by Mia Marshall
“Of course.”
She hurried away before I finished responding, bound for my Grams’ house, where she and the rest of the council were staying.
“Walk with me?” I asked once I was alone with Josiah.
“Absolutely.”
We strolled to the shore behind my mother’s house. Anyone peering out a window would see us, but there was no risk of the conversation being overheard. I perched on a picnic table, my feet on the bench. Josiah paced along the water’s edge, staring out to sea.
I studied him, this man I didn’t trust even a little. And yet, this time we were on the same side. We might have different ways to go about it, but we wanted the same thing: Sera safe.
I just couldn’t believe his presence would make anything easier.
“I assume you have a reason for sticking around. Do you have an evil plan you’d like to share?”
He smiled, amused as ever at my attempts to insult him. “Why are you surprised I’m here? You know I’d do anything to protect my daughter.”
I wondered if he ever said anything that didn’t have at least two layers of meaning. “Seriously, though. I assume you’ve figured out by now there’s another fire on the island. Unless you torched Edith Lake and Robin for some mysterious reasons?”
“The fact that she was about to announce some unprecedented punishment on my oldest daughter is hardly a mysterious reason. I suspect she deserved to burn, so I won’t waste both our time feigning shock or horror. However, I was not the one who did it, nor did I kill the other one.”
“So, if it wasn’t you, it was someone else, and they’re still on the island. No one’s left since the murders.”
He waited, the picture of saintly patience. He wasn’t going to make this easy for me.
“Obviously, I can’t go around, testing for other fires, but you can. I thought you might already have done so.”
“Are you asking for my help, Aidan?” His expression was mild, as if he inquired about the weather, but only a fool would have missed the sharp eyes. “The last time we spoke, I was under the impression you never wished to have anything to do with me.”
That impression might have been due to the shotgun blast I’d sent into his shoulder. That encounter was rather difficult to spin.
Still, I tried. “This isn’t about me. This is Sera, and you’d have done this whether I asked you to or not.”
He inclined his head, acknowledging my point. “You are overlooking one key detail. This may not be entirely about Serafina.”
I offered him a blank look, and he groaned, as disappointed as any father with an especially thick child. “So far, two women have died. One before announcing your mysterious sentence, the other a woman you spoke to earlier, who I believe was visiting your cottage with information. You may not be accused of these murders, but you are every bit as involved as my daughter. So I repeat: are you asking for my help, Aidan?”
My face contorted into a grimace. Josiah spoke the truth. I’d known it since Edith burned, and the only reason I’d been able to overlook my own possible role in these events was that Sera needed my immediate help. I figured I could worry about what it all had to do with me much later, when Sera was cleared and we were lounging on a deck somewhere, preferably while holding very large margaritas.
Josiah studied his fingernails and picked at a few imaginary specks of lint on his suit. He would wait all afternoon, if that’s what it took.
“Fine.” The word was bitten out, a reluctant concession. “I need your help.”
His entire posture changed, his body filling with energy. “Splendid! I will do as you suggest, though you know we can only identify another fire user when they access the magic. Though life would be easier if we were dealing with a complete idiot, I fear that is not the case, and the true killer is unlikely to burn anyone else if he spots me nearby.”
“Can’t you be unobtrusive? You must have some spy skills.”
He stared at me in wonder. “Aidan, what reason would I ever have to hide? No, I fear searching for another fire must be a backup plan.” Josiah withdrew his phone and dialed a number from memory. “Ms. Strait? Josiah Blais. I would like a word with you and the rest of the council. I require a better understanding of the evidence you possess and the proof you require before my daughter will be cleared. Meet me at the court in fifteen minutes.” His tone allowed for no disagreement. The council was powerful, but with the possible exception of Deborah Rivers, none were half as old as he was. Though I couldn’t make out the words from the other side of the conversation, the obsequious tone was impossible to mistake.
Josiah punched the end button with a flourish. “Excellent. Two birds with one stone, then.”
I had no idea what he meant. “What, David?”
“Who? Oh, the strange girl’s plaything? No, no. Just a turn of phrase, though I assume you’re looking into him, as well?” I nodded my confirmation. “I simply meant we can accomplish several things at once. I will establish what the council requires to prove Serafina’s innocence, and you have one hour to search their rooms. Perhaps one of them is our killer.”
He wandered off, whistling, and I headed toward Grams’ home to add “shameless snoop” to my ever-growing list of dubious skills.
Though Grams’ house wasn’t quite the monstrosity my great-grandmother’s was, that was due more to its sedate architecture than its size, as it still possessed eight bedrooms, a study, a library, and even its own billiards room no one ever used. It deserved to be called a mansion, though no one ever did. They thought that sounded gauche.
Whatever it was called, it was only two houses east of my mother’s house, so I made it in plenty of time to see the entire council, including Grams, head toward the beach and the meeting spot Josiah assigned. The moment they were out of sight, I strolled to the front door, making no effort to hide myself. I was just a dutiful granddaughter paying a visit to a beloved relative.
The front door was unlocked, of course. I stopped only long enough to set an alarm on my phone, giving myself plenty of time to get out of the house before anyone returned, then headed for the stairs and the guest rooms on the second floor.
Grams kept a spotless house, and her guests seemed to have absorbed that trait while visiting. Each room was in perfect order. The beds were made, the towels hung, the desks clear. Sadly, there were no neon arrows that read “Clue!” and pointed to suspicious objects. I was going to have to do some actual investigating.
I started in the green guest room, where the suits hanging in the closet told me this room belonged to the council’s sole male member. I looked under the bed, rifled through his pockets, and opened every desk drawer, but the room was pristine, not even an old grocery receipt to be found.
I repeated my search in the blue and ivory guest rooms and had as much luck as I had in the first one. The rooms were so impersonal as to be interchangeable. I knew they belonged to the female members of the council but couldn’t have told you which. One woman kept what seemed like a vat of body lotion in the bathroom, while the other had a preference for baby powder, but otherwise the toiletries were almost identical. The shampoo was the same brand and the makeup was all in the same general color palette.
When I entered the gray room, it took me a moment to understand why it was different from the others. It was as tidy as the first three, with one key difference. The closet was empty, a suitcase filled with clothes rested on the bed.
My first thought was that a council member was preparing to flee, but the luggage tag corrected me. This room had briefly housed Edith Lake.
I stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed, and inhaled deeply. The room still smelled of her perfume, a soft jasmine blend. I pictured Edith, her height and delicate coloring, but it wasn’t enough. I might as well have been visualizing any water.
I dove deeper, seeking the essence of the dead woman. Her deliberate gaze and the movements that were both precise and graceful. Her intensity, so rare for our kind. She wasn�
�t a welcoming woman, the sort that easily inspired positive emotions. She was cool, an arctic sea rather than a tropical ocean.
Till now, all my focus had been on proving Sera’s innocence, rather than finding possible reasons people would murder this woman. Perhaps this was never been about me or Sera. Maybe our presence just made it more convenient.
I needed to understand Edith to discover why someone might wish her dead.
The bathroom still contained all her toiletries, spread out on the counter. Expensive cosmetics with exotic names. Makeup brushes so soft I wanted to cuddle them. All signs pointed to a woman who valued luxury and beauty. Or possibly just a woman who spent lots of time in France.
In the bedroom, I ran my fingers along the woman’s clothes, neatly folded in the suitcase. She favored the same colors most waters did, the greens and blues and grays of the sea, and she had the same preference for natural fibers, though most of hers were silk.
Once, these clothes draped her body, carried her scent, had been an expression of her taste and personality. Now, they were just empty pieces of fabric with no purpose. That’s what death did. It made things meaningless.
I was so lost in my own thoughts I forgot where I was, at least until I heard footsteps padding down the carpeted hall.
Panic rose in my chest, and the fire along with it. No one should be here. I’d counted the council members as they left, and everyone was accounted for, even Grams. I’d been distracted, but not so much I’d have missed the front door opening and the sound of Italian shoes on the marble floor of the foyer.
I scanned the room. The closet offered a hiding place, as did the heavy curtains. I’d be trapped in either spot, but they were the only options. Choosing quickly, I stepped behind the charcoal drapes and desperately tried to think of plausible explanations for my presence.
The steps grew closer, but there was something off about them. They were quick, light, and close together, more the steps of a small child than a full adult.
The footsteps paused in the doorway. I stopped breathing, all my attention straining toward the sudden silence. The wait felt eternal, one long moment following another. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my body to find previously unknown reserves of patience, and I reached for my magic, anything that would help sustain me.
I touched the water first, felt its familiar greeting, then skipped over it to the fire. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but as soon as I did it, I knew it was the right one. The fire filled me with energy and focus, narrowing my world to nothing but the quiet breathing of the person in the doorway.
“You know I can see your shoes, right?”
My breath expelled in a rush. I flung the curtains aside, the better to glare at the naked cat shifter looking back at me.
“What are you doing here? Sneaking around the hallway like some thief? I was inches from burning you in a panic.”
Simon shrugged, unconcerned. “I was not trying to sneak. I can’t help it. I’m slinky by nature. And you should not be burning anyone, as we both know.”
My heart began to calm, though my brain was still trying to send the message to my adrenaline that it was safe to resume normal activity.
“Fair enough. Still, what are you doing here?”
“The same thing as you, I suspect. Plus, the island has the distinct advantage of not being a boat. I am attempting to prove Sera’s innocence immediately, so we can all resume living in houses that are not surrounded by water.” He wrinkled his nose, disgusted by the mere existence of houseboats.
“I won’t turn down help, even if I owe you major payback for scaring the hell out of me. Something involving a big dog, I think.” I glanced at my phone. “But we only have about twenty minutes before they return, and I haven’t found a damn thing yet. Do you have clothes you can wear?”
He gave me the exasperated look he always did when I suggested there was any problem with him parading around in his birthday suit. As usual, he ignored the question. “This is the room of the dead woman?” I nodded. “We must assume they would have found any incriminating evidence already, if it existed.”
Reluctantly, I admitted he was right. The room held nothing but the possessions of a woman who was never coming back for them.
I led him to the last bedroom, this one decorated in lavender, both the color and the plant. Much like the others, it was pristine, though this one at least held a laptop computer.
I recognized one outfit hanging in the closet, the linen pantsuit she’d worn yesterday while dealing with Robin’s murder. We were in Rachel Strait’s room.
With only one laptop in all the rooms, it seemed likely this was a shared computer for the council, rather than a personal one. Rachel probably claimed it the same time she claimed her new role as council leader.
“We need to get those files.” I hadn’t finished the sentence before Simon opened the laptop. The computer hadn’t been shut down, but it was password-protected. “Damn. I don’t suppose you can channel Vivian?”
His face darkened for a moment. Simon had a unique bond with Vivian, and I suspected he missed her even more than the rest of us did. “Is she answering calls yet?”
“Barely. She says she’ll help until Sera’s safe, then she’s out.”
Simon closed the computer, returning it to its original position. “If we can get the IP address, that will give Vivian a place to start.”
“Vivian is already looking into something, and she didn’t seem too enthusiastic about even doing that. It’s that whole space thing, you know.”
“Sera’s life is on the line. Perhaps we can worry about Vivian’s boundaries after we learn what is happening here.” There was an uncommon bite to his words, and it wasn’t directed at me. Simon had asked for space, too, but he’d given it up the moment his friends needed him. I suspected he would have some strong words for Vivian the next time he saw her. “Now, the IP address?”
I gave him my best blank look. My friends knew, if they were going to talk computers around me, they had to use small words that could all be found in a dictionary from the mid-90s.
“All computers have one. It is a way of identifying the various machines. A variation on the same address will be used by any computer accessing the internet through the same modem. Does your grandmother have a computer?”
Grams still referred to microwaves as “those new-fangled devices” and refused to have one in her house, so I wasn’t optimistic.
Much to my surprise, I was wrong. We had to explore several downstairs rooms before we found it, but there was a desktop computer tucked away in a corner of the library. It was only a few years old, and the spotless screen and keyboard suggested it hadn’t seen much use. Still, it was a computer.
Simon booted it up while I perused the shelves. For a woman who still considered the Roaring 20s the height of modernity, she’d managed to acquire an impressive collection of books from the last century. Though the lower shelves were filled with respectable classics and award winners, the higher shelves, the ones reached only by ladder, contained a more varied selection. I snagged a couple that caught my eye, dropping them into my purse.
“You may not want to do that. It appears she uses this computer only to catalog her books and might notice they’re missing.”
“I’ll confess the next time I see her. Is it connected to the internet?” I stood behind him, watching him navigate various computer programs.
Simon double-clicked the internet browser on the desktop. It opened to the homepage for the Elliott Bay Book Company, and we both sagged in relief. “Fortunately, your relative has accepted that the modern age has benefits for the book lover.” He closed the browser window and opened another program full of information I didn’t understand. “Paper?”
Grams kept the surface of her desk as tidy as the rest of the house, but the drawers were far less organized. I rifled through one of them and found several unopened envelopes, most of which were intent on offering her fabulous and improved cellular phone servic
e. I sliced one of these open with a letter opener and handed Simon the empty envelope, then returned the junk mail to her desk, just in case she was saving it for some reason.
Simon scribbled a series of numbers on the paper, then glanced down, as if looking for a place where he could store it.
Rather than ask him to carry it in an unpleasant location, I took it from him and tucked it into my jeans pocket.
“Is there anything else you still need to look for?” Simon asked.
I looked at my phone. Only ten minutes to go. “We better leave. Let’s just hope Vivian finds something good on the computer.”
We started toward the foyer but pulled up short when the front door silently slid inward.
Chapter 12
I didn’t wait to see who it was. Instead, I lunged for the window and pulled the floor-to-ceiling curtain closed. It was a bay window, so I perched on the ledge, remembering to lift my feet this time.
Simon wasn’t next to me. I risked a peek around the curtain in time to see a black cat scramble up the ladder and settle himself in a dark corner of the highest shelf. Other than the glint of his green eyes, he was practically invisible.
I strained my ears, trying to discover who’d entered the house. I thought I heard more than one pair of footsteps in the foyer, which was confirmed when several voices reached the library.
They were two steps inside the door before they started arguing. “I don’t understand why he’s still here. Who does that man think he is?” Michael Bay asked.
“He thinks he’s one of the oldest and most powerful elementals in existence. He’s not wrong, either.” I recognized Lydia Pond, as usual sounding like the resident voice of reason.
No one made any effort to move from the foyer. One by one, they allowed their words to pour forth, arguments that had likely been growing and gathering weight and rage ever since they parted from Josiah.
“Not more so than Deborah. He’s just one man. Why should we jump through his hoops?”
“Perhaps we are of an age,” said Deborah, “but I would not wish to pit my power against his. Do we even have any notes on this case?”
