Oceans & Potions Page 5

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have one final surprise for you. Please put your hands together for the one, the only… EMERIL!”

  The crowd gasped in unison and a rash of mutterings broke out as the ice castle suddenly glowed silvery-blue and a yeti wrapped in golden robes appeared on the balcony, head bowed, hands clasped as if in prayer. The band struck up a slow, haunting tune, and the yeti I presumed to be Emeril swayed back and forth in time to the music as the crowd’s excitement began to once more build to a fever pitch.

  I watched in bemusement as Emeril rotated in a slow circle, showing off the gold and purple fairy wings I’d seen in his wardrobe. Then the music hit a crescendo and he threw open his arms, wings blazing in the glow from the castle, and did a perfect swan dive straight down to the stage. I could just make out the huge harness strapped to his back as the yeti soared over the crowd, wings spread magnificently, before coming to rest on the balcony once more.

  The music then changed to a fast-paced number, and Emeril began twirling and whirling around, shaking his bottom and fluttering his wings in a manic dance before standing on the very edge of the balcony, facing away from the swooning crowd. He hovered there for a moment for dramatic effect, then raised his arms above his head before plummeting down in a magnificent backward triple somersault.

  The yeti spread his wings once more, preparing to dazzle the crowd with another mid-air routine around the auditorium… only this time, he didn’t quite make it. With a snapping sound that echoed around the room, the thick rope holding Emeril’s harness broke in two, sending the horrified-looking yeti plummeting straight down to the stage.

  Time seemed to stand still as everyone in the room held their collective breath. “Is this part of the routine?” Merry muttered to me, his finger hovering over the camera button uncertainly.

  He didn’t need to wait long for an answer, though, as the security detail, followed by the emcee, rushed onto the stage and bent over Emeril, trying without success to rouse the yeti. I jumped to my feet, and before I knew what I was doing, I was running toward Emeril’s still, silent form.

  “Please be okay, please be okay¸” I chanted under my breath as my legs carried me onto the runway. Though I barely knew Emeril from a stranger on the street corner, the idea that I’d just been talking to him, that he’d seemed so solid, so full of life, and was now lying in a broken, twisted heap of pink skin and gold robes and still-fluttering fairy wings, seemed incomprehensible.

  “Get back,” one of the security guards ordered, holding out his wand as I rushed toward Emeril’s motionless form.

  I stopped a few feet away, dimly aware of the sound of Sweetpea’s shutter clicking, of the crowd’s rising hysteria, of my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears as I stared down at the larger-than-life yeti who seemed so small in death. Because, from this angle, there was no mistaking the awkward angle of his neck, the careless way his knees were bent beneath him… Emeril, the most famous yeti model on Magic Island, would never strut down a runway again.

  Realizing I was still standing there, the security guard who’d ordered me back curled his lip in anger and raised his wand threateningly in my direction. The other guards conjured up a stretcher with their wands and used their collective power to raise Emeril’s limp body onto it. Wails and screams echoed around the room as they silently lifted the yeti into the air, wands pointed toward the stretcher, and walked behind him as he floated into the backstage area, head lolling unpleasantly to the side.

  The section of the stage where he’d landed now sported an enormous crack down the middle, with hundreds of spidery lines spreading away from it and down the runway. As I walked off the stage, the security guard’s wand pointed at my back, I could see Merry clambering onto it from the opposite side, Sweetpea in hand, trying to get a million-dollar shot.

  Once Emeril’s body was out of sight, the security guards reemerged and began directing the throngs of traumatized showgoers outside, while inside the auditorium, chaos still reigned. When everyone’s attention was diverted elsewhere, I took the opportunity to sidle up to the door leading backstage and, after checking over my shoulder to make sure no one had noticed me, slip inside.

  The models and designers were huddled in tight circles, their faces drained of all color as they glanced continually over their shoulders at Emeril’s body, which was lying on a long table in the middle of the room as if on display. Beside him, her shoulders shaking with grief, her sobs tearing through the air, was the girl with the violet hair who’d interrupted my conversation with Emeril in his dressing room. As she threw herself over Emeril’s stomach, wailing loud enough to be heard all the way back to the mainland, one of the male models rushed up to her and gently pried her away from the motionless yeti before leading her away with his arm slung over her shoulder.

  “Stand back! Everyone, stand back!” a gut-churningly familiar voice called through the commotion.

  I hurriedly looked for somewhere to hide as Kellen, the island’s resident terrifying minotaur who also happened to be the chief of police, strutted toward Emeril’s body, his muscular chest puffed out with authority. I slipped behind one of the silver curtains separating the backstage area from the runway just as Kellen strode past; after our last couple of encounters, when he’d threatened to throw me into jail for interfering with his investigation into Cassandra’s murder, I was in no hurry to face him again.

  Kellen and the two officers he’d brought with him clustered around Emeril’s body, murmuring to each other, and though I strained to hear what they were saying, the violet-haired girl’s continuous wails still blanketed every other sound in the room. A sudden movement in the shadows opposite me caught my eye, and I turned to find the man in black standing against the wall, his dark eyes boring into me.

  As I watched him, transfixed, he pressed a finger to his lips and pointed to the ceiling above my head. When I looked up, I realized I was standing directly below what remained of the harness that had been used to tether Emeril to the ceiling so he could perform his flying act with ease—though, of course, that hadn’t exactly gone according to plan.

  Squinting at the spot where the rope had split in two, sending Emeril plummeting to his death, I saw that the portion of the rope still hanging in the air was frayed at the edges and covered in scorch marks. With my pulse racing, I began hunting along the ground for the second half of the rope, taking care to keep out of sight, until I located it a few dozen feet away, mostly hidden beneath the curtain. Tiptoeing over to it, I bent down and examined the end closely. It too was frayed, and there was no mistaking the deep black burns scorching its edges.

  I glanced back up, desperately seeking out the man in black. When our gazes met, he nodded once, curtly, and in his eyes I saw reflected back at me the same horrifying truth that had already begun curling at the corners of my mind.

  Emeril’s fall had been no accident.

  Chapter 6

  The Islander offices were abuzz the next day with news of Emeril’s murder, which had swept through Magic Island like wildfire. It seemed that no matter where I went, everyone was discussing the gruesome details of Emeril’s fall, and they were getting more fantastical by the second.

  “I heard he was swinging upside down from a dragon’s tail when it happened,” one of the reporters said confidently to Glinna as I walked past the front desk. “Get your facts straight,” a copy editor sneered as she sidled up to them. “He was being carried through the air by a horde of enchanted bees when he accidentally swung at the queen and they all began stinging him at once.”

  “Did you hear what happened?” Sebastian said eagerly as I dropped into my chair and pulled out the notes from my conversation with Emeril. He draped his arms casually across the top of my cubicle and grinned down at me as though we were discussing the results of last weekend’s unicorn races and not the untimely death of a famous yeti.

  “Hear about it?” I said, frowning up at him. “I was front and center when it happened.”

>   He whistled low beneath his breath and shook his head, though he raised his eyebrows at me playfully. “You’ve only been on the island for what, a month, and you’ve already been a witness to two deaths?” He removed his arms from the cubicle and took a few quick steps back, holding up his hands playfully as if to ward me off. “I’m beginning to think you’re bad luck.”

  “Yeah, well, you’d better stay away from me, then, shouldn’t you?” Though I’d intended on echoing his playful tone, there was no mistaking the hard edge to my voice. Sebastian must have caught it too, for he gave me a tight smile, muttered something about needing to get back to work, and slunk back to his own desk, leaving me feeling guilty. I had no reason to treat him like that, especially when he’d been nothing but kind and welcoming to me since I’d arrived on the island, but I was afraid to get too close to him for fear of getting hurt. If the rumors were true, a guy like Sebastian had no problem ripping your heart right out of your chest—figuratively… at least I hoped so—and dancing a jig on top of it.

  “Wren?” The icy voice sent a chill through my veins, and I closed my eyes for a brief moment before turning to face Sandrine, who was standing behind me and glancing around my humble cubicle with an expression of distaste on her delicate features.

  “Hey, Sandrine,” I said brightly—probably a little too brightly—and gave her a winning smile as I tipped my head toward my desk to indicate my notebook. “I was just going over my notes from my conversation with Emeril yesterday, before the, uh, well, before the accident, and I’ll have a draft copy of the column on your desk by this afternoon.”

  “With Emeril?” She frowned at me, flicking her forked tongue over her lips as I tried not to stare. “Didn’t you speak to Preston as well?” I was hoping she wouldn’t notice that tiny detail, but the woman didn’t miss a beat. She crossed her arms and glowered down at me, tapping her fingernails impatiently on her arms.

  “I was going to,” I said, struggling to keep my voice upbeat, but by now she was showing her fangs, and a cold sweat had begun dripping down my back. “But then after Emeril’s fall, there was no way to get backstage to inter—”

  “I believe I gave you explicit instructions to speak with both Emeril and Preston,” she interrupted smoothly, clasping her hands in front of her tiny waist. “The integrity of a news report—yes, even one for a gossip column, Wren—relies on the reporter’s ability to hear both sides of the story. Only then can you write an accurate, informed news piece worthy of publication in this paper.” Her nostrils flared. “I am going to assume that you planned to track down Preston today and interview him before you sent your draft article to me. Isn’t that correct?”

  “It is,” I said quickly, grabbing my purse and shoving my notebook back into it. “You actually caught me right as I was about to leave.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me for what felt like an eternity, then gave a curt nod and stepped back as I jumped out of my chair and slung my purse over my shoulder. Though I muttered a few choice words under my breath as I hurried out of the newspaper offices and into the gorgeous summer day, a small voice playing in the back of my mind reminded me that Sandrine, for all her rude remarks and haughty looks, was right: I’d screwed up. And I had every intention of making it right… if only I knew how to go about finding Preston.

  I decided the best place to start—and my only option, really, since he could be anywhere in the world by now—was to return to the auditorium where the fashion show had been held in the hopes that either Preston or a member of his team was still lurking around packing up.

  I hailed a magi-cab, slipping the cabbie a few extra gold coins to use the bat-wing boost, and soon we were soaring high above the island, dipping in and out of the clouds. In the distance, I could see the mountains where the yeti community lived in clusters of colorful pastel houses built into the rock. Every single chimney was emitting plumes of pale pink smoke that spiraled high into the sky before dissipating, though the sheer amount of smoke had cast a pink glow over the mountains.

  “What is that?” I asked the cabbie, pointing toward the mountains.

  “They’re in mourning,” he said, fiddling with the cab’s headlights as the remnants of pink smoke engulfed us. “That’s how the yetis show their respect to their fallen brothers and sisters—it’s downright beautiful, if you ask me.”

  He stalled the cab in the air for a few moments, the black leathery wings sprouting from its side mirrors bobbing gently up and down, so we could look down at the scene. Above the houses, high up in the mountains, I could just make out a team of yetis carving Emeril’s face into the rock.

  “It is beautiful,” I murmured, wiping away the tears that had sprung unexpectedly to my eyes. I could tell from the crowd’s reaction to Emeril yesterday that he had been hero-worshipped in the Magic Island yeti community and beyond, and to have him die in such a terrible way, right in his prime… well, it was incomprehensible.

  I thought back to the scorched edges of the harness he had been wearing during his routine and wondered whether Kellen and his team had realized yet that Emeril had been murdered. A number of times last night and before I left for work this morning, I’d toyed with the idea of calling the police station and tipping him off, but I feared the repercussions of Kellen finding out that I had been snooping around his crime scene once more. I fancied my freedom, thank you very much… so the police chief was just going to have to work out the facts for himself. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

  A short time later, the magi-cab swept down to the ground and deposited me in front of the auditorium before soaring into the clouds again. Although the perimeter of the auditorium was covered in yellow crime scene tape—Kellen must have found the burned rope after all—a quick check of the outside revealed no one guarding the building. After glancing over my shoulder one last time, I pushed aside the frayed black curtains and stepped inside.

  The room was eerily quiet and still covered in leftover debris from the fashion show: empty cups littered the ground, spectator chairs were overturned, and the ice castle, though still intact, was dripping a steady stream of water onto the stage. I bent over to pick up a program someone had left behind and found myself staring down at Emeril’s face, which graced the front cover.

  I traced my finger lightly over his mouth, which was curled in a winning smile, and tucked the program under my arm, an overwhelming sense of sadness that I couldn’t quite explain overtaking me. I wasn’t sure why Emeril’s death was affecting me so badly—I barely knew the yeti, and it’s not like he’d been friendly to me during our interview. Maybe it was because his murder had come so soon after Cassandra’s, so soon after I had almost met my own fate at Percival’s hands, that the idea of another killer running loose on the island made my blood boil.

  I pushed through the curtains and made my way backstage, glancing up at the shredded harness only to find it missing—Kellen must have taken it down to the police station as evidence. The room was a ghost town; the only evidence of yesterday’s fashion show was a row of enormous dummies shaped like yetis that were still draped in bits of fabric.

  “Hello?” I called out, though I could tell by the silence swelling around me that I was alone. “Is anyone here?”

  My words echoed in the empty space, and I sighed as I considered my next move. Preston could be anywhere on the island—anywhere in the world, really—but going back to face Sandrine without scoring an interview with him was definitely not an option.

  As I tried to think of a few places where I might find him, I wandered absentmindedly around the backstage area until I found myself standing in front of Emeril’s dressing room door. I stared at his name for a few seconds, shaking my head sadly, and was just about to turn back when I heard the faintest sound coming from inside.

  Frowning, I pressed my ear to the door and held my breath, listening with all my might. It sounded like whoever was inside was… whistling? And it wasn’t a funeral march, either, but a happy, upbeat tune that almost ha
d me bobbing my head along with the beat.

  “Hello?” I called out again, tapping lightly on the door, and the whistling immediately stopped.

  Footsteps padded toward me, and before I had time to consider the possibility that I might be in danger, especially since there wasn’t another soul around to hear my screams, the door was flung open. I stood face-to-face with the young woman with the violet hair and matching eyes I’d last seen wailing inconsolably over Emeril’s lifeless body.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, leaning against the door to block my view of the dressing room.

  I was at least a head taller than her, though, and easily peered over her shoulder to see the room in complete disarray. Piles of papers were scattered haphazardly over the coffee table, as if someone had been sifting through them frantically. The woman followed my gaze, then stepped quickly out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her.

  “What do you want?” she asked, and this time her voice held a hard edge.

  “I’m a friend of Emeril’s,” I lied, “and I’m here to collect a few of his belongings to give to his, his—”

  “You’re a reporter,” she sneered, catching sight of my notebook for the first time. Though I tried stuffing it behind my back, she grabbed it out of my hands, quick as a flash, and began thumbing through it with raised eyebrows. When she came to my notes on Cassandra’s murder, another hard look crossed her eyes, and she drew her lips into a thin line.

  “I know who you are,” she said, tossing the notebook back to me. It hit me in the chest, then dropped to the floor before I could catch it. “And you’re not welcome here. Neither are the rest of the vultures who are only trying to capitalize on Emeril’s… death.”