Chapter Thirty-Seven Kion #3
The blond warlock shakes his head. “No! No, it’s not what it looks like!” There’s a brief, pathetic scuffle as Edward tries to escape Elder’s clutches.
Kion snarls, stalking toward him, Taissa’s knickers clenched in his fist. He’s got a mind to punch the man in the face as Elder finally cuffs him.
Taissa is snarling, venomous. “You disgusting—piece of shite—”
Edward’s eyes fill with tears as his nose drips blood. “No, Taissa—I-I love you—”
“Is that why you broke into my flat and stole my knickers?” she snarls. “You’re sick. Twisted.”
“I didn’t—”
“There is no point in trying to deny it,” Elder says coldly, his streaks of gray shining under the fluorescent lights.
“We have enough to charge you with the stalking of Taissa Cho. And that’s only until evidence relating to your commissioning of Púca Púca LLC comes in.
We know that you hired a púca to cast the first curse on the NCL Stymphs shortly after Miss Cho’s expulsion from the NCL Wyverns.
No point in trying to deny it. It’s been confirmed by the knowledge of Queen Pike herself.
Only question is: Why did you do it, Becerra? ”
Kion is grinding his molars so hard that it hurts. Edward’s lower lip trembles violently as his red-rimmed eyes flick from Kion to Taissa before he lets out a low, anguished groan.
“It was an act of revenge for Miss Cho, wasn’t it?
You fancy yourself in love with her,” says Elder distastefully, jostling the cuffed man.
“Furious at Kion Locke for his part in her demise, you contacted a púca to ruin Mr. Locke’s team.
And it nearly worked. You never expected Taissa to join the Stymphs.
I surmise that you’ve been panicking. Is that why you contacted Púca Púca LLC a second time?
Only this time, you wished for the Stymphs to win.
An attempt to undo what you’d already done for her. ”
What had that síceach, Alun, said during their aura reading?
Something had been off with the curse. That was it.
The curse-spots, they’re flickering. Every few moments.
Two curses working against each other, like oil and vinegar.
That was what Alun had found so strange.
The second curse trying to negate the first, but failing.
Maybe that’s why the results of the second curse—the Sleeping Death—were so fucking disastrous.
There was already a curse in place, and trying to nullify it with a second ended in terrible consequences.
Edward probably hadn’t meant for the Sleeping Death to happen.
That note, planted in James’s room, was his.
“And this time, you were smarter about it, hiring the handler Markus as a messenger and concealing your identity. Púca Púca LLC has a policy, doesn’t it?
No repeat customers within a five-year time frame.
Who did you tell them you were? No, never mind.
I think we know the answer to that.” Magis Elder tilts his head toward James.
“You knew that they wouldn’t check to confirm ID. ”
James, who was innocent.
James, who is now bearing the burden of Edward’s bargain.
Kion’s never felt rage like this before. Never wanted to kill somebody more fucking badly. He starts forward: Taissa tugs him back. They need a confession.
“You planted the evidence in his room when you realized there would be an investigation,” continues Elder as Edward begins to sniffle.
“The traces of Fury, making him seem mixed up in the wrong sorts of things, a desperation to rise back to the top. The note. Then, when Mr. Ridgeshaw fell ill from your misdirecting the púcas, you were able to claim he was exposed to dark magic, despite the magic being from you. Now, tell me something: Why did you choose Mr. Ridgeshaw as a target, and not Mr. Locke? Given your motives, it would have made more sense to choose Mr. Locke, no?”
Behind Elder, Felicity Vance steps into the room, flanked by a few other DMC agents and magistrates.
One of them holds a black mask in their hands, probably from Edward’s room.
The other has a huge evidence baggie filled with Taissa’s knickers and bras.
They remain silent, letting Elder go on acting like he uncovered this all himself despite discovering literally fuck all.
Sure, he’s putting together the pieces that Queen Pike offered, but you’d think he could have found this out a bit fucking sooner.
Edward’s mouth works, and finally, words burst free. “I wanted Kion to watch,” he half sobs, half shouts. “I wanted him to be there to watch Taissa fall in love with me. And to be ripped apart by his best mate’s betrayal. So I chose James instead. But—please, Taissa, listen to me…”
“We’ll take that as a confession,” Elder mutters, looking disgusted.
“Taissa,” Edward begs, “I love you. I’ve loved you for years. Believe me! I used to take the weekend train to Banallan to watch you, just watch you—”
Kion sees red as Taissa stiffens. “I had a stalker a few years back,” she says tightly to Elder, whose violet eyes darken. “Got my knickers stolen in Great Hartwich. Not far from here, Great Hartwich. Only a wee distance. The perp left chocolates spiked with a love potion. Tickle My Fancy.”
“Taissa, oh, please!” wails Edward, no longer looking cherubic. “I did all of this for you!” He scrabbles out of Elder’s grip, flops like a fish onto the floor, and tries to inch closer to her feet. Kion’s about to beat the living daylight out of him, but Taissa gets there first.
She looks at Edward in disgust, then back up to Elder. “May I kick him?”
Kion is surprised when the detective’s eyes crinkle in the corners. “I’ll allow it.”
The sheer strength in Taissa’s kick is fucking impressive. She could play football. Edward screams, sounding more heartbroken than anything as he wriggles and writhes. Kion is still tempted to stomp in his face but reins himself back, breathing hard.
This is Taissa’s justice to take.
Elder meets his eyes and nods curtly as he hauls the healer back up.
“Edward Becerra, you are under arrest for two counts of stalking against Taissa Cho, the cursing of the NCL Stymphs, the cursing of the Wingeds, the framing of James Ridgeshaw, and the usage of dark magic. You have absolutely no rights; they shan’t be read to you.
” Gripping Edward by the neck, Elder hauls him out of the room, cutting through the onlooking agents—and the wide-eyed team, who at some point clustered in the doorway without Kion noticing.
As the agents disperse, and Edward’s wails echo down the hall, they flood in, pale and drawn.
Isla and Mahina make straight for Taissa, wrapping her in a hug, which Taissa, after a tentative moment, returns.
“He was a pathetic wanker,” signs Mahina, bobbing her closed hand up and down a few times. Apparently most of this Taissa understands, because she nods emphatically.
“Captain,” rasps Bronte, “is James going to be okay?”
“I don’t know,” chokes Kion.
James will have to be moved to another hospital.
One where the healers will actually look after him.
Probably he should have been in one all along, but team policy states the infirmary as their primary care center.
It hasn’t escaped Kion’s notice that James’s mum hasn’t visited, not even once, even though the little table next to his cot is flooded with flowers and cards written in her spindly hand.
Even in the most dire circumstances, Philomena Ridgeshaw will never be caught dead in close proximity to a carriwitchet pitch.
Hells, it’s ridiculous. Her son is in a magical fucking coma. If there’s any time to put aside petty grievances, well, it would be right about bloody now.
“We’ll track down Banes again, and explain it all,” Knox offers. “See what she can do.” It’s not a bad plan. Something tells Kion that Orla Banes will want to be paid by the right person.
The team gathers around James’s bedside.
Kion takes one of his limp hands in his own, shame eating him up inside.
For a while, he’d begun to believe that James had done all of this.
How could he be so fucking stupid? He knows his best mate better than he knows himself.
James would never do this to the Wingeds.
To the Stymphs. “Come on, you posh twat,” he whispers. “Come on and pull through.”
James doesn’t reply—of course he doesn’t—but Kion could swear that James’s hand squeezes his, just faintly. It gives him enough hope to clear the noise in his head. Just for a bit.
They stay there for a while, all of them, until a team of aghast-looking medics stride in and wheel James out, intent on taking him to Le Fay Hospital.
Wearily, Kion and the team sit on the curb of the Nexitory’s parking lot, watching the medics load James into an ambulance covered in Flight glyphs, and watching as a dazed-looking Bill Dodds and wide-eyed Niamh speak to a magis.
“So it’s over,” Adriel says slowly. “The curses. The mystery. It’s all finally over.”
“I don’t feel any different,” Bronte admits. “Do any of you?”
“Only angry,” mutters óríon stiffly.
“I always knew there was something strange about Edward,” Knox says sagely. “I always had this feeling.”
“What a load of rubbish,” scoffs Bronte.
“You did not, Tanaka,” Taissa snorts.
“None of us suspected him,” signs Mahina.
“Kion never liked this man,” óríon says, pointing to him.
True. Bloody true.
“Do you think…” Isla hesitates and looks to Kion, as if for reassurance. “Do you think, now, we can make it back to the Major League?”
A great question.
“Well,” Kion says, rising to his feet and looking toward the pitch where the afternoon sun shines as bright as gold, “there’s only one way to find out.”