by Emery Belle
“Can I help you, miss?” a voice squeaked somewhere near my ankles, and I looked down at the tiny female brownie wearing a neatly pressed maid’s outfit and carrying a feather duster. Catching sight of my scowl, she eyed me up and down with an expression of mistrust and tightened her grip on the duster.
Remembering the unpleasant scene outside Glenn’s house the last time I spoke to a brownie, I looked around the home’s tidy foyer and said, “Wow, what a beautiful cleaning job you’ve done here! It must have taken a lot of work.” I did notice a partial muddy hoofprint in the far corner but immediately averted my eyes from it, not wanting to raise her ire.
She gave me a toothy grin. “It is all play and no work, just as cleaning should be.” She cocked her head at me. “If you are here to see Mr. Demos, I’m afraid he does not accept casual visitors. He is far too busy to entertain guests when there is important business to be done.” She drew her shoulders up proudly, as though she were personally responsible for his success.
“I’m not a guest, I’m an… investor,” I said, thinking fast. “I wanted to discuss getting involved in his unicorn riding business.” Leaning in further, I lowered my voice and added, “And I have a lot of gold to spend. But if he’s too busy…?”
“Nonsense!” a voice boomed, and the sound of trotting hooves preceded a handsome centaur entering the foyer. He was wearing a custom-designed suit and tie over his silky black coat, and a lime green cravat was tucked into his open collar. Grinning widely, and showing off a perfect row of even white teeth, he practically knocked the brownie aside in his haste to usher me inside the foyer. “I’m Barak Demos. Welcome to my home.” He swept his arm around grandly, then gave me an eager look. “You have gold, you say?”
“Oh, loads of it.” I gave him my best smile, and then introduced myself. “I just got a huge inheritance from an uncle I didn’t know I had, and I’m looking for the right place to invest it. Your name came up during my research.”
“Well, I can certainly understand why.” Barak straightened his cravat while he trotted through the foyer, leading me into a bright and airy living room with 360-degree windows and an impressive bow and arrow collection. When he saw me eyeing them nervously, he chuckled. “These are collector’s items, worth more than all the houses in the centaur lands put together. This one”—he stroked a flimsy-looking wooden arrow with a dull tip—“dates back to the seventh century, when the age of the great centaurs began.” He straightened it and continued moving. “But I’d be happy to show you more of my collection later. Business first, pleasure second—that’s my motto in life, and that’s how I’ve become the wealthiest centaur on the island.”
“Even wealthier than Orion?” I asked, watching him carefully for a reaction. “I heard that people came from far and wide—and paid quite handsomely—for one of his readings.”
Barak looked rattled for a moment, but quickly recovered. He gave me a smooth smile. “Yes, even Orion.” After a brief pause, he bowed his head and added, “May we meet again in the great beyond.” Though he certainly sounded sincere, I had a feeling that Barak was skilled in wheeling and dealing, which probably made him a master at covering up his true emotions.
He led me into an office at the back of the cabin that was decorated in shades of rich plum. I looked around for a chair, wondering how on earth a centaur sat down on one, then realized there weren’t any. “Please, pull up a seat,” Barak said, settling himself on a long purple velvet pillow and gesturing for me to take the one across from him as he stretched out his muscular limbs. I plopped down clumsily, sinking so far back into the plush pillow that my legs were sticking up into the air.
When I finally managed to right myself, breathing heavily, Barak had produced a bottle of deep red wine from his liquor cabinet and offered me a glass. “I make it right here on the premises,” he said, inhaling deeply into his own glass with a dreamy smile. “Unicorn-stomped grapes, sunned until they reach the perfect degree of ripeness.” He clinked his glass against mine and said, “To possibilities,” before taking a long sip.
“So.” He set down his glass and folded his hands together. “I take it you are interested in investing in my unicorn riding business. As you undoubtedly know, it’s become quite popular, especially with the tourists. We usually have a line of people waiting to ride when we open the gates in the morning, and the track stays quite busy until the unicorns bed down for the evening.”
At the mention of the unicorns, my jaw tightened, but I tried not to let my anger show. Instead, I nodded and took a sip of wine, then spat it out the moment he turned his back to top off his own glass. Unicorn-stomped or not, it was god-awful.
“Excellent,” he said, and then his smile flickered. “And, in the interest of honesty, and because you undoubtedly read about it in last week’s edition of The Islander, I must confess that ticket sales have dwindled slightly in the last quarter due to the disagreement Orion and I were having over the skunk cabbages he planted at the border of our properties.”
His eyes darkened with anger. “But I’ve filed a complaint with the High Court and expect it to be resolved any day now in my favor, especially in light of Orion’s… misfortune.” He said the last word delicately, but it was impossible to miss the note of glee in his tone, especially with a trained investigative ear like mine.
“So that explains the smell,” I said, hoping he would elaborate. I hadn’t read a single article in The Islander since I’d quit my job as the world’s worst gossip columnist, and I had no intention of picking up an issue anytime soon. “I have to say, it was so awful I almost turned around and went home.”
“Well I’m certainly glad you didn’t,” Barak said tightly, “but sadly, I can’t say the same for all of my customers. Orion said that he planted the skunk cabbages, which are known for their healing properties, so he could stew them and make a salve for the hoof sores he’d begun developing in his old age, but I know better. He wanted the business to fail, and this was the quickest way to get rid of my customers.” Barak’s grip on his glass tightened, and he snorted, sounding rather horselike.
“But why?” I asked, careful to keep my voice casual. “Orion seemed like a reasonable centaur. What reason would he have for trying to sabotage your business?”
Barak didn’t immediately answer; instead, he set down his glass, let out a long sigh, and steepled his fingers beneath his chin before gazing out his office window, which overlooked the unicorn track. From here, I could see the sun glinting off their magnificent silver manes, and my heart twisted with sadness once more.
“I treat my unicorns very well,” he said, “much better than most people would treat a common horse—because that’s what they are, despite what the legends and fairy tales of the human world would like us to believe.” He climbed to his hooves, shaking out his long black hair as he trotted over to the window and waved at the line of people waiting to ride the unicorns. “I provide them with the best food, daily grooming, custom-made beds, and, when they are no longer able to support riders, they are free to go where they please.”
He paused and traced his hands along the windowpane. “But Orion didn’t see it that way. He believed that all the hoofed are brothers and sisters, and he decried my business far and wide; thanks to him, many of the centaurs have turned their backs on me.”
“You seem like an intelligent man,” I pointed out, joining him at the window. “If your business is causing so much controversy, why not choose something else? Something like… manticores.” I watched him carefully out of the corner of my eye, judging his reaction.
He stared at me like I was insane. “You want me to go into business with manticores? One of the most dangerous, fearsome, deadly beasts in the world?”
“Have you ever tried riding one?” I pressed, thinking of the elusive cullenberry flower used to poison Orion. “Apparently there are places in the world so remote that only manticores have the strength and wing power to reach them.”
“Only a fool would appr
oach a manticore, much less try to ride one.” His dark gaze roamed over my face. “And I am not a fool, Wren Winters. Are you?”
That remained to be seen.
“Have you ever heard of the Isle of Caoimhe?” I asked, deciding to try a new tactic.
Barak frowned and cocked his head. “The location of the fabled Myrna’s gold? Only once, when a foolhardy—and rather tipsy—leprechaun named Finn tried to convince me to invest in a voyage there. Only a bumbling idiot would give someone like him the time of day—he kept going on and on about how stewing the gold in Irish whiskey and yarrow root would make it double in weight.”
He snorted again. “I’ve heard some ridiculous business ideas in my time, but that one might just take the cake.” Then he gave me an incredulous look. “Why do you ask, anyway? You didn’t agree to give that little man your gold, did you?”
“We’ve spoken,” I said. “I’m still… shopping around.” I could feel my heart sinking with disappointment. Barak’s reaction to both the manticores and the Isle of Caoimhe seemed genuine enough, but he had plenty of reasons for wanting Orion out of the picture. He also had considerable wealth—more than enough to hire someone else to procure the cullenberry flower for him.
“Well.” Barak held out his hand for me to shake and then led me out of his office. “I hope you’ll give some thought to becoming one of my investors. I own the only unicorn riding track on the island, and our profits are expected to double within the next year. Word about the business has already spread to the neighboring islands as well, and many parents bring their children here on day trips to experience our little slice of heaven.” He smiled proudly. “Someday the name Barak Demos will become synonymous with unicorn riding.”
If it didn’t become synonymous with murder first, I thought, thanking him for his time and waving goodbye to the brownie who ushered me out the front door. As I passed the track, listening to the crowds cheer on the unicorns prancing along the path and kicking up clouds of dust, I averted my gaze—I had no interest in seeing the spectacle for a second time.
I walked quickly, and the cheering soon became a distant hum as I approached the fence separating Barak’s and Orion’s properties. My stomach gave a loud growl, and I picked up my pace, my mind on my upcoming dinner with Garnet’s family. I knew that beggars couldn’t be choosers, but I sure hoped Garnet’s mother didn’t plan on serving the Moon family’s famous candied mushroom pie for dessert…
“Wren?” A centaur galloped toward me from the side, and as she approached, I recognized her as Lyra, Orion’s daughter with Vega. Her mouse-brown coat was covered in dirt, and she wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand, leaving a trail of mud across her skin. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I just had some business to take care of,” I said, keeping my language intentionally vague. “How are you holding up?”
Lyra’s face crumpled. “Not great. I miss my father terribly, and my mother is in complete denial… she keeps acting like he’s going to walk through the door at any moment, and when night falls, she cries herself to sleep. It’s… awful.”
She held up the pair of pruners I hadn’t noticed at first. “That’s why I’m trying to spend as much time as I can in my garden. My father and I started it centuries ago, and it has all sorts of exotic plants and vegetables—it’s our special father-daughter place, and I go there whenever I’m feeling stressed out or upset.” Her eyes lit up. “Would you like to try a prickly peach? They’re perfectly ripe at this time of year.”
“No thanks,” I said as my stomach gave another loud growl. Then, glancing around to make sure we were alone, I lowered my voice. “Hey, Lyra, when I was at your house the other day, you and your mother seemed like you were holding back about something. Do you have information that may be helpful to the investigation?”
Lyra chewed her lip and pawed at the ground. After several long moments of hesitation, she opened her mouth, but was immediately interrupted by her mother’s voice floating across the property. “Lyra? Where are you? I need help sewing your father’s dress loincloths.”
Lyra cringed. “I have to go.” She glanced back toward the house nervously before whispering, “But can you meet me at my office downtown? I’m there most days from nine until three.” She recited the address, and I committed it to memory. And then, before I could even say goodbye, she took off, galloping across the open field toward the sound of her mother’s voice, her mouse-brown hair streaming behind her.
Chapter 13
The Moon family lived in a sprawling ranch house within walking distance of the boardwalk, so, upon arriving early, I spent a few minutes curling my toes in the sand and watching the sun’s slow descent over the horizon, its pink rays rippling across the ocean’s serene surface. A chill settled in the air, and as I watched a gnome family of five huddling up in their beach towels and tossing cracker bits to the seagulls soaring low over the sand, my chest constricted with jealousy and just a touch of sadness.
I had always imagined having a big family of my own by this age: a husband who adored me, three children—two girls and then a boy—and maybe even a dog. And I had none of that. Okay, well, maybe I had the dog, but Pierre wasn’t exactly the good boy I’d always envisioned. He was too busy snorting through my pockets in search of sausages to bother learning how to retrieve my slippers or play fetch with a stick… heaven knows I tried. Somewhere along the way, life had taken a different turn, and while I enjoyed getting to know this new world I’d never dreamed I’d be a part of, something was missing. I could feel it deep within my bones, a nagging, needling ache that never quite went away.
Eventually the gnome family packed up their beach towels and cooler and trudged back toward the street, and I climbed to my feet, brushing the sand from my legs and giving the sparkling water one final look before walking the last few blocks to Garnet’s house. When I arrived, I knocked tentatively on the cheery red front door, feeling rather nervous; it always took me a little bit of time to feel comfortable around strangers, and I knew Garnet had already told her parents plenty of stories about me.
I could hear a woman laughing on the other side of the door. “Coming!” she called a few moments before the door was yanked open. The woman I presumed to be Garnet’s mother turned to me, mid-laugh, and then her face froze. I watched as all the color drained from her cheeks and she took a step back. “E-Elvie?” she whispered, her voice trembling. She reached out toward me, her green eyes searching mine. “Is it really you?”
“Sorry?” I craned my neck to look at the street number hanging in brass letters above the door. Had I gotten the wrong address? Before I had a chance to figure out what was happening, Garnet appeared next to her mother, and she pulled me in for a hug.
“Wren!” she cried. “I’m so glad you could make it! Come in, come in.” She grabbed my hand and led me inside, past her mother, who was still standing zombie-like at the door. Noticing this, Garnet frowned and put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Everything okay, Mom? Wren, this is my mother, Opaline Moon.”
“Please, call me Opie, everyone does.” Garnet’s mother recovered with a shake of her head and gave me a warm smile, though her eyes still lingered on my face. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Wren. Garnet has such wonderful things to say about you.”
Opie Moon was as beautiful as her daughter, with shining auburn hair that hadn’t begun to gray, and the same bright green eyes and porcelain skin. Only the laugh lines around her mouth and the softening around her waist revealed her age, and my heart ached as I looked at the two of them standing side by side. Garnet could never truly appreciate what she had, because she didn’t know what it was like to miss it.
“So tell me, Wren,” Opie said, settling me down with a glass of mulberry lemonade as Garnet’s familiar, a nightswallow named Midnight, tried poking his beak into my drink. “Where are you from? Garnet tells me you came from the human world, and back in the day I did a bit of traveling around the States.”
“And your parents?” Opie sipped her own glass of lemonade, her eyes never leaving mine. “Have you had any contact with them since moving to the island? I’m sure they were quite surprised to find out their daughter was a witch.”
I fell silent for a moment, staring down at my drink. “No parents,” I said quietly. “At least none that I’ve ever known. I grew up in the foster care system. It… it wasn’t so bad.”
“Any relatives?” Opie pressed. “Aunts, cousins, grandparents?”
“What’s with the third degree, Mom?” Garnet shot her a pointed look and laughed awkwardly. “Wren’s here as our guest; we’re not interrogating her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Opie’s laugh matched her daughter’s. “You’ll have to forgive me, Wren, but I’m just fascinated by the human world and love hearing about it. Garnet’s right, though, I’m being far too much of a busybody. I’ll just go ahead and check on dinner. Garnet, dear, while we’re waiting for the unicorn to finish roasting, why don’t you show Wren our collection of medieval spoons?” She gave me a sheepish smile. “I’m something of a history buff.”
“Sounds great,” I said, my stomach roiling. Had she just said unicorn roast? What was wrong with these islanders? Maybe she was making some kind of off-color joke that, as a newcomer to Magic Island, I didn’t understand…
