Awakening the Fire (4 page)

But Claris got better at her craft as she got older, and her green thumb with herbs and medicinal plants eventually led her to open Basil & Sage almost three years ago. The shop squatted on the bank of the Oak River in the tourist portion of Olde Town, an area filled with quaint, wood-sided shops and small eateries. Since restoration nine years earlier, this attractive area reflected the glory of the 1800s when Riverdale had been a major river port. Today Olde Town, with its red brick pavement, overflowing flower boxes that lined the streets, and electrified old-fashioned lanterns, drew a steady tourist trade that provided Claris with a livable income.

The two young women were as close as sisters, except Claris was a full-blooded human.

The beaded curtain rattled behind her as Ari pushed into the small kitchen. The sunlit room was saved from drabness by a vase of yellow and blue flowers on the worn wooden table and the tidy arrangement of utensils and craft items throughout the area. A gleaming, silver coffee pot, which Ari had given her when the shop opened, dominated the counter of the small kitchenette on the right. The left side of the room held floor to ceiling shelves stacked with assorted jars of various colors and sizes. Sleeping quarters were upstairs. Behind the kitchen table a door opened into the greenhouse, where Claris grew her own medicines and special herbs, including many of the ingredients Ari used for her own potions and ointments.

“Comb your hair,” Claris called from the front.

Ari clutched the coffee cup and ignored her friend. Half a mug later, she refilled and finally looked in the rectangular mirror attached to the fridge door. Green eyes, red-rimmed from lack of sleep, stared at her in dismay from the center of a windblown tangle of honey-blonde strands. She had inherited the hair color, so unusual for a witch, from her great-grandfather, the human Great-Gran brought into the clan.

She snatched a brush from Claris’s bathroom and tried to tame the tangles. Leaving home with wet hair almost always ended in a bad hair day. Admitting defeat, Ari grabbed her coffee cup and wandered up front.

“Not enough sleep,” she complained. “Up all night at a murder scene.”

“Murder? That’s awful. Hope it was no one I know.” It was a rhetorical comment. Claris’s tone said she couldn’t possibly know anyone who would be a murder victim. That she remained so untouched by violence while living in Olde Town was part of her charm.

“Well, in a way you do. Remember the redheaded girl at Monday’s class? The one who wanted the love potion?”

Claris sucked in her breath, almost dropping the herbs in her hand. “Is she dead? Or did she kill someone?”

“She’s dead. And the boyfriend’s a suspect.”

“The angry guy? That’s not a surprise, but wow.” Claris stopped for a deep breath. “You’re telling me I had a murderer right here in my shop?” She stared wide-eyed at Ari.

“Relax. He won’t be back. And maybe he’s not guilty. We do have another suspect. But I’d kind of like for him to be guilty. He was so nasty that day.”

“Well, yeah, but murder?” Claris studied Ari’s face. “Why are you involved? Aren’t they both humans? Did it have something to do with the class? Are the police coming here?”

“No one’s coming here. Don’t worry about it.” Ari hesitated. She’d already said too much, but this was Claris. They told each other everything. “Yeah, they’re human, but there’s evidence of supernatural violence. Claw and teeth marks.” She didn’t mention the broken neck or the splattered blood. Claris couldn’t stand the gory stuff, even in movies. Maybe that’s how she managed to live and work in Olde Town; she simply shut out all the violence.

“Oh, an Otherworlder did this.” Claris’s tense shoulders relaxed a little.

At moments like this, Ari was most aware of the differences between them. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it surfaced from time to time. The term Otherworlder had been adopted by both communities, but it still defined a rift. Human vs Otherworlder. Ordinary vs magic.

“Maybe. We can’t rule out anything at this point.” Ari sipped her coffee and dropped the topic. “Thanks for the pick-me-up. I needed it. Can’t keep my eyes open.”

“You should go back to bed. Take a nap upstairs, if you like.”

“Tempting, but I have way too much to do. Ryan should call any minute.” Ari took another swallow of the cooling coffee. “Funny thing. I’ve known since Sunday that something was going to happen. One of those spooky feelings.”

Claris flashed her a knowing smile. “You mentioned that on Monday. Something about having an interesting evening the night before. Then we got sidetracked by the class and the tour bus. Is this murder connected? When you brought it up, I thought you meant
good
interesting, not
bad
interesting. Nothing that would lead to dead bodies.” Her hazel eyes lit for a moment as she added, “I keep hoping that one of these days you’re going to meet some hot guy. Maybe a tall, muscled superhero type.”

Ari grinned. Claris had harped on this theme since she and Brando, another childhood friend,
found
each other about six months ago. In spite of being a boy—and a wizard—Brando had shared in their exploits since elementary school. Luckily, he hadn’t adopted the common wizard trait of arrogant superiority. Or Ari and Claris had beaten it out of him years ago. Either way, he was one of the good guys.

At the moment, Ari was a loner with no immediate prospects. Her job didn’t leave much time or energy to date. A Saturday night now and then, but she hadn’t had a steady guy since an abrupt breakup three years ago. Ari was fine with that, Claris wasn’t.

“Not that kind of an evening,” Ari retorted. “Although the vamp I met probably has his share of women drooling over him. Dark-eyed, sexy dude.” Ari rolled her eyes. “Can you believe I said that? Never thought I’d think a bloodsucker was sexy. But he’s also…” She searched for the right word. “Unpredictable.”

“Who is he?”

Ari frowned. “Nobody you’d know. Andreas De Luca.”

Claris put the last of the herbs in place, her fingers moving with practiced precision, and turned to Ari. “Actually, I do know who he is. He’s a singer at Club Dintero. Voice like a dream. And yes, he is sexy. How’d you meet him?”

“Oh no, you first,” Ari said, staring at her friend. “Since when are you hanging out at vamp clubs?”

“I’m not hanging out.” Claris chuckled. “Blame Brando. He took me to dinner at Club Dintero last Thursday night. It’s a respectable supper club. Fancy waiters, candlelit tables. And the music was sooo romantic.” She lifted a melodramatic hand to her forehead and sighed. “He’s good. It was quite a performance,” she said, dropping the posturing. “Now you.”

Ari gulped the rest of the coffee, gratefully felt her synapses start to fire, and told Claris about the meeting, complete with details.

“He bit you?” Claris exclaimed when Ari finished. She reached out a hand. “Oh my God, are you all right?”

“It was only a scratch.” Ari downplayed the incident, even produced a chuckle. “If you’re asking if I’ll turn into a vampire, don’t worry. It takes a lot more bloodletting than that, followed by an infusion of vampire blood. How could you not know that?”

“I guess I did. I try not to think about those things. But this time we’re talking about my best friend.” Claris went back to fussing with her arrangements. “So, why’d he do that? And what did you do?”

Ari lifted a dismissive shoulder. “Nothing much. I kept in mind that I was the Guardian and tried not to overreact. He didn’t really hurt me. And what else could I do short of killing him? Slap his face?” She wondered what he would have done if she had. “Don’t know what his point was. That he’s big, bad, and scary? Testing my abilities? Or maybe it was his warped idea of fun. He is a vampire, you know.”

“Yes, I got that. And that means he’s trouble.” Claris deepened her frown. “I admire your restraint in the face of such provocation,” she said dryly, “but you aren’t fooling me, Ari. Maybe if I hadn’t seen him. But I think you were at least intrigued by him. Sounds like a bit of flirting going on. Kind of dangerous though. Even witch fire can’t save you, if you can’t or won’t use it.”

“Oh, come on. Flirting? If I felt threatened, I’d burn him just like that.” She snapped her fingers. Lethal crimson fire was forbidden to fire witches only if considered an unnecessary use of deadly force. Like overreacting to Andreas’ provocation.

Claris ignored her protest. “Cute or not, he’s still a vampire. I want you to find a guy, but not this one. Not a barely restrained predator. I hope you never see him again.”

Ari was a little taken aback by her friend’s vehemence. Not that she was interested in any kind of a relationship with a vampire. And she got Claris’s point.

“You’ll probably get your wish—unless he breaks the law. And then it might be fun to lock him up.” Ari set her empty cup down and looked at the clock. “Surprised Ryan hasn’t called. He likes to get going early. I’ll step in the back and give him a ring,” she said, scooting toward the beaded curtain. “Can’t be scaring off your customers with talk of murder and autopsies.”

“Help yourself to more coffee,” Claris urged, giving her friend a worried look. “You need it. Might have another myself, if it stays quiet up here. By the way, nice boots,” she said, pointing to Ari’s feet. “They new?”

“You like?” Ari showed them off by doing a little side step. “Cost me a mint, but worth every penny.” The coal-black leather boots, all shiny and wicked, had called to her last weekend as she passed the window of an exclusive shop two blocks over. In a weak moment, she’d turned into the shop. Still wasn’t sorry.

Entering the kitchen area, Ari punched in the police department’s number, learned Ryan was in a meeting, and left a message with the clerk. Resigned to more waiting, she refilled the coffee cups, took a seat at the table, and scanned the morning paper.
The Clarion
’s headlines warned of continuing political unrest in South America. What else was new? Smaller articles condemned government corruption and reported suspicions about a financial merger. A two-column story from the crime beat caught her eye long enough for a quick read. The latest drug fad appeared to be a hallucinogen called Fantasy.

Angela’s death made page two.

Woman’s Battered Body Found

The body of 18-year-old Angela Raymond was found last night in her Olde Town apartment. The immediate cause of death was unknown, pending autopsy. Around 9:30 p.m. neighbors called 911 due to loud noises from the residence where Ms. Raymond lived alone. Police and Council authorities are investigating the death as suspicious.

Ari was surprised the press had gotten the victim’s name so soon. Family notification and confirmation of identity hadn’t been completed when she left at 5:00 a.m., well after print time. Somebody had slipped up. At least there was no mention of claw marks or speculation about an Otherworld killer. That would have been messy this early in the investigation. Public attention wasn’t always helpful, and human panic was a real possibility in this type of case. Too bad the reporter had mentioned the Council. A careful reader would notice that.

Ari finished the article as Claris came through the curtain. She turned the newspaper face down. Enough murder talk.

“Seen Yana lately?” Ari asked.

Claris settled at the table. “We talked on the phone. That reminds me, if you visit her sometime soon could you stop here first? I have some seedlings she wanted for her garden.”

“No problem. It’s been awhile since I’ve been there.” Ari’s face pinched with guilt. “Thanks for reminding me. Maybe later today or tomorrow, while it’s still on my mind.” She brightened at the thought of seeing her mentor and discussing the werewolf case. Maybe even learning about a certain vampire.

Ryan’s return call interrupted their chat, and Claris exited to the shop.

Ari listened in silence as Ryan related the expected results of the autopsy: homicide due to traumatic severing of the cervical spinal cord; multiple fractures of both legs, left arm, four anterior ribs; multiple bruises, lacerations and abrasions; perpetrator unknown. Off the record, the ME voiced his opinion that someone, or something, with exceptional strength had inflicted the injuries. Confirmation tests for drug use weren’t completed, but preliminary results were negative.

Not much new there. She set aside her disappointment and concentrated on the rest of Ryan’s news. Based on the sketch artist’s image, the computers had identified the human boyfriend as Wesley Simpson. The address on file was old, with no forwarding update.

“I’ll track him down this afternoon,” Ryan said, yawning into the phone. “Right now, I’m going home. I’m beat. I came here straight from the crime scene and started paperwork. Sleep is sounding better than sex.”

Ari’s voice held amusement. “That’s pretty tired. While you sleep it off, let me look for Simpson. The suspect I’m after won’t be up until dark. Plenty of hours before then.”

Apparently too tired to argue, Ryan agreed.

Moments later, Ari stuck her head through the beaded doorway to tell Claris good-bye. Customers crowded the counter, so Ari waved, mouthed her thanks, and, well-fortified by coffee, went out the back door through the greenhouse. She had suspects to find and dragons to slay. Or maybe she was just too hyped on caffeine.

* * *

After numerous conversations with Simpson’s former neighbors and employers, Ari wasn’t feeling quite so revved. It had taken three hours to track down Wesley Simpson’s current place of employment with a packaging firm. Now she faced an immovable object in the form of the firm’s one and only secretary.

“I told you,” the woman repeated. “He isn’t here, his supervisor isn’t here, and I can’t give out the home address. I’d get fired. You’ll have to come back another day.” She looked Ari up and down suspiciously.

After the secretary’s third refusal, Ari gave up. This sentry seemed convinced Ari was a disgruntled girlfriend hell-bent on stalking their employee. Ari had given her best, most disarming smile, but no go. She decided it must be the new kick-ass boots.