Alchemy and Arson

by Lily Webb

  “Touché,” I said and made to leave. Mitch sighed.

  “Since I know you’re gonna go to Grave Times no matter what I say, at least promise me you won’t make us look bad,” Mitch said. I stopped and turned to face him again.

  “I’m an expert at ruining reputations, including my own, so you’ve got nothing to worry about!” I said and left him to chew on it like a dog with a bone.

  Bellerose Enterprises’ exterior looked no less intimidating than it had the first time I’d been. The thick glass front doors, tinted black as ink to block out any and all sun during the day — it was a vampire’s place of business, after all — cast the moon’s blinding reflection back at me.

  The only thing that’d changed was the small addition of “Grave Times” to the sign posted out front.

  My palms sweaty, I reached for the door handle and pulled. It took more effort than I remembered, but maybe Lucien had upgraded the glass to heavier, sturdier material. Lilith knew he had the money for it.

  The narrow hallway lined on either side by uncomfortable metal chairs led to another wall of glass — and to my dismay, the same vampire secretary sitting behind it.

  Céline glanced up from filing her nails, her eyes peeking over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. She smirked, her hot red lipstick like a slash of fresh blood across her face. It gave me the creeps.

  “Bonsoir, Ms. Clarke,” she said. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you again.”

  “What can I say, I’m the gift that keeps on giving,” I said and Céline’s smirk widened into a smile. As rude as she was to me the last time I’d come, I’d grown on her.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Monsieur Bellerose isn’t in this evening,” she said.

  “That’s okay, I’m actually here to talk to Marcel Desfleurs,” I said. Céline raised her eyebrows.

  “I see. Let me page him,” she said and reached for the phone on her desk. They spoke for a few seconds and then, in a blur of motion, Céline stood beside me on the other side of the glass, her emptied chair spinning.

  “This way,” Céline said, gesturing at the only door leading through the glass, which I hadn’t realized was open until now. I would never get used to the super speed of vampires.

  “Thanks,” I muttered and went through. Céline’s pumps clicked across the tile behind me as we walked another hall perforated by dozens more doors on either side. I knew from experience that Lucien’s decadent office was at the very end, marked by a set of overindulgent carved double doors, but we never made it that far.

  Céline stopped me halfway down the hall. An unimpressive plaque that read “Grave Times” hung outside the door. Céline tugged the badge she wore on a retractable necklace and held it to the security pad. The lock clicked open and she pushed the door for me.

  Marcel sat just inside on the edge of one of the dozen or so desks that lined the floor in neat rows. Other than the lack of flying objects and staff other than Marcel, the newsroom at Grave Times didn’t look much different from the Messenger’s.

  “Good evening, Zoe,” Marcel said, smiling. “I’ll take it from here, Céline. Merci.”

  “Avec plaisir,” Céline said and disappeared, the door softly clicking closed on its own.

  "You know, I’ve been wondering when you’d pay us a visit,” Marcel said.

  “Why’s that?” I asked, instantly cautious, my shoulders creeping up toward my ears.

  “I’m a journalist, you’re a journalist, it just sort of makes sense,” he said.

  “I dunno if I’d call what you do journalism, so I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” I said. Marcel chuckled. He pushed off the desk and flicked his black curls out of his face.

  “If only more people these days knew how to do that,” he said. “Anyway, what can I help you with? I assume you have questions.”

  “I’ve heard you’ve been scoping out Hypnotic Tonics,” I said. “Why?”

  “They’re interesting,” Marcel said, smirking as he tucked his hands in the pocket of his jeans. What kind of vampire wore jeans anyway?

  “Agreed, but that didn’t answer my question,” I said. “What’s so interesting about them?”

  “They’re selling what effectively amounts to controlled substances,” Marcel said. “In a normal world, the Council never would’ve allowed a shop like that to exist. But nothing’s been normal in this town for months.”

  I could vouch for that.

  “Fair enough, but why take pictures of them after dark? I mean, aside from the whole not being able to be outside during the day thing,” I said. Marcel shrugged.

  “Even if I could work during the day, I’ve seen enough in my time to know that people are much more forthcoming in the dark,” he said.

  “Yeah, I guess that sorta comes with the territory of snooping on people, doesn’t it?” I asked. Marcel shook his head, his curls swinging.

  “Some call it snooping, I call it intelligence gathering,” Marcel said. “The thing is, people are so much more honest with my cameras than they are with me.”

  “Probably because they don’t know they’re being photographed,” I said.

  “Yes, probably,” Marcel agreed, smiling.

  “Where were you the night Circe Woods’ house burned?” I asked, my patience running thin.

  “Wow, what a segue,” Marcel laughed. “But to answer your question, I was here sorting through my latest round of photos,” Marcel said.

  “Photos of what?” I asked.

  “Photos of whom,” he corrected. “But you already know the answer to that.”

  “Hilda?”

  “Yes, among others,” Marcel said. Others? What — or whom, to use his words — did he mean?

  “Why were you taking photos of Hilda and whoever else that night?”

  “I’ve been following them since Hypnotic Tonics opened and went undetected until I forgot to turn off the flash on my camera and Hilda’s assistant noticed,” Marcel said.

  “How professional,” I said, and Marcel chuckled.

  “Even after hundreds of years behind the camera, I still make mistakes from time to time. Stake me,” he said. “Anyway, I had a feeling something wasn’t quite right with that shop and it turns out my suspicions were correct.”

  “How so?”

  “They have an interesting business arrangement, that’s for sure,” Marcel said. “It’s odd to see werewolves making pit stops there in the middle of the night.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It would be easier for me just to show you. I mean, assuming you really want to know,” Marcel said.

  My mind raced. Of course I did, but I had no idea what I was about to learn — or if I could trust Marcel’s photos in the first place. Between the magic of Moon Grove and the magic of Photoshop, who was to say his photos weren’t altered? Grave Times did have a reputation for publishing false stories.

  “Your silence speaks volumes. Wait here,” Marcel said and disappeared into the newsroom in a whirl of motion and color. Seconds later, he popped back into existence beside me with a handful of photo prints.

  He passed me the stack and my heart thrummed as I saw the date stamp in the bottom right corner of the first photo: the same day of the fire. But I couldn’t make out anything in the picture, it just seemed black with a spattering of stars.

  “I don’t see anything,” I said.

  “Keep going through them, you will,” Marcel said. I flipped to the next photo and despite the darkness, I made out the unmistakable façade of Hypnotic Tonics thanks mostly to the illuminated tonic vending machine outside.

  The following frame showed the shop lit up inside and the shadow of someone or something in the main window. In the next, Marcel had zoomed in on a gap in the curtains and captured what could only be Hilda with her untamed hair.

  “There’s more,” Marcel said. “You haven’t gotten to the best part yet. I changed lenses and must’ve hit the wrong button in the process because this is aro
und the time my flash went off.”

  The next picture was more or less the same as the last, so I breezed past it for another — and my heart fell into my stomach. The curtains were flung open and Sage was in the window, scowling. Behind her, a bald man covered in tattoos stood with his face twisted in rage, an empty vial in one hand, a wad of cash in the other.

  It was Tony Romano, the same werewolf who’d been escorted out of the Council meeting when they announced the Blood Moon curfew.

  “Is that…?”

  “Tony Romano? Yes, it is,” Marcel said. I dropped the rest of the photos on the nearest desk, feeling weightless and unable to look at any more.

  “What were they doing?”

  “I don’t know, but it sure looks like some sort deal was taking place,” Marcel said. “And if they were selling tonics on the sly to Tony, who else were they selling to without approval?”

  The image of the stopper I’d found near Circe’s house burned in my mind. Between it, the Blood Moon, Marcel’s photos, and the curfew exemption, it didn’t paint a pretty picture for the werewolves. There was no way Marcel’s photos were doctored — the looks on the faces of Sage and Tony both told me that.

  So was it Tony who’d killed Circe? He had the right motive.

  “Why didn’t you turn these photos into the police?” I breathed.

  “Are you hearing yourself? The police are all werewolves, Zoe. They’d bury the story as quickly as they’d like to bury us vampires,” Marcel said.

  He was right, but it only made me feel worse.

  “Are you going to publish these then?” I asked. Marcel smiled.

  “That depends on what your plans are,” he said. “We could work together, the Times and the Messenger. We could figure this out.”

  “Why? What’s in it for you?”

  “I’m a journalist, Zoe, I live for the pursuit of truth,” Marcel said. I didn’t believe him for a second, but he knew things I didn’t and there was no denying how useful his skills might be.

  “Okay, but I’m calling the shots,” I said and Marcel beamed.

  “I assumed,” he said.

  “Good. What do you know about Tony?”

  “Not much. He owns a pizza joint in the Werewolves’ Quarter called Pupperoni Pizza,” Marcel said and I had to fight back my laughter.

  “Clever,” I coughed.

  “I thought so too,” he said. “What do you say we meet there tomorrow night around six and hit him with a double whammy? You go in for the interview and I’ll hang back to get photo proof in case he tries anything funny.”

  “Deal,” I said and we shook on it but I couldn’t help wondering if I’d made a deal with the devil.

  Chapter Eleven

  I was just walking out of the Messenger’s office the following afternoon when my phone rang in my bag. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Beau’s name on the screen — maybe he wasn’t angry with me after all.

  “Hey, I’m so glad to hear from you,” I answered, beaming. Beau chuckled and tingles ran down my spine.

  “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” he said, exasperated. “It’s been a crazy couple of weeks at Channel 666 between the Blood Moon and houses burning down.”

  “It’s okay, I understand. I’ve been stretched thin myself,” I said.

  “I can imagine, you poor thing. Hey, I know I’m a day late, but does that offer for dinner together still stand?” Beau asked.

  “Of course,” I said, thrilled. “I was starting to think you weren’t ever going to talk to me again, so that’s a relief.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Come on, you know why. I made a fool of myself in front of the entire town and dragged you into it too,” I said.

  “Oh, griffin’s feathers,” Beau dismissed me. “When are you gonna stop piling on yourself about that?”

  “Probably never,” I said and Beau laughed.

  “Well I know what’ll take your mind off it, at least for a little while,” he said.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “Sharing a nice hot pizza with one of the best-looking guys in all of Moon Grove,” Beau said and a lightbulb went off in my head.

  “That sounds perfect. I know just the place,” I said.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. Have you heard anything about a restaurant called Pupperoni Pizza?” I asked.

  “I have, but they weren’t good. Why do I get the feeling you’re buttering me up for something?”

  “Guilty as charged,” I said.

  “Who are we interrogating this time?” Beau sighed.

  “Wow, reading me like a book,” I laughed. “Honestly, maybe no one at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know if they’re going to be there or if they’ll talk to me,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “The owner, Tony Romano.”

  “You mean the werewolf that got escorted out of the Council meeting for throwing a fit about the curfew?” Beau asked.

  “Yup, that’s the one.”

  “Great. What could possibly go wrong?” he asked.

  “So I take it that means we have a date?”

  “I could never say no to you, even if it means putting my life in danger,” Beau said and my face flushed. “Can I swing by your place around six?” That left me less than half an hour to get home and ready, but I wasn’t about to lose my chance.

  “I’ll be waiting,” I said.

  “Good. See you soon,” Beau said and hung up.

  I dropped my phone back into my bag with butterflies in my stomach and dashed toward home, still stunned Beau wasn’t afraid to be seen in public with me after my little stunt. We’d been dating for less than a month and I couldn’t believe how well we fit together after such a short time. Maybe it wasn’t an accident that he was the first person I ever met in Moon Grove.

  When I opened the front door, Flora was already in the kitchen cooking something or another. Luna sat on the couch licking one of her paws but froze when I came inside.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” she said.

  “Hilarious,” I said, kicking the door closed behind me. I tossed my bag on the couch as I hurried to my room to clean up and change before Beau arrived.

  “What’s the hurry? You got a hot date tonight or something?” Luna asked, trotting along behind me.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” I said.

  “Meeeeeeow,” Luna said and I swore I saw a smile on her little kitty face.

  “Oh, stop. It’s not nearly as salacious as you make it sound,” I said.

  “Zoe, is that you?” Flora called from the kitchen.

  “Yeah,” I shouted back.

  “Are you hungry? I’m making spaghetti,” Flora said.

  “I’d love to join you but I’m going out with Beau for dinner,” I said. Seconds passed without a reply and then Flora’s face appeared in my doorway.

  “So I take it that means you finally called him?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yeah. It took a few days for him to get back to me but he did,” I said.

  “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Where are you two going?”

  “Pupperoni Pizza,” I said, and Flora furrowed her eyebrows.

  “Really? Why?”

  “Reasons,” I said, looking away from her. Flora sighed and shook her head.

  “Even if I didn’t have a built-in lie detector, I can always tell you’re lying when you use that excuse,” Flora said.

  “Fine, I’m going to talk to the owner of the place,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. Beau’s gonna be here any minute to pick me up and I still haven’t even washed my face,” I said.

  “Oh, okay, sorry to interrupt,” Flora said and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “That just leaves more spaghetti for me,” Luna said, licking her chops.

  “Since when do you eat spaghetti? You’re definitely the weirdest cat I’ve ever met in
my life,” I said.

  “Or am I?”

  “Go back to cleaning yourself, I’ve got my own cleaning to do,” I said.

  “I bet I’ll do a better job of it,” Luna said as she left, her tail swishing around the corner. I flew into the adjacent bathroom and wet my hair and face in the sink. Though I wanted to wash both, I only had time for one — and my face was much more important, so I scrubbed it with a bar of soap.

  With my face clean and my red curls tied up in a towel, I went back into the bedroom and threw on the best t-shirt and jeans I could find because mixing robes with pizza was a grease stain waiting to happen.

  I’d just stepped out into the living room when the doorbell rang. Beau was nothing if not punctual. Luna had returned to licking herself on the couch beside my bag.

  “Meeeeeeow,” she called after me as I went to answer the door and I scratched her head to shush her before scooping up my bag. I flung the door open and melted when I saw Beau on the other side dressed in a casual pink polo and jeans, his chestnut hair slicked back.

  “Hey, you ready to go?” Beau asked, flashing me his perfect smile.

  “Definitely,” I said. He offered me his arm and I slipped mine through it.

  “Be home before eleven, missy! And stay out of trouble!” Luna said from the couch but I ignored her and closed the door.

  “She’s awfully strict,” Beau said and I laughed.

  “Yeah, she sure is,” I agreed and the conversation tapered as we walked down Swiftsage toward Crescent Street. I hoped he knew where we were going because I didn’t have a clue.

  “How’s your grandma doing?” Beau asked when we rounded the corner and headed south.

  “Amazingly well, all things considered,” I said. Beau smiled.

  “She’s a firecracker, isn’t she? Now I know where you get your personality and grit from,” he said.

  “Yes, among other, less desirable traits.”

  “They’re all part of the bigger picture, which I love,” Beau said, his smile widening. I thought I might ignite. “Anyway, are you gonna tell me why you want to talk to the unpredictable owner of a werewolf pizza joint before we get there?”

  “It’s a long story, but the shortened version is I think he might’ve had something to do with Circe’s house burning down,” I said. Beau came to a sudden halt, jerking me back with him.