Chapter 16
Tomorrow was the summer solstice, and magic was in the air. Literally.
Arthur and Sal walked through the Saturday crowd at the festival, turkey legs in hand.
It seemed all the witches and other magically inclined people of the region had gathered here.
Judging by the activity on the Dead & Breakfast’s website—and the messages on the landline’s answering machine—the town was at capacity, every hotel and bed-and-breakfast fully booked for miles around. And who could blame them?
Several people soared overhead on broomsticks, which Sal watched, obvious envy in his gaze. Arthur himself didn’t share the sentiment—none of the witches seemed to be wearing helmets, which was terribly unsafe. They might as well ride in a car.
Multicolored bubbles floated above their heads as they passed a pair of witches who were casting some sort of spell.
One appeared to be generating the bubbles themselves, while the other was refracting light through them at different angles with a charm on her long iridescent fingernails.
Sal tried to pop one, but it merely bounced off his finger, to his delight.
Beyond them was a group of children who carried balloon animals, charmed to move and vocalize just like real ones.
Three stalls down, a witch dressed in a bright clown outfit made them for a gaggle of kids who shouted out animal names faster than she could enchant.
“Oh, do you think she could make one look like Rumble?” Sal asked, changing course with a yearning gleam in his eyes.
“We’re here for a reason, Sal.” Arthur steered his husband back on track.
He wasn’t sure a balloon animal Rumble was a good idea, anyway.
Sal would probably become overly attached to it only to have his grief doubled when the magic wore off.
“We can enjoy the festival’s offerings once we’ve interrogated Ambrosia. ”
“Why must we be the mullet of the festival?” Sal whined.
“What do you mean?” Arthur could usually at least guess what his husband was referring to when he made strange comparisons, but on this he was entirely lost.
“Business in the front, party in the back,” Sal explained as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Just once I wish we could handle things with party in the front.” He let out a wistful sigh, but tore his gaze from the balloon animal witch.
“The line is too long, anyway. This weekend crowd really is something.”
“Nora did anticipate the surge in attendance.” Though Arthur and Sal hadn’t been part of the official planning for the festival, they’d hosted Nora and Quinn enough times in the weeks preceding it to understand the scope.
At least, Arthur had. He wasn’t sure if Sal had bothered to pay attention to the details.
“This will be quite the feather in her cap when she officially runs for mayor in the fall. The festival is exceeding expectations in every possible way.”
“Verily!” Sal exclaimed, hoisting his turkey leg in the air like a baton. “More attendees, more magic, more murder.”
Arthur’s mood took a little tumble. “Verily,” he echoed glumly.
Solving Lola Lataurelle’s murder would not only be key to salvaging his own reputation as a VAMP PI, but it was important to others, too.
He needed to prevent it becoming a scandal, lest it impact Nora’s electoral chances.
Trident Falls was in desperate need of leadership with integrity and vision.
Arthur couldn’t be the reason it fell back into the hands of someone like the former mayor, whose vision for the town was clouded by dollar signs in his eyes and hate in his heart.
So far, the news of the death hadn’t deterred many visitors.
That was something, at least. Arthur wondered how accusing the head of the Celestine Coven of the murder would play out in terms of attendance—perhaps the drama would make it all the more sensational, or perhaps people would leave if the festival’s main draw imploded.
With the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, Arthur turned them deeper into the festival.
Though Ambrosia had uninvited them from the coven itself, they were still able to navigate the festival unimpeded.
It was a public event hosted by the town, and they’d purchased tickets, which included access to the main stage and all the performances thereon.
The platinum pavilion would likely be blocked to them, but everything else was fair game.
Arthur chuckled to himself at his incidental pun, the joke even sweeter for being his alone to enjoy.
“Oh, look.” Sal slowed as they approached the stage, falling into step beside Arthur and taking refuge beneath the shade of the ice-cream-cone-patterned umbrella. “We’re just in time!”
A large sign balanced on the edge of the stage declared that Ambrosia was scheduled for a stage performance in fifteen minutes.
Arthur wasn’t sure what it would entail, other than a variation on her pitch for joining the coven.
Then again, he’d seen her in action. With or without any actual magic, she had a way of captivating an audience.
Whatever the case, he didn’t intend to let her simply go about her day if she had something to do with Wilhelmina’s disappearance or Lola’s murder.
“You’ve got that devilish look in your eye, my love,” Sal said. “What are you planning? Is it a ravishing? If so, I’m extremely available.”
“I don’t have a devilish look,” Arthur replied. He certainly didn’t. Determined, maybe. Sal did so enjoy embellishment. “My plan is to ask Ambrosia where Wilhelmina is.”
“Yes, but how will you ask her? Confidently? Subtly? With gusto? At knifepoint? There are so many options!”
“It’s a loaded accusation, and I plan to get a confession. We’ll need to tread carefully.”
Sal nodded sagely. “Yes, good thinking. She’s probably still angry with us for breaking into her yurt to fool around—”
“That was just a cover story, Sal.”
“Was it? How disappointing. At any rate, we can’t just walk up to her and expect her to play nice.”
Sal was right, of course. The backstage area was fenced off.
Two tall, broad-chested security guards kept festivalgoers from getting close to the entrance.
Arthur spotted Chet standing behind the stage, muscles bulging beneath his Celestine Coven–branded T-shirt (with the sleeves cut off).
Besides him, there were probably invisible wards in place.
Ambrosia might be a fraud, but not all the witches at the festival were.
Though Arthur had seen proof that magic didn’t work against vampires, it didn’t do much to assuage his fears.
Even if witches weren’t directly dangerous to him, there was the rest of the festival to consider.
The last thing he needed was the entire event erupting in chaos over a little trespassing.
“We’ll need to get to her first,” Arthur mused.
“Nora could probably help,” Sal said. “She could be a mediator!”
“She’s so busy. And we don’t have time for the proper channels.” Arthur looked at Sal for a moment, thoughtful. “You’re quite experienced at sneaking past guard types, aren’t you?”
“It’s my specialty! Dealing with the threshold of some noble’s estate is easy enough, but getting to the noble themself is the real challenge.” Sal grinned. “The guards almost always notice me, of course, because I’m unforgettable. It’s very hard to tamp down all this natural charm and charisma.”
“All right. I have a plan,” Arthur said. It would be tricky to pull off during the day without their vampiric powers, but he knew Salvatore would manage. His husband was an expert in diversionary tactics, after all.
What a tulle tutu and glittery wings had to do with diversionary tactics, Arthur couldn’t imagine, but Sal had insisted on acquiring some from a nearby booth before approaching the guards (I need a disguise, Arthur! It’s part of my process, Arthur! Do not disrupt the process, Arthur!).
This was a rare instance in which Arthur wished he had a cell phone.
He could’ve pulled it out and pretended to be absorbed in it while secretly watching Sal’s progress.
As it was, he kept checking his watch and glancing around, like he was waiting for a friend to arrive.
Hopefully no one would look closely enough to see through that lie.
Arthur worried it was horribly obvious he was an unlikely sort to have many friends at all, let alone be meeting them at a place such as this.
Sal, wearing his tutu and wings over his already flamboyant ensemble, strolled up to the security personnel as if he belonged there. When the one on the right stopped him to ask for his backstage pass, Sal let out a shrill laugh.
“Don’t you know who I am?” Sal asked in a thick French accent.
Arthur began to walk closer.
The security guards exchanged an unimpressed glance.
“No pass, no entry.” The one on the right crossed his arms. They were even more muscular than Chet Oakley’s.
“I am Le Grand Fromage!” Sal exclaimed, gesturing wide, nearly clotheslining a passerby. “World-famous magician, here at Ambrosia Celestine’s invitation. If you do not let me pass, how will I accompany her onstage?”
“Not my problem,” said the other guard.
Arthur inched a bit nearer. Just an innocent person waiting on a friend. Nothing to see here.
“Well!” Sal spun dramatically, executing a perfect cha?né turn. His accent got even thicker, if possible. “I shall be speaking to your supervisors about this!” He stalked off in the opposite direction of Arthur’s casual approach.
The security people relaxed, but only for a moment.
Alarm jolted through their posture as Salvatore began to climb the fence a few yards away.
Both the guards rushed after him to pull him down.
He had pretty good grip strength even during the day, and put up quite the fight, shouting French obscenities all the while.