by Amy Boyles
He laughed, and I sneaked from the room, slinking back up the winding staircase and through the cavernous tunnel. I held my breath until an orb of light penetrated the darkness. I sighed, knowing I was inches from freedom. But I also knew I had work to do—namely, I had an investigation to make happen, because clearly I couldn’t trust the witch police to free my fiancé.
It was up to me and me alone.
Yes, you can call me Super Dylan, if you like.
Because that’s how I felt, that I somehow had a purpose that made me larger than life—a purpose that in essence made me superhuman.
I surfaced out from the womb of Castle Witch and into the light. A bright wash of sunlight hit my skin, sending a wave of warmth flooding my flesh.
I brushed a cobweb from my arm. “Wow. Glad that’s over,” I said to my grandmother or Reid, whoever was closest and listening. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. First things first. Roman had some serious information on this Angelique character.”
“Is that so?”
The voice was too deep to be Reid’s, and too pragmatic sounding to be my grandmother’s. Actually, to be honest, it was much too male to be either of them.
I blinked a film of dirt from my eyes and came face-to-face with Jonathan Pearbottom. My gaze darted from one side of room to the other as I searched for my grandmother and my sister with her buoy boobs.
The officer on duty had them both off to the side. I closed my eyes and sighed.
“Hi, Jonathan,” I said.
“Dylan,” he said, his voice a resonating baritone. “I thought I told you to stay away from Roman.”
I nodded. “You did.”
He shook his hung head. Pearbottom didn’t make eye contact with me. “Do you know what this means?”
I grimaced. I screwed my voice up to the whiniest, most innocent-sounding timbre I could muster. It was my only hope of escape. “It means I’m under arrest?”
Cold metal snaked around my wrists before it snicked closed. “Yes. You’re under arrest. Come with me.”
CHAPTER 10
“ You can’t arrest me,” I snarled as Pearbottom dragged me through the castle. I noticed it was in the opposite direction from where the dungeon was.
He yanked me past a gaggle of Northern witches. Helga dePlume glared at me. Her gaze flickered to the handcuffs around me, and she smiled.
“I told you to stay away from Roman. It was all I asked of you, Dylan. Why can’t you ever, for once, just do what you’re told?”
A cramp lodged in my wrist. I worked it out, grimacing as a slice of pain zipped up my arm. “I’m trying to help you. You’re holding an innocent man.”
Pearbottom stopped. He whipped me around to face him. “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe he’s not innocent?”
I pulled back. Anger fueled my words when I said, “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re prejudiced against him?”
His jaw flexed, and his eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to find out the truth.”
“Then why didn’t you tell him about Angelique Kiln? He knows all about her.”
Pearbottom squared his shoulders hard. “I have my reasons.”
Right then Clothar slipped past us. “Oh, Dylan Apel, I had heard whispers on the other side of the castle that you had some sort of horrible steel fashion thing going on.”
His gaze flickered to my handcuffs. “I see it wasn’t a rumor at all.”
Pearbottom pulled me. I dug in my heels, knowing that this was a perfect opportunity to prove to Pearbottom that it was better to let me be myself than to arrest me.
I know I was wishing for a lot here, but I had no choice.
“Clothar, did you know Angelique Kiln?”
The fairy king twisted one of the beads braided into his long hair. “Of course I knew her. We all did. She was one of us for many years, until she used magic in a bad way—for money and fortune. Magic should never be used in this way. It is to help people and to bring goodness into one’s life. It is never for the bad.”
He leaned over to me. “Speaking of bad, I had heard rumors that once you were married, you were going to leave the dressmaking business.” Clothar spread his fingers over his heart. “Please tell me this isn’t true. What a catastrophe it would’ve been for the world of fashion, not to mention my own closet.”
He leaned over, his eyes sparkling with delight. “I’ve so been looking forward to the next collection. I’ve worn everything in my closet at least three times. For us kings, that is enough.”
I shook my head. “No, Clothar, I’m not going to stop designing clothes.”
“Thank goodness. Talented designers of our kind are so hard to find. I’m only glad I’ve met you. I’ve converted many from my kingdom to loving your clothes. In fact, there’s a young woman, Dyon, who loves your clothes. She’s even joked that if you ever stopped designing, she’d go so far as to kidnap you so that you wouldn’t be able to quit.”
I laughed uncomfortably. “Oh wow. Thank you for such a wonderful compliment. Now, it looks like I’m going to be arrested.”
Clothar’s gaze washed up and down Pearbottom. “You are going to arrest the incomparable Dylan Apel? Why would you do that?”
Pearbottom’s cheeks burned red. “I would appreciate it if you stayed out of police business.”
Clothar blinked at Pearbottom. “Why would I do that? We have all come here for a wedding, and then a bad person was murdered—not by the groom, I am sure. But we are all patiently waiting for him to be released. In the meantime you can ask me what I know about Angelique Kiln, because I know a lot.”
Pearbottom shook his head. “Come talk to me. That’s what I said earlier. That’s what you should have done. I could have you arrested for withholding information.”
Clothar waved his hand dismissively. “Pshahh. I am not crazy about witches and I am even less enthusiastic about their police, so why would I come to you? Ask me here, ask me now about Angelique and I will tell you everything I know—but first you must release Dylan Apel.”
Pearbottom rolled his eyes, but I could tell which way he was going to turn. He wanted information, and apparently that’s what Clothar had.
I heard a snick and felt the metal fall away from my skin. I rubbed my wrists.
Pearbottom nodded to Clothar. “Follow me.”
“Only if Dylan Apel comes too.”
Pearbottom’s gaze darted to me. His face was all pinched up and angry, so I gave him a bright smile because I knew it would seriously annoy him.
Ha-ha! I was winning. I really didn’t know why Pearbottom wanted to leave me out of the investigation when clearly there were people I could get important information out of.
Pearbottom led us to a room where several other officers were sitting around having coffee. He jerked his head, and they scattered like roaches in the daylight.
“Okay, Clothar, tell me what you know.”
Clothar swept his long hair off his shoulders. He settled down into a chair. He wore buckskin pants that were open at the legs. “Chilly,” he said. “See, Dylan? I’ve gone through all your clothes so I’m wearing our traditional garb. It doesn’t do well on plastic.”
I stifled a giggle. “Clothar, if we get this thing straightened out and Roman released, I promise I’ll create something for you that will be truly magical.”
He clapped his hands. “That would be wonderful. Can you use the colors of water? I so need more blues and greens in my wardrobe.”
“Yes, of cours—”
“Can we please focus on Angelique?” Pearbottom said, cutting me off. The dark look in his eyes made me grimace.
“Sorry,” I whimpered.
Pearbottom dragged his fierce gaze from me to Clothar. “Now, what do you know that for some reason I had to come to you to find out?”
Clothar smiled. “I know that Roman Bane had arrested Angelique in the past.”
Pearbottom nodded. “We know that, too.”
“You do?” I said.
I raked my fingers through my dark hair. “You think that Angelique showed herself to Roman and he threw her off the balcony in a fit of rage?”
Pearbottom exhaled a shot of air. “Yes, we think it’s a possibility.”
“Roman wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“Roman used to hunt rogue witches for pay. He’s had no choice but to kill before.”
My jaw dropped. “You think he went crazy and killed to kill?”
Pearbottom rubbed his palm over his forehead. “Can we please stay on task?”
Clothar crossed one leg over the other. “Angelique was thrown out of my land because of her dealings with the witches and humans. You can’t take on the shape of another person for hire without there being consequences. What she did was unethical. We don’t allow it—my people, that is. We knew she had been arrested, thanks to Roman Bane.”
Pearbottom punched his hands in the pockets of his tweed cape. “She was released several years ago.”
Clothar nodded. “I had heard she went north after that. But I didn’t know where. Once we banish someone, we don’t keep up with them. You can understand, of course. They aren’t tied to us any longer. They no longer exist to us.” He leaned back, thought for a moment. “It is so strange that she would show up on your wedding day to wreak havoc. And pretending to be a dead woman, no less. It is possible that she killed herself, that she fell from the window to make it look as if Roman had caused her death. It would be a good means of revenge against the man who arrested her.”
Pearbottom stroked his bottom lip. “She didn’t jump. First of all, the way she fell doesn’t suggest it.”
I waited to hear what second of all was, but Pearbottom fell silent. “Well?” I said. “There’s more that you’re not saying.”
Pearbottom shook his head. “When we did a forensic map of her clothes with magic, we found something on her.”
“What was that?” I said.
Pearbottom glanced from me to Clothar, who waved his hands in the air. “Do not worry about me saying anything. I am a king, after all. I know how to apply discretion.” He shot us a toothy grin. “I also know when not to be discreet. It is an attribute I don’t use often, but has served me well on occasion.”
I shook my head, not really sure what he meant, but I turned to Pearbottom. “What did you find on her?”
Pearbottom sighed. “We found magical handprints burned into her. They’re from the moment she died.”
I nodded. “I’ve never heard of that. Besides, Roman doesn’t have magic.”
Clothar brightened. “Oh, that is an easy one, Dylan Apel. Sometimes when a person dies violently, a bit of the death stays with them. No one knows exactly how it happens. For instance, if I was killed by a very sharp weapon, say a knife, an image of the knife might be projected onto my clothing, or on my skin, positioned in the place where the knife had done its work.”
Pearbottom nodded. “These aren’t necessarily seen with the naked eye; they’re more like ghostly imprints. We don’t always search for them, but sometimes we get a ‘hit’ when we do.”
I nibbled the tip of my fingernail. After a moment I spit it out. “So you’re saying you sprinkled some magic dust on Angelique’s body and found handprints?”
Pearbottom nodded. “Exactly right. We found these on her body, at the points of contact where the push would have sent her over the railing.”
“And what did you learn from them?”
Pearbottom shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
I smiled brightly. “Because you need me. I have access to people that you don’t.”
Clothar waved his hand. “Dylan Apel is correct. She is the only reason why I’m talking to you right now. I am not overly fond of witches; in fact, I wouldn’t even like her if it weren’t for her wonderful clothes that I wear.”
I smiled. “Thank you.” I think. Not really sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but I’d been around Clothar enough to know that taking him at face value was the best way to go about deciphering what he meant.
Pearbottom raised his hands and showed me his palms. “The imprints were laid on Angelique’s body, just so, as I said, in the position they would’ve needed to be in order to push her.”
I nodded. “As you said. What’s the point of it?”
And why did I get the feeling he was stalling?
“The point is, we measured the prints and looked at the distinctive lines and swirls.”
I waited for him to continue. “Okay.”
“What I’m saying is…what I’m saying is…”
Clothar finished for Pearbottom. “What he’s saying is that the prints matched Roman Bane’s. Am I right?”
Pearbottom’s jaw dropped. “Yes. That’s correct. They matched Roman’s.”
My heart shrank, drying into a husk. “And you didn’t want to tell me.”
Pearbottom shook his head. “Of course not. The last thing I wanted to tell you is that Roman murdered her. We’re not finished with our investigation, so there’s still a chance he didn’t do it.”
I rubbed my temples, hoping something that would make sense would magically fly into my brain. “But you think he did it,” I said. “You believe that.”
Pearbottom nodded. “That’s what the evidence points to.”
I inhaled deeply and rose. “Well, I don’t believe it. Roman told me he didn’t kill her, and I know that’s true. Those prints don’t belong to Roman.” I flared out my hand to stop him from speaking. “I know it doesn’t look good, but Roman is not a murderer. He didn’t do this.”
I narrowed my gaze and finished with, “And I’m going to prove it.”
CHAPTER 11
N eedless to say, as soon as I could get out from under Pearbottom’s nose, I did. I found my sisters and grandmothers outside in the gardens. They were playing croquet.
That’s right. Croquet. Roman was rotting in a dungeon, and they were hitting each other’s balls into oblivion.
Please no one snicker at the balls remark. No pun was intended.
“What are you doing?” I said to my grandma, who sipped a glass of lemonade while watching Reid bat her mallet into a ball.
“Enjoying a nice vacation at Castle Witch. It’s so relaxing to get away. Don’t you think so, Milly?”
Grandma Milly had a blob of zinc sunblock slapped onto her nose. She held a silver tanning mirror under her neck. “There’s nothing like a little R and R.”
I threw my hands into the air. “What are y’all talking about? Roman’s been arrested for murder. Why are y’all playing croquet?”
Reid shrugged. “Because there’s nothing else to do.”
I threw my purse down on a seat. “There are lots of things to do—like find a killer. Turns out, Angelique Kiln used to be a fairy. Or she is a fairy, I guess. And Roman had arrested her before, so she may have had a reason to get back at him. Now, they found some suspicious handprints on her that points to Roman as the killer, but I don’t believe it. So is it possible that someone knew it was Angelique?”
Sera threaded her fingers through her glossy chocolate-colored hair. “I would say yes. Either someone figured out that it was Angelique, or they knew all along and sent her to screw with your wedding.”
Milly nodded. “There are two likely scenarios—someone wanted revenge on you, Dylan. Or they wanted revenge on Roman. Since she was a fairy, I suggest you start with them. There are some here, right, toots?”
I nodded. “Right. But I’ve already talked to Clothar. He didn’t seem to suggest that any were more important than another.”
Reid smirked. “We’re talking about Clothar. He’s more interested in clothes than making sense.”
Grandma poked the air. “That’s absolutely true. He’s a bit of an airhead if you want to know my opinion.”
“Right. He’s the only one here we can say that about
,” I said.
Grandma sniffed. “I’m sure you’re not referring to me.”
“Of course not,” I said. “I would never do that. But the fact of the matter is, we’ve got to figure out who murdered Angelique because we know who it wasn’t.”
“Who?” Grandma said.
“Roman,” I nearly shouted. “It wasn’t Roman.”
Grandma’s head bobbed as she glanced away from me. “Well, okay. You don’t have to be so touchy about it.”
I rubbed at my head, trying to stop a supernova-sized headache from taking over my brain. “Sorry, but I’m a little stressed.”
“If you think you’re stressed, you should see Boo,” Reid said.
My eyebrows shot to peaks. “Why? What’s going on?” A wave of guilt washed over me. “I haven’t seen him since the almost wedding. Where’s he been?”
Grandma smacked her lips. “Don’t worry, dear. Milly and I have been keeping him company. He’s been in a dire state.”
I should’ve known. Boo Bane, Roman’s father, had lost his wife and daughters in a brutal murder that happened years ago. He’d disappeared the same night, not to resurface until a few months ago. Most of his memory was gone. It had taken time for it to come back.
Of course he wasn’t doing well. Roman was the only family he had left, and now his son had been arrested for a murder he didn’t commit. I rolled my head back onto my neck, trying to work out some of the tension.
“I’ll talk to him. I should’ve seen him earlier. I’ve been a little distracted.”
Reid scoffed. “You mean shrinking and placing sleeping potions in people’s food has been keeping you busy?”
“Very funny,” I said.
A blonde-haired fairy rounded the corner. “Oh my gosh, Dylan Apel.”
I nodded. “That’s me.”
She strode up. She was small for a fairy, and wore more modern-style clothing than the usual woodland sort of thing seen on fairies. On closer inspection I realized she was wearing my clothing.
“Are you Dyon?” I said, remembering the random mention of another fairy that Clothar had made.
The young fairy blushed. She was pretty with a small nose and delicate features. Her blonde hair was cut at an angle down to points, where the longest strands were in front and the shortest at the nape of her neck.
