by Kara Silver
“Don’t gawp at the faun doorman,” Isabella whispered, tickling Kennedy’s ear. She’d changed into something that made her look ethereal, maybe fitting the ambience, and she shone. Glittered? Gleamed? Shone.
“I…will.” Kennedy laughed, Isabella’s energy infectious. She gazed all around, at the winter-themed décor, the rough-hewn plank tables and stumps of log stool seats, the padded sofas as rustic looking as a beaver’s cottage, the telephones on each table to order from the bar, the crazy selection of drinking vessels, no two alike… She stopped looking to listen to the doorman, their guide, explaining the décor would change with the seasons, paying homage to different scenes from the books.
What she thought were copies of one of the books lay on shelves and some tables—they turned out to be the menu. Within minutes, as she was still looking around at the costumes available to dress up in, something a good few of the customers had taken advantage of, three enormous teapots were deposited on the table. A second waiter added a massive trayful of glass jam jars and small milk bottles and jugs, plus a selection of mismatched teacups and saucers.
“Yay, drinks!” exclaimed one of Tristan’s friends, over the sound of the jazz band starting on the small platform in the corner.
“Karaoke later,” announced another.
“Isabella, look.” Kennedy wanted to point out that all the drinks and snacks in the menu were called after characters or places in the books, but she couldn’t see her cousin. Oh, she was already dancing on the tiny floor. Kennedy shrugged and moved closer to Tristan on the squashy sofa. He was having a great time, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright as he leaned into his friends and another group at the next table. The food was placed on that table, so the groups had to mingle and switch places to all get something to eat and drink. It was a glorious melee of laughter, chat and rich, decadent snacks and delicious drinks.
“I didn’t catch anyone’s name!” she lamented, and chuckling, everyone spoke at once, telling her again. “And I’m not even tipsy!” One teapot contained a potent cocktail, but a second held a fruit drink and the third a mocha concoction, so she didn’t have to imbibe alcohol. She felt drunk on the warmth and the excitement, and the closeness—the dancefloor was so small, all dances had to be close ones.
“When in Narnia…” She shrugged.
Tris groaned. “Just for that, you’re coming in the photo booth with me.” At her confused look, he pointed to the kiosk in the corner. “What did you think the costumes were for?”
“For fun?” she ventured, having donned a regal-looking headdress with mask and cloak earlier. “Costumes. Huh. A lot of those.” She shrieked as he twirled her and they banged into two of his friends.
She wasn’t sure of the time, only that it was early morning, the wee small hours, when they left, a fleet of cabs waiting for them. It never seemed worth taking a taxi in Oxford, the centre being so small, and despite the hour and all her exertion, she didn’t feel tired in the slightest. Exhilarated, and buoyant, if anything. But she got in, with Tristan and Jack and Kate. She’d learned their names and liked them all.
“Drop us here,” Tris requested a few minutes later, and the cab stopped near the University Parks for them to get out. In a flurry of goodbye hugs and promises, they did. “Warm enough?” he asked her.
“Umm. Fine. You’re that way.” She indicated the entrance to the park.
“I’m walking you.”
Oh. Heylel was on the same street, not far.
“Kennedy?”
“Beatrice.”
“Kennedy,” he corrected, pulling her back where she’d skipped ahead. “I feel I should apologise. For earlier. For kissing you.”
“Was it that bad?” The words tumbled free before she could stop them.
“Innamorata, of course not! Hey.” He framed her face with his hands. “Just, I had no right.”
“I hadn’t either.” She had to admit that. “So I guess I should apologise to you.”
“Kennedy.” Tristan shook his head, a smile curling his lips. “A tesoro such as you never has to apologise for kissing a man. The man—any man—would be privileged.”
“So…?” She hoped she’d only thought that last word, but the expression flitting across his face told her she might have voiced it.
“Soon,” he murmured, feathering his thumb across her lips. “Soon.”
“I… It’s cold. Let’s walk,” she muttered.
“No. Let’s dance!”
He caught her hand to skip and dance her down the street, lightening her spirits and gladdening her heart, even if her head didn’t understand. A minute later, they arrived at the Lodge. “Seriously, carina, sorry.”
“I understand.” About timing and circumstances and occasions…
And she did, she thought, still grinning, still skipping and dancing, all the way to her staircase, to her room, where she crashed out and slept like a baby. She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes, had only managed to divest herself of her shoes and coat. And it was the latter that woke her, or rather her mobile ringing in the pocket. She rolled onto the floor with a bump to answer it.
“H-hullo?” she managed, thickly, unable to read the screen with her eyes still closed.
“Kennedy?” Chris sounded doubtful.
“Chris?” And what was he doing, calling first thing in the morning? She didn’t know the exact time, but she could tell by the light the day wasn’t even started yet.
“Kennedy! Are you there?”
His tone registered. “Wassup?” She licked around her teeth, hating the film coating them. Water…
“You know another student, another first-year student?”
When she went to ask what the hell, he collected himself. “Sorry. I’m not thinking straight. Not with this… Let me start again. Her name’s Emma—”
“—Newman-Smythe. Yeah.” Kennedy yawned. “We all know her. Can’t miss her. She’s like, first in everything. For everything.”
“Not anymore.” Chris’s voice was so dark that Kennedy knew before he said it what was coming, “She’s dead.”
“What?” She’d felt it coming but didn’t take it in.
“Her body’s just been found.”
“How? I mean, what happened?” Kennedy was on the floor, but felt she needed to sit down.
“We don’t know exactly. But…”
“What.” She could barely hear her own voice and doubted Chris could, but he answered.
“It’s like she’s just been drained of blood.”
“Oh God. Oh Jesus.” Her stomach roiled.
“Kennedy. You’re in your room at college, right?”
She froze at his changed tone, at the sharp, brusque, official feel. “Yes.”
“Stay where you are. Don’t leave your room.”
“Chris, I—”
“Kennedy. Stay right there.”
15
No. No. A girl, a college student, killed, and her blood—
Plunged back into the nightmare events of last term, Kennedy had to leave her room, despite the order issued to her, and barely made it to the toilet before she retched. She lost the entire contents of her stomach within a minute and sat weak and shaking, trying to reach up for water from the sink to rinse her mouth.
Emma, dead? It didn’t seem possible, or real. Kennedy hadn’t liked Emma all that much, and they hadn’t got along, but God, that she’d been killed—murdered—and her body drained… Kennedy fought to keep her eyes open because if she closed them, the terrifying host of shadow demons that she’d fought, the leader and his horde, were there, fighting, mocking, waiting…
But we defeated the demons! All of them! Didn’t we? She should have gone to check if anything remained at the leader’s hangout. She should have made it her business to find out what had happened to the guy himself. Discovered how the police were handling it. Dealing with him.
“I thought it me
ant no more girls would go missing.” Saying it out loud revealed the extent of her shortcomings. Why hadn’t she followed through, made sure it was all over? You have no idea what you’ve done, do you? No idea what you’ve disturbed. “Shut up!” she cried as the voice of the demon she’d vanquished rattled through her head. “We fucking beat you!” You don’t have a clue how long it’s been going. Or for who.
COWARD. The word had been spelled out in stone for her, twice, as she cravenly took shelter back in Wyebury, and it was true. Worse, it made her think of another message sent to her in stone, right after the huge battle she’d fought against the dark, a message that had pricked holes in her understanding, and let not light, but more darkness in, and one she’d vowed not to ignore. Until she had. “So I’m not perfect!” she called out to no one. Far from it.
Terrified, surviving by the skin of her teeth, she’d persuaded herself it was all over, that the forces of law and order had taken over from her feeble efforts, that Aeth had… Aeth! She had to tell him! No. She had to think. Clearly. Coolly. As logically as Aeth would have wanted her to. “Would…want me to!” she muttered, catching up with the tense she’d used, and hating it. No. He wasn’t gone, as in gone, gone. He was sulking, teaching her a lesson. Another one in a long line, like using her brain. Think, Kennedy, think. Something in the pattern didn’t connect. What?
Chris had said the body had been drained of blood. But the shadow demon had denied he drank blood! Called it filthy and said something about essence!
“Yeah, because you can really trust he was telling you the truth,” she mocked herself as, back in her room, she jammed her shoes on her feet and thrust her arms into her coat. But he had no reason to lie to me about that, not then, she argued with herself, all the way down the stairs. She had to see Aeth—well, find him—and tell him this. The door opened as she reached out a hand to it and, terrified and hating herself for it, she shrank back.
“Miss Smith?” The man wore a porter’s uniform and carried a file with it, looking up from what she could see were small ID card photos to her.
“Yes? I’m…”
“Kennedy.”
Chris. Thank God. She hadn’t seen him behind the porter guy but had to stop herself rushing into his arms now she had. And funny, she’d sort of expected him to be in uniform, and was glad he wasn’t. She nodded, only half-listening as the porter burbled on about college regulations and the hours it was open to the public, only this gentleman had shown a warrant card and so—
“It’s fine,” she assured the porter, hoping it was. “Please, go back to your work. You don’t need to stay.”
Chris waited until the man had left the building. “Where were you going? Just now?”
“Oh! Nowhere.” Kennedy indicated he should go first up the stairs, but he waited for her to start. “I had to get some air, you know? What you said… I felt ill. Feel ill.”
“Yeah.”
They’d reached her corridor. “Let’s get some tea. Or at least some water,” she offered, leading Chris to the tiny kitchenette.
“Water’s fine. Did you have a late night?”
Wow, she must look as rough as she felt. “Not so late. Well, late-ish, yes.” Her hand shook as she filled a glass for Chris and passed it over. The kettle seemed to take years to boil.
“With the play.”
“And a party thing after.” Kennedy settled for coffee—quicker and drinkable black. She hadn’t bought milk and doubted anyone else had. If there was anyone else in the building. She hadn’t thought of that before but now the realisation she might be the only dweller sent a chill down her spine.
“Is your room here?” Chris asked, making her confused. Of course; he’d never seen it. Never been here. She’d never invited him, not to the bar, or to her room for a coffee. Until now. She nodded and led him on the short walk down the corridor to her room, taking a gulp of the too-hot drink on the way.
“Take the chair.” She pulled it out for him at the desk and sank onto her bed. Her unmade bed. She kicked the mess on the floor under it. If she’d known she’d be receiving a visitor… The reason for his visit clawed at her. “Not exactly a social call.”
“No.” He set the glass down and took her mug from her hand. She barely noticed it. “Tell me about the decea—about Ms Newman-Smythe.”
“Emma?” She’d always been Emma. Kennedy had never thought of her surname until Drew had mangled it and Kennedy had corrected him. “She’s a student here. First year, same subject as me. We’re in one tutorial group together. Was. Were.” She hung her head, gathering her strength. Unless… “You’re sure it’s her?”
His lips thinned. “Sure. Go on.”
“What?” She was genuinely bewildered. He gave her no clues, making her shrug. “She was up in the holidays, like I am. Not to make up work, though. She was involved in a project for her other tutor, Dr Crane. Oh God. Does she know? And what about her parents? She wasn’t staying in college—was staying in a farmhouse in a village, or something. Maybe with her parents? Or friends?”
“And you worked together. You and Emma?”
“Well, no, not really, no. I worked at the museum, yes, all last term—don’t know if I will be next—and she’s, she was, working there over these holidays. Just a bit. I filled in for her yesterday because—”
It hit her then, the reason Emma hadn’t shown up, and she slapped her hand over her mouth in case she heaved again. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. She expected Chris to say something like, well, how could you? But he didn’t. Didn’t say anything.
“So you didn’t see her yesterday?”
“No. A couple of days ago. Just bumped into her. I didn’t even know she was up.” Kennedy stopped. This, Chris being here, questioning her, was…odd. “PC Collier,” she said. “Police Constable Collier. Why are you here?”
The look in his eye was one she couldn’t place, and it was a minute before he answered. “Because we’re—”
The crackle of his radio and the ringing of her phone, both together, cut him off.
“Excuse me,” Chris said and left the room.
Confused, Kennedy fumbled for her phone. She didn’t recognise the number, or the voice, and the name was one she’d only seen on documents. The vice-principal. Mrs Maryanne Quested. Requesting that Kennedy come in for a meeting.
“Where?” Kennedy gasped, to be told Heylel Museum.
“About…”
“About something that has happened, and how to proceed,” came in crisp, no-nonsense tones. “Right away, if you please.”
“Yes—” But the connection was dead.
“Kennedy.” Chris startled her. “I have to go. Just…”
“Don’t leave town?” She tried a laugh. “That’s what they say in all the cop shows, isn’t it?”
Don’t trust cops an inch, said not-there Chandy. Kennedy had used her friend’s words and beliefs as a touchstone, ever since they were kids. Chandy, who’d asked for Kennedy’s help in a matter Kennedy was supposed to speak to Chris about, but hadn’t, letting her friend down.
“Look, come here.”
Kennedy almost flinched as Chris folded her to him in a hug. She stood stiff and had to force herself to hug back. He must have been able to feel it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. One more for the apology pile, even if she didn’t know what for or why. She could have walked him out; they were both leaving the building, but she waited for him to go, then dashed to her window. No matter how hard she squinted and twisted, she couldn’t make out the roof of the museum, with its statues, so she had no idea of Aeth was there, in his usual place.
And when he isn’t? she wondered. Doesn’t anyone notice? I know people see what they want to see, but what if all the others are gone at the same time. Like a hermai picnic? Yeah, she was distracting herself, or attempting to, on the short walk to the museum, where the door stood open.
“Hello?” Kennedy made her way past the old wooden entrance desk and down the couple of steps onto the
museum floor to stop short at the group of people assembled on the foldaway chairs students used. Dr Crane she recognised, of course.
“Kennedy.” Dr Crane stood.
“I don’t think we’ve met, although obviously we’ve seen each other about the college.” The polished-looking blonde woman, her bulk slimmed by her clothes, had bright blue eyes, reminding Kennedy of— “We just spoke. Maryanne Quested.”
“Yes. Excuse me a moment, please.” Add this woman to that woman, the other woman being Angela, and Kennedy shivered, feeling the same sense of intrusion, of manipulation. And she wanted to know what was causing it. She knew the museum, its section, its artefacts and, trying for inconspicuous, strolled over to the MAGIC, RELIGION AND BELIEF display and its Amulets, Charms and Divination case. And what do you know. All the witch balls were lit up like a string of Christmas lights, indicating the presence of a witch. Huh. She wished she’d had that knowledge earlier, but better late than never?
“Kennedy, we need to get on!”
She strolled back, giving the blue-eyed witch a cool stare.
“You know Angus, obviously.”
Kennedy turned to Dr Rudd, the Head of School, at Dr Crane’s words, and nodded. She doubted he knew her, except perhaps, as a face he might have seen about the department.
“Lesley.”
The young woman’s diary-like book and iPad marked her as an assistant.
“Hello.” Kennedy sketched a wave to them all. Was this what facing a committee to defend a thesis must feel like? It couldn’t feel more awkward.
“Kennedy, something very tragic has happened.” Dr Crane patted a seat next to her.
“Emma.” Kennedy managed a nod. “It’s terrible.”
“How—” The vice-principal turned to Dr Rudd as they both spoke the word together and stopped. She then looked at Dr Crane, who shook her head.
