8. Ports in a Storm
EIGHT
PORTS IN A STORM
When traveling, especially on public transportation, preventing unexpected shifts is essential. Use calming techniques like controlled breathing, meditation, or subtle exercises, such as curling your toes, to keep instincts in check.
With private transportation, you have more freedom but should still stay prepared. Keep snacks and calming objects nearby, and always ensure your vehicle has enough space to safely accommodate any unexpected changes.
Whether public or private, the key to smooth travel is staying composed and discreet, so you reach your destination in the form you intended.
–EXCERPT FROM THE METAMORPHIC MAN: A GENTLEMAN SHAPESHIFTER’S GUIDE TO CULTURED CONDUCT
Arthur knew two things. One was that Minerva Lathrop would never abandon the Mudpuddle Bookshop, and the other was that there was definitely something strange about the way Zephyr Nightshade had been felled.
He’d gone to Primrose Court as soon as he awoke. Standing in the empty yard where the Mudpuddle used to be, he hoped to gather as much information as he could. It was necessary for him to do this before his meeting with Buffalo’s daughter. How else could he advise her?
Arthur wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. He’d heard all the theories about what had made the bookshop disappear, but none of them made sense. This was why he had to examine the property himself. Arthur was inclined to trust his own instincts.
The small garden shed was the only structure left on the corner lot.
It reeked of melted machinery and synthetic magic.
Arthur stooped to retrieve a singed flyer that had gotten stuck in the tines of a rake.
The flyer advertised a town hall meeting to discuss the dangers of Nocturnaturals products.
He’d been aware of the meeting. Arthur had intended to attend with Rosie.
She was still insisting her yak shifter friend had nothing to do with the Mudpuddle’s disappearance, but Arthur was less sure. He certainly would be keeping a much closer eye on his daughter now.
When he reached the morgue, a coroner from the local coven was waiting outside for him.
The balding wizard was fiddling with a memento mori themed ring.
Arthur expected to be rebuffed, but the wizard shook Arthur’s hand without hesitation when the shifter approached.
In fact he seemed almost relieved to see him.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” Arthur said. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about the condition of Zephyr’s remains when he was found?”
He was going out on a limb here, but if he was to advise his client about the house, he needed to assess any threats.
“I actually think I have to show you something,” the coroner said, leading him inside. “In all my years, I’ve seen nothing like this.”
The coroner removed his ring and pocketed it in his lab coat. He donned a pair of rubber gloves as he directed Arthur towards the refrigerated rooms in the back.
“He’s still here?” Arthur was taken aback.
Witches were adamant about having the speediest of burials in the simplest of vessels. Once the sacred essence of a witch’s life was extracted, their flesh dehydrated and decomposed at preternatural speeds. You had to act very quickly to bury them whole, before their dust scattered to the wind.
“Very much so.” The coroner nodded, pointing to the marble slab where the elder wizard was laid out, still dressed in his tweed morning jacket.
Aside from a morbid pallor, a certain shrunkeness, and the absence of breath or a heartbeat, he might have been sleeping.
Zephyr was as perfectly preserved as a pickle.
But he didn’t smell like one. Even in the climate controlled room, the acrid odor of burnt rubber and bubbling plastic was overwhelmingly strong.
The smell was coming from the wizard’s clothing and shoes, Arthur realized, and not the wizard himself. Mostly his shoes.
“Do you mind if I remove these?” Arthur asked.
“Not at all.” The coroner shook his head. “It’s not like he needs them for anything now.”
Arthur unlaced and pulled off the wizard’s tooled leather shoes and placed them in the hallway. He took a deep breath. That was so much better. He’d been right. The shoes had been the primary source of the smell. Now that they were gone he could breathe again.
“I believe you’re pretty well versed in our laws, young man?” The coroner raised an eyebrow at Arthur. “What does your gut tell you? What do you suppose we should do with him?”
Seven years of studying the witches’ legal system, and they still wanted to know what his gut told him.
Because he was a shifter.
Arthur tried not to bristle. It wasn’t necessarily an insult. His “gut,” aka his animal nature, told him many things. For instance, he was pretty sure that whoever had attacked Zephyr was a lousy shot. How else could you explain so much synthetic magic landing in his shoes.
“My gut tells me that Zephyr didn’t die an entirely natural death.” Arthur’s nose wrinkled. “His shoes reeked of synthetic magic.”
“I thought I smelled something, but I couldn’t be sure,” the coroner agreed. “Your type certainly is more perceptive when it comes to that sort of thing. Do you think synthetic magic was the cause of death?”
The coroner looked anxious, and Arthur wondered if this was a trick question. They both knew that if he said yes, there’d be more paperwork. Lots more paperwork. And to what end? Witches loved their records. Every last thing needed to be written down.
“I couldn’t say.” Arthur shrugged. “But whatever happened, doesn’t he need to be buried immediately?” Arthur asked. “The law is very specific about that. Burials need to take place within forty-eight hours.”
“That’s what the council decided as well. But when the burial committee went to prepare his body, they found this.” The coroner lifted the sheet to expose Zephyr’s tightly clenched left fist. A tiny nub of wood protruded from the cleft between his thumb and forefinger.
“Is that…?” Arthur bent closer to get a look.
“It is. It’s a wand. And it’s not his.” The coroner pulled the sheet back further to show the wand resting beside Zephyr’s right hand. “It’s small, but it’s definitely a wand. We think it’s Minerva’s. There’s no removing it, not without desecrating his body.”
Arthur didn’t need to be told that desecrating the corpse of a witch was an extremely taboo act.
“He can’t be buried with someone else’s wand,” Arthur acknowledged the other issue. And what if that was Minerva’s wand? He couldn’t help but consider the implications. “Perhaps a local member of the Society can advise?”
“That’s the problem,” the coroner confided. “The member of the Society we would normally ask for advice in such cases was Zephyr himself.”
“There’s no next of kin?” Arthur asked, already suspecting what the answer would be. Zephyr was childless and had no siblings.
The coroner shook his head mournfully. “It’s not really up to you or me, but it’s nice to hear a fresh perspective. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what the council decides. I’m just glad he hasn’t disintegrated on us while they deliberate.”
Arthur wished he could have stayed longer to discuss this conundrum with the coroner, but the Society had already assigned another job to him.
He only hoped that bringing the bookstore back might somehow lead to justice for Zephyr.
Arthur shook hands with the coroner, excused himself, and headed back outside.
Time was of the essence. It was already half past nine. Time to head back to the alley where he would be meeting Will, who would be taking him to meet with Buffalo Westabrook’s daughter Maida.
Maida Westabrook. How long had it been? Almost thirty years? There was no way she would remember him. But he certainly remembered her. He hadn’t expected to ever see her again, and certainly not in a tricky situation like this.
Arthur hated the idea of dragging an Ordinary into these magical matters.
But the law was the law so what choice did they have?
Technically, the Mudpuddle belonged to her, which meant only she could assign a caretaker, or bring it back herself.
The sooner the matter was settled, the better.
Even her overprotective father had recognized the necessity.
Arthur strode quickly into the park. Long, lithe legs gave him a steady, loping gait.
He wasted no time navigating back through the passage and into the alley.
He really had no idea what to expect from his alliance with Will.
While Arthur would have preferred this to be a solo mission, he was excited about the opportunity to travel with a porter.
Never in all his dreams had he imagined he’d have a chance to travel that way.
It was hard to believe that Arthur and Will would travel to Los Angeles on foot in a matter of minutes. Even one of Westabrook’s fastest private jets would take hours.
He’d be home in plenty of time to make dinner for Rosie.
It was ten minutes before ten a.m. when Arthur emerged into the long gloomy alley.
This gave him a few minutes to review the contracts he’d prepared last night.
As advised by Will, he was traveling light.
He had limited his baggage to one personal item—his briefcase.
He’d loaded it up with the most important papers pertaining to Maida’s inheritance.
A late night of research had paid off. Arthur had found an ancient exclusion that he believed might solve all their problems. Ordinaries could not be owners of magical properties without the assignment of an active caretaker.
Therefore, if Maida was willing to assign power of attorney over to him, he could pass the property on to another member of the Lathrop family.
It was the simplest solution. The one that got him home the quickest.