The Chimera Charm (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 6)

by Pearl Goodfellow

  “No, I know we have nothing to tie the Fae to the recent murder spree, but I don’t think veering off just to target a slimeball you personally don’t like is the way forward with this investigation.” I crossed my arms and stared at the Chief Para Inspector.

  Portia interjected. “Normally, I would rule in favor of a fellow Custodian’s opinion over that of an outsider,” she said. “However, I think that we need to deal with the facts, not hearsay or ‘feeling.’”

  “Fine, don’t hear me,” David said, slumping back in his chair.

  “Okay, guys, so the Chief isn’t exactly acting in his professional capacity right now. He likely wouldn’t spill his assumptions like this among his work buddies, am I right, chief?” Orville looked to David, and the latter nodded, lifting his body to full height now.

  “So, why shouldn’t we listen to him?” Orville asked his audience, his shoulders shrugging in exaggerated movements. “He’s talking out now, because he’s in safe company. He’s talking as a Custodian, not as a lawman. This order, this Custodian group, should be a place where we can spitball our opinions and, yes, feelings, about what’s going on around here.”

  “Son, you’re not --”

  “Sister Portia, I’m gonna finish what I’m saying whether you like it or not,” the young Nugget said, unruffled. Portia kept quiet.

  “Our power, our TRUE power, lies in our intuition, our feelings, our emotional intelligence, right?” Orville cleared his throat. “We all know that this is where the magic comes from. I say, if Brother David has a hair-stand-on-end feeling about something, then it’s our duty to listen and discuss.” Both Hinrika and Verdantia clapped their hands in applause. The kid was right. I started clapping too, while the kitties joined in with an orchestra of purrs and meows.

  Portia didn’t join in the praise, but she turned to David and said: “You are right to voice your concerns. They might even prove to be valid, but can we agree to just use caution when it comes to accusing? I think Shields is dirtier than he makes out, and I’d agree with most of you here that I’d like nothing more than to find something on him, but right now, I think we can agree that it’s the Fae presence that demands our attention right now. That’s where the money is going; Mag Mell. That’s where the nasty mischief is coming from, and it’s also where all of this Dragon gossip is originating from.”

  “Another way this Governor Shields angle doesn’t fit,” I added. “Is that Morag was lead counsel on the Rock Grumlin cases currently in the courts. Now, I’m no lawyer, but I would imagine that suddenly killing off the legal eagle you had handling these Grumlin files would make things a little complicated.”

  “The other hole in Brother David’s theory,” Portia agreed. “Given the testimony of Sister Gloom on the flow of black diamond money from Cathedral into Mag Mell. We mustn’t forget that in order for those diamonds to flow, they first need to be mined. And, remember, it’s only the Rock Grumlins that CAN mine those tough gems. Cathedral and Shields’ filthy enclave need those Grumlins to work, and work hard. Morag was handling this, and with aplomb, from what I hear. The Grumlin strike is already at an end, as the little guys are forced back to work from the last verdict before Morag was killed.”

  “It would seem strange that Shields would kill his top lawyer on the case, then,” Hinrika said, offering David a sheepish, black-mouthed smile.

  It was the chief who spoke next, and with much humility too. Hot. “Let’s drop it. It’s out there now, at least,” my friend said. “We can pick it up again if we stumble across some evidence to pin Gideon.”

  “Speaking of evidence,” I said, taking the heat away from the chief. I pulled out the black book Seamus found in the library at the Devlin estate. “We found this ledger on the Devlin estate. I showed it to Infirma; she recognized the routing numbers belong to the Gwydion Trust Bank on North Illwind. She also knows that Morag had set-up an account there to deal solely with her medical expenses. You know, to track them, and keep them separate from estate affairs, kinda thing.” I slid the book over to Sister Portia. “But, what doesn’t make sense to Infirma -- if this is indeed the same ledger used to record her health costs -- are the deposited amounts.”

  Portia cracked open the account book and scanned the pages rapidly, her beak nose just inches from the page. “Infirma claims that the deposited amounts in this account are more than triple what Morag made in monthly salary.” I finished.

  “Worth looking into. Will I be tainting your precious chain of evidence if I hold onto this, CPI Trew?”

  “Just get it back to me when you’re done with it,” David said, “I’ll log it as misfiled evidence when I turn it in.”

  “If I may be so bold,” Onyx said, striding to the front of my moggies. “We should also mention the matter of Mayor Jones’ rather unclear business with Mr. Kramp.”

  Portia harrumphed at my scholar cat’s suggestion. “With all due respect, Brother Onyx, why should we care about whatever petty political or legal moves are behind this business?”

  “Well,” Orville said, swallowing. “Mr. Kramp is Governor Shields’ right-hand man, right? So it would figure that the governor would want to know about what’s happening on all the other isles, including Glessie.”

  “And what better way to do that than get our dear mayor mixed up in something she can’t talk about in public?” I added.

  Portia frowned but nodded. “A valid lead to look at…still, I wonder how we will be able to stretch our resources to—“

  “Leave that to my little circle of friends,” Midnight said with a feral smile. “They have good eyes. I’ll speak to ‘em tonight.”

  I remembered then what Infirma had told me about the Chief Warlock and was about to tell the Custodians, when I felt an intruder in my thoughts. I turned to Onyx, who was to my left and looking directly at me. He gave me a subtle shake of his head. Not now.

  Apparently, this was something that he wanted to work on himself, so I kept my omerta.

  “If there is no further business…?” Portia asked, glancing around the table.

  The Custodians and I nodded.

  “I declare this meeting adjourned.” The witch Fearwyn concluded. She stood, and the table we were sitting at -- and, unfortunately, the table the cats were sitting on -- disappeared. My kitties tumbled to the floor before they knew what was happening.

  “A little warning next time, Sister,” Eclipse said as he untangled himself from the knot of furry arms and legs. “Contrary to popular belief, cats don’t always land on their feet.”

  “Duly noted, Brother Cat,” Portia said. “Now, let’s make haste to Saint Pendragon’s.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hinrika knocked at the church door again, the seventh time she’d rapped on the oak entranceway. The remainder of the Custodians, (minus Orville and Verdantia) and me, remained behind the cover of a giant yew tree, waiting for the Fairy Queen to gain entry, and hence distract Peacefield while we entered Saint Pendragons for the second time. Not the church itself this time though, but the bell tower.

  “I still say we could slip in with Portia’s Ombra enchantment whether Peacefield answers or not,” David said.

  “And how would we guarantee that the good vicar wouldn’t hear us once we are inside?” Portia countered. “The marble floors lend themselves very little to conventional stealth.”

  “I just don’t see why we have to do the Shadowgate again,” David tried once more. I agreed with the chief. I shuddered at the thought of going through that whirling void again.

  “You know,” Fraidy said. “Breaking into a church…it kind of feels wrong.” His tiny head swiveled in all directions, his pricked ears twirling like radar dishes. “What if the Goddess’ get angry and pun-punish us?”

  “All in a good cause, Fraidy,” Onyx said, licking his brother’s ear. “Our purpose is the same as last time: to ascertain the possibility that the late Ms. Devlin’s treasure is on Saint Pendragon’s premises. For the good of humanity and paranormals
alike.”

  We watched as Hinrika, a string of aromatic licorice dangling from her charcoal lips, knock again. This time the door opened.

  “As I live and breathe!” the mellow, welcoming voice of the reverend called out. “Hinrika Jonsdottir…what in the name of the Triple Goddess are you doing out so late?”

  Thaddeus Peacefield beamed, his face ruddy from likely one too many shots of brandy.

  “Oh, is it late?” Hinrika said. “Silly me, I always have such trouble keeping track of the time. Did I happen to catch you at a bad moment?”

  “Not at all! ‘Midsomer Murders’ is about to start. Care to join an old man and watch a mystery?” The reverend’s eyes sparkled with mischievous good humor, and Hinrika joined Rev. Peacefield for some innocent late night entertainment.

  This was our cue.

  “I am not looking forward to this next part,” I admitted as we all gathered in a circle. I noticed Friday’s eyes were squeezed shut.

  “If you have a more efficient method of infiltration to suggest, Hattie, now is the time,” Portia said, getting ready to cast the spell.

  “Why couldn’t we have brought Verdantia and Orville with us?” David asked. Whether he thought either one of them had less intense means to portal our way into Saint Pendragons, I don’t know. I admired him for trying another angle though.

  “Verdantia is helping keep watch on Infirma,” Portia said. “Orville has his day job responsibilities. He’s also cramming in work on developing Dragon Steel for the Custodian’s lab. If it comes to pass that the Wyrmrig walks this earth again, then we at least need to have some kind of protection.” Portia’s discourse shut David up in an instant. “Ready?” The old witch asked. She didn’t wait for us to answer. The next thing I knew, our small group was completely engulfed, then swallowed, by the shadows that surrounded us. The spell felt, dark and coldly suffocating, but thankfully the charm released us from its shadowy grasp, and we came out the other side in one piece. Only now, we stood in the bell tower, surveying St Pen’s fine grounds below us in the silvery moonlight. We turned to Morag’s charitable donation; St Pen’s new bell. A humongous piece of iron, hanging like a still sentinel to keep watch over Glessie.

  Portia began rubbing her hands around the bell’s outer edge. David and I followed suit at other points along the skirt of the giant chime. The kitties stretched their forepaws and tapped around the iron surface, sniffing like bloodhounds as they made their way.

  After a few minutes, Shade made a meow of disapproval. “Dudes and dudettes, this sucker is cast iron, best Fae magic repellant on the planet. Don’t know if we’re gonna find anything even if what we’re looking for IS here.”

  “That it is a known property can work to our advantage, Brother Shade,” Portia said in her usual unflappable tone. “See if you can smell, taste or feel anything that has no business being on the bell.”

  “Well, there’s us, but I don’t think that counts,” Gloom sniped.

  We continued feeling our way around the bell when David said, “Now that I’m part of the family, as it were, there is something I’d like to ask you, Portia.”

  For once, Portia didn’t spew a cutting remark. “That is fair, Brother David. Go ahead.”

  “I’d like to ask you to share what you were arguing about with Morag in front of the altar in the church here?”

  Portia looked at my friend.

  “The argument that was seen by the cleaner of Saint Pendragon’s?” David added, apparently hoping that this would prompt Portia’s mouth into action.

  Portia huffed. “Believe it or not, she was asking me—begging me, actually—to help her hide her mystery object.”

  The chief gave her a sharp look. “Anyone else, I’d be asking why you’re just now telling me this. But because it’s you…”

  “Did she give you any hint as to what it could be?” I asked. Wow, what a missed opportunity. We could have that artifact in our hands now, and be using our time in a more useful way.

  “Sadly, no, or I would have mentioned it well before now,” Portia answered. “That was actually one piece of information I demanded to know before I would offer my help. The other piece was why she wanted to hide it in the first place. Shame Morag didn’t trust me. Foolish girl…she kept citing attorney-client privilege. I reminded her that disbarment was easier to get over than death. At that point, the conversation ended.”

  “Don’t tell me you just left it there,” Gloom said, looking up at Portia with a sour face.

  “Hardly, Sister Gloom,” Portia said. “If anything, it piqued my curiosity. I started keeping tabs on her. That was why I was at the fair when she met her end.”

  A round of hearty laughter floated up the stairs to the bell tower. Hinrika and Thaddeus were having a hoot of a time by the sounds of it.

  “Blast it,” Portia said, dropping her hands from the search of the metal monster. “I’m afraid that Brother Shade’s pessimism may be justified. A lot of magic has been absorbed into the iron over the centuries. It makes individual signatures very hard to discern.”

  Turning to the rest of us, she asked, “There surely must be an anomaly here, but I’m unsure what tool we could use to uncover it.” Portia put her hands on her hips and looked up at the night sky, muttering and shaking her head. Our search was over, and Morag’s mystery item hadn’t been found. Portia looked at us again.

  “So…time for another ride on the Abyss Express?” I asked, feeling my stomach turn at the thought.

  She nodded. “Let’s be on our way, so we can let the dear reverend go to bed.”

  Feeling a little sick, but otherwise safe, behind the yew tree again, Eclipse began pacing.

  “Another failure,” my mysterious moggie announced. “We’re getting nowhere on this case.” The cats hung their heads.

  “Not quite,” Portia said. “There is one last place we can look.” All heads turned to the old witch. “Have Maude check over Morag’s corpse once more. Maybe our Lady Devlin secreted the item on her person.”

  “It’d have to be a pretty discreet spot,” Carbon said. “Our Maude’s no slouch, you know? She’s always very thorough.”

  “Just the same, it’s something we should look at again.”

  Poor old Morag, I thought. She’s been traveling nonstop since she died. From grave to coroner, back to grave, and now she’s heading back to the morgue once more.

  I didn’t go by the Fingernail Moon too often. No matter how much Millie tried convincing me otherwise, the place had never been my idea of a good singles scene. I’m not a drinker, partier or airheaded teenage girl looking for Mr. Right. Besides, my responsibilities to both the shop and more recently, David’s homicide investigations, seriously cut into my free time. The only time I frequented Glessie’s infamous inn was when I needed some information. But, today, I just needed a break from the case. Maude’s was a dud. Our favorite ghoul coroner had only been too pleased to help out the Custodian’s by offering another thorough examination of Morag’s body, but nothing had turned up. No mystery item was hiding in the dead woman’s, ahem, ‘crevasses.’ I felt more than a little deflated, and while I wasn’t headed to the Moon to drown my sorrows in Horace’s ales, I did think a nip of Griffin’s Beak might be of help.

  I sat down at my usual bar stool and waited for Horace to show up. He was right now slapping down some ales in front of a group of lively pensioners. I noticed Eve Greenacre, David’s new jail warden, sitting at the end of the bar. She was deep into a romance novel, her hand clutched at her heart, as her eyes widened at some emotional tug the book had offered. I didn’t disturb her. “Hattie, me lovely…what a fantabulous surprise!” Horace Mangler’s heavy Scottish drawl snapped me to attention.

  “Just needed a place to clear my head, Horace,” I said with a wan smile. “ Can you rustle up a Griffin’s Beak?”

  “You know it,” Horace said, pulling a tankard from underneath the bar. “Ya’ll excuse me sayin’ this, but ya seem a bit down tonight.”

&
nbsp; While he filled up the big mug with liquid from a special small barrel, I sighed and admitted, “It’s because I am. This latest case I’m helping David with…it seems to be going nowhere.”

  He set the tankard in front of me and frowned slightly. “ Well, I’ll add some ‘pep’ to this beak ‘ere, whadda ya say?” Horace raised a pair of red fuzzy eyebrows.

  “You know what? I said. “Sure. Hit me.”

  I looked up at the man-mountain and gave him a smile. “How’s your dance lessons with Maude going?”

  “Bran the Blessed, that woman. Since she came inta me life, well, I’m feelin’ all da better fer it, ya know?” The Fingernail Moon’s landlord blushed to match his shock of red hair. “Hattie, I tell ya’s, she’s so graceful on her feet, like a fairy ballerina,” Horace’s eyes grew misty as he recalled his cutting the rug with his new squeeze.

  “What ‘bout you ‘n’ the chief?” The giant Scot leaned in on the bar. “Have you guys finally got yer act t’gether enough to, you know, get t’gether?” Horace slapped the bar and roared with laughter at his own joke. I smiled bitterly.

  “David and I…had a moment not so long ago,” I said, even though that moment felt like a century ago now. “Ever since then, he’s been distant at best.”

  “‘N’ at worst?”

  “At worst, he’s angry. Like, really mad. His temper lately, it’s just … well, it’s just not him, and I have to say I’m worried about him.”

  “Have ye talked ‘bout it?”

  “I’ve tried. Many times. But he keeps offering up excuses; exhaustion, indigestion, you name it.”

  Horace placed my spiked Griffin’s Beak in front of me and squeezed my hand. I took a long draw of the divinely tasting liquid.

  “I seem to be the only thing that keeps him calm when he’s like that. But…I’m wondering if we were ever meant to be together, you know? I feel like we get close, and then he just … well, pulls away.”

  Horace tickled my chin with one of his massive sausage fingers. “You’re a prize lassie, Hat me dear. And David Trew tain’t ‘nough a’ fool ta let ya get away.”