Oceans & Potions Page 6

She closed her eyes and gave a loud sniff, and when she opened them again, they were wet… almost as if she was crying. Almost.

  “I’m actually here looking for Preston,” I said, deciding that perhaps honesty would be the best policy if I wanted to get this girl to talk. “I need to interview him for a story I’m writing about the feud between him and Emeril… unless you know something about it?”

  I bent down to pick up my notebook, but she slid her foot over it, holding it in place. When I glanced up at her, her eyes were glittering strangely in the stark overhead lights.

  “Preston is at the police station right now being questioned,” she said with a triumphant smile. “Kellen brought him in early this morning.”

  She cocked her head, studying me. “But shouldn’t you know that already, you know, being a reporter and all?” Her voice held a taunting note that immediately set my teeth on edge.

  “I guess I’m not a very good one,” I said, yanking my notebook out from under her foot so hard she had to grab onto the doorframe to prevent herself from toppling over. I dusted her footprint from the cover and slipped it back into my purse. “Thanks for your help, uh…?”

  “Isla,” she said, groping behind her for the door handle, and I could tell she was itching to get back inside Emeril’s dressing room. “I am—was—Emeril’s assistant.” She bowed her head, her black hair falling over her face, hiding her expression.

  “Well, thanks again for the tip, Isla,” I said with a nod, hitching my purse over my shoulder and heading back down the hallway lined with empty dressing rooms. Halfway down, I glanced back, expecting to find her watching me, but she had already slipped back inside Emeril’s room, quiet as a mouse, and closed the door firmly behind her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Kellen’s red eyes drilled into me the moment I walked into the police station, and I suppressed a shiver as I tried not to stare directly into them. The minotaur’s biceps bulged against his uniform as he crossed his arms threateningly in front of his broad chest. I chewed my lip nervously as an angry burst of steam spiraled from his nose and dissipated in the air between us.

  “I’m here to see if Preston Parker has been released yet,” I said, toeing at the ground and trying not to stare directly into his eyes. “I’m writing a story on the fashion show, and I need to interview him before it goes to press.” I chanced a glance up at Kellen, who was still studying me with a slight sneer.

  He nodded toward my notebook, and more steam swirled from his nostrils, accompanied by a disbelieving snort. “Are you sure you aren’t here to meddle in another one of my investigations?” he demanded. “Because I thought I made myself clear the last time you were running around the island sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong that I’d book you for obstruction of justice.”

  I shook my head quickly, though my insides were boiling with rage. If Kellen hadn’t been so terrifying, I’d point out to him that he was lucky I’d been “sticking my nose” into his investigation, otherwise Cassandra’s murder may never have been solved. The police had been no closer to closing in on Percival than I was on becoming a senior member of the Sparrow Coven.

  “Nope, I just want to talk to him about his latest designs,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face.

  Kellen cocked his head and examined me for a few long seconds, his fingers inching toward the baton he kept strapped to his waistband, as though he’d love nothing more than to knock me over the head with it. Finally he gave another snort and nodded tersely. “You can have ten minutes with him, and that’s it.”

  He turned abruptly on his heel and marched through the station, barking orders at the other officers he passed. I hurried to catch up, frowning as we approached a steel door marked Inmates and he produced a key ring from his pocket.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, watching as he flipped through the keys until he came upon one that matched the massive lock on the door. “I thought Preston was just here for questioning.”

  “He was,” Kellen said, shoving the key into the lock and shouldering open the door, which looked reluctant to budge. “But we’ve collected enough evidence to formally charge him with Emeril’s murder. He’ll be held here until his trial is scheduled.”

  I let out a gasp that I quickly smothered as he glowered down at me, his red eyes flashing. “Inmates have the right to visitors,” he added, “which is the only reason I’m letting you speak to him—if he agrees to meet with you. But if I find out that you discussed anything to do with this case, I’ll make good on my promise.”

  He waited for me to nod, and I did, though I could tell he sensed my reluctance. Ever since I’d discovered that Emeril had been murdered, I’d felt an itch building up beneath my skin, a need to find out what had happened. But there was no way I’d be voicing any of that to Kellen, whose fingers were now idly stroking his baton as he studied me with a hard look in his blood-red eyes. I pulled out my notebook and tried my best to look innocent, and after another long moment of silence he gestured for me to follow him through the steel door.

  When we passed through it, I saw that it led down a long, narrow hallway lined on both sides with cells occupied by all manner of creatures. Instead of the bars I’d been expecting, we were separated from the inmates by crisscrossing threads of red light that seemed to hold them in place.

  “Don’t touch that,” Kellen snarled when, without thinking, I tried passing my hand through one of the threads on the first cell.

  I snatched my hand back with haste, though not before a leprechaun with wild green eyes and a shock of red hair standing up in every direction launched himself at the light, laughing maniacally and bearing broken gold teeth at me. I yelped and moved closer to Kellen, who only shook his head and gripped his baton a little tighter.

  “Come here, sweetheart, and let’s play,” a gravelly voice called as we passed another cell, and I glanced over to find a scruffy man with a thick brown beard watching me through golden eyes. He let out a long, low whistle between his teeth as I passed, and when I ignored him, he growled low in his throat. “What’s the matter, can’t handle a little rough and tumble?”

  When I looked back at the cell, the man was gone, and in his place was a lion with the same golden eyes, his beard now transformed into a tangled mane that dripped with saliva as he watched me, licking his lips hungrily.

  “Ignore him,” a woman with waist-length hair the color of sunlight called from the cell next door. “He gets a little touchy when he doesn’t get to go out on his daily hunt.” She was sitting on top of a tank of water, her long iridescent tail flopping up and down in anger.

  “The merchief informed me today that he’d be happy to pay any amount of gold for my swift return,” she said, clicking her mossy nails together idly as she narrowed her turquoise eyes at Kellen. “So why have I not been released?”

  “You’ll be released when you tell us what happened to those fishermen,” Kellen said calmly, not even bothering to slow his pace as he passed her cell. “Until then, you stay where you are.”

  “That’s between me and the sea,” she said in a singsong voice that raised the hair on my arms.

  I tripped slightly over my feet as I hastened to pass her cell, keeping my eyes glued to the floor and trying to ignore the jeers and catcalls that followed me all the way down the long hallway. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we reached the very last cell, which was occupied by the small, mousy-looking man I immediately recognized from the fashion show.

  He had been sitting slumped against the back wall of his cell, his pointy face a mask of misery, but jumped to his feet when Kellen and I approached. His gray eyes swung back and forth between us eagerly, and he twisted his hands together nervously as Kellen loomed over him.

  “Am I free to go?” he asked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. Then, more desperately, he added, “This is all a big mistake, I assure you. I—”

  “Enough.” Kellen held up his hand, and Preston immediately fell silent. The po
lice chief tipped his head in my direction. “You have a visitation request. Would you like to accept?”

  Preston’s gaze darted toward me hopefully, as though I held the key to his release, and he nodded eagerly. “Very well,” Kellen said, and dragged one of the chairs that had been sitting at the end of the hallway toward Preston’s cell. He stationed it directly in front of the crisscrossing threads of light and motioned for me to sit down, then glowered down at me again—though this time, I met his gaze head-on.

  “Fifteen minutes,” he said, his lip curling as I stared back at him defiantly. “And don’t forget what I told you.” With that, he stomped off in a cloud of steam snorts, leaving me alone with the diminutive designer.

  “I didn’t do it!” Preston squealed the moment I sat down and pulled out my notebook. To my alarm, I noticed that his gray eyes were brimming with tears and a glob of snot was shimmering at the end of his pointy nose. He gave an enormous sniff and wiped it away, looking pitiful, and I was struck by just how small and helpless he seemed when he wasn’t standing in front of his legions of adoring fans.

  He pressed his hands against the threads of red light, reaching for me. “You’re here to get me out, right?”

  I cleared my throat awkwardly and held up my notebook. “Mr. Parker, I’m Wren Winters, a reporter for The Islander Gazette, and I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about your feud with Emeril. We’ll be featuring the story in the next Island Buzz column.”

  Before I could get out another word, his entire body visibly deflated and he dropped back down to his knees and let out a despairing moan. Raising his hands to his head, he clutched at his hair and began rocking back and forth, looking rather deranged as he muttered nonstop to himself under his breath.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, and just as I was beginning to debate whether this so-called interview was a waste of time, he stopped rocking and glared up at me. “That prissy diva of a yeti told you I stole his designs, didn’t he? He’s nothing but a disgusting liar.”

  When I raised my eyebrows, surprised at his abrupt change in demeanor, he added, softer this time, but just as aggressively, “He was on a campaign to ruin my reputation, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the oaf planned his own death just to make sure I was framed for it.”

  His eyes began swimming with tears again. I rooted around in my purse for a tissue, though when I tried to pass it to him through the crisscrossing lights, they emitted a loud sizzling sound that caused me to jump back in fear; the tissue turned black at the edges before exploding in a puff of dust.

  “Why do you think you’re being framed for Emeril’s murder?” I asked, lowering my voice and glancing around to make sure Kellen wasn’t within earshot. He seemed to be rather busy at the other end of the hallway with a zombie woman who was trying to gnaw on his cheek as he shoved her into a cell.

  “Because I’m here, aren’t I?” Preston snarled, sweeping his hand around the cell. “And the only reason for that is because Kellen had one of his cronies do a reversal spell on my wand and saw that it had been used to light a fire only a few minutes before Emeril fell.” He pounded his fist into the ground. “Do you know who asked me to light that fire?”

  His gaze bore into me, and I shook my head hastily.

  “Isla.”

  I reared back in surprise. “Emeril’s assistant?”

  Preston nodded gravely. “The very same.” He began wringing his hands again, his eyes wide and fearful. “How could I have known it was a set-up? She came running up to me right before Emeril’s routine, said that the catering company hired to provide lunch for the models after the show couldn’t get their ovens lit. She told me I was the only wizard she could find backstage, and the situation was getting dire.”

  He gazed at me imploringly and gave a small shudder. “Do you have any idea the kind of havoc fifty hungry yetis could wreak? If they didn’t get their minced squirrel pies and possum stew in a timely fashion, they might go on a rampage… tear down the entire auditorium… I had no choice, really.”

  His gaze turned hard. “Don’t you think it’s an awfully big coincidence that Emeril’s harness was burned in two just a few minutes later? Not to mention it happened right after that despicable display Emeril put on at the end of my collection, where he came bursting onto the stage and tried to slaughter me with his bare hands.” He grabbed his neck, as if recalling the feeling of Emeril’s paws around his throat.

  “But why would Emeril be telling everyone that you stole his designs if you didn’t?” I asked, scratching my pen idly along my chin. “He told me he designed the collection himself and showed it to you for your input, then believed you when you told him it wasn’t any good… until the same designs showed up in your new collection and you refused to acknowledge they were his.”

  I worked hard to keep my tone neutral, not wanting to put Preston on the defensive. By this point, I had no idea who was telling the truth, but if Emeril’s version of events was the correct one, then Preston had more than enough reason to silence the yeti… permanently.

  Preston heaved a long, loud sigh. “As usual, the half-wit only got it half right,” he said in a weary voice. He pressed his fingertips together and stared intently at me. “Did you happen to see my designs at yesterday’s show?”

  I nodded, thinking back to the spectacular color-changing furs. “I did, and they were beautiful.”

  He inclined his head graciously. “You are very kind. You will also note, then, that a certain… magic… went into them, correct?” Without waiting for me to respond, he went on, “Yetis, as you are undoubtedly aware, cannot perform magic on their own, and are forbidden from outsourcing magic of any kind under the IAMB Yeti Code of Conduct. It was a measure put in place after the yeti revolts of 1922… quite the nasty business, that was.”

  He shook his head. “And so, while Emeril did come up with the basic designs and concepts for the collection, he was unable to bring them to fruition. He approached me with his sketches, and I agreed to take a closer look. When I decided to incorporate them into my spring collection, I drew up a contract obtaining the rights to use them exclusively, which he then signed with the agreement that once the collection became available in stores, he was to receive a fifty percent commission on all sales.”

  “Okay…” I said slowly, trying to piece together Preston’s story. “But why would Emeril sign the contract and then turn right around and accuse you of stealing from him? It doesn’t add up.”

  “Because that pigheaded furball got too big for his purple velvet britches!” Preston exploded, waving his arms frantically in the air. “The collection was the most well-received of my career, and he couldn’t stand not having all the attention! So he fabricated a woe-is-me story that I stole his designs, and he’s been trying to slander my good name ever since!” He choked back a sob of frustration as I hurriedly scrawled everything he was saying into my notebook so I could dissect it later.

  I leaned forward eagerly, keen to ask more questions, but Kellen’s voice boomed down the hallway, drowning me out. “Winters, let’s go! Your fifteen minutes are up.”

  “Wait,” Preston said desperately as I tucked my notebook away and prepared to stand. “I know it’s just my word against his, but I have proof.” He curled his finger, beckoning me to step forward, and I obeyed. “I keep all of my contracts locked in a safe deposit box at the Magic Island bank. Go there, find the contract, and show it to Kellen. The code is—”

  “Oh, I don’t know about this,” I interrupted, looking around nervously to make sure no one else was listening. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to get involved… We don’t even know each other. Surely there’s someone else who could track down the contract for you and—”

  “Please, Wren.” Preston locked his gaze on mine. “Right now, everyone else on the island thinks I’m a murderer. You’re my only hope.” He pressed his palm beseechingly against the threads of red light holding him inside the cell, and on the other side, I uncon
sciously raised my own hand to match his.

  “Say you’ll do it,” he whispered, and his voice was so full of hope, of heartbreak, that I had no choice but to give him the tiniest nod of agreement. Then, as Kellen started stomping down the hallway toward us, his red eyes glowing with annoyance, I quickly jotted down the code Preston murmured in my ear and tucked my notebook away before the police chief realized that I wasn’t about to give up my meddling ways. Not yet.

  Chapter 7

  “Do you believe him?” Garnet asked in a hushed voice, chewing on the end of her auburn ponytail and listening intently as I told her about my meeting with Preston. Monty was hanging on the other side of the dorm room, pretending to be asleep, though in between a slew of overly loud snores and grunts I’d seen his eyes pop open on more than one occasion.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, standing in front of my open wardrobe to peruse my options.

  I was supposed to meet the man in black at The Feisty Frog in less than an hour, and I was becoming more wound up by the minute. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a tank top, studied them critically for a moment, then cast them aside in favor of a pink sundress that would show off the tanned legs that I’d developed since moving to the island. Not that he’d be noticing my legs, of course, but a girl could dream…

  “Preston might have given you the code to his safe deposit box,” Garnet said, drawing my attention away from the thought of the man in black’s bottomless brown eyes, “but you won’t be able to go there alone. Level zero witches aren’t considered full members of the community yet, so you’ll need someone else to accompany you.” She screwed up her face in thought. “Who can you trust?”

  “I don’t exactly have that many options,” I said, ticking names off on my fingers. “There’s Glenn and Lady Winthrop, but I don’t think either of them would approve of me getting involved in another murder case. I can’t ask Sandrine, because she’ll think I’m gunning for the crime reporting job again… and besides, I don’t trust her not to sink her fangs into my neck when I’m not looking. That only leaves one person.” I shifted from one foot to the other and avoided Garnet’s gaze, which had suddenly turned stern.