Bo wet her lips before saying, “Right. Of course.” Her smile was quick and didn’t quite reach her eyes. “As you say.”
She sounded strange, and I couldn’t put my finger on why that was. Had she learned more than what she was telling me?
“Has the magick worn off then? Did the witch crack the riddle? Who is it?”
“Oh, what? No.” She pursed her lips tight. “No, of course not. Matilda is still drafting up incantations. Whatever spell is on the male, it is quite strong.”
“She’s a level ten. She should have cracked the spell or gotten damned close to it by now,” I said with some incredulity. Matilda was just about as powerful a witch as they came. There weren’t many stronger.
Bo rolled her wrist, as though batting my words away. “I’m sure she’ll work through it soon enough. We both know how capable she is. It’s just a little stronger magick than she’s used to is all.”
What in the blazes could craft magick stronger than hers? The list, if such a thing were possible, would be piteously short, I was sure.
I nodded, noting the tightness of her forehead.
“Anything else, boss?” I asked, rising up on my toes. “Because I should probably get going otherwise.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder.
Her eyebrows gathered, then without warning, she leaned in close to my mouth and sniffed. Suddenly, the question mark on her face cleared, and she snorted. “I should have realized the siren would consume the loco beans downstairs. Now I get why you’re acting so strange. What did they give you?”
“Maddox says it was alertness and patience, though I’m not spell— ”
“Oh, but you are, Elle.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Welcome to the obsession that is the Witches Beans. Now, go.” She stepped back. “You will debrief me of your findings upon your return. And be quick about things. No chasing after thin leads as you are often wont to do. I do wish Hatter could have gone with you. He does a far better job than I do at keeping you on task.”
I snorted. “That, he does. But this should be a cut-and-dried interrogation.”
“I’ve learned through the years that matters are rarely so simple. Especially when they come to your investigative style. Not that I mind how very thorough you are, but I do have to kiss a lot of IA ass when it comes to you, siren.” Her light laughter let me know she was mostly teasing, but she was right. I did often rub internal affairs raw. My money was on it being more my father’s doing than my own shenanigans that caused me to be a bug under their microscope, but I could be wrong—doubted it, but I could be.
“See you in five hours then, Elle,” Bo said.
I shook my head. “Two tops.”
“Yeah, that’ll be the day.” She guffawed, and after pulling out a golden key card from her inside vest, she swiped the air, opening up a travel tunnel. She didn’t look back as she stepped in and the swirling starlight swallowed her up whole. Her laughter echoed around me long after she’d gone.
CHAPTER 27
DETECTIVE ELLE
I LOOKED AT WHISKERS. He was a Chinese dragon with scales of gold and jade, and long, beautiful golden whiskers projected from his snout, glittering like molten metal in the dim lighting of the jail cell.
Covered in spelled witches’ chains, he was pinned fast to the cold concrete floor. I’d only ever seen him flying the winds, proud and majestic, a regal warrior who’d protected Neverlandian skies from threats above.
Now, my old friend looked miserable and dejected. I shook my head. I’d managed to secure ten private minutes with him in a detainee cell. Outside, two rock orcs stood guard, massive arms crossed over their massive chests. The sands of an hourglass slid steadily through the narrow opening—my time with him was quickly running out.
“What is this, Whiskers? What has been done to you?” I rolled my wrists, helplessness consuming me at the sight of him.
He turned his beautiful lion-colored eyes upon me. I could see each fleck of gold glittering in their depths.
Iron scraped loudly against the cold concrete as he shrugged.
“Do not move, prisoner,” the left orc growled. His pig’s face was twisted into a tight snarl, and his tusks clacked together menacingly as he spoke. “Eight minutes, Detective,” he snapped, and I nodded.
I looked back at my friend. Dragons aged but very slowly. I knew that Whiskers was one of the oldest, but I’d never known a true date. Dragons took years to reach full maturity, and only then were they truly considered a danger to others. But Whiskers had never been.
I’d seen him fly Lost Boy after Lost Boy through the skies, patiently putting up with their silly games of kill the dragon. It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see him on the ground, surrounded by a bevy of Lost Boys poking and prodding at him with their wooden swords as they’d loudly declare the beast quite dead.
Lost Boys were eternally youthful, so long as they remained upon Neverlandian soil. A few did, but most didn’t. Eventually, many of them would return home, usually once they’d begun to lose their memories of their past lives and their families. There was something unusual in Neverland soil. The dirt was often used by witches for their forgetting spells, and only dragons appeared to be immune to its terrible powers.
Dragons were not native to Neverland, but they were mystics and could glide between realms by travelling the ley lines. Since they were creatures and not humans, there was no law prohibiting them from doing so. Though they were fearsome in looks, dragons were generally well-behaved members of Grimm society. That was what made the case so baffling.
I’d seen pictures of the crime scene. The photos would haunt me for the rest of my life. They’d been some of the most gruesome I’d ever had the misfortune of looking at. The violence of the boys’ deaths… I clamped my front teeth together and forced myself to take three quick and shallow breaths, pushing the bile back down.
“It is good to see you again, Princess Arielle,” he said in the deeply accented voice of his kind. “I thought you’d forgotten about us all.”
It was a rolling thunderous type of speech pattern that was both aggressive and eloquent to the ear at the same time.
I smiled sadly. “It has been some time since anyone has called me such. I’m just Detective Elle now, my old friend.”
“As you wish,” he said steadily. “How are you?”
I shook my head, realizing I truly must have been spelled if I wasn’t having a meltdown at finding myself back in the one realm I’d promised myself I would never again return to after Hook’s death.
“I am confused.” I pointed at him with a small shake. “Finding you here and hearing the rumors of what you’ve done.”
His massive jaw clenched tight, causing the jade and golden scales to glimmer almost prettily. Curls of steam emanated from inside of his large nostrils.
I blew out a harsh breath. “Tell me,” I leaned in to whisper quickly, “that none of this is true, Whiskers. Tell me you did not do as they are all saying you’ve done.”
His regal face was stoic, his eyes full of glittering pain as he grunted, “I do not remember doing any of what they say I’ve done.”
A knot that had been forming in my stomach began to unkink until he shuddered and said, “But I was captured on video. The proof is, as they say, in the pudding. It is me. It is very much me. I did this. I killed my friends. And for that, I should pay.”
I shook my head. None of it was possible. I knew Whiskers. Dragon or no, he couldn’t have hurt a fly. I needed to look at the video. I refused to believe this could be. There had to be a reason for all of it, like he’d been spelled, or… I thought of the not Hook and frowned hard. But no sooner than I halfway started to entertain the idea that maybe not Hook wasn’t not Hook and maybe, just maybe, Whiskers hadn’t been spelled, did I absolutely dismiss the notion out of hand. There was no damned way. None. He could not have done it, not Whiskers. Any other dragon, possibly, I’d believe it, but not Whiskers. I steeled my resolve and loudly cleared my throat.
&n
bsp; “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “It’s not possible that— ”
“But I did!” His voice was a terrible rumble that caused the ground to quake and the thick walls to tremble. There were cries from the prisoners outside, and the orc guards twirled, batons held at the ready.
“Damn ye, beast!” The right one snarled and slapped his baton against the metal cage with a loud and heavy clang . “Try that once more, and see if ye don’t like a taste of yer own medicine. Ye’ll find I’m much hardier than a mere whelp of a boy.” He spat.
I shot to my feet. “Threaten him once more, and I’ll book your arse for harassment. See that I don’t, you sniveling bastard.”
I must have been spelled, because my words definitely lacked the heat of my usual threats. Yet my words seemed to have hit the mark anyway, because the orc’s nostrils flared as his eyes turned the color of heated tar. With a last snarl, he banged his baton against the cage once more but didn’t utter another sound as he turned.
I glanced at the hourglass. I had five minutes left.
I slumped into my seat with exhaustion. “You won’t hang for this. I vow it, old friend. I know you— ”
He snorted, causing plumes of smoke from his nostrils to encircle my ankles.
“You knew me, years ago. You’ve not returned since, and you do not know me now.” His words, though true, felt like a spear had just been driven through my heart.
I swallowed hard and shook my head. “You… you know why.” I said it so softly, I wasn’t even sure he’d heard me, but his earflaps twitched. “Even so, I am sorry.”
He blinked his large golden eyes back at me. It was horrible to see such a magnificent creature like Whiskers bound in chains. It was unnatural, and I hated it. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I could do nothing other than question him at the moment. I couldn’t release him. If there indeed was video—which only a fool would lie about—the evidence was damning and solid enough that no judge would issue bail. Not for something like this, something this high profile and that would touch on the hearts of all the hundred realms. Cases that involved children were often the hardest and worst to solve because biases and deeply held beliefs usually got in the way of conducting an impartial investigation. If there was even a whiff that someone had done something heinous to a child, even the most sane witnesses tended to become unreliable.
“Don’t be. I never asked for your apology,” he rumbled and moved his massive chin to lie atop his front right paw.
I took in a shuddering breath. “I know you are hurting, Whiskers, but if you could just tell me something, anything that could help with this case…”
Jets of white smoke issued from his thick nostrils, causing the scales to glint like gems in the dim lighting.
“There is nothing, other than I slept, and when I awoke I had blood on my claws, Detective. Flesh between my teeth. And the taste of marrow upon my tongue.” His words were a terrible rumble of self-loathing and self-hate. “For days, I scented wrong in the air. For days, I felt— ”
His words brought to mind Titiana’s words of him acting unusual.
“The queen of sprites told me that you’d been patrolling the skies more frequently lately, blasting jets of fire all the time. Why?”
He looked at me as though he didn’t understand what I was asking. “I don’t recall ever having done that, Detective.”
I frowned. “What? But why would she lie about that?”
A hard rolling growl trembled from out of his chest. “Sadly, she might not have. The truth is, I have gaping holes in my recent memories. The past two weeks are mostly a blur to me.”
My stomach bottomed out, and I clenched my eyes shut. That was not good and would definitely not help his case.
I reached over, clapped my hand on his massive shoulder, and gently scratched the smooth jade-green scale. Whiskers had his eyes shut, but he took in a trembling breath.
“You say you recall nothing other than waking up and finding blood in your claws. Is this so?” I asked him soothingly, needing him to remain focused but not wanting to upset him any further than he clearly already was.
“It is so,” he rumbled, and I nodded.
“I’m going to ask you one last question, Whiskers, then I will leave you to your desired solitude.”
His massive golden eyes gazed back at me, making me feel as though I were sinking in some way. Whiskers had to be thousands of years old. If he’d wanted out of this place, a couple of spelled chains were hardly enough to hold him back. He might not get out, but he’d bring down the entire house of cards and everyone in it before he was through.
Anyone with any sense could see how much what had been done panged him, and surely that should count for something. I rubbed his shoulder soothingly, over and over, conveying without words that not everyone thought him a monster.
“Just…” I shifted on my seat, not wanting to ask him but knowing his answer could be crucial to my investigation. I cleared my throat and pressed on. “Just before the attack, did anything strange or odd happen to you? Anything that, looking back, feels out of order or just plain wrong? Anything at all, no matter how insignificant,” I rushed on when he opened his mouth and began to shake his head as though he meant to deny it.
But then he paused, eyes taking on a faraway look, and he spoke without looking at me, as though he was reliving a moment.
“Strange that you should ask. No one else did, and I would tell you it was nothing, but it was odd enough that even now when I think of it, I feel baffled by what it was that I saw.”
My pulse jumped, and I curled my fingers into my palms. “What did you see, Whiskers?”
He blinked, and this time, it was as if he’d come back to himself, severing the memory, and was fully back in the present. Golden eyes glimmered intelligently back at me. “Just before this particular day began, I walked from my nest, stretching my wings, and I saw blood upon the cliff. It was everywhere, like a slaughter had taken place just outside my door. But I’d heard no battle in the night, and apart from my recent memory lapse, I forget nothing. It could be that as the queen says, I’d roasted something, that I’m responsible for this slaughter. But then how could I forget this?”
It was true—a dragon’s memories were said to be eternal. And when I’d spoken to Whiskers before, it had been a legend I believed to actually be true. He’d seen the rise and fall of countless civilizations and its peoples and could describe them all to me in exacting detail. But more than that, if I came back for more of his tales, no matter how long between the telling of them, his stories had never changed.
But finding a slaughter outside his cave would mean nothing in a court of law. It was proof of nothing. I shook my head. “What are you saying?”
He ground his jaw so loudly that I could hear the creaking and groaning, and I grimaced. He was agitated, looking from left to right, aware, no doubt, of the surveillance we were under. Anything he said could be overheard by the guards watching us on the monitors in the other room.
Wiggling on my seat, I slid forward just a little and affected a nonchalant attitude as I crossed my legs and planted my chin onto my palm, looking calm and collected, bored even. But I’d shielded his facial expressions from the view of the cameras, then I allowed my marking to glow. Only softly, though—I didn’t want to alert any guards to what I was actually doing.
Whiskers, fully aware of my abilities, gave an imperceptible nod, a silent communication between the two of us. I arched my eyebrow. He was a Chinese water dragon. I, too, was a creature of the deep, which meant we could communicate in a completely different way than landers did.
“Again I ask, Whiskers, what are you saying?” I kept my voice steady, speaking through my lips so that the monitors would think nothing amiss.
But my trident’s mark burned, and I spoke not only with my mouth but also with my mind, able to mentally project to him as well because of our joint affinity to water.
Speak quickly, Whiskers, or we shall be
caught. What aren’t you telling me?
His golden whiskers twitched. It wasn’t merely blood I found outside my door, Detective. But feathers. I’ve heard of the Slasher activity, and though I cannot fathom what could have possibly brought them to a land not known to host much in the way of coin, I highly suspect it was them. In fact, I’d been finding feathers for many weeks now. But this last time, there seemed to be a great deal of them, enough to make me edgy and curious. And more than that, I found sand. In my nest. Hundreds of feet above sea level. It’s not possible. Not unless I trucked it in, which I would swear I did not.
My heart jerked so hard I twitched in my seat, but his face remained impassive. I should not be seen reacting. I was vaguely aware that I was vocally chastising him for wasting my time. Splitting my consciousness this way wasn’t easy. I had to work incredibly hard to remain focused so that I could concentrate less on the talking and more on the mental. Whiskers was also speaking to me in tongue, not just mentally. Hopefully, anyone who saw us would be none the wiser to the truth.
Go on, I thought to him.
Rumor has it the Slasher Gang has grown more active, flying between realms, even, so I was curious, and I followed the trail of blood and feathers. It led me to the fairy stronghold. Detective I… He swallowed hard. I believe I was spelled to create some type of diversion. It is the only thing that makes sense. The last thing I remember seeing was a massive pile of golden sand, and then I remember no more, until I was charged with murder.
He shuddered and stopped speaking.
I frowned, clamping my lips shut. I had a thousand more questions to ask but knew I had no time left to utter any of them. Before Midas’s gala, I’d only ever seen dun-colored sands at the scenes, but Maddox and I had seen gold at the ball, and now the dragon spoke of gold too.
The Grimm Files Collection Boxed Set Page 38
