“Typhon Jyldrar,” I said.
“Yeah, him. He’s pretty new to town. I’ll have Spinefield pay him a friendly visit too.”
“Uh-huh, okay. But what did you say?”
“Huh? Say to what?”
“What did you say to Portia when she said she didn’t want you near Cathedral?”
“Oh, well...I told her she’s not the boss of me.”
I nibbled on my lower lip. “I think she’s right, David,” I said. “I think you should stay away from Cathedral for a while.”
“Oh, Goddess, not you too?” My friend scoffed. “You think that Shields has some sort of charm over me as well?”
“Well, it wouldn’t exactly be out of left field, now would it?” I demanded. “I mean, you’ve been hexed by Warlock magic a few times now, so would it be that far-fetched that Gideon has a hold on you?”
“So what if he does?” David said, spinning toward me. “It doesn’t give Portia, you, or anyone else for that matter, the right to govern my actions and movements. I’m a sovereign state, Hattie Jenkins. I do what I want to do when I need to do it. Capiche?”
I held up my hands. “Okay, okay,” I said. “It’s just Portia doesn’t want any more losses. And neither do I, David. So do you think you could just play ball on this one?”
CPI Trew sighed. “Look, I’m hanging back while you and Portia go to Cathedral tomorrow, aren’t I?” He said. “But, no, I can’t just ‘play ball’ on this, Hattie. Can you even hear yourself?” His eyes looked like they’d caught fire. “I mean, you’re all jawing about me being someone’s puppet, and yet you’re pulling at my strings too? No. I don’t think so.”
I could see by his face there was no point in arguing. I’d have to be happy with the temporary win of him staying put on Glessie tomorrow.
“What will you do tomorrow?” I asked. I’d be happy knowing his day was filled with something that took his attention away from Shields and Cathedral.
“I’ll take that device to Artemus, for starters,” he said. “We may have lost our top metallurgist, but we still have the brains of Artemus Caves, at least.” The chief gave me a thin smile.
“He’ll be happy to help out, I know it,” I said.
Artemus Caves had become a good friend of ours over the months. He had a scientific brain and loved to extract data through carefully measured experiments. Caves had helped us on two cases so far, so I knew he’d be up for another challenge. Particularly if it was for the good of the isles. The fact that my friend, Gabrielle, had taken a chance on this man, still filled me with a warm depth of happiness. Gabrielle and Artemus shared a tender union; built on respect, understanding and playful admiration. Yeah, they were a cute couple.
Gloom and Onyx sat like Chinese Foo dog statues at either side of the door of the Angel.
“So, you’ll call …. I mean send a cat-pigeon tomorrow?” David asked, as I fished in my bag for my key.
I forced a laugh. “I promise I will.”
“Shields won’t be there, I’m sure,” David said. “But if he is, you make sure to do nothing. Nothing at all. You send a cat to me, okay? If the governor is there, then send a cat, and do nothing. Got it?”
I saluted him and stomped my feet together. “Sir, yes sir!” I said playfully.
David laughed. “Promise me you’ll get a full night’s sleep?”
“Done.”
“We’ll reconvene tomorrow then. And, Hat?” He said, leveling a serious gaze at me. “Be careful on Cathedral, okay?”
On a whim, I balanced on my tiptoes and planted a kiss on David’s forehead. I caught my friend blushing just before I put the key in the door.
Sleep couldn’t come fast enough. I just hoped that whatever fresh horrors were waiting for me tomorrow, they would at least allow me the precious slumber I so badly needed tonight.
Chapter Five
“Jet, what did I tell you?” I shouted after the fleeing black streak that had just whizzed by me.
“Yep! Yep!” He burbled, leaping like a furry sniper from a nearby privet hedge. “Yep, all cool, boss, yep! I’m chill, yep!” He darted then, zig-zagging his way through the gardens toward Celestial Cakes.
I shook my head.
“Portia will be most displeased, I imagine,” Onyx said, trotting politely beside me.
“Your imagination’s poor then, my furry friend,” I said, smiling down at my cat. “Because I imagine that Portia will be most deranged about that one coming along.” I nodded my head at Jet who was twirling his ears, having an urgently babbling conversation with himself.
“Could you not have given him a lower dose?” My sage kitty enquired. He cocked his head at his twitching brother, who had advanced to a loud and animated one-sided conversation. “This looks like drug abuse to me.”
“You know he got into the catnip before I administered his shot this morning, right?” I scolded. Onyx had been the one to brush off all the errant flakes of ‘nip from the bed covers. From what I could see, it looked like Jet had stolen a pound of the stuff and had spent the night rolling in it.
“So why’d you give him more?” Gloom challenged, shaking her head at my apparent stupidity.
“Because he didn’t tell me, and I only saw the state of the bed after I’d given him his shot.” Jet’s eyes had been like glazed dinner plates when I woke up this morning, but my lively cat had assured me he was dose-free. “Besides, it’s no surprise he’s a little jumpy right now. Things have been a little … crazy ... wouldn’t you agree, O?”
“You are quite right, of course, Seraphim,” he said. “But, there’s never a time where a modicum of decorum doesn’t come in handy.”
Jet’s wild face shot out of a hosta patch. He grinned, showing his gnashers, which were a little bit … well, I won’t lie … gnashy. Jet chomped at the air ... tearing it to shreds with a rabid jaw.
“Did you shoot him up with rabies?” Gloom said, trotting on the outside of the sidewalk to give her drug-crazed brother a wide berth.
Ahead of us, I could see my good friend, Gabrielle, bringing out the sign to place in front of her bakery. She opened at six a.m to serve the early morning coffee and pastry crowd before they headed to their eight hours of drudgery. It was nearly seven a.m now, but I hoped to snag one of Gabrielle’s excellent croissants before she sold out. Plus, Gabrielle’s first few brews of the day were legendary.
Is it right that your mouth should water at the sight of a good friend?
“Cool it now, guys,” I said, as we approached the cake shop. “Jet, you need to be on your best behavior, or Portia won’t want you along for the ride.”
My zippy cat’s head was a blur as he nodded his rapid agreement. “Yep!” He chirped and darted the rest of the way to the bakery. Gabrielle saw him, stood stock-still and lunged for my demented cat. She grabbed him the way a production line robot might take hold of a car panel: with exacting speed and precision. With a wriggling Jet in her arms, the former golem turned her head toward the rest of us.
“Hattie Jenkins and cats,” she said. “This is always a pleasant surprise for me. Please come in. I will bring you fresh coffee.”
I hugged my friend at the door and then pushed past her into her den of delights. The air was redolent and thick with buttery vapors and sweet almond spice.
The local hair stylist -- who preferred to be known as a coiffeuse -- Violet Mulberry, stood at the counter with a freshly baked blueberry muffin in her hand. The woman’s hair, usually blow-dried to within an inch of its life, hung in tatty plastic curlers on all sides of her head.
“Oh, dear, oh my,” Violet said, patting her rollers and buttoning up the top fastener of her coat to hide a worn nightie. “I didn’t expect to see anybody this early,” she enthused, pulling a lipstick out of her bag and waving it across her lips with a practiced flourish.
“Much better,” Gloom snarked.
Violet didn’t understand kitty talk, being that she was Unaware, and not of the magical community, but she did g
ive Gloom a suspicious sideward glance.
Violet surveyed me, her eyes lingering on my ponytailed hair. “Oh, dear, I guess you weren’t expecting to see anyone either,” she said, her mouth hanging open in mild dismay at my apparently shocking state.
“Oh well,” she waved me off with a flick of her manicured nail. “At least your assistant has the sense to keep her beauty profile at front and center.”
Violet referenced my assistant, and best friend, Millie Midge, of course. These last eight months, Millie had taken to adopting an entirely different color for her locks. At first, she’d only permit Violet to tint her hair in one uniform color. However, just last month, Millie had broken her one-color rule and had flounced into the Angel sporting wave upon wave of Unicorn tresses. Multi-colored, multi-faceted, multi-orgasmic -- or, so Millie would say, anyway.
“What color is she now, Violet?” I asked. I knew Millie’s appointment with our resident coiffeuse was yesterday after work, so I hadn’t yet clapped eyes on my friend’s new mane.
Violet looked insulted. “Oh, my!” She said. “I wouldn’t dream of revealing my work verbally. Words can’t describe my artistic vision, after all,” she finished.
“Of course,” I said, laying a hand on Violet’s forearm. “I really don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Yes, well,” the stylist fussed with her curlers again. “When you see it, you’re going to burn up with envy.” She beamed and took her change, muffin, and coffee from Gabrielle. “And I’ve given you a clue there if you’re smart enough to unravel it,” she chortled. Violet patted her hair once more, and flounced out of the bakery..
Gabrielle laid a steaming black java in front of me. I reached for it, but she cupped her dusty hand over mine. “I know about Orville,” she said. “I’m so very sorry for your tragic loss.”
That took me aback. “How did you find out?”
“Carpathia dropped round late yesterday evening. She had been called out late last night to Gaunt Manor. I believe Portia Fearwyn wanted her to rework a helmet for your cat or something?” Gabrielle’s thin eyebrows knitted together as she tried to make sense of what Carpathia had shared.
“Yes,” I said. “Orville had been designing dragon-steel helmets for the kitties. Sadly, Fraidy’s helmet turned out to be rather on the large side. Do you happen to know if Carpathia worked it out?”
Gabrielle shook her head and then reached for a tray of fresh baked french fancies. She pointed to the third shelf down. “Almond croissants,” she said, offering what she knew to be my favorite of her baked goods. I didn’t wait to be asked twice. I pulled a napkin from the dispenser and folded it over the warm pastry.
“Carpathia said she needed some mathematical assistance,” Gabrielle said, sliding the tray back into position. “So I’ve offered Artemus’ help. He’s good with numbers, so maybe he’ll be able to work it out. He’s heading out to the lab to meet with Ms. Alecto this morning. If you’d believe it, Portia Fearwyn is even leaving them the key. I only say this because Artemus was surprised. I do not know, however, if it’s surprising if Portia leaves a key or not.”
I snorted. “Trust me, Gabrielle, it’s surprising.”
A black shape half-swooped, half just materialized in the doorway of Celestial Cakes.
“It is of little consequence to me whether people see me as a hospitable witch or an inhospitable witch.”
I stared, mouth open, at Portia Fearwyn, as she continued. “I’d rather not leave the key to my home to ANYONE, but there it is. We have a war to fight, and the smaller battles such as this dragonsteel work will pick away at the opponent just as effectively as out and out confrontation.” The Witch Fearwyn glided over to the counter. “I will take a large black tea and a plain scone, unbuttered. Thank you.”
Gabrielle nodded and went to work, while Portia nodded to a booth with two seats at the far side of the bakery.
“Now, let’s talk about our plan of attack for today, shall we?” She pulled out a chair and beckoned me to sit, and then pulled out her own. A black vertical blur shot up before our eyes, sending Portia rocking back on her heels. Jet succumbed to gravity and came crashing back to the table. The Witch Fearwyn narrowed her eyes at my jittery cat. “I thought I said I didn’t want this demented animal coming along.”
Jet sat upright and wrapped his tail around him. He gave his ears a once over, before saying: “Yep, witch-lady, I’m chill. I’m calm. I’m just hanging out, yep? You just frightened me is all, you know, yep?”
I could see him straining to break out in a funky dance move or something equally energetic and crazy. He tapped just one toe on his left foot instead. I felt a pang of admiration for my fast kitty. I knew how hard it was for him to stay still.
“Well, don’t get under my feet, you hear me?” Portia cautioned.
“Yep, I mean nope. Nope, nope, I’m just gonna chill, and hang out in the background, you know, kick back, take it easy kinda thing, yep?” I glared at my cat and pointed to the ground. He took my hint and left Portia and me to talk.
The Witch Fearwyn sat down finally. “Okay, so we will be going straight to Chalice for this visit,” she said. “No poking around the Glimmer Mountains and/or Burning Peak or any such nonsense. We know Shields has the place covered with his goons, anyway, so let’s just stick to the affairs at hand, shall we? We’re interested in speaking to Governor Shields only, and we will proceed to the capital and the capital only. Am I making myself clear, Ms. Jenkins?”
I nodded my mute approval.
“Am I making myself clear, cats?”
“Totally cool, yep. It’s like, totally cool and chill.” Jet said. “Yep, like a warm breeze on a summer day, yep.” He was overdoing it on the relaxed guy thing.
“Clear,” Gloom said.
“Perfectly,” said Onyx.
“Chalice only,” I said, nodding.
Portia turned to Gabrielle. “I trust your … your …. partner … can find his way to Gaunt Manor on his own?”
“Artemus is not my partner,” Gabrielle said, returning Portia’s gaze. “We are not in business together. Artemus is my boyfriend, and he is not an idiot. He can find his way around this isle very well. Even to your dark little corner of the world.” The former golem snatched Portia’s half-full teacup and waltzed back behind the counter to work her pastry magic. The former golem looked over her shoulder. “And you are fortunate to have his assistance.”
I raised my hands. “Gabrielle, I think what Portia is trying--” My phone cut me off. I glanced at it as it traveled across the table in a series of traveling vibrations.
“Reverend Peacefield,” I mumbled apologetically. “It’s the third time he’s called.” I reached out and silenced the phone.
Gabrielle glided over and placed a dusty hand over mine. “If the vicar has called you three times now, do you not think it might be wise to find out why he would like to speak to you so urgently?”
I waved a hand. “Oh, I’m sure it’s just about a fundraiser for the new pulpit at Saint Pendragons,” I said. Stuffing the phone back in my pocket. I looked up at my ex-golem friend. “Gabrielle, don’t worry. I’ll call the Reverend later. As you’re aware, we have slightly more pressing engagements right now.”
“Quite,” Portia said, abruptly standing. She looked at me. “If you could get your little rug-rats together, I suggest we get a move on.” She strode out the door without so much as a thanks or a goodbye to Gabrielle.
I guess our little tea party was over. Gabrielle and I hugged. “If I may have your permission, I would like to call Reverend Peacefield today and find out what he would like to speak with you about.”
I shrugged. “Sure, be my guest,” I said, squeezing her arm. “But I’m warning you; you’ll probably find yourself knee deep in fundraising duties.”
“If this is what the vicar’s calling you about then that is fine with me. But if he is calling about a matter of greater concern then I will assist him in any way possible so you can get on with your
Custodian duties and not have to worry about it.”
Gabrielle’s honest straightforwardness was disarming. I hugged her again and kissed the side of her cheek. “ Thank you, you. Speak later, girlfriend,” I said.
“Please be careful.”
“I will.” With my kitties in tow, I turned and left the warm glow and comfort of Celestial Cakes.
Once outside, the cats mounted my broom silently. Jet’s face screwed up in a scowl of concentration as he straddled the stick. I could see a few beads of sweat on his brow as he fought to control and slow down his moves. The poor chap shook from the pressure of self-restraint ... his ears twitched so fast, they looked as if they were vibrating.
I shook my head and hopped on the besom myself.
Portia Fearwyn, Onyx, Gloom, Jet and I began our ascent and pointed our brooms toward Cathedral.
I knew it was unlikely that we’d see the governor in the flesh today, but I could barely contain the excitement I felt when my imagination showed me Gideon’s face at the exact moment the Warlock Chief realized we were (mostly) still alive. If he didn’t know that already, that is.
Chapter Six
It turned out to be a choppy ride to Cathedral. Jet enjoyed it immensely; his attempts at composure gleefully abandoned, my zesty moggie proved his merriment by making yipping and yapping noises the whole way. My other two passengers didn’t share Jet’s high-spirits, however, and they showed it by whining and hissing for the entire trip.
The Angel and the Dragon Page 5
