by A. M. Manay
November looked questioningly at Savita. The vampire explained, “I’m the Royal Inquisitor. I suppose I'm similar to a federal prosecutor. I handle major criminal investigations on behalf of the court. As the assailants likely came from out-of-state and may be involved in significant ongoing criminal activity, my brother has invited me to participate in the inquiry.”
“How did you end up with that job?” November asked.
“I’m a mind-reader, November. Even when I was human.” November's eyes opened wide. “Don’t worry dear girl; I have to touch you in order to hear anything much. You are harder to read than other humans. I refrained from telling you the other night because I suspected that you were already rather overwhelmed.”
“Fair enough,” the human replied. She was intrigued that Savita had possessed her ability even when she was human. November had never met anyone like herself. She was also relieved to find out that William had tools other than torture at his disposal.
“Shall we begin?” William asked as he pulled up a chair. “I’ve already briefed Savita on this evening’s events at the gas station.”
“You acquitted yourself quite well, I’m told,” Savita complimented the human. November tried to shrug and regretted it.
“Well, first of all, I saw Dogwood talking to someone on his cell phone about us stopping in Manteca,” she said, and William nodded, unsurprised.
“We’re already looking for bugs and tapped phones,” William replied. “I rather hope we find one, as the alternative is unpleasant to contemplate.”
“Even if we do find one, we have to consider the possibility of a mole. After all, someone would have to plant the bug,” Birch replied. His deep voice matched his always somber face.
William gestured for her to continue. November shared, “I saw Dogwood speaking with a man he seemed to treat as his superior. They kept referring to a plan, and the man said that they would have to continue to be patient. I didn’t catch a name, but I’ll sketch him for you. His eyes were two different colors, his hair graying. Handsome in a creepy sort of way. Something about his mouth. Black clothes.”
Recognition washed across all three of their faces. Apparently this man was no stranger. “Could you tell how long ago they were speaking?” Birch asked. “Recently? Centuries ago?”
“Based on the style of clothing, I would guess recently, within the last few years. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific,” she apologized before moving on. “I also saw a lot of random violence, which may or may not have any significance given his predilections and line of work. I’ll draw them. Sometimes he was with Agnes and Philemon.”
William nodded sadly. “No surprise there. Please continue.”
“This one seemed quite important: I saw him helping a girl with what looked like a vest of explosives.”
William’s eyes lit up, and even Birch managed a small smile of satisfaction. “Oh, November, do you have any idea how long we’ve waited for a solid lead like that? We may finally be able to begin unraveling this mess. Do you know anything else about it?”
“The names ‘Clara’ and ‘Victor’ seemed to be associated with that part of the vision.”
“Victor, the lord of New York, was killed 8 months ago. Clara I’m not sure about. Perhaps it was the name of the bomber? At least this gives us somewhere to start,” the Lord of California replied.
“There’s one more thing,” November said, hesitating before she continued, “I saw him talking to Queen Marisha.” The room went completely silent as the three listeners looked at one another, suddenly on edge.
“When? Were they fighting?” Savita asked intently.
“The clothes looked like latter 18th century to me, maybe, turn of the 19th? I’ll draw them and you can confirm. It looked like an intense conversation, but not like an argument. They were seated close together, and the body language wasn’t particularly hostile,” November reported. “I couldn’t make out what they were saying.”
“I can’t imagine what she would have been doing talking to a creature like that,” November said incredulously.
“We shall look into it,” Savita replied. The three of them stood.
“We’ll check on you before dawn. If you need to rest, please do. We can pick up again tomorrow evening. Office supplies are in the armoire over there in the corner if you need anything to help you with your work,” Savita instructed her as the vampires headed for the hidden door. November nodded and began drawing.
As they opened the door, Birch turned and said, “I thought it was folly, when Lord William went to find you. Evidently, I was mistaken.” November nodded her appreciation of his gesture of goodwill, and the three creatures disappeared back into the basement.
A few moments later, Willow came up from the basement and walked through. “Boss said I should check on you and Pine and then get some rest,” the fairy said wearily by way of explanation. November gave her a weak smile and then set about her work.
November started by checking the armoire, where she found ordinary pens and pencils as well as charcoals, colored pencils, pastels, and paper. She also appropriated a binder and sheet protectors. She liked to be organized in her work. It gave her a sense of control her life often lacked.
She focused first on the scene with the explosive vest. She wanted to be sure to include all the details she had seen in case it would help Savita and Knox match her to a particular attack, like the one in New York. The bomber herself looked quite calm. She certainly didn’t appear to be having second thoughts. Dogwood was the one who looked anxious.
The scene with Dogwood and the man with strange eyes also seemed quite important, and she hoped the details of the clothing would help them all to date the conversation. She then quickly sketched the cell phone vision and the scenes of random violence, focusing on the faces of the victims in case any of them were identifiable.
Finally, she turned her attention to the vision of Marisha. This one had such obvious emotional significance for William and his family, she wanted to get things exactly right. She did one sketch focusing on the clothing, again for the purpose of dating the scene. Then she did a series of drawings focusing on facial expressions and body language.
She was frustrated that she hadn’t heard more of what was going on in the conversations, but she did her best with what she had. By the time she looked up from her final drawing, the night was half gone. Every cell in her body was exhausted, yet she feared going to sleep, sure that given recent events, she would be woken by visions every hour. Nevertheless, she had to try to get some rest. She organized her drawings in the binder and moved to one of the couches to await her companions. Someone had left an afghan draped over the back of the sofa. November curled up and lay down, struggling to find a position that didn't hurt, then pulling the blanket over herself. She was asleep as soon as her head came to rest on a throw pillow.
As she expected, her sleep was troubled. Flashes of her mother’s murder interlaced with scenes of Dogwood’s depravity and her own memories of that evening’s attack. She had long ago trained herself not the scream in her sleep, but tonight it was a very near thing. Whimpers of fear escaped her throat as she relived her recent traumas, and she woke up to William gently shaking her by the shoulders. The blanket was tangled in her limbs, evidence of her desperate thrashing as her churning mind had thwarted her attempt at rest.
“Are you unwell?” Savita asked, kneeling beside her.
“Bad dreams,” November answered. “To be expected after the last few days I’ve had. I didn’t scream, did I?” she asked, embarrassed.
“No,” William replied. “But you sounded . . . distressed.”
“Did you get anything useful from Dogwood?” November asked, sitting up straight.
“Indeed we did, with your help,” Savita answered without revealing anything more.
“I meant to ask you, did you find any personal items on Dogwood when you searched him? Jewelry, or anything like that? It could be useful for me later,” November
inquired, not that she had any desire to romp through Dogwood’s past any further.
“Yes, actually,” William replied. “He had a necklace. We’ll save it, of course. We also sent someone to retrieve his vehicle. Perhaps the phone will still be in it, since it wasn’t on his person.”
“Can I ask, how long are you going to keep him here?” November ventured. It made her nervous, having him so close. On the other hand, she felt guilty for hoping for someone to be killed, however much the creature deserved his fate.
“A few days, most likely. We want to get as much information as possible, but I don’t like keeping prisoners indefinitely. It invites trouble. He is not protesting innocence, so there will be no delay for trial before the penalty of death is administered. Hopefully Pine will be well enough to strike the blow himself,” William answered. “Don’t worry. He will be carefully guarded. You are in no danger.” William checked his watch. “It is nearly dawn. You should go to bed. I’m afraid we’re pushing you much too hard. The nosebleed concerns me. We can study and discuss your drawings this evening.”
“They’re in a binder on the desk,” she said, standing to head upstairs. “I could definitely use some rest. I’d love to have a few days with nothing traumatic happening, just to recover and work and get used to living here.”
“I shall do my best to give you that respite,” William promised.
November hesitated, painfully self-conscious about what she was about to ask. “Speaking of sleep, as you’ve just seen, I have trouble sleeping soundly. But the other night, after you bit me, I slept like a baby. No dreams or visions at all. I know the doctor said not to, but I’m just so tired, so I was wondering if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I mean, would you mind, um –.” Before she could finish the request, William had her pressed against the wall, his hand cradling her head and his fangs at her throat.
“Ready?” he said softly.
“Uh-huh,” she replied, breathless. She gasped as he bit, relaxing against his arm and the wall as he swallowed her blood. Savita looked slightly concerned.
“Will that do?” William asked as he pressed another handkerchief against her neck.
“Yes,” she squeaked, suppressing the part of her that suddenly wanted more. “Thanks. I, um, guess I’ll see you later then,” she said awkwardly as she ducked under his arm and escaped out the door. She walked as quickly as she could manage toward her room, trying to ignore the strange feeling in her stomach. She suspected that she’d enjoyed that rather more than was appropriate. She refused to consider the possibility that she was falling for William, so she put it out of her mind. There was way too much going on for shenanigans like that. And then there was Ben – he was being awfully solicitous all of the sudden. And he was beautiful, and more age-appropriate. Cursing herself for having hormones, she dragged herself up the stairs and down the hall.
She walked past Pine’s bedroom on the way to her own. The door was open, so she peered in to see how he was doing. Birch, Rose, Zinnia, and Willow were standing vigil around his bed. He was still unconscious but didn’t look any worse than he had when they’d taken him out of the car. Rose looked like she’d been crying. Her white silk handkerchief was stained with tears the same champagne color as her hair. Apparently those violet eyes were contact lenses. Birch was holding her hand, their fingers tightly intertwined with love and anxiety.
“It’ll be dawn in half an hour, and then we can heal him,” Birch said.
“We would have lost our son if it weren’t for you,” Rose said, smiling at November through her tears.
“He wouldn’t have even been attacked in the first place if it weren’t for me. I’m glad I was able to help him,” she said. “I’m so relieved that he’s going to be okay.”
“We were there in service of our house,” Willow replied. “None of this is your fault. Lord William brought you here, remember?”
“Thanks, Willow . . . I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said. “I’ll see you all after I get some sleep.” Zinnia gave her a gentle hug before November slipped out the door.
She headed straight for bed, barely mustering up the energy to take off her jeans. She left the blouse on, knowing that it would be impossible for her to get into her nightgown on her own. Her pain was catching up with her, so she took one of the pills the doctor had left and curled up in her warm bed, falling quickly into a blissfully quiet sleep.
Chapter 6
The sun was already low in the sky by the time November opened her eyes. She glanced at the clock and realized that she’d slept nearly 13 hours solid. Sitting up to stretch, she was forcibly reminded of her injuries. She ached everywhere and felt so stiff that she could barely move. She took a deep breath for which she was immediately punished as pain stabbed through both sides of her chest. November gingerly made her way to the shower, hoping the hot water would loosen her battered limbs. Being clean did at least lift her spirits.
She ate an improvised breakfast while dressed in her bathrobe. Leftover pizza seemed appropriate given that it was only an hour or so before sunset. She somehow managed to get dressed, very slowly. She chose a skirt and a pretty blouse that looked easy to put on. Slip-on flats were her only option for shoes, as she couldn’t bend over to tie or fasten anything. She pulled on some gloves that almost matched. At least they were clean, which had often not been the case in her previous life.
She looked in the mirror that she’d been avoiding and winced at her battered appearance. She looked worse than her mother ever had after even her worst night. Her face was a mess of bruises. She tried to make her hair at least presentable. She found a trove of makeup in the bathroom and considered trying to cover the injuries, but with her lack of experience with cosmetics, that seemed to be a losing proposition. She did put on some lipstick, for probably the first time in her life, then laughed at herself for thinking that anyone would notice her lips when most of her face was purple and swollen. Still, the gesture somehow made her feel a little better. The sooner she could find a fairy miracle worker, the better.
She walked bravely over to the door and hesitated, mentally crossing her fingers as she reached her hand out to touch the knob. It turned easily in her hand and opened to reveal the hallway. November smiled. That was one victory, at least. Someone had removed the locks while she’d been sleeping. She looked down and found a copy of the Wall Street Journal on the floor in front of the door. Someone had scrawled a note in the corner: “If you get bored . . . Thanks, Greg.”
November burst out laughing and was punished again by her broken ribs. No longer feeling such a prisoner, she went looking for a fairy to put her body back in working order. She found Zinnia, Pine, and Willow in the game room.
“Pine! You’re better,” she cried in relief. To her immense surprise and discomfort, the fairy in question hurried over and knelt at her feet.
“To you do I owe my life, and to you do I pledge my friendship and service,” he said solemnly, looking up into her startled face. November’s eyebrows shot up high enough to hit her hairline.
Catching her reaction, Willow explained, “It is our way, when one’s life is saved by another. If you’re ever in trouble, he is honor bound to do his best to help you. You look really alarmed,” she said, laughing. “It’s okay. It’s just how we roll.”
“Okay, um, thanks,” November replied, reaching down to take Pine’s hand as he stood. “I could certainly use a friend, never having had many,” she said with a little smile. She was worried that maybe Pine resented being saved by a little human weakling, but she didn’t see any evidence for that in his face. “Speaking of which,” she said, pointing to the green and purple bruises on her face, “Can someone do something about this?”
“Of course,” Willow replied, gesturing for her to lie down on the couch.
“This will take longer than your arm, Em. It might feel rather strange. And of course, I suppose you’ll see things,” Zinnia said.
“Don’t sugar coat it. You should warn her
that it will hurt a great deal,” Pine said seriously. “Nothing comes free.” November nodded, grateful for the warning. “Regrettably, I’ll have to sit this one out. Still on the mend.” He sat in an armchair across from the couch.
November stretched out with a little help, and the two women knelt next to her.
“Ready?” Willow asked.
November nodded nervously, and the two of them placed their hands on her, closing their eyes in concentration. She suddenly felt very warm. Her skin burned uncomfortably, especially in the places where she had been wounded. Fragments of visions began to swirl around her. November didn’t want to pry, though she was quite curious about her new friends, but as the pain of healing increased, she yearned for a distraction. Finally, temptation got the better of her, and she reached out for one of the fragments.
A very young Willow hides inside a hollow tree in the dark of night, curled up as small as she can make herself, shaking with fear, covering her ears, surrounded by carnage. Injured and dying fairies bleed light. One by one, they disappear in blinding flashes while huge wolves howl in triumph.
November felt horror-struck and a bit guilty about spying on such an awful tragedy. No wonder Willow was so tough, having survived something like that. Wary and chastened, she tried to ignore the events piling up around her as her friends worked their healing magic. She attempted to focus on her breathing as her wounds knit painfully together, but it was difficult. She found herself fighting the pain and becoming afraid of it, which only made it worse. She finally turned to the skills she used to get through the worst of her visions and managed let go and ride the waves of pain. For a brief moment, the discomfort ceased, and she thought the ordeal was over. Her relief was short-lived, as suddenly every wound blazed with an intense pain that wrung a cry out of her throat, and then it was over. Her friends helped her to sit up as she breathed in little convulsive gasps as the pain slowly ebbed.
