9. Cheribelle
Cheribelle
Bizarre Blitz!
“How does nobody know about this contract despite some green-behind-the-ears assassin finding out about it right when it went out? And now nobody knows who this Whisper character is?”
I understood Paul’s frustration. So far, our investigation wasn’t really going how I had hoped it would, and honestly, I was beginning to feel like I was failing on my end. It had taken me hours just to get a name, and now that name was proving to be useless.
Not for the first time, guilt swarmed me, and I worried that my ego had me cosplaying as a psychic detective for a family that needed very real help, but I reminded myself that the actual detectives had access to all the same information I did—minus the psychic energy bit—so it wasn’t like I was depriving the VanMarches of anything.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, leaning into the corner we’d sequestered ourselves in after another hour of trying to find conversations to slip into with people who wouldn’t try to kill us.
Even going back to the cross-stitching honeypot hadn’t yielded any results, as she really wasn’t involved in that line of work.
She did, however, offer to introduce Paul to her biggest client.
He politely declined.
“I think, try as we might, people can just tell that we’re outsiders.”
“You mean people can tell I’m an outsider. You’re making connections right and left and got the only relevant data to this case. I’m the one who’s throwing a spanner into the works.”
I hadn’t expected Paul to take the blame like that, but I suppose I should have anticipated it. It was clear to me that he was the mediator in his family and cleaned up a lot of the messes, so of course he would instinctively attach the burden to just himself.
“Hey, none of that,” I said, marveling at how much he sounded like me when the mean voices in my head got a little too loud and convincing.
“You’re doing great. You haven’t growled at anyone since the guard, and your mean mug is quite convincing for someone who is interested in finding an assassination contract. ”
“Really?” he asked with such genuine surprise that I got a little sidetracked with how adorable he was. Something about such a smart, professional man being bashful about a compliment made me weak in the knees.
It also made me want to lavish him with more praise just to see if he would melt or further get flustered—there was a time and a place for everything, and even my impetuous self knew that.
“Really. I promise. You keep on glowering at everyone, and I’m sure we’ll find this Whisper dude lickety-split.”
“You’re looking for the Whisper?”
Both of us nearly jumped out of our skins at the quiet voice behind us. A tall, beautiful woman dressed in all white approached us. I got no threatening vibes from her.
“You’ll have to excuse me for eavesdropping, but watching you flit around piqued my curiosity.”
“Wait, you know the Whisper?”
“I do, and I can take you to them. If you want, that is.”
I narrowed my gaze at her, focusing my vision. I couldn’t see anything. At least not immediately.
No emotional signature?! Could she be connected to the case? Or even the assassin herself?
It was hard to maintain my own calm, but I managed, sending her a smile as I reached behind me to grip Paul’s wrist, my nails biting into his skin. I was sure he would understand that what was happening was significant, even if he couldn’t get the subtext from that small movement.
“If you wouldn’t mind giving us a moment to talk?” I said quickly.
“Of course not. Please, consult your... friend .”
Okay, that seemed unnecessarily pointed...
However, Paul hauled me away before I could get stuck on it, whispering in my ear once we were far enough. His tone was so urgent that I knew he’d gotten my signal.
“What’s going on?”
“Look, I don’t want to unnecessarily alarm you, but I figured you should know, that woman has no em— psychic energy signature.”
His eyes went wide, and he looked past me to stare at her with a mix of shock and hatred so strong, I had to grab his face and pull it back toward me.
“Oh! Hey now, none of that. Play it cool. We don’t know for sure it was her, and even if it was, we’re on her turf, so we don’t want to tip her off.”
Paul’s chest rumbled ever so slightly, and I got the impression he was containing the growl he wanted to let out. Fair enough, but I really needed him not to eject the cat out of the bag.
“So, you think we should follow the possible murderer of my family into who knows where? What if she knows exactly who we are, and this is all a trap?”
The longer we took, the more likely the woman was to get suspicious or withdraw her offer entirely if she was genuine.
“I know it’s risky, but we don’t know that she is the killer, and this might be the best way for us to find out. And if she’s not, do you really wanna give up the only lead we’ve managed to get on who this Whisper guy is?”
He stared at me for an achingly long moment, and after a few breaths, I was sure he was going to tell me to kick rocks. Eventually, he sighed and nodded.
“I suppose finding out who put the hit out on Jackson is worth it,” he hissed, an impressive amount of heat making it into his voice despite how quiet he was being. “But if it is her, I’m going to rip her head from her body at the first chance I get.”
“Fair deal.”
Although I wasn’t a part of this world, it didn’t mean I couldn’t figure out that something being too easy meant it was likely dangerous.
“Why would you want to help us strangers?” I asked when we reached her.
“Because the Whisper’s help is expensive, and I get a cut from any work I bring them. You could consider it beneficial to my pocketbook.”
“Sounds like a good enough reason to me. Lead the way!”
“You agree so readily.”
I let my smile at the woman grow even more sweet. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?”
She gave me an equally saccharine smile. “No, of course not. Right this way.”
We did indeed start to follow her through the increasingly empty bazaar. I was hyperaware of her every movement, bracing myself for a sudden attack.
If there were any other shifters around, I was sure they could hear how much my heart was thundering. In fact, judging by the tension I could feel radiating from behind me, Paul was acutely aware of the drumline going on inside my chest.
But he kept on a veneer of calm—at least, that was what I assumed, since the woman didn’t turn around and tell us to beat it.
Granted, she wouldn’t if she was leading us into a trap.
Ugh, I’m gonna be sick. What happened to risking it for the biscuit?
Think I’m about to puke up that biscuit!
It’ll be fine!
Sure, because following a possible killer deeper into an illicit bazaar where criminals find contracts, feed kittens broth, and tune guitars is a typical Tuesday!
Shit, is it Tuesday? I had dry cleaning to pick up!
”So, how do you know the Whisper?” I asked as she led us farther and farther down the block, even past where we’d met the guitar tuner.
“You’re not from around here,” she said simply, like that was an answer at all. And while she was right, that didn’t mean I appreciated it.
“What makes you say that?”
“Besides the obvious, it’s rude to ask how people have made their connections. In this place, it comes across as you trying to replace the middleman. And you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?”
“Nope,” I said brightly. “We wouldn’t want to do anything like that!”
Clearly, I’d just made a bit of a faux pas that outed us as even more other than we came across. I did what I did best: bluffed as hard as I could.
Maybe it was working, maybe what I said didn’t matter because we were being led into a trap. Either way, I supposed I would be finding out soon enough.
Eventually, when we were almost to what I assumed was the edge of the expansive block, the same strange feeling I got when we first approached the invisible magical barrier came over me again.
“Just can’t help the natural curiosity, you know? Especially when not knowing can have lethal consequences.” Not being able to judge her emotional reaction flustered me.
“It can indeed.”
Finally, we stopped at a rotted door on one of the more run-down buildings, the second one from the barrier as far as I could tell.
But this time, when we entered, I wasn’t surprised that it went from something that looked like it was one Big Bad Wolf breath from collapsing onto itself to an ostentatious greeting room that would have been right at home in a Russian-mafia-inspired McMansion.
That’s probably a combination of words that has never been put together before in the English language, I thought to myself. Just as that thought flitted through my head, I noticed we were not alone.
Around a dozen burly men and magical folks of varying levels of lethality were gathered throughout the large space, a few playing cards at a table, a couple talking over by a bookcase, and several quietly enjoying a drink.
However, all that ground to a halt when we entered, eyes boring into us like a baker’s dozen of sniper sights.
Strangely enough, it was a relief. Unlike the woman we’d followed, their emotions were brightly on display, and most of them were flashing surprise and distrust at our entrance.
People who set traps weren’t surprised when their prey stumbled into them.
They were proud, triumphant even. Not surprised.
“By all means,” I said, for once not really thrilled about being the center of attention. “Don’t stop on our behalf.”
Naturally, none of them listened to me. And that was when I noticed their gazes weren’t on us at all.
No, they were on the woman, who was now walking away from us to ascend to the throne-like seat at the opposite end of the room.
The tall chair was covered in plush, red velvet and nestled comfortably on a stone dais.
Ah.
So, the woman was the Whisper.