Fiona Frost: Order of the Black Moon

by Dr. Bon Blossman

  “It does kinda look like an altar,” Wolfe whispered in a casual manner.

  Avoiding eye contact, I smiled in his general direction.

  “What do the words say on the altar, Detective?” I said, straining to read the cryptic crimson letters on the side of the slab.

  He shook his head in angst.

  “Don’t know, but we’ve photographed it from every angle—we’ll analyze the pictures back at the lab with a comparative internet search. It appears to be another language.”

  He ambled over to a large evidence bag, slipped on a pair of gloves, and pulled out a long sword. Maddie gasped for air as he unveiled the daunting weapon, the artificial light catching the golden blade.

  “Oh my gosh, that’s the murder weapon?” she choked out.

  “Yes, we believe this was the murder weapon. This is very interesting, we’ll research the etiology and meaning behind it at the lab. For now, all I can say is it’s unique. Never seen one like this before.”

  The weapon had a massive pirate-style handle with engravings and molded dragons on it. The base of the blade had an open mouth skull with vampire teeth and horns sticking out to the side. The blade was colossal with a sharp tip covered by a dark substance—dried blood. I winced, knowing it had stolen the victim’s life only hours before.

  “That is an unbelievably huge blade. You’d think a simple kitchen knife would’ve done the trick, but whoever used that wanted to mean it,” Wolfe uttered in a somber tone.

  After the detective had slipped the weapon back into the evidence bag, he approached, detailing the rest of the evidence which had been collected during the investigation.

  They had collected samples of limestone from the cave walls of every room, floor sludge, stalagmite and stalactites, water from the Open Council Room, fingerprints from the weapon, hairs on the altar, and a bloody footprint in the tunnel.

  The clock hands twirled as we kept our position in the corner, studying the meticulous techniques of the crime lab.

  Once the scene was cleared, we commenced our investigation, taking our time as we collected samples from the walls and sludge from the ground. We searched every niche of Dracul’s Den in a grid pattern as we had been taught. We cringed as Wolfe found a live scorpion—we collected it as evidence.

  After a couple of hours in Dracul’s Den, we made our way into the Open Council Room to collect more samples. I was wary of where I stepped. After a bit of time passed, Detective Chase’s radio beeped with a high pitched tone, followed by static.

  “Excuse me,” he said before scurrying down the corridor towards the mouth of the cave—headed for better reception.

  “Fiona.”

  My heart paused at the sound of his voice. I turned around to face him.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked, pointing his eyes towards the other side of the room, a tender smile on his face.

  I glanced over at Maddie—she was busy collecting water and sediment samples from the river. I nodded, agreeing to his request.

  My heart picked up the pace with each step as I trailed his steps, our previous encounter flashing in my mind like a neon sign on a souvenir shop in China Town. My cheeks flushed as I pictured myself back in his arms. It felt amazing.

  He stopped. I turned towards Maddie and she was still hyper-focusing on river samples. She’d be too occupied with what she was doing to notice us. I didn’t know how close to stand. Awkward. I shrugged my shoulders because my arms became foreign objects, hanging by my sides like swinging sausages.

  Unless it was a conversation about science, I had the social skills of a newborn flamingo. He wasn’t going to talk about science since he would have spoken in front of Maddie. My hands trembled ever so slightly, so I pressed them against my hips to steady them, admiring his handsome features, and biting the corner of my lip to hide the effect he had on me. He explored me with his eyes for what seemed like an eternity before he turned his head to the side, a crooked smile lighting up his face.

  “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior earlier. I might have taken advantage of the situation.”

  A tsunami of blood rushed to my face. Humiliation riddled my spirit for reading too much into our interaction. He’s about to warn me about my flirting. But did he know I was flirting? How could he tell how I feel? Am I obvious? Embarrassment elevated my core body temperature and I started to sweat—first on my upper lip and soon after, everywhere. He asked me to the prom. But now I know he was only joking. It’s February, prom’s not until May, he couldn’t have been serious. I’m such an idiot. Someone like him would never be interested in me. I stared at him with no idea what kind of expression was on my face.

  “Don’t say another word,” I said, holding an outstretched hand towards his face, “I know you were only trying to calm me, and I appreciate you coming to my rescue. I wasn’t looking where I was going. You might have even saved my life, and I should thank you again,” I babbled incoherently.

  He placed his index finger to quiet my lips. With a mischievous grin, he spun me to his other side, pushing me backward towards the wall. Spreading his arms protectively around me, my back rested against the spongy limestone.

  “That’s not what I was going to say, Fiona,” he whispered, his gaze burning into mine with an intensity I had never experienced before. The scattered light rays from the ceiling turned his eyes into liquid metal. Caught in a mental whirlwind, confusion plagued me, my emotions frightened me. I had lost control, mind numbed, his eyes weakened me and my deadened legs threatened to give way.

  He caressed my face with his iron hands; my lungs restricting me to shallow breaths. We shared an intense gaze, neither of us daring to blink. He drew closer, entering the shadows between us, breathing in the scent of my hair as his lips neared my ear.

  “I was going to say I couldn’t help myself,” he said with a smooth voice.

  My heart dropped to the bottom of its cage, eyelids slamming shut without permission to hide my excitement. I replayed his words, basking in my euphoria. He held my shoulders, pushing closer. I trembled.

  “Sorry about that,” a familiar voice resonated from down the corridor.

  My trance broke. Our eyes widened in a panic, and he released his grip, taking quick giant steps backward. We scrambled, pretending to search the ground for evidence. I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of unfounded resentment towards the detective. I glanced across the room at Maddie and she raised an eyebrow, pushing her lips into a straight line. She knew.

  “I have some terrible news, Fiona. I have to get you home immediately. Let’s go,” the detective said as he rounded the corner.

  With a frozen face, the veins in my forehead pulsed. I searched his expression for a clue about why I had to leave without delay.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked with resignation.

  “Gerald Smith broke out of Huntville Prison. He left a riddle in his cell; it was decoded by the feds. It said he was headed for your house.”

  3 DAMIEN’S STORY

  After we had driven Wolfe home, the detective continued to follow Maddie and me to my house on Nikale Street. I wasn’t surprised to see a black Lincoln Town Car with government issued plates in my driveway. My forensic kit in hand, we rushed through the front door and located my parents in the living room—engaged in an animated conversation with a gray-haired man in a black suit.

  Feds—I preferred to call them black suits.

  “Fiona, thank God you are safe!” my mother shouted, scuttling across the room.

  She grabbed me, cradling me before pulling back to see if I was alright.

  “Mom, I’m fine,” I said, smiling as I stepped away. “So, what is going on? That Smith guy broke out of prison? The one who wants to get even with Dad?” I turned towards Detective Chase, “Is he the guy that we just interviewed at the prison for the Foster murder?”

  “Yes, Gerald Smith, the man who didn’t make parole because he told a guard he still wants revenge on your father. He still blames him
for putting him away.”

  My tiny mom, a chemist at Hartford, dipped her head towards the ground, her caramel bob swayed like doll’s hair, swinging back and forth until stopping to frame her adorable face. We were remarkably close, but she was an unremitting worrywart.

  My father’s booming voice rang out, “Fiona, we are going to have to assign an agent to follow you around for a while, we can’t allow you to leave the house unless you’re at school. His name is Agent Bronson, he’s a nice fellow. It’s only temporary until Mr. Smith is caught, I’m sure it will be soon, right Agent Lawson?” he said candidly to the gray-haired man.

  Lewis Frost, an intimidating man, was perfect in every way that you’d expect a father to be. However, he was always busily working on cases. Lately, I was seeing more of him on the professional side of things, which was brilliant.

  “Yes, Mr. Frost. I’m sure we’ll catch Mr. Smith. He’s not too intelligent, should be easy to track. I’ll be in touch as soon as I get any updates. In the meantime, the boys just arrived and will be right outside if you need them,” the agent instructed, advancing towards the front door.

  “Dad, we have some evidence we really need to process in the lab at school. I have to at least go there and preserve the samples so we can process them later. Please! We just spent hours investigating the crime scene in Arles Cave—we found some good stuff!” I pleaded, my hands cupped in prayer with a full pout on my lips.

  “Please, Mr. Frost!” Maddie asked feebly, copying my prayer hands.

  “Fiona, listen to your father. I will be happy to take your evidence to your lab and put everything where it needs to go. It will be ready for you tomorrow at school,” Detective Chase offered, reaching for my forensic kit.

  “Okay,” I whined. “I suppose that is a fair deal, and I appreciate it.”

  “And Mr. Lawson, here’s my card if you need anything from the city crime lab,” he offered his business card to the grayed black suit who placed it in his pocket, turning the knob of the front door with his other hand.

  “Thank you, Detective. We hope to have the prisoner in custody within the next twenty-four hours,” he countered with a confident smile and crossed the threshold of my front door.

  As my father escorted him to his Town Car in the driveway, stomping echoed from the hallway. Maddie shot an inflamed eye roll in my direction, sliding a hand on her hip in anticipation of seeing the stomp owner.

  “Did I hear right that we can’t leave the house t’night?” Haley Frost, my obnoxious cousin from New Jersey, shrieked as she burst into the room.

  “I thought you were headed to New Zealand to some girl’s home?” Maddie smirked, her eyebrows lodged into a sarcastic line over her brown eyes. “Fiona, you didn’t give me the bad news she’s still here?”

  I smirked, trying not to laugh.

  “She missed her flight. Now she doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning. It can’t come soon enough,” I replied bitingly.

  My mother fired a glance of disapproval at us as she popped out of her chair to confront Haley.

  My cousin had been an unrelenting troublemaker back in New Jersey and my aunt and uncle had shipped her to my house as a last resort. After making a homemade explosive device with her boyfriend who placed it inside of my locker at school—and detonated it—she was headed for a boarding school in New Zealand.

  As my mother attempted to reason with the platinum-haired brat, I addressed my father about the whereabouts of my nanny, Janice Parker, who normally would have been busy serving the crowd in the room sugar cookies with guns and badges decorated on them with frosting.

  “Dad, where’s Janice? Is she alright? I don’t smell cookies,” I blurted, my mind was spinning in confusion.

  My father surveyed my face for a moment.

  “She is feeling under the weather and has turned in for the night. We’re doing Chinese takeout, and it will arrive any minute now,” he said before turning towards the hallway to go to his office.

  He seemed strained to get away every time he talked to anybody unless he was discussing an open case. Being the district attorney must have been stressful, but he handled it beautifully.

  “Where is Luminal?” I asked, my eyes darting around the room in a panic.

  He stopped in his tracks and spun around slowly. A slow frown spread across his face, his brows furrowing into apprehensive arc’s above his tawny eyes.

  “Well, that’s another thing, Fiona. He’s at the vet. Please realize he’s an old dog, we spoke about this day when he came home with us ten years ago. I told you one day, you would have to say goodbye, and it is alright to grieve and mourn the loss. He’s a pet, and we are not going to go crazy about it,” he said bluntly in a calm voice.

  My Scottish terrier had spent every day with me since I was seven-years-old; I expected to have him for longer than ten years. Back then, I was already interested in forensic science and had named him Luminal after the chemical Luminol used to detect bodily fluids at crime scenes. My mother said it was tacky to name him after a commercial product, so I changed the o to an a and pronounced it slightly different. She was slightly pacified even though the spelling changed it to mean a body cavity. I suppose, in her eyes, anatomy was better than a bottle of chemicals.

  “He. Is. Dead?” I muttered, swallowing a rock-hard lump in my throat.

  The teardrops gathered in number, ready to cascade down my face if my father said the word yes.

  “No, he is not dead. However, he is extremely ill. The vet wanted to keep him for observation overnight. We’ll see how it goes.”

  He whisked down the hallway and I fought a quivering lip as I said goodbye to Maddie, asking her to notify the club members of a change in the lab meeting to tomorrow after school. I sulked to my bedroom which I referred to as the pink palace. It was still early in the evening, but I had entered such a miserable place in my head, I wanted the day to reset—tomorrow would be better. I wanted to get there as quickly as possible.

  With no appetite for dinner, I slipped into my pajamas and just as I threw myself onto my bed, my phone rang. Fighting an emotional breakdown, I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody, but I answered without checking the caller.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, this is Wolfe. Is everything alright? I was really worried about you.”

  Even the sound of his voice couldn’t draw me out of the funk I was in this time.

  “Hi Wolfe. I’m fine, no worries,” I lied. “Thanks for calling.”

  Without another thought, I ended the call without saying goodbye and immediately burst into tears. The emotional rollercoaster of the day took hold of my senses as I crawled into my covers, and curled into a ball as a new sob burst from my chest, eventually putting me to sleep.

  I slept soundly without tossing or waking up in the middle of the night. It was probably the soundest sleep I had ever had in my life. My alarm shrieked and I jumped out of bed. I scampered about to get ready for school.

  As I brushed my teeth, I was surprised to see my ivory skin looked bright, my eyes were vivid. I supposed the good night’s sleep was favorable to my appearance. To change things up a bit, I put my contacts in, put a few random braids in my long, straight hair, and fastened them with colorful metallic rubber bands. I wore one of my favorite shirts, a thin red-and-white-checkered flannel that looked like a picnic tablecloth. Not only was it comfortable, it was a conversation piece and different from the all-black wardrobe I typically wore to school. I wasn’t a Goth, but I tried to blend into the crowds of the hallway. If the popular girls couldn’t see me, they wouldn’t shout mean things about me—or so I thought.

  I tried to void myself of negativity, conjuring positive thoughts in the forefront of my mind regarding Luminal, Janice, and my family. I promised myself I would create a better day as I ambled down the hallway and into our Tuscan-inspired kitchen. I gobbled down a bowl of cereal and drank some milk out of the carton. Why not? Janice wasn’t there hovering over my shoulder.

  My m
other hobbled into the kitchen to kiss me goodbye, giving me strict instructions on what to look for as far as Gerald Smith was concerned. As she lectured about the obvious, I stared at every crack and fissure in the earthy rock wall, thinking about how strange it was for Janice not to be standing there making bacon, eggs, and chocolate-chipped pancakes.

  “Mom, how’s Janice today?”

  She countered with a solemn stare.

  “I just checked on her, she’s not improving. Getting worse. Going to have her checked out today. Keep her in your prayers. I know you are going through a lot. I wished I could say everything will be fine, but it burns my heart that I can’t right now.”

  “Mom, don’t worry. I’m keeping my head up, hoping for the best. Things always have a way of working out. I’m sure Janice will be okay. I heard strep’s going around the school, so it might be pretty widespread in town—she runs errands every day.”

  She reminded me I was to stay with my assigned black suit. He was to drive me, but I loved my car and the freedom driving gave me—even if I would have a federal Town Car tracing my every step. With strong opposition, I grabbed my car keys from the countertop and kissed her on the forehead. I won.

  My parking spot was in front of the house, on the street in front of the circle driveway. I didn’t like being blocked in by houseguests and my parents and Janice took up our three-car garage in the back alleyway with the black Lincoln Town Car fleet—license plates Frost 1, Frost 2 and Frost 3. I was so thankful my father didn’t make me drive a Town Car with a plate of Frost 4. I know it was discussed as a possibility, however.

  As I broke the barrier of my house, I laid eyes upon the agent assigned to me, waiting in the driveway. As soon as my feet hit the porch, he stepped out of his car to greet me.

  “Hello, you must be Fiona. My name is Agent Bronson,” he said, extending a manicured hand in my direction.

  He was undoubtedly the most handsome federal agent I had ever seen, and I had met quite a few during my last murder case. His chiseled face belonged on a magazine cover with dark hair like shiny satin and almond-shaped eyes the color of milk chocolate. Mid-twenties, he wore the same black suit like the rest. I had speculated their suits were government-issued. I suddenly didn’t feel too badly about being followed, but I still wasn’t willing to give up my freedom and hop in his car. Shaking his hand, I smiled. He nodded, arching an eyebrow.