‘Outsiders?’
His expression grew troubled. ‘Oh, y’know, all of those supernaturals we don’t discuss if we can help it. The sióga – the Irish faeries – are the biggest of those factions. We don’t even count them as major supernatural beings because, well, the witch community is made up of a whole lot of sore losers. Fae magic is nearly impossible for us to detect. And they’re a lot more powerful than most witches, too. But I’m not saying I suspect them of involvement. Murder isn’t their style.’
I knew next to nothing about the sióga. I’d seen Greg play their side in some game called the War of the Enclaves a few hundred times. But my research had brought up little about them, other than the fact that they had loaned the Peacemakers (a now-defunct supernatural police force) some of their technology in the past.
‘Was there really a War of the Enclaves?’ I questioned. ‘Is that what witches are so sore about? They lost or something?’
Greg had neared us and, overhearing our conversation, he said, ‘There were a lot of wars in the supernatural world. And anyone who went up against the sióga always lost. But witches don’t tell it like that. They say that they won the major battles because they’re the top of the chain in Irish supernatural society. But the truth is, the sióga could be top of pretty much any tier. They just don’t care about that stuff. And they don’t want anything to do with witches, either. They withdrew completely to their own enclaves during the last really big war, the one that kicked off in the Year of the Worm. In human speak, that was around nineteen thirty-nine.’
Dylan ground his teeth. ‘And who could blame them for distancing themselves? It took werewolves and vampires fighting tooth and nail for the witches to agree to let them into the Wyrd Court. And it took near enough another century before they’d let the rest of us in. Back in the Year of the Worm, the sióga could have ended the witches if they’d wanted. They have that power. But instead, they chose to remain neutral, and they increased the wards around their enclaves. They offered safe harbour to anyone who wanted it before they closed themselves off completely – they left a three day window, during which anyone who didn’t want to be part of the war could cross over.’
His nostrils flared, and he looked angrier than I’d ever seen him (which, let’s face it, was saying a lot). ‘But the witches wouldn’t just let us go. There weren’t many dayturning vampires back then – the virus only started in earnest a few decades ago – but wizards, weredogs and unempowered witches all tried to leave. No matter who won that war – witches, vampires or werewolves – the less powerful supernaturals knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good for them. Thousands of them headed for the sióga enclaves, but they were detained before they ever got there. And the witches didn’t release them until the doors to the sióga world were completely closed.’
I felt the most frustrating urge just then. I wanted to say soothing things to Dylan, and maybe even squeeze his hand in mine. Instead, I widened the distance between us, walking closer to the circle again and looking down at Rachel’s body.
‘Nowadays, communication with the sióga doesn’t happen unless they want it to,’ Greg said, taking up where Dylan left off. ‘And because witches are such sore losers, they basically pretend as though the sióga don’t exist. But they do. And the Irish faeries are a whole lot more powerful than witches could ever hope to be. There could be a hundred of them standing around us right now and we’d never know. We might not be able to access their world, but the wards to witch enclaves wouldn’t have a chance of keeping them out. They have the power to go wherever they like.’
‘So how come they gave transport vehicles to the Peacemakers last year?’ I wondered. ‘Weren’t the Peacemakers the bully-boy supernatural police until they joined up with the Wayfair coven and became the Wayfarers?’
‘They were major bullies,’ Greg confirmed. ‘Right up until a guy called Finn Plimpton became their captain. And I guess the sióga could see that he was a good guy, because they only gave them transport as long as Finn was in charge. Despite what certain witches might say, the sióga are the good guys. Sure, they turn their noses up at witches – but with good reason. This kind of murder isn’t their style.’
‘Yeah, that’s exactly what Dylan said.’ I sighed, wondering whose style it was.
‘But I guess a disgruntled wizard might find a way to do it if he or she wanted,’ Greg added. ‘Just off the top of my head, I can think of at least a dozen objects of awesome power that leave no magical trace behind. But that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it? You’re seeing a glow. Why would you be able to see traces when no one else can?’
I bent down to look, once more, at the symbols. It wasn’t just the glow of the various drawings on the ground that was worrying me. It was the whole feeling of the place. I felt on edge in here. I felt like this murder had been carried out by more than your average psycho.
My eyes went to Rachel’s forehead. At first, the wound appeared perfectly clean, but the longer I looked, the more I began to see that same old kaleidoscope haze, except that now it was tinged with green. I slipped my ring on and off a few times. But on or off, I saw the same shimmering green haze.
I stood up again and let out a long, weary sigh. ‘I’ll bet we’re going to find the weapon very soon,’ I said. ‘And when we do, it’s going to come with fingerprints included. And along with the note, it’s going to make this murder seem like a straightforward, non-magical murder.’ I looked at Dylan. ‘I know that this is going to seem like the easier solve in the history of your career,’ I told him. ‘But even though I have absolutely nothing to back up my theory, I’m telling you – it’s far from what it seems.’
13. Giggling Ghosts and Dashing Shadows
The next morning I awoke to the sound of the houseghost running my bath. I gently peeled Fuzz off my chest, then shuffled out of bed and into the adjoining bathroom.
‘I keep telling you I can do it myself,’ I insisted. ‘I appreciate that you feel like it’s your job and everything. But do you even get paid?’ I wiped my eyes, noticing that the toilet seat seemed to move and creak before my eyes. Was the ghost sitting down? Listening to me?
‘Seriously,’ I went on. ‘Take a day off. Actually, why don’t you just take the rest of your afterlife off? If you can’t relax when you’re dead, when can you? Because believe me, there isn’t a single person in the Vander Inn who isn’t capable of taking care of themselves.’
For just a second, I thought I heard a feminine giggle. But it was gone before I could be sure. The weight on the toilet seat shifted (presumably because the ghost stood up again) and I felt a cool breeze rush past me as it left the room.
No sooner was it gone than I heard a soft tap on my bedroom door.
‘Come in,’ I called out. ‘But only if you think you can handle medusa hair and last night’s make-up.’
As I spoke, I studied my reflection in the mirror. I really had forgotten to take off my make-up, and the clips I’d used in order to contain my hair the night before were still in there, somewhere, but they were no longer holding in a single strand. My hair stuck out in ways that defied the laws of physics. It would need a lot of work to tame it, and maybe half a pint of conditioner, too.
I’d stayed at the murder scene for hours last night, waiting for the pathologist to arrive. Because it was a human matter – on the surface at least – the process had taken an age. While the experts did their thing, I’d written a quick article for the daily edition and emailed it, along with Greg’s photos, to Grace. After that I’d waited and waited. But even with a supposed rush on ballistics and fingerprints, the gardaí were taking their time. I’d gotten far too used to a world with magic, and this was a frustrating reminder of how slowly the human world tended to move.
Eventually I’d slumped home to bed, to find an oh-so-innocent broom propped against a chair in the corner of my bedroom. I realise that, technically speaking, brooms probably don’t have mouths. But if mine did, then you can be sure that ther
e wouldn’t have been so much as an ounce of butter melting there.
‘You okay in there?’
I jumped at the sound of Jared’s voice, and hastily smoothed down the mess on my head.
‘I thought you were Pru!’ I cried in a panicked voice.
‘I can get her to make you breakfast in bed instead, if you like,’ he said. ‘But I guarantee you, it won’t be half as tasty as this.’
I peeped into the bedroom. He was standing by my French doors, where he had laid a tray upon the little table there. There were two plates on the tray, along with what smelled like coffee, and two glasses of juice.
I probably should have rushed back inside the bathroom and made myself a bit (okay, a lot) more presentable, but my stomach was leading me towards the table. ‘Are those blueberry pancakes?’ I asked, hoping that I was the only one who could hear my rumble of hunger.
‘They are. And whilst I really wanted to add some champagne to your orange juice, I figured you might not be too happy with me if I did that.’
I grinned. ‘Seeing as I type with less skill than a manic monkey even when I’m sober, then me being drunk at work is probably not a good idea, no.’
He let out a dramatic sigh and wiped a non-existent tear from his cheek. ‘So you are working today. I was hoping that after your late night you might call in sick. Then I could have you all to myself. Maybe continue our date where we left off?’
I sat down across from him. ‘Not on the cards, unfortunately,’ I said. ‘I really want to help Dylan with these murders.’
‘Dylan, is it?’ He tucked into his pancakes. There was a placid expression on his face, but I sensed it was just for show. ‘Next thing I know the two of you shall be getting married.’ His eyes went to my Ring of Privilege. ‘There are much nicer designs available, you know. I could take you to Lassie’s sometime – she’s a jewellery designer. She could put an Admitaz stone in pretty much any inlay you want.’
‘Why would I bother when I’ve already got something that does the job?’ I asked, taking my first bite. ‘Oh, my stars! This is amazing. You know, maybe you should open up a restaurant yourself.’
He chuckled softly. ‘Oh my stars, she says. You fit into this world like you were born to it, Ash. And no – I won’t be giving Malachy a run for his money anytime soon. Cooking is for pleasure. It’s a lot easier to make my fortune selling overpriced artwork to billionaires than it is to run a restaurant.’
‘Maybe,’ I said, too intent on my food to think of a more thoughtful reply. It didn’t take me long to finish off my pancakes, because everything he cooked tasted like heaven. As I sipped my juice, I realised it was just as good as the food. ‘You made this fresh?’
‘Squeezed the oranges with my very own hands,’ he said. ‘Well, with the help of a juicer.’
I glanced up at him. He was wearing a tight T-shirt, as usual, and he looked amazing for a guy who should probably be heading off to bed around now.
‘You look gorgeous in the morning,’ he said suddenly. ‘Although I have to say, I wish I’d been able to help with messing up your hair.’
I felt my face flush, and looked down at my empty plate. No wonder he had women fawning all over him with lines like that. I couldn’t help but think of the fact that I had at least an hour before I had to be at work, and that Jared and I were all alone. Well, except for the broom which, for some reason, had decided to hover next to the table.
‘Call me crazy,’ said Jared, ‘but I feel like your broom is giving me a disapproving stare right now.’
I bit my lip, glancing at the broom. He was right – it really was managing to look disapproving.
‘Hey, broom,’ said Jared. ‘I dunno what your story is. Brooms can’t be sentient because, well, they’re brooms. But you sure do seem sentient to me, so I’m going to have a conversation with you as though you are. So, broom – I’m not some lecherous Lothario who’s going to mess about with Ash and then dump her. If anyone’s going to do the dumping in this relationship, I have a feeling it’ll be her. I like her, okay. Big time. So you can stop worrying and go off and do whatever it is brooms do.’
The broom juddered and floated back to the bed. When it got there, it laid itself diagonally across the covers. I narrowed my eyes. It was almost as if it was making sure no one else could lie down there. Hmm.
‘I don’t think it believes me,’ Jared said. ‘So maybe you should jump into your bath before your water goes cold. And after you’re finished, maybe I could walk you to work?’
≈
When I left the Vander Inn, Jared was waiting for me by the front door as arranged. As we walked out onto the main street, he entwined his fingers with mine.
‘Is that okay?’ he asked, nodding down at our hands.
‘It might be,’ I said with a slight wince. ‘Except that your hands are freezing. Is it because you’re a vampire?’
He laughed out loud. ‘You’re wondering if my whole body is like a brick of ice, aren’t you?’ The raucous laughter turned somewhat wicked. ‘I gotta say, I kind of like where your mind is going, Ash. And no. My body isn’t cold. Just my hands. They’ve always been like that. Mam used to say this old phrase – cold hands means a warm heart.’
I cleared my throat. ‘I was not wondering about the rest of your body,’ I insisted. ‘So what are your plans for the day?’
He stopped walking and turned to face me. ‘I’m going to go to bed for a couple of hours – alone, sadly. Then I have a bit of work to do. Then I’m going to spend hours and hours in the bathroom so I can look devilishly handsome for our second date tonight.’
‘Devilishly, you say?’ I arched a brow. ‘That sounds about right. Although you might be wasting your time – seeing as I don’t actually remember agreeing to a second date.’
He fell silent for a moment, while he looked all-too-closely at me. His eyes seemed to be straying in the direction of my lips. After a moment, he cleared his throat. ‘No, but you did agree to go to the Glittering Garden with me. So if you want to get technical about it, then let’s not call it a second date. Let’s call it a continuation of the first.’ His eyes went to my lips again, and I felt my heart beat a little faster. But was it beating with excitement, I wondered, or with discomfort?
Pru told me that a lot of people found vampires attractive – almost irresistibly so. And whilst I did find him attractive, I was becoming increasingly convinced that he wasn’t irresistible. Being with him was fun, but he didn’t make my mind and body hum.
‘Oh, good goddess. What is he? Your shadow?’
I blinked, looking at the suddenly irritable expression on Jared’s face. His gaze was no longer on my lips. He was staring at the road beside us, and all traces of desire had left his eyes.
I pulled my eyes from his face, and looked to my right. Dylan Quinn’s car was beside us and, although he had pulled in, the engine was still running. Jared had called him my shadow, but I couldn’t help but think of him as a rather dashing intervention. Jared had been about to try and kiss me before his arrival, that much was clear. And if he had, I would have been far too tired to let him down gently. Or politely.
Jared was a decent guy – or at least, he had been decent to me. When I did, inevitably, tell him that nothing more was going to happen between us, I wanted to do it in as nice a way as possible.
‘I just got some leads on the case, Ash,’ Dylan said. ‘Wanna hop in?’
I bit my lip, looking from Jared to the detective. ‘Um … this is important,’ I said to Jared. ‘So …’
He sighed. ‘I know, I know. Will I see you tonight?’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I’m not sure. I think I might head to another choir practice. I’ll call you later on and let you know.’
As I leaned down to pull open the passenger door, he gently grabbed my shoulder, placed a swift kiss on my cheek and said, ‘I’ll be waiting with bated breath, gorgeous.’
14. Roast Chicken and Semolina Pudding
We drove along in si
lence, but it wasn’t one of our buzzing, expectant silences. This silence was one hundred percent awkward. Eventually the detective said, ‘So.’
I replied with a, ‘So,’ of my own.
How witty our conversations were!
‘Things seem to be moving fairly fast there,’ he went on after a minute or so more. ‘I didn’t think … I mean … you know he’s a ladies’ man, right?’
I smiled sweetly at him. ‘I know. I’m not an idiot, Detective. Dylan. And I’d much rather talk about the murders than about my love life. Seeing as we’re going towards the garda station, maybe you ought to fill me in on what’s happening.’
He said nothing for a few seconds. It wasn’t until he’d pulled into his parking space that he turned in his seat and said, ‘We’ve got two people in for questioning. I was hoping you might join me when I interview them.’
‘Who are they?’
He scratched his head, looking intently at me. ‘Margaret and Mossy Burke. And you’re not going to like this, but the investigation into Rachel’s murder is turning out to be just like you said it would be – incredibly straightforward.’
≈
There was just one interrogation room in Riddler’s Edge garda station. It was also the room where they kept spare office supplies and toilet rolls. According to Dylan, Mossy was waiting in there while his wife waited in the station’s only cell.
He had dark rings under his eyes as he explained the situation, and I could tell he’d gotten even less sleep than I had. Once again, I felt that frustrating urge to comfort him.
‘I managed to pull some strings last night,’ he told me. ‘The bullet that killed Rachel matches a gun registered to Mossy Burke. But there were ridiculously clear prints at the scene too, and we’re testing Margaret and Mossy’s prints against them.’
Witchy See, Witchy Do Page 9
