The Shatterproof Magician (The Inscrutable Paris Beaufont Book 4)

by Sarah Noffke

  “Dragon,” Paris interrupted.

  “Same thing,” Lee said at once. “I know that she fights against stupidity.”

  “She upholds justice,” Paris corrected.

  “Again, same thing,” Lee muttered.

  Returning her attention to Bep, Paris watched as the potions expert swirled the vial contents around. “Do you think you can help? Unc—I mean, Detective Nicholson said that the poison was time-sensitive, and the sooner you examined it, the better.”

  Bep raised an eyebrow at her. “Why should I help someone who doesn’t have a single alpaca?”

  Paris sighed. She’d missed the loons on Roya Lane. These were the types of people who made for good stories at dinner parties. “Maybe this once you’ll overlook the fact that I don’t have an alpaca.”

  “Are you planning on getting one?” Bep held up the vial as though whether she examined it or not hung in the balance based on Paris’ answer.

  “I have a talking squirrel. Does that count?” Paris asked.

  “Who doesn’t.” Lee scoffed.

  Bep looked Paris over. “Where is this talking squirrel?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, trying to classify genomes or inventing something.”

  Bep shook her head. “I’ve changed my mind. You shouldn’t have an alpaca. They like docile owners and not ones who will make them memorize the periodic charts.”

  “I don’t make him… Actually… You know what, never mind.” Paris decided to give up reasoning with these two. She figured she should pop some LSD and take the trip with them. However, Saint Valentine and Happily Ever After College needed her help. “Can you please help me with the poison? We need to know what’s in it and who made it.”

  Bep pulled the cap off the vial and sniffed. “Besides carrots? There are definitely carrots in this.”

  Lee nodded. “That would probably send me to my grave too. Don’t you dare put carrots in my drink.”

  “That’s soup,” Paris corrected. “Yes, we hoped you could tell us the poison and maybe who and how they made it. Anything that will help us to narrow down who did this.”

  Bep sniffed it again. “It was made by a fairy.”

  Paris’ heart beat fast. That immediately absolved her of the crime, even if Saint Valentine and Willow weren’t defending her innocence. “Not by someone who was a magician?” she asked hopefully, having to get the confirmation from the potion’s expert.

  Bep gave Paris an incredulous look as if this was the most ridiculous notion ever. “Does this look like something made with an acute eye for detail and precision? With a thorough working knowledge of how various ingredients interact?”

  Paris tilted her head. “Nooooo,” she answered with uncertainty.

  “Of course not,” Bep stated. “This is sloppy work.”

  “A fairy obviously made it.” Lee glanced at the vial.

  “How can you tell?” Paris asked.

  “Well, it’s an act of love,” Lee stated. “That’s apparent by how they made it.”

  “It is?” Paris questioned. “But they used it to try and murder Saint Valentine.”

  “Exactly,” Lee reasoned. “Most murders are fueled by love. I mean, all of mine are. I love for all dumb people to be dead.”

  Paris stuck her finger in her ear and wiggled it around as if loosening wax or maybe more accurately trying to plug her ears. “Maybe less talk about the killing people thing you do.”

  Lee sighed. “It’s always about the Beaufonts. Neeeeever about me.”

  “Also, if a magician made this,” Bep continued, “the poison would have been slowly folded into the batch, making it blend in with color and odor. A fairy though, they don’t think of spellwork as work, but rather as art. They approach most things that way as though they’re making a Pollock-style painting. It’s all haphazard paint flicking.”

  Paris nodded, thinking of all the ballroom dancing and cooking classes she’d been taking. “Yeah, they are more about crafting pretty things than making practical things.”

  “Exactly,” Bep stated. “This will take a more thorough examination, but two things are immediately obvious to me about this potion.”

  “A fairy made it,” Paris guessed.

  Bep nodded. “The poison, which isn’t blended well, is deadly nightshade.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “Keep the coffee coming,” Uncle John said to Wilfred as he poured him a cup of dark roast Columbian.

  The mortal disguised as a fairy glanced up at Paris when she breezed into the sitting room of the fairy godmothers’ mansion with a preliminary written report from Bep at the Rose Apothecary. Knowing that she needed written evidence for Saint Valentine and Willow, Paris had Bep write it out. However, the full report with details that could point to who made the poison would take more time.

  “Hey Pare,” Uncle John greeted as Wilfred held out a cup of coffee to Paris, offering to pour her one.

  She shook her head at the butler. “I’m good, but thanks. Would you mind taking Casanova out of here? I have to talk to my uncle.” Sensing the confusion on the magitech butler’s face, Paris added. “He’s allergic to cats.” Paris pointed at her uncle.

  Realizing that she had her reasons, Uncle John kept his lip buttoned and scribbled notes with his head down.

  “Of course, Miss Beaufont.” Wilfred laid down the cup and saucer on the coffee tray and shooed the fat orange cat off the sofa and out of the room. He pulled the glass doors shut behind him.

  Paris slumped onto the sofa, suddenly feeling as exhausted as her Uncle John looked. “You’ve been at it all night, haven’t you?”

  He nodded. “There were quite a few people to interview. Over two dozen people in that dining room when the murder happened.”

  Paris threw her head back, suddenly having a surreal moment thinking that a murder happened inside Happily Ever After College. She didn’t want to believe that she’d brought it on because she’d showed up with her magician half and demon blood. When she thought about it, Paris knew the truth. This was something that had been building for a while, and her presence had sparked it because the college was evolving. Some wanted that, and some didn’t—so much so that they’d kill to stop progress.

  “Why did you tell Wilfred I was allergic to cats?” Uncle John asked. “You know that I’ve never condoned you lying.”

  She nodded, slightly shameful. “I know. It’s that Wilfred can’t keep a secret if pressed and I don’t like to put my friends in bad situations.”

  “Because you’re a good friend,” he offered.

  Paris shrugged. “Anyway, Casanova is a tattle cat, and it’s best if he doesn’t overhear this conversation.”

  “Because you learned who did it?” Uncle John’s eyes widened.

  “Not quite,” Paris replied. “But close. Anyway, because I wanted to ask about Pickles, and I didn’t think you wanted anyone knowing that you had a chimera or are a Mortal Seven.”

  He understood at once and sipped his still-hot coffee. “Yes, I do appreciate that. I need to keep my identity under wraps until Liv and Stefan are ready. The timing has to be perfect. Alicia and Fane can’t step down as Warriors for the House of Fourteen until they are ready to take their places. Therefore, I have to stay in place because if any of us abandons our roles, it makes the whole house of cards fall apart.”

  “We talked about this before, but will you go back to how things were when my mom and dad return?” Paris asked. “Before you said you wouldn’t because without them, it would be too painful, but when they are back in their apartment above the electronic repair store, then will you?”

  Uncle John considered this for a moment. “I think there’s a lot to be decided. I haven’t had the opportunity to see Liv yet.”

  “Yeah, hopefully soon,” Paris added.

  He nodded his head. “Yeah, hopefully soon. I do like my job as a detective for FLEA, although the hours are lousy. I guess we will see. We’re all waiting for Liv and Stefan to come back. The
n we can go back if that’s what we want. It will be weird, especially at first.”

  “Fane and Alicia?” Paris questioned. “Will they willingly step down as Warriors for the House of Fourteen? They’ve had those positions for fifteen years.”

  “Both Fane and Alicia only ever took those positions out of obligation,” Uncle John stated.

  “Maybe they’ve grown into them now,” Paris argued. “Because my parents have come back doesn’t mean they’ll want to part with them.”

  “I’m not sure. I can tell you that neither Alicia nor Fane would be alive or healthy or have had any further opportunities in their lives if it wasn’t for your mother. She saved both of them. So I think when she and Stefan return, they’ll be happy to step down. I know a little about Alicia, and I’m sure she’ll look forward to returning to her passion for creating magitech. As for the rest of her life, well, she might keep it. I don’t know. A lot changes in fifteen years.”

  “She still loves you.” Paris sensed his hidden meaning.

  He looked at her suddenly. “Did she say something to you about me?”

  “Not any more than before,” Paris admitted. “How can she not? I mean, I know she married Uncle Clark to take the position at the House of Fourteen, but that’s like you making so many sacrifices. You all are amazing and did that to protect my parents and me. Soon you all can return to your old lives or new lives or whatever.”

  Uncle John reached out and patted her thoughtfully. “We will see, Pare. A lot of time has passed. I have no expectations because how can I?”

  “Well, you’re right that we’re not there yet, but hopefully soon.” Paris suddenly thought that maybe she did need a cup of coffee. “I wanted to ask you about Pickles. I haven’t had a chance, but this seems perfect.”

  Uncle John chuckled and knocked back his coffee. “So he helped, did he? I’m glad for that.”

  “Yes, he saved my life. He was your protector as a Mortal Seven, and you had him locked in my locket?” Paris remembered the locket opening during her battle with the Deathly Shadow and being surprised by the chimera’s sudden appearance.

  “Pickles saves the day once again,” Uncle John sang, shaking his head with gleeful laughter. “That’s my boy.”

  “You gave him up for me,” Paris argued. “I bet you missed him.”

  “I did,” Uncle John admitted. “Remember that I couldn’t be recognized as a Mortal Seven. It made the most sense that we put him in the locket to protect you if you ever needed it. That was our insurance, in a way, if anything ever happened and we couldn’t save you. Your Aunt Sophia thinks of everything.”

  Paris nodded. “You did miss him. He’s free now. Has he returned yet?”

  Remorse covered Uncle John’s face before he replaced it with a neutral expression. “Oh, he knows that things are like before. I’m a detective for FLEA. No one can see me as a Mortal Seven. Then everything will blow up in our faces before your parents can safely take their roles. That’s the key. We all play the part a little longer, and when Liv and Stefan return, we can drop the act and do as we like.”

  “Soon,” Paris said with confidence.

  “Soon,” Uncle John reiterated, not sounding as confident.

  Paris pulled Bep’s report from her leather jacket. “So, there’s more information to come, but this will hopefully help with the investigation.”

  Uncle John gave her a heavy look as his eyes darted to the report she handed him and her eyes. “This has all been a lot for the college and Saint Valentine’s office, and I’m sure you too.”

  “You heard that the school and soon the world has learned I have demon blood?” Paris asked.

  He nodded gravely. “Willow told me. I’m sorry. I’m sure that wasn’t something you wanted others to know. Then this mess happened.” Uncle John tapped his notebook of interviews with the report. “I feel like there’s something I’m missing in all this. I mean, the students don’t have a motive to take down Saint Valentine. Many of the instructors do because he’s in charge of so much of the college. It’s FGA who is forcing his hand here. The leader of FGA had a lot of influence, but not totally. It’s a very complicated mess of interworking relationships.”

  Paris nodded. “I suspect that the person who wanted to take Saint Valentine out wants total power. Right now, it’s fluctuating between the board, the agents, and his office of Matters of the Heart.”

  “So it’s someone who has partial power and maybe wants to take him out?”

  “Well, it doesn’t make any sense for someone at the college to do it,” Paris pointed out. “Most feel supported by Saint Valentine. In my conversation with him right before the incident, he told me he wanted change, but not too fast. He wanted to do what was best. This isn’t a person making sweeping changes.”

  “According to many, he is still open to new ideas, and that’s met with hesitation from some.”

  “So someone has a reason to want him out,” Paris muttered while thinking to herself.

  Uncle John indicated his notebook with the folded report. “I have a lot of suspects. There are more than a few with a motive. The agents are here supervising at the board’s request, meaning that it’s against Saint Valentine’s.”

  Paris nodded. “He’s supposed to make recommendations about our curriculum based on the agents’ review, but the board will make the final decisions.”

  “Very complicated organization the FGA has,” Uncle John observed. “Then there are the old families with deep pockets who make up the board.”

  “Like the Montgomerys,” Paris muttered. “They’re the ones who outed me out for having demon blood. I’m certain they were trying to get me kicked out.”

  “Willow said you’re safe.”

  “For now,” Paris added.

  “Then there are a few faculty and students who seem to think that FGA could run differently, but it’s not clear if they think that’s a management issue or a holistic one,” Uncle John continued. “What’s not clear is who had access to the soup right before Saint Valentine would eat it. No one saw anyone around his seat beforehand besides the agent who unfortunately died.”

  “Well, the preliminary report won’t give you too many insights,” Paris cautioned, “but it will give you a way to narrow things down. Bep will have more information in a day or two.”

  Uncle John opened the report and scanned it. His eyes sprang wide with relief as he read. “It says that a pure fairy most likely made the potion.”

  “That’s not me,” Paris confirmed.

  “Good news,” he cheered. “That will get many off your back after the reveal of your demon blood.”

  “Yeah, talk about timing,” Paris groused. “The school finds out I’m a demon, and bam, there’s the first murder at Happily Ever After College. It still seems like someone was gunning for me.”

  “If they are, I’ll find them, Pare.”

  She nodded appreciatively.

  He continued to read before lowering the report. “Deadly nightshade.”

  “It’s been going missing lately,” Paris offered. “Hemingway told me about it recently. Actually, it only recently started growing here at the college.”

  “How recent?”

  “Like, in the last few weeks.”

  “So before the agents showed up,” he speculated.

  Paris nodded.

  Uncle John’s face went slack. “Do you think that a student or faculty member planted it to harvest for this exact reason?”

  Paris gave him a pointed look. “Only one person will know.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Hemingway glanced up when Paris and her Uncle John entered the greenhouse. He smiled at the sight of Paris and then, to her surprise, even wider after recognizing Uncle John behind her.

  The sun was starting to rise over Happily Ever After College. Thankfully the fairy godmothers had set Uncle John up with a place for the night so that he didn’t have to keep traveling back and forth. Portal magic might be fast and seemingly ef
fortless, but it could be taxing on one’s body—especially a mortal’s.

  Hemingway held up a small trowel and pointed it in Uncle John’s direction. “That tip you gave me on fly fishing is going to come in handy.”

  Uncle John chuckled easily. “I’m telling you, it will have them jumping straight into your net.”

  Confused, Paris looked between the two. “Did you all talk fishing the entire time you interrogated him?” she asked Uncle John.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t interrogate. I questioned. There was no reason to question Hemingway Noble here. It was pretty obvious that he didn’t have anything to hide and wasn’t the murderer. After a while, you get a sense for these kinds of things, and Hemingway doesn’t fit the bill.”

  Hemingway leaned forward and winked. “Also, I figured out straight away that Detective Nicholson wasn’t a fairy.”

  Paris was about to spring into excuses, but Uncle John laughed. “Yeah, it takes an imposter to know one.”

  Totally confused, Paris looked between the two. “Wait, you two figured out that you both aren’t who you say you are? Like, together?”

  They both nodded.

  “Oh, yeah,” Uncle John stated. “I took one look at Hemingway and knew. What’s funny is that he had the same moment.”

  “We’re both connected to you, so we figured out that we were safe with each other’s secrets.” Hemingway heaved a giant sigh. “You know, before you Paris, no one knew my secret besides Headmistress Starr and Mae Ling. It feels good to be myself. To not be hiding something.”

  Still confused, Paris looked between the two. “So for you two, the glamour doesn’t work? You both can see that you two aren’t fairies?”

  “Well, it’s more like we recognized that we were disguising,” Uncle John stated. “I’ve been doing it for so long that it felt like I was looking in the mirror.”

  Hemingway nodded. “During my private talks with Detective Nicholson, he explained why he pretended to be a fairy, and I can’t think of a more noble reason.”