Heir to the Alpha: Episodes 5 & 6: A Tarker’s Hollow Serial

by Black, Tasha

  “I’m sure we just need some time to take it in,” Erik went on. “We’re very grateful for your kind recommendation.”

  Shit.

  Erik was fumbling this. Ainsley was usually so much better at this kind of thing. But another glance told him she was completely tuned out.

  Ennis smiled again.

  “That’s perfectly understandable. It will mean some big changes for both of you, I’m sure. As soon as I get a formal acceptance from you, I can let the Federation know you’re on board and we can move forward from there.”

  “What if he doesn’t accept?” Ainsley asked in a cold voice.

  “What?” Erik and Ennis said at once.

  “What if Erik decides he doesn’t want the job?” Ainsley’s words were like icicles. “What then?”

  “Well, there are two problems with that, child,” Ennis said. “The first is that no one has ever turned down a spot on the council before, so I’m not entirely certain what would happen. The offer is more of a courtesy than anything. It’s assumed that any wolf in the Federation will do whatever is expected of them for the good of our brothers and sisters.”

  Erik heard the edge in Ennis’s voice at her insubordinate suggestion.

  But Ainsley didn’t bat an eye. “And the other problem?”

  “The other problem,” Ennis’s face softened in another smile, “is that the offer wasn’t extended to him, love. The new council member is you.”

  Chapter 7

  Grace laughed as she walked along the boardwalk with Esmerelda.

  The fortune-teller explained the plot of yet another reality show, her New Jersey accent and enthusiastic delivery adding humor to a story Grace was very sure could not have been that funny in the first place.

  Esmerelda was younger than Grace had first thought. Seeing her without the make-up and turban made Grace realize she might be thirty at most.

  She seemed like a decent person. Except for her taste in television.

  “So, look, I’m having fun,” Esmerelda said. “But I know you wanted to talk to me for a reason. What’s going on?”

  Grace looked out over the clapboard storefronts and tried to gather her thoughts. She had decided it was worth letting Esmerelda in on some information given the moment of real psychic work she’d done back at her shop.

  But even though she and Cressida had agreed it was necessary, it was still hard to let the words out. Keeping secrets was second nature to Grace.

  “You said that your psychic gifts faded when you left town,” Grace began at length.

  “Yeah,” Esmerelda nodded. “Weird, right?”

  “Right,” Grace said. “Or maybe not.”

  Esmerelda bit her lip, but didn’t speak.

  “In my town, there’s a tendency for magic to be stronger too,” Grace said carefully. “And it’s because there’s a portal there, a sort of gateway between this world and another.”

  “Is that real, or just a rumor?” Esmerelda looked out over the little town as she asked the question, her voice studiedly casual.

  “This is a piece of the portal,” Grace said, lifting the shard from where it nestled inside her shirt. “Or a key to it, anyway.”

  The crystal winked in the sunlight.

  Esmerelda studied it, but didn’t try to touch it this time. Maybe she had remembered more than she let on back at the shop.

  “My mother always said Fletcher’s Cove was a magical place,” Esmerelda said softly. “Maybe she was right.”

  “When our portal was broken, bad things got out,” Grace continued. “I believe that there is a portal in Fletcher’s Cover too. That’s why your magic is stronger here. And I don’t want anything bad to happen to this one.”

  Esmerelda nodded.

  Grace knew that most people would have been a tougher sell. But despite the airs she put on for the tourists, Esmerelda Calypso had experienced real magic, first-hand.

  “I was hoping you could help me locate the portal and… check on it,” Grace finished.

  She was still holding the chain out, with the shard dangling, when it began to tug and sway.

  “Whoa,” Esmerelda breathed. “What’s it doing?”

  “I believe that it’s trying to go to the portal,” Grace said. “Or maybe to another concentration of magic somewhere. I was hoping we could find it together.”

  “Absolutely,” Esmerelda nodded, looking like she was ready to rumble.

  Grace admired that Esmerelda didn’t ask about danger. She was all in no matter what.

  When they had almost reached the parking lot of the VFW building, the crystal went limp on the end of the chain.

  Grace sighed and looked around.

  When she turned her attention back to the crystal it was too late to stop Esmerelda from what she was doing.

  The psychic’s finger touched the shard.

  Her whole body tensed, as if she had grasped a live wire. Her eyes rolled back until Grace could see the whites. She closed her eyes and her head fell toward her chest as if she had fallen asleep.

  When she lifted her face to Grace’s again, Esmerelda was calm. A sparkling blue replaced her normally dark eyes.

  Blue eyes that were familiar somehow…

  “My Grace,” the body before her whispered.

  “Julian,” Grace breathed. “But… how?”

  “You have always carried a piece of me with you,” he murmured.

  The words were sappy, especially by his literary standards, but Grace appreciated the sentiment behind them all too well.

  “I miss you so much,” she said.

  His sadness was clear in his eyes - they were like frozen rivers.

  “Time is running out,” he told her. “Your love has kept me here longer than I had any right to be. But the final battle is approaching. I can help you win, but you will need to let me go.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “It’s time, Grace,” he said, his eyes gentle. “You are the only one strong enough to end this.”

  “But you…” She couldn’t finish.

  “I will always love you,” he said, closing his eyes.

  “Julian,” she cried.

  “Who’s Julian?” Esmeralda asked, opening her dark eyes.

  “No one,” Grace said, trying to pull herself together.

  Julian Magie was no one.

  At least not anymore.

  Chapter 8

  Grace stood beside Glenn, squinting as the sun set over the Monroe place and wishing she had some ibuprofen with her.

  She and Esmerelda had examined the whole area around the VFW earlier, but Julian’s appearance had Grace completely distracted and they hadn’t come up with anything much before they finally gave up and went their separate ways.

  Adding insult to injury, she’d had to muscle her powers a bit instead of just letting the hum of outside magic speak to hers.

  Naturally, there had been no outlet for her price, so now she had a headache.

  At least it had been only a little magic.

  “You okay?” Glenn’s voice was friendly. He was taking her silence pretty well. She had hadn’t spoken a word all the way to the Monroe’s.

  Now the ancient structure loomed before them, the last of the sunlight blasting around its silhouette like an eclipse.

  “I’m okay,” Grace said.

  “Well, obviously we’re going to have to tell them the body on the beach belonged to Lincoln,” Glenn said. “But what if the… whatever it is…”

  “Moroi,” Grace helped him.

  “What if the moroi comes back again as Linc?”

  “Now that its cover is blown, I don’t see that happening,” Grace replied. “It was only pretending to get close to us.”

  Glenn looked like he would have said more, except that the door to the mansion swung open and Harold Monroe jogged down the stairs to greet them.

  “You said it was important,” Harold said. “Did you find out something about my Joshua?”

  He had lost bo
th his sons and didn’t know it yet.

  A wave of pain for the man crashed against Grace’s heart and she was grateful when Glenn answered.

  “Let’s go inside,” Glenn suggested.

  Harold led the way.

  Grace once again found herself in the enormous entry hall. They climbed the stairs, then wandered down one corridor after another, the portraits of Monroe family members gazing down at them disinterestedly, until they at last reached the sunny sitting room she had visited when she and Cressida had infiltrated the investigation into Joshua’s death.

  But Harold didn’t stop. He continued to a room closer to Joshua’s but on the opposite side of the hall.

  Grace followed him inside.

  Mahogany bookcases with glass fronts lined the walls. It reminded Grace of Helen Thayer’s study back in Tarker’s Hollow. Except that at the back of this room, instead of a desk there was a well-stocked bar.

  Harold’s brother Bill sat on a leather sofa, his wife Zara by his side. They each held a glass of brown liquor.

  “You have new information for us,” Bill said hopefully, rising to shake hands with Grace and then Glenn. “A lead?”

  “We have information,” Grace said carefully. “But not about Joshua.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that we’re having a drink, dear,” Zara said in her sweet low voice. “It’s been a hard time for us.”

  “Of course,” Grace said.

  “Can I fix you something?” Bill offered.

  “No, thank you,” Grace replied.

  “Let’s sit,” Harold offered, moving to an overstuffed armchair beside the sofa that was angled to take in the view from the back window between the bookshelves and the fireplace, likely his usual seat.

  Bill reclaimed his seat next to his wife.

  Grace and Glenn sat opposite the others, Glenn on a hard wooden chair and Grace on a leather footstool.

  “Mr. Monroe,” Glenn began.

  “Please, call me Harold,” Harold said.

  Glenn took a deep breath.

  “Harold,” he allowed. “We’re coming to see you today, not about Joshua but about Lincoln.”

  Grace admired the way Glenn paused a moment there, allowing her the opportunity to study the faces of those gathered. Unfortunately, it was hard to read much from the look of concern on Harold’s face, to Bill’s confusion, to Zara’s pinched lips - they had reason already to be under strain.

  She tried to open her mind, to let out a little of her magic and get a reading, but she wasn’t hopeful. Something had blocked her last time she was in the house, and the headache seemed to be interfering with her reception.

  “Would you like to discuss the matter in private?” Glenn’s question hung in the air a moment.

  “Oh,” Bill said, hopping out of his seat. “Of course.”

  “No,” Harold said, raising his hand to stop Bill. “Anything that needs to be said can be said in front of my brother and his wife. It’s natural that Linc isn’t himself after his brother’s death. If he’s in some sort of trouble, I’m sure we can sort it out.”

  “Mr. Monroe,” Grace interjected, weary of the delays and eager to dispense with the terrible news, if only to get it off her chest.

  “Harold,” he corrected her, as if he were stalling for time.

  “Lincoln is dead,” Grace said simply.

  “No,” Harold breathed.

  “We found his body beneath the boardwalk,” Grace continued. “We’re so very sorry for your loss.”

  She had handled the situation as professionally as she could, but her voice broke at the end as she saw the infinite pain in the man’s eyes.

  “May I… see him?” Harold’s voice was a whisper.

  “Of course,” Glenn said. “But I’m afraid there’s not much to see. We had a close friend identify him. We didn’t want to subject you to it.”

  Harold leapt to his feet and paced over to the window, then stood gazing out.

  Zara got up and went to her brother-in-law, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “Do you think it was the same person who killed my other nephew?” Bill asked, leaning forward with pleading eyes.

  “We don’t know if it was a person at all,” Harold said.

  The suggestion was so unexpected Grace nearly jumped.

  “It could have been part of the curse,” Harold continued, looking out the window.

  “You believe it was a curse?” Grace asked.

  “I do,” Harold replied, turning back to them. His face was pale, but his dark eyes flashed. “There is no point in hiding it any longer. Many years ago, I had an affair with a woman called Judith.”

  Bill shook his head.

  “You can roll your eyes, little brother,” Harold said. “But look at what has become of us.”

  “What reason do you have to believe that Judith cursed you?” Grace asked.

  “The affair… didn’t end well,” Harold said carefully. “I suppose not many do. She told me I would regret it.” He turned back to the window. “I always had my suspicions that there was a dark power at work when my wife died.”

  “But didn’t Mrs. Monroe die of cancer?” Glenn asked, consulting his notebook.

  “But what if that was the curse, too?” Harold turned back to the group. “What if it was meant to punish me, and now it’s come back, along with our daughter?”

  “Daughter?” Bill asked, looking mystified.

  “Yes,” Harold nodded. “Judith told me Esmerelda was my child. I refused to even entertain the notion. I thought she was just trying to blackmail me, but part of me always suspected she was telling the truth. I thought the curse was payment for abandoning my responsibility to the woman and our child.”

  He ran a hand over his bald head, and paced back toward the window.

  Esmerelda?

  Grace held her breath, trying hard not to move a muscle or do anything that might stop the flow of this new information or remind the man that there were police officers present.

  “It took my wife. Now it’s taken both my sons,” Harold turned back to look straight at Grace with haunted eyes. “I have nothing left,” he said simply. “And it’s all my fault.”

  Obviously, the poor man was only projecting his guilt. Grace knew good and well that a carnival fortuneteller couldn’t cause cancer any more than they could cure it.

  And she knew Linc had died at the hands of the moroi, though of course she couldn’t exactly share that.

  At least if they could find Josh’s killer, she could set Harold Monroe’s mind at ease.

  Before she had a chance to ask a question, the crystal around her neck began to hum.

  Of course.

  When she’d been here before, so had Linc. The moroi had been blocking her magic the whole time. Which meant that maybe she could get a reading, now that it was out of the picture.

  “Now that both the heirs are gone,” Glenn said, turning to Bill. “Doesn’t that put you in the position of taking over the park, Mr. Monroe?”

  “I hadn’t really given it much thought,” he said, blinking owlishly. “But I suppose I’ll do whatever I can to take the burden from my brother.”

  “Interesting,” Glenn said, making a note in his book.

  Nice.

  Grace could see what Glenn was doing. He’d made no mention of Zara being at the cake store. He was throwing out something unrelated, just to gauge reactions.

  She watched carefully.

  “Are you suggesting that my husband had something to do with the deaths of his nephews?” Zara asked, her voice bristling. She had clearly taken the bait. “He loved those boys like sons.”

  “I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mrs. Monroe,” Glenn said. “But it is interesting that you would bring it up.”

  And that she would claim “he” loved the boys. Not “we.”

  “I think it is time for the two of you to go,” Zara said. She stood and put a hand on Grace’s arm, as if to escort her out.

  At h
er touch, a wave of vision rolled over Grace.

  The room around them fell away, and they were in Joshua’s suite.

  Zara knelt over Joshua’s body, something small in her hand. She called over her shoulder for Bill to contact the police.

  As soon as Bill disappeared from the doorway, she reached down…

  Grace pulled free of Zara’s grip, breaking the connection.

  “Mrs. Monroe,” she panted. “Is that dragonfly pin in your hair the same one you were wearing on the day you discovered Joshua’s body?”

  “I suppose it might be,” Zara said, her hand unconsciously cupping the pin in her hair, as if to hide it. “Why?”

  “Do you also suppose that if we tested it for DNA, we might find the evidence from when you used it to make the puncture wounds in Joshua’s neck?” Grace’s question was hardly out of her mouth before Bill cut in.

  “That’s ridiculous,” he cried, looking deeply hurt. “Are you suggesting my wife poisoned my nephew with a hair pin? I was there when she found him. He was already quite dead.”

  “No, Mr. Monroe,” Glenn put in. “I believe what officer Kwan-Cortez is suggesting is that your wife used her hair pin to make puncture wounds in the deceased’s neck, in order to throw us off from the real source of the poison, the cake.”

  “But… other people ate the cake, too,” Bill said.

  “No, Mr. Monroe,” Glenn said. “Other people claimed to have eaten the cake.”

  “This is preposterous,” Zara spluttered.

  “Then you won’t mind if we take that pin to the lab,” Glenn said, standing and extending his hand.

  “I think it’s time for you to go,” Bill said immediately, putting himself between Zara and Glenn. “If you need to speak with anyone in this family again, you can do it through our lawyer.”

  “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of speaking to the person working at the bakery on the day this photo was taken,” Glenn said, extending the photo of Zara leaving the vegan bakery to Bill.

  “What do you suppose that person will have to say about all this?” Glenn turned to Zara. “Do you think you paid them enough to go to jail for you when we show them the poisoned cake we found in the Dumpster?”

  “Zara, is this true?” Bill’s voice shook.