Chapter 3
3
Holly's ickiness around the display leaves as her cheeks dimple with a smile. "Marvin Mole. He created an Instagram account a week ago to share his adventures, and he posts about all the places he visits."
"Yes! Bloody hilarious." Leif pulls out his phone, swiping a few times before turning the screen to me.
What manner of ludicrousness is this? I take hold and scroll. The white mole with red eyes has indeed visited locations of interest, often dressed to suit the occasion. Wearing sunglasses on the beach. A trip to the swings at the local playground. He even has his snout in a beer glass at a pub.
"Give me that!"
"Hey," says Leif when the curator snatches his phone.
The man’s face reddens. "I'm lucky the family donated new items to the museum and the specimen is an exquisite example of taxidermy—an albino, and extremely rare."
"Extremely realistic," says Holly, fighting a giggle. "Nobody could tell Marvin isn't a real mole at first, even if he is a weird color."
I close my eyes in despair. What's the betting that Kai and his little gang from the local school were involved? Gum and stolen moles? High odds.
"I can assure you that we've no intention of stealing any of your manikins," I inform him.
"You know something about taxidermy?" he asks.
"Not much, but I know that's what you call the monstrosities."
"Violet has a different way of dealing with dead animals than taxidermy," says Grayson, and I flash him a look.
"I have not reanimated anything since my failed, hysteria-inducing attempt in that human school's biology class," I retort.
"Ah. The half-dissected mice that fought back." Leif chuckles.
"You did what?" asks the curator. "What are you? I thought you were a vamp like the kid in the leather jacket."
"I'm not a vamp."
"A witch?" He sucks on his teeth.
"No." I look at Rowan. "Should I be disappointed that not every resident in town knows who I am? I'd begun to enjoy my infamy."
But Rowan has an odd expression. He did wander away when our conversation with the curator began, and he now jerks his head to one side.
"Are you alright?" I ask.
His eyes dart to the curator, who's watching us all with continuing suspicion. Another jerk of the head.
"Either you've developed a nervous tic, or something is wrong," I whisper.
"And which do you think is likely?" he whispers back.
Rowan nods at Leif, who nods in return, then turns to the curator. "Would you like to see more of Marvin's adventures?" he asks the man.
"No, I would not," he grits out. "I would like my exhibit returned. Intact."
Leif leans down and whispers something to Holly, and she glances at me and Rowan before launching into her theories about 'Marvin's’ whereabouts.
Rowan takes my hand and leads me through the doorway back into the main museum.
I partially understand the curator's annoyance at losing items from the museum to the hands of the supernatural council because who would pay good money to look at empty glass display cabinets? The remaining exhibits link back to the agricultural origins of the town—farming implements and samples of clothing worn over a hundred years ago, again joined by old photographs of the area's history.
"What am I looking at?" I ask as Rowan pauses by one such cabinet. "Rusty spades? This place is awful. I shall apologize to Holly for my bad choice of excursion."
"Not that one. Here." Rowan tugs me past the display and inclines his head to another small room close to the one housing the taxidermist's dream.
Rowan leads me to a tall glass-fronted cabinet that contains various items with descriptive cards. A compass and a pistol donated by the Whittaker family are displayed beside a small ivory trinket box carved with a swirling ivy pattern along the edges. Items of jewelry are pinned to a board behind: a chain holding an open silver locket containing a picture of two small children, a gold brooch inset with a line of small sapphires, and a matching ring with a distinctly larger diamond.
"Something inside the cabinet contains magic," says Rowan quietly.
"Oh? Which item?" I ask as Rowan's ability to read energy from objects strikes again.
"I don't know." He places a palm on the glass and bites his lip. "I've touched all the cabinets because I wanted to check if there're magical items in the museum. This cabinet has a faint energy, which means something inside is ."
"But our friendly curator said the supernatural council removed anything magical."
"Perhaps they missed something?" he suggests. "Maybe somebody placed an item inside the museum after the council half-emptied the place?"
A loud tut comes from behind us, and the curator appears, then pulls a white cloth from his waistcoat pocket as Rowan hastily withdraws his hand.
"I'd expect small children to put dirty fingers on my exhibits, not teenagers," says the curator, vigorously rubbing the white cloth against the glass.
Good grief.
Rowan digs hands into his pockets and steps back, flashing the curator a filthy look.
"You have some interesting exhibits," I say. "Besides the stuffed animal skins, that is."
"Are you also planning to steal something valuable?" he asks suspiciously. "Did you like the look of the necklace?"
"I already informed you that I've no desire to take anything." Which is now a lie—if there's a magical item behind this glass, I want it. "Do people often steal from you? You're rather paranoid."
His lips thin until they almost disappear. "Supes broke in a couple of months ago. I discovered every cabinet door unlocked the next morning."
"And how do you know supes invaded your museum?"
"They messed with the security cameras, and the alarm never sent an alert," he says.
I side-glance Rowan. "Why automatically presume supes? Could've been the kids who stole the mole."
A snort of laughter comes from the entrance to the room, where Leif stands with Holly and Grayson.
"I doubt they had the intelligence, and no gum involved," says the curator. "Nobody has access to the keys apart from me so how did the individual open the cabinets?"
"Lock picking?" suggests Holly from the doorway.
"Magic."
This man really is prejudiced against our races.
"Anything missing?" asks Rowan.
"They took a pocket watch."
"A pocket watch?" I subtly poke at his mind for confirmation, wary because this is a man who'd certainly report me for illegal mind-reading.
He's telling the truth.
"Who did the watch belong to?" I ask. "I note that local families donated most of the items. Perhaps a family member retrieved the watch?"
"The family would've asked," he retorts. "They can take back their donations anytime."
I snatch the name from his mind again: Redridge.
Stolen mole. Stolen pocket watch. Both donated by the Redridges. Coincidence?
He looks over his spectacles. "The watch wasn't valuable—the item doesn't even work—but the museum held the exhibit for years."
"Why would somebody decide to steal a watch worth nothing?" asks Rowan. He doesn't add what we're both thinking: unless the watch is magical.
"How should I know?" he replies, a smidgen too forcefully.
"Do you have a photo?" Rowan asks the curator.
"I reported the incident to the police, and they noted the missing property." He scowls. "Along with the mole theft, which caused great amusement."
"But the police have no leads?" I ask.
Leif mumbles, "Like they'd waste time on looking for them."
The curator's face reddens. "This museum lost half of the exhibits from the supernaturals 're-acquiring' them. If people continue to steal from my museum, I'll have nothing to display."
"Perhaps invest in a more effective security system?" I suggest.
"I intend to, once the museum raises funds for the upgrade."
"How?" puts in Grayson.
"How?"
"How are you raising funds, besides the extortionate entry fee?"
"The museum accepts donations. The same way most museums raise funds."
But he's fidgety. Increasingly interesting. "We should go now," I announce.
"Thank god," says Leif beneath his breath.
"Do you have a gift shop?" pipes up Holly.
"A gift shop?" I say. "What gifts could people possibly want from a museum?"
"A shop with mementos of the visit." Holly looks to the curator and pointedly adds, "To make extra money ."
The curator pauses for thought. "I sell pens and magnets. And postcards."
Holly sighs. "Nothing else?"
"Nothing apart from the local history book I wrote."
"Fascinating," I say, and head out of the room, mind whirling with questions and plans.
Holly selects a blue pen with the town name and crest etched along the side, and Rowan buys the book.
"Bloody hell," Rowan mutters as we leave, Leif trailing behind, having also bought some overpriced items. At least that seems to have endeared us a little to the curator. "I paid ten pounds for a thirty page long book."
"The curator could also use the money to pay for an investigation into Marvin's disappearance," suggests Grayson. "Another case for Thornwood's dark and deadly Nancy Drew?"
"Good grief," I retort as the door to the museum swings closed behind us. "Firstly, stop calling me that, and secondly, I've no interest in locating the remains of a 100-year-old stuffed mole."
"According to Insta, Marvin last visited London," says Leif, as we head towards the bus stop, catching up to me. "For you."
I look at the pen in his outstretched hand, white and printed with the museum name in blue. "What's that?"
"Leif could never leave a gift shop without buying something for you," says Rowan with a chuckle. "You can use the pen to make notes when solving the Mystery of the Missing Mole."
Ah. Leif and his constant bestowal of gifts. I'm still considering what to buy him to reciprocate, but as I've purchased few gifts in my life, I've no idea.
"Thank you, Leif." I look to Rowan. "And I may make notes about the museum, but not the mole. Do you think you sensed residual magic on the cabinet from past exhibits or that an item could be magical?"
"Something inside that cabinet is definitely magic soaked."
"Well then, we'll return when the place is empty and examine further." I smile. "I suspect the ivory box must contain what we want. The jewelry would've emitted stronger magic."
Rowan halts. "Oh, great. How did I know that's exactly what you'd do next?" he mutters.
People do tend to mutter around me, especially when I share my plans.