Oona swallowed hard, but the lie was already upon her lips. “I was shopping for a dress for the masquerade tomorrow night.”
And making sure you don’t bungle this case, she thought to herself.
“You?” said Isadora Iree. She released her mother’s hand and cast a long look over Oona. The girl did not appear impressed. Oona cleared her throat nervously as Isadora’s disapproving eyes came to a stop at the top of her head. Oona adjusted her bonnet in an attempt to flatten down the front of her chopped hair. Isadora smirked. “I’m afraid you cannot shop here. Not unless you are a student or an alumna of the Academy of Fine Young Ladies.” She considered Oona for another moment, her pretty little nose squinching up as if Oona were giving off an undesirable smell. “Which I’m guessing you are not. I mean, just look at that hair.”
Several of the older ladies tutted their agreement, and Oona could feel her face flush with embarrassment. Before she could find a suitable reply, however, Isadora added: “In case you didn’t know, the word alumna means a female who has graduated from the academy.”
Oona frowned. She knew what the word alumna meant, and she also knew that Madame Iree sold dresses exclusively to the academy and its lifelong members. It was for this reason that Oona had never entered the shop before today. Presently, she looked around at the other ladies’ faces and began to wonder if she actually wanted to offer her help at all. Noses raised, they stared at her with an air of both surprise and contempt, as if she had soiled their beloved store by simply stepping inside. She was nearly ready to turn right around and leave them all to the idiocy of Inspector White—Who cares about their stupid dresses, anyway? she thought—when Deacon spoke from her shoulder.
“When did the theft occur?” he asked.
“It is strange enough that your bird can talk, Miss Crate,” said the inspector, “but I will not have him asking ridiculous questions at my crime scene. Is that understood?” He turned back to Madame Iree. “Now … when did it happen?”
“Sometime in the last hour,” said Madame Iree. “We were all out here in the front room having tea.” She pointed toward the door at the back of the store. “The door to the showroom was locked shut, as it always is when I am not showing a dress. And then around two o’clock, Isadora wanted to show the ladies the gown she would be wearing tomorrow night to the Midnight Masquerade. But when I unlocked the showroom door, I found … I found …”
She gestured weakly toward the door. “The dresses are all gone. They were all in there an hour ago when I locked the door, but now … oh, dear … now the only dress left is the one in the window.”
The ladies all turned to admire the dress in the window, and for a long moment the room was silent, as if the dress had somehow hypnotized them. Madame Iree breathed a deep sigh. “At least that one was spared.”
“It truly is a masterpiece, Mother,” said Isadora. “I wish it weren’t so small, or I should like to wear it to the masquerade.”
“I told you, Isadora,” said Madame Iree, quite irritably, “the glinting cloth I used to construct the dress was the last remnant of a six-hundred-year-old faerie-enchanted fabric. It was one of a kind, and there was only enough cloth to make a dress for a younger girl. Certainly younger than anyone at the academy.” Madame Iree sighed. “That is why I placed it in the window. It is no more than a showpiece, I’m afraid. Oh, what I would give for a bit of turlock root, so that I might grow younger and wear the dress, even for an hour.” The four older ladies gave a collective sigh, as if this idea were quite appealing to them as well.
“Turlock root is a mystical root known for its powers of reversing the aging process,” Deacon said, apparently unable to keep from dispensing his vast knowledge of the magical world. “But it grows only in the Land of Faerie.”
Oona was sorely tempted to point out to him that there was turlock root growing in the inner garden at Pendulum House, along with countless other mystical plants native solely to the Land of Faerie. But then again, the Wizard’s house was the only structure outside of Faerie that had been built upon imported Faerie soil. Some of the plants were quite powerful, and highly dangerous, which was why the inner garden was kept secret from anyone other than the Wizard and his apprentice.
“Did I not tell you to keep that bird quiet?” Inspector White nearly shouted.
Madame Iree slapped an open palm to her chest. “All my precious dresses, gone!”
The four ladies fell in around the dressmaker like a flock of chickens consoling a mother hen.
The inspector snapped his fingers, a look of sudden realization flashing across his face. He turned dramatically on his heel and made his way back into the showroom. While everyone else was distracted with consoling Madame Iree, Oona seized the moment. She quickly crossed through the front of the shop and stopped in the doorway to the next room.
Several ever-burning lamps hung against the walls, illuminating the showroom in a ghostly light, while a beautiful crystal chandelier hung unlit from the center of the ceiling. At present, the room was nothing more than a gathering place for naked mannequins. It was a strange and almost eerie sight, as if the space were a showroom for invisible dresses.
The floor was polished wood, gleaming and flawless, and in the center of the room, a single white candle lay conspicuously tipped over on its side. A long mirror hung against the wall to the right, and Oona could see the back of the inspector’s black jacket in the reflection, his split coattails moving in sync with his lanky legs as he moved about the room. In front of the mirror stood a raised platform where the customers could stand and admire themselves as Madame Iree made alterations. The inspector stepped onto the platform and stared fixedly at his own ghostly reflection.
Oona ignored him. She was looking at the single candle on the floor. It seemed a curious thing, quite out of place, and yet it was no real mystery where it had come from. Her gaze rose to the crystal chandelier, which hung from the high wood-paneled ceiling. She counted seven unlit candles, and one empty candleholder. Clearly the candle had fallen … but why? She was about to propose the question to the inspector, but at the moment, Inspector White appeared quite occupied with his own reflection.
Oona could only shake her head as she watched him attempt to straighten his tie. When this did not satisfy him, he proceeded to adjust the way his well-fitted jacket hung from his shoulders. He frowned, unable to get the desired effect he was looking for. Finally, he went so far as to straighten the entire mirror on the wall. At last he grinned, quite pleased with what he saw.
He turned from the mirror and struck a pose as if someone were about to take his photograph. But seeing that Oona and Deacon were the only ones watching, his mouth flattened into an irritated line. He moved to the center of the room and stood directly over the candle on the floor, spreading his arms wide. “I see no evidence of a break-in. There are no windows, and the only way someone could have gotten in is through that door.” He pointed to where Oona and Deacon stood half silhouetted in the doorway. “Perhaps you are the thief, Miss Crate.”
Oona took in a sharp breath at the accusation.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said a voice from behind her. Oona turned to find Isadora Iree staring down the sides of her nose at her. Isadora stood a good inch taller, and her expression was disapproving. “I know who you are. You’re the Wizard’s niece. And I heard that you’re so stupid and incompetent that he fired you, and now he’s looking for a new apprentice.”
Oona could feel her temper beginning to rise. She had heard similarly false rumors going about town, and she had told herself to ignore them. She knew they were not true, and yet it irked her to have this infuriating girl throwing the rumor in her face.
Isadora looked over Oona’s shoulder at the inspector. “You see, she doesn’t even deny it. She’s too stupid to have stolen the dresses. I mean, look at what she’s wearing. Such drab, gray colors in the springtime. She wouldn’t know what to do with high fashion if it fell in her lap.”
A new vo
ice cut into the conversation, this one thick with an Irish accent. “And you wouldn’t know what to do with common courtesy if it hit you in the head, Isadora.”
Isadora whirled around. A boy had just entered the shop. He wore a raggedy black cloak about his shoulders and a tattered, cockeyed top hat on his head. He was a fine-looking boy whom Oona had seen out on the street from time to time, but only from a distance. His name, she knew, was Adler Iree, and he was Isadora’s twin brother.
“Adler!” said Madame Iree, her bracelets clicking and clattering as she waved away the cluster of consoling ladies. “What are you doing in the boutique?”
Adler sauntered into the ladies’ dress shop as if it were the most natural place in the world for him to be. In the crook of one arm he carried a large book, which he promptly set on the tea table and then plopped himself down in one of the chairs. From this angle, Oona had a perfect view of the boy’s face. It was handsome enough, with high cheekbones like his sister’s, and the two of them shared the same bright blue eyes and dark eyelashes. But while Isadora’s features were clearly more soft and feminine, it was the strange tattoos on Adler’s face that, more than anything else, told the two of them apart.
An intricate pattern of symbols laced together across his cheeks and around his eyes: a mysterious assortment of squiggles and stars and lines, some of which resembled ancient runes and Egyptian hieroglyphs. They varied in color from purple and blue to shimmery lines of gold and silver. A pair of tiny scarlet-colored crescent moons had been inked in at the corners of his eyes. The tattoos were an unmistakable sign that Adler Iree was a member of the Magicians Legal Alliance, the guild for the practitioners of magical law. Adler Iree was studying to be a lawyer. Upon the completion of every new course of study, the guild of lawyers bestowed a new symbol upon the faces of its members. Adler’s tattoos were, as of yet, still sparse. The faces of some of the most esteemed members of the Magicians Legal Alliance appeared almost to shimmer, showing none of their original skin color at all.
“Adler, I asked you a question,” Madame Iree told her son. “You know how I feel about having boys and men in the shop.”
Adler raised an eyebrow and pointed toward the doorway to the showroom. For an instant, Oona thought he was pointing at her. Her heart quickened, and her cheeks flushed. Her breath caught in her throat, and she suddenly remembered the very sad state of her hair. But an instant later Oona realized that the boy was not pointing at her but at the inspector, who stood just behind her. She found herself feeling both disappointed and relieved at the same time.
“That’s a man there,” the boy said, his finger leveled at the inspector. Adler’s thick Irish brogue, so very different from his mother’s and sister’s cultured English accents, only added to the boy’s mysterious qualities. Adler leaned forward in his seat, blinking at the inspector. “At least, I’m thinkin’ so. You are a man, aren’t you, Inspector?”
Before the inspector could reply, Madame Iree let loose a heavy sigh, and said: “Inspector White is here, Adler, because someone stole all of the dresses out of the showroom.”
Adler nodded. “I know, Mother. The news is all over the street. That’s why I came, to make sure you were all right.”
“Oh, I see,” said Madame Iree, who once again looked as if she might faint. Her flock of ladies rushed in again to give her support, but she shooed them away. “Those dresses were all custom made for the Midnight Masquerade tomorrow night. Twelve dresses in all, and they were all for students at the academy. The girls will all be so disappointed, because they will have nothing to wear to the event. It is all just horribly, horribly wrong!”
The inspector pushed his way past Oona and stopped before Madame Iree. “I see no possible way anyone could have broken into that showroom while all of you were out here. You, Madame, must have misplaced the dresses.”
“Misplaced?” said Madame Iree, her welling tears all at once replaced with rage. “I’ll misplace you, you useless fool!” She shoved her nose as close to the inspector’s ghostly face as her immense bosom would allow. “Get out of my shop, you walking catastrophe in inspector’s clothing! Get out before I knock you out!”
The inspector began slowly to back away through the front door, but Madame Iree continued to stalk him, looking as though she might bite him on the nose.
“You … You wouldn’t dare harm an officer, Madame,” the inspector stammered.
Madame Iree considered him for a moment, and then whirled around. “Everyone out! And that includes you, Adler and Isadora. And your little friend as well.”
Isadora scowled at Oona. “She’s not my friend.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Oona replied, before attempting: “Ah … Madame Iree. Might I have a look around? I might be able to find some clue as to—”
“Out!” Madame Iree cried, stomping her foot so hard that her hat toppled off her head.
Oona’s mouth clamped shut, and she and Isadora headed toward the exit. As the two of them passed the tea table, doing their best not to look at each other, Adler Iree stood. Taking his enormous book once again under his arm, he cocked his head to one side and gave Oona a quick wink before stopping at the doorway and extending his hand.
“Ladies first,” he said.
Oona’s cheeks flushed red. All thoughts of trying to persuade Madame Iree to let her examine the shop were gone, and she once again remembered the dreadful condition of her hair. Madame Iree slammed the door behind them. The flock of older ladies dispersed in a chattering knot in one direction, and the inspector sauntered off across the street in the other, leaving Oona, Deacon, Isadora, and Adler alone in front of the store. Halfway across the street, the inspector tripped on a cobblestone and fell flat on his face. He quickly pushed himself back up, peering at the elbow of his jacket, and then glared over his shoulder with an accusatory expression on his pale face. Oona was certain that he was about to blame her or someone else for tripping him, but instead he abruptly marched off down the street in the opposite direction he had been going.
Adler laughed. “Dark Street’s finest!”
“Indeed,” said Oona, unable to keep the corners of her mouth from creeping upward.
“You think you can do better?” said Isadora, the gold stripes of her dress glinting in the sun.
“Better than Inspector White?” Oona asked. “I should say so. Anyone could solve a crime better than Inspector White.”
Isadora looked unconvinced. Deacon rustled his feathers uneasily as she leaned in close, hands on her hips. “Prove it,” she said. “You get those dresses back before tomorrow night, and I suppose that would prove you’re smarter than … well, than you look. My own masquerade dress was in that showroom. It is very pretty, and very extravagant, and you’re going to get it back for me.”
There was more than a hint of dare in her voice, and Oona was about to tell Isadora that she couldn’t care less how fantastic Isadora’s dress was, and that she could find it herself, thank you very much…. Only what came out of Oona’s mouth was: “You’re on.”
Isadora grinned. “That’s good, because I want to look my best tomorrow night when I attend my first dance as the Wizard’s new apprentice.”
She turned and sauntered away down the street, giving a catty little backward wave over her shoulder as she went.
Oona felt a sudden tightening in her chest. “She’s applying for the position of Wizard’s apprentice?”
Adler Iree gave her a wry smile, the scarlet moons at the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he did so. “Oh, to be sure,” he said in that thick Irish accent of his. “We both are.”
Oona’s astonishment showed clearly on her face. Just why she was so surprised to hear this news, she did not know, but for some reason coming face-to-face with her would-be replacements suddenly made her decision to give it all up very real indeed. Adler bowed slightly before saying: “I suppose I’ll see you this evening, at the Choosing,” and then turned to follow his sister down the street, leaving Oona with
a strange mix of emotions. Intrigue and apprehension, nervousness and sadness all swelled in her at once.
“Perhaps we should be returning to Pendulum House,” Deacon suggested. “Your uncle did say that you would need to be present for the Choosing. Shall we hail a carriage?”
“I suppose so,” Oona said, though absently. Her mind was all over the place: the Choosing, the missing dresses, her promise to avoid danger, the candle on the floor of the showroom, Isadora Iree’s challenge, Adler Iree and his wry smile. All of it danced through her head in a confused jumble. What she needed was …
“A walk,” Oona said.
“What?” asked Deacon.
“I will walk home, Deacon. I’ll need to clear my head if I’m going to solve this case.”
“But it’s nearly three miles to Pendulum House,” Deacon pointed out.
The nearest clock was on the other side of the street, in front of the Dark Street Theater. The hands of the clock were too small to read from where she stood, so Oona stepped into the street. She was halfway across, attempting to re-create the layout of the showroom in her mind, when Deacon shouted: “Look out!”
Oona flinched as a horse and carriage came perilously close to hitting her. It swerved at the last moment, the horse whinnying its displeasure as one of the wheels struck a pothole and the entire carriage came to an abrupt halt in front of her.
“Oh, blast it, now look what you done!” cried the driver. He snapped at the reins, but the horse could not move forward. Finally, the driver jumped down and spat on the cobbles. He was a short man, dressed in the blue-and-white uniform of a cabdriver. “Why don’t you watch where you’re goin’, miss? Look what you did. Gone and made me swerve right into that bloody pothole! And I pride myself on knowing how to avoid potholes, I do.” The driver turned to the open carriage window, and said: “Sorry about this, sir, but that girl there made me swerve. Otherwise, I’d surely have missed those missing cobbles. I know this street like the back of my hand, I do. Now if you’ll just sit tight, I’ll have us out in a jiffy.”
The Wizard of Dark Street Page 3
