. And, talks of dragons. And, the balefire beacon that wreaked so much havoc.” My nostrils were flaring.

  Fraidy shot me a look and shook his head frantically. Eclipse gave me a similarly worried expression. Ankou took my borderline accusation in stride, thankfully. “Mortals stand up until they fall down. When that comes to pass, we can but frown.”

  “Well, there’s one big thing that a lot of people in my part of the world would frown on,” I said. “The return of the Wyrmrig…don’t tell me you know nothing of this.”

  Ankou’s pleasant smile crashed at the mention of the dragon king. He stroked his chin for a few minutes before finally nodding to himself. “Through the darkened gate, black currency flows. From our stony heart, the dragon’s fire grows.”

  It took every ounce of self-control I had not to scream. Okay, the rhyming thing was cute in a beat poetry kind of way. And yeah, straight answers out of the Fae were a dodgy proposition on a good day. But would it kill him to tell me something straight for once? This last little rhyme made no sense whatsoever. I couldn’t even guess what he was inferring. I found it more annoying than the Infiniti’s con games, even.

  “So where is this ‘black currency’ flowing from? And who’s doing it?” I snapped, my patience all but exhausted. And, what’s black currency anyway?

  Eclipse looked ready to hit me with a memory-wipe, his staring at me was so intense. Fraidy’s head was turned toward the exit, no doubt planning his escape route.

  Ankou gestured towards my cats, letting them know it was okay. Then he looked at me and said, “Is there a hope? Maybe a glimmer…as the fire grows, the steel shimmers. A young lad can, with metallic parts, forge a shield for the witching arts.”

  The withered King rose from the throne again. “And now, my audience, we’re at a close. Should you need to know more, consult another who knows.”

  The trolls from the front door stepped into the ring of light. It was unnerving how I’d never heard them coming. Was it the soft grass they were walking on or was it some sound-dampening enchantment that Ankou laid on them? Either way, even I knew better than to push my luck any further.

  “We do appreciate you receiving us, Ankou,” Eclipse said, arching his back into a respectful bow.

  The nearest troll grunted at us, his club hanging casually from his mammoth hand. We walked cautiously toward the door. Once on the outside, we picked up the pace and walked briskly to the portal that had permitted us access to this isle. The trolls followed us, their eyes full of menace, and their clubs poised at the ready.

  “It’s fair to say we nearly died, so now I say we run and hide!” Fraidy squealed, sprinting for the portal. I have to admit I galloped at a fair clip for the last remaining yards myself.

  We were inside the cute cottage again. I had a lot to think about. Ankou’s riddles were going to take some time to figure out.

  “We’d better get that last delivery done, boss,” Eclipse nudged his head into my shin.

  “Right!” I said, glancing at my watch. “Hey, hold on, we haven’t even lost a minute!”

  “That’s correct. The Autumn Court is all about decay.” Eclipse explained. “Even the passage of time is degraded while held in its courts.” I looked at Fraidy, and he nodded in confirmation.

  “Just don’t go wandering into a Spring Court,” my timid cat cautioned. “Because one minute there could lose you a week. Or a month. Or a year. Or a century. Or a life--”

  “Yeah, she gets it, bro,” ‘Clipsy stated.

  I didn’t ‘get it’ though. In fact, I didn’t get anything.

  Chapter 7

  Millie twirled her peacock blue locks around her finger as I finished recounting my newest adventure into Mag Mell.

  “Wow, Hattie. So, you’re saying that the applewood wand, is like, super powerful? And, you happen to be the one in control of that power?”

  “Mills, I was hoping you’d be more interested in the riddles Ankou told, to be honest. I’m not thinking about this ‘Great Challenge’ business. I can barely even utter a charm, let alone wield the power of this ancient artifact,” I exclaimed, holding up the wand.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve no idea what the Autumn King’s poetry’s about, but I suspect it means trouble if recent events are anything to go by.” I nodded my head in agreement and was about to run the riddles by my assistant one more time
when we heard Fraidy’s voice, strained and querulous.

  “What’s wrong?” He had directed his question at Midnight who had just reached the bottom of the stairs. My night prowling cat looked at his brother in confusion.

  “Why would you assume something’s wrong?”

  “You’re up way too early. So something’s wrong.”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with ME, bro,”

  “No, Midnight, brother,” Onyx said from the counter. “Something isn’t right if you’re up this early. This is unusual for you.”

  “Unusual is the insane quantities of herbal hangover medicine we’ve dispensed since the start of the Mabon Fair,” Millie countered. “So I’d just call this one ‘strange.’”

  “Look, whatever you call it,” I said before the discussion careened too far off course. “What’s going on, Middie?”

  “Gloom kicked me out of the room,” Midnight explained. “She said she was trying to sleep and that my snoring woke her up.” Midnight yawned and scratched behind his ear. “Thing is, it was her own snoring that was waking her,” he said.

  “She did wh--” Carbon asked from his place by the fire.

  Midnight held up a paw. “Shsh. Listen.”

  We stopped talking and listened. Yep, Gloom was sawing some pretty big logs up there.

  Getting back to the conversation about our foray into Mag Mell, I asked my wise cat:

  “How would you advise us to decipher Ankou’s riddling-rhymes, Professor Onyx?”

  Onyx hummed. “Fae riddles take some time to figure out, no question. However, given that Ankou gave his answers rather freely, I am inclined to believe that, whatever the ultimate meaning behind his words, he was speaking the truth.”

  “Sure,” Millie concurred. “He’s the Autumn King of the Unseelie Court talking to the badass witch who’s three runes into solving the Great Challenge. If he is a magical man, which he is, btw, he probably respects you too much to feed you a line.” Millie’s painted nails drummed the counter for a second. “Not like that little rat of a leprechaun, Seamus.” My assistant’s eyes narrowed as she pondered the mischievous visit we had from Seamus, not more than a month ago. Leprechauns are slippery customers, to say the least.

  Midnight opened his mouth to say something when the shop doorbell rang. The kitties quickly vacated their various perches. I’d told them that I wanted to make a good impression on our customers, and, bless their hearts they were keeping to their word of being discreet.

  It was David who walked through the door. He caught the tail end of the kitty scramble and shook his head smiling.

  “Everything, okay, David?” I asked. He looked distracted. But that seemed to be a permanent feature with him these days. David nodded.

  “I was just going over the notes on our interview with Infirma.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on," Millie offered. "Verdantia dropped off some fresh rosehips, so I’d may as well brew some up.” My assistant shook her peacock-blue hair and strutted like one to the kitchen.

  “What’s on your mind, Chief Para Inspector?” I patted the chair by the fire and watched as Carbon resumed his place in front of it. The cats had no need to hide from my friend.

  “I keep coming back to that mysterious ‘it’ that Morag wanted to hide after that phone call from Shields,” David said, drumming the arm of the chair with restless fingers. “Whatever ‘it’ is, I’m wondering if it might have been important enough to kill for.”

  “You mean enough motive to silence Morag? It definitely sounds plausible,” I agreed. “But where do we even begin looking for this ‘thing?’”

  My friend’s fingers beat vigorously at the chair arm. What is making him so antsy?

  I glanced at his hands, and I noticed one of his fingernails looked discolored. Blackened, almost. And the outline didn’t seem to match his other nails -- there was something misshapen about it too. It wasn’t like David not to take care of his grooming. I know he’d been busy and under a lot of pressure from Talisman, what with all these murders. But, still. I didn’t like the idea of my friend not looking after his cleanliness. My eyes wandered to his hair. His tresses looked clean; no greasy strands in sight. Just that rather dashing white flash of shocked hair that he’d picked up a couple of months ago.

  So, he just forgot to take a nail brush and a nail clipper to his nails. You’ve got bigger fish to fry, girl.

  “Well,” CPI Trew said as he stood. “We know from Reverend Peacefield that she was poking around the Avalon Vaults. We also know that Portia was arguing with Morag in the church above the same vaults. We don’t know the reason for that yet, but I’d suggest that’s where we should start. The Vaults, I mean.”

  Millie brought the tea out, putting the pot and three cups down on a tray at the end of the counter. I admired her confidence. My inquisitive cats liked nothing more than to push stuff over the edges of things.

  I turned to the chief. “One thing I’m concerned about is getting Reverend Peacefield any more involved than he already is. I don’t want him to get hurt. He’s too much of a good soul to be dragged into the dark well of a murder case.” Privately, I suspected that old Thaddeus Peacefield would thank the Goddess profusely if he managed to find an ‘in’ on a murder investigation. I chuckled inwardly, picturing our vicar chasing leads and questioning suspects like our beloved TV Father Brown.

  “ Yeah, I’ve thought of that. I say we don’t involve him. We’re going to execute a tidy little break-in tonight when the vicar is sleeping.” David stated matter-of-factly.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Millie said, waving her hands. “All I know about police procedure comes from Mainland TV and books. But don’t you guys need a warrant to obtain evidence that you can use later?”

  David’s smile looked pained. “Indeed we do, Millie. That’s why I obtained a ‘no-knock’ warrant from Talisman this morning. We have permission to search the Avalon Vaults at my discretion. It was the only way I could see us doing this without further implicating the good reverend. As we know, his flock needs him.”

  “Wow, look at Supercop here,” Shade said from under the counter. “Ms. Poof tells me that that kind of warrant usually takes a month to obtain if you can get ‘em at all.”

  Shade’s squeeze would know. Ms. Poof’s human was a clerk in the mayor, Sincerity Jones office and thus had a working knowledge of our local legal system.

  “All I know is what the Ministry of the Interior told me when they gave me the warrant this morning,” David said, shrugging. “Due to the possibility of unknown magical artifacts or books being onsite as well as the more well-known relics housed there being subject to theft, they want someone to check out the Vaults with all speed.”

  Carbon stirred from his spot by the fire. “Sounds to me as if the Custodians, or, rather the might of Portia Fearwyn might have lit that fire under the Ministry. I mean, you know how lady Fearwyn is so adept at pulling strings in Talisman.” Carbon clicked his paw to the floor, and a whooshing sound rumbled from the fireplace. It was about to get hot in here.

  “It’s possible,” David conceded. “This would be the sort of thing that—“

  The shop door opened again, letting in Phil DeGrasse, Gless Inlet’s retired news anchor. His orange spray tan always provoked the cats. Especially Fraidy. Carbon hissed at his tangerine colored jaunty face. Phil had been having stomach issues much like David’s. I already had his antacid's ready, so hopefully, this transaction wouldn’t take too long, because I could already hear that thick whining growl sound coming from under the counter.

  David squeezed my arm discretely. See you at St Pen’s? Midnight?”

  “You want me to bring him?” I asked surprised. The chief rarely requested my cats be in tow. Even though at least one of them always was.

  “No, silly. See you AT Midnight.” My friend offered a wan smile, gave a forced greeting to Phil as he passed him, and walked out the door.

  “Dude, that’s so cool. I never tire of it. Do it again.” Midnight
and Shade were trotting behind me as we approached the woods at the base of the hill that Saint Pendragon’s church sat on. Shade was turning his eyes on and off, entertaining his brother. One second Shade would be little more than a black outline with golden eyes, and then he’d turn those golden orbs as black as his fur and blend in with the night. He was rocking Midnight’s world right now because the latter was rolling on the sidewalk laughing. “Man, seriously, that’s awesome,” he croaked, holding his belly.

  “Guys,”

  “Sorry, boss,” my kitties said in unison, and picking up the pace they trotted ahead of me.

  We walked quickly through the woods and started ascending the hill toward the crowning glory of St Pen’s. David was waiting for us near the top.

  Saint Pendragon’s was a modest cathedral, built in the medieval style. As modest as it was, it all but swallowed the hilltop. A forest of spires rose from its gabled roof, and slender stained glass windows cast colorful glances down the hill itself. The building was hewn from a slate gray stone that was embedded with tiny flecks of quartz. It added to the overall ambience of the edifice. Two ancient oak doors stood like silent sentinels at the front of the cathedral. They were at least twice the height of David, appearing almost as large as the Troll Doors at Ankou’s Autumn temple on Mag Mell.

  The story goes that it had taken one hundred and twenty years to construct St. Pen’s. It was more than just the usual church and administrative bureaucracy that held up construction, however. The first and original architect, Mythos Knave, had been given a warning from a soothsayer that peace on the Coven Isles would be maintained for as long as the church was being built. There may have been something to that. One year after construction was complete, the Warlock Wars broke out. It was at this time, during war, that the Avalon Vaults became one of the most secure repository’s in the world.

  “We’re sure about the vicar’s sleeping schedule?” I asked as we met with David. I felt a knot of guilt from our planned escapade.

  “Oh, it’s hardly a secret,” Midnight advised. “Everybody knows that Peacefield hasn’t changed his routine in over thirty years…always in bed by 10 PM. My little info network says you can practically set your watch by his bedtime.”