Chapter 7
I came to the old Austen Heights graveyard that sat next to the church that evening. Snow covered the graves and markers as flakes slowly fell from the sky, resting on the ground in the glow of the old-fashioned lights, giving it a serene, peaceful feeling.
Mary’s choice seemed wise, assuming this was the most isolated locale for our rendezvous. The graveyard sat deserted aside from Mary and a tall gentleman I identified as Frank Churchill.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Frank was a werewolf? I knew little about him besides the fact that his aunt owned a perfume factory just outside of town and that Bradley loved some of their fragrances. But Frank himself was rather well known. Another high fae set to inherit his aunt’s business.
“Hi Wickham,” Mary said when I approached. “Wickham, this is Frank. Frank, Wickham, my new brother-in-law. Wickham is a vampire, and Frank here is a werewolf.”
I shuffled my feet, and Frank rolled his shoulders, his hands buried in a long, stylish peacoat.
It was obvious what Mary was doing. Since both of us were aware of our unlawful status, we might be less apt to betray one another.
Not that I would have, anyway. But I think both Frank and I were uncomfortable having it said out loud.
I put on a smile and held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Frank. I like your coat.” My charms didn’t work on men as well as women for obvious reasons, so I figured I’d attempt to start off on the right foot with a simple compliment.
Frank took my hand. “Thank you. Mary said you needed help to track someone, and that you had an item of theirs?”
He slid his arm protectively around Mary, and it was obvious there was something more going on than a friend helping out. I tried to recall whether Lydia had said anything about them dating but couldn’t remember.
I pulled out the white beanie with the face and ears of an arctic fox.
Sephira loved the creatures. She’d left the cap in my Jeep after a date, and I’d barely found it stuffed under the passenger seat and hadn’t had the chance with everything going on to even decide what to do about it.
I handed it to Frank. “I’m looking for my ex-girlfriend, Sephira.
It’s been a while since she wore this—like over a year. ”
“Have you washed it since she wore it?” Frank asked.
“No.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Mary looked at me, her eyes round behind her glasses. “Why do you want to find your ex?”
I scuffed the dirt with my shoe, not sure how much Lydia had told her family about the deceased person on my doorstep. “I’m in a bit of trouble, and I hope to determine if she’s the cause of it.”
Mary and Frank exchanged a glance. But then Mary nodded, and Frank took the cap and held it to his nose, breathing deeply.
“You can track her, right?” Mary asked.
Frank cast her a flirtatious smile. “Do you doubt me?”
Mary’s cheeks flushed. “No, not really.”
“This way,” Frank said as he took Mary’s hand and pulled her along. I followed the two lovebirds down the street, leaving the church and the cemetery behind.
We walked past closed shops and streetlamps that gave us a soft light to see by to the edge of town, where a small house sat with lights on. “This is it,” Frank said. “Her scent is all over this place. It must be where she’s staying.”
Sephira and I had dated long before she came to Austen Heights, and for a while I had no idea she was living here.
But then one night she’d shown up at the Midnight Kitchen Society, and all the less than pleasant memories of our time together had come flooding back.
I had made friends in Austen Heights by then and refused to leave.
But I never found out where she lived, and it turned out nobody actually knew.
I guessed she had worries about someone learning her secret as a vampire.
Being illegal made a person a lot more cautious and a tad paranoid.
“Thank you,” I said. I headed up the short front walk.
“Wickham,” Mary called, and I spun back to face her. “Look, convince Lydia that it’s over and let us be there for her. Or actually act like her husband.”
I inhaled a long, slow breath. “I’ll talk with her soon.”
Mary nodded, and she and Frank turned and proceeded off into the night.
I walked up to the door, preparing myself to confront my ex. I grabbed the snow-dusted brass knocker in the shape of a fox head and knocked.
For several minutes I stood at the door, wondering if she’d answer.
Then a voice came from the other side. “Who is it?”
“Hi, Sephira. It’s me, Wickham. Mind opening up and letting me in so we can talk?”
The door swung open, and a huge grin spread across her face. “Wickham, you found me. Come in.”
It was as if I had paid her the biggest compliment possible. “Yes, I have some questions—”
She let out a light giggle and then pulled me inside. “It must have taken quite a lot of work to track me down, which means you must really have wanted to talk to me.” She drew off my coat without asking. “Does this mean we’re going to get back together? Because I would love that—”
Perhaps I wouldn’t require the truth serum.
“Sephira,” I said. “We aren’t getting back together. I have a few questions I need to ask you.”
She paused, her eyes narrowing. “That’s it? A few questions. You couldn’t have called?”
I didn’t tell her that the reason I hadn’t called was that I had erased and blocked her number from my phone. It was astonishing how fast Sephira changed from bright and welcoming to—something else.
I looked around her small home, which smelled of vanilla tea and firewood.
Mini arctic fox plushies lined the windowsills.
Tiny sculptures of foxes mid-leap sat on the fireplace mantel.
I knew she liked arctic foxes, but I didn’t realize how much.
Then again, this over-the-top obsessive nature was the exact reason I’d ended things with Sephira.
Above the fireplace hung a painting of a lone arctic fox under the northern lights, its fur catching every shade of ice and moonlight.
Beside the painting, a shrine stood for the Grey Doors.
She had pictures of her and the band and just the band, but mostly of me.
My heart sank. I appeared in each image nailed to the wall and each frame that sat on the small end table beneath it.
She’d even bought a replica of my bass guitar, and it rested next to an overly large picture of me.
I recalled how she became very attached to me after we started dating, to the point that she was always there with cupcakes or muffins or a cup of tea immediately after every concert, or band practice, or trip to the bathroom.
Then after we both got turned, it had gotten so much worse as she tried to cut me off from everything and everyone, including my band, saying we were “meant for each other and only each other.”
She reached into my coat pocket and drew out the arctic fox beanie. “Oh, you brought this back to me! Thank you!” She snuggled the beanie and rummaged in my coat again, pulling out the truth serum. “And what’s this? Hoping to pry some answers out of me against my will?”
I stiffened. Everything was going downhill fast. “Someone is trying to frame me for murder. They left a dead body on my doorstep, drained of blood.”
She moved close and ran her finger down my arm, the information not phasing her. “Then why weren’t you arrested?”
I stepped back. “I moved it.” I watched her reaction. Any hint that she knew what I meant. But she stared at me, giving nothing away.
“And you want to give me this… truth serum, to see if I was the one who orchestrated it all against you.” She pouted. “Wickham, you think I’d do something like that?”
I didn’t respond, and her jaw clenched.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’ll take the potion and answer your questions if you take the potion as well and answer mine.”
Her willingness to consume the potion made her involvement in the murder less probable.
But this was also Sephira. I’d never be certain until I asked.
Plus, she was my last suspect on my list. After her, I wasn’t certain who might have killed the fae man.
In addition, she lacked knowledge of the compelling agent that Lydia put in the potion that would cause her to speak. “Sure,” I said.
“Good thing I was already making tea.” She walked over to a teapot with little paw prints painted on the side that had started to whistle in a tiny yipping sound.
She lifted it and turned off the stove before she filled two cups of steaming tea into fox-shaped mugs.
I watched as she opened the serum Lydia had made and poured it into the two cups.
She took one and handed the other to me. “Drink up, Wickham.”
I took a sip and she did the same.
“So a silent protest,” she said. “How intriguing. And you assume it was someone who didn’t want you marrying your fae-witch. Someone angry at you for exposing our world, so they chose to expose you.”
“Was it you?”
“No.”
“If it wasn’t you, do you have an idea who it could be?”
Sephira lowered her teacup. “No. Honestly, I wish I had thought of it myself. It is daring, though I might have put more focus on setting up your little human-fae wife and getting her out of the way than exposing you.” Her eyes widened.
“Clever, Wickham. You put a compelling agent in this.” She emitted a small laugh as if this was delightful for her instead of a setback.
“I guess I’ll hold nothing back. Lydia’s family has had enough bad press recently that a slight nudge in that direction and everyone would believe she did it. Like mother, like daughter.”
I stepped toward her. “Lydia would never hurt anyone.”
“So protective. You must like her a lot. And tell me, what do you think of me?” She lifted the teacup to her lips for another drink.
I tried to suppress my answer, but the serum was already in my system. “You’re a sociopath who probably needs serious help.”
Sephira slammed the cup onto the counter and it shattered. I recoiled, setting down my cup and taking a step toward the door.
Her eyes were bright with anger. “And that is your problem, George Wickham, leaving a string of broken hearts in your wake. Are you sure none of those you have jilted in the past have something to do with this?” Her voice became high-pitched.
“I’m not certain of anything at this point. But out of everyone I dated before Lydia, only you knew I was a vampire.”
She rolled her eyes. “Because you’ve never done anything to give it away.”
She was right. Maybe I hadn’t been as careful as I thought. After all, I’d had only a couple of interactions with Mary Bennet before today, and somehow she knew what I was.
“You listen to me, George Wickham. Eventually, you will grow tired of protecting your little witchy fae from the vampire world. You’ll realize that the rules are there for us and that you have no choice but to live by them like the rest of us.
And when that time comes, you will come back to me. You and I are inevitable.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” I needed to leave. If Sephira hadn’t set me up, she most certainly was thinking about it now. Normally at this stage I’d turn on my charm, bring her down, and talk my way out of things, but with the potion in my system, that wasn’t possible at the moment.
Her fingers dug into the countertop, cracking the tile.
But then she straightened and let out another disconcerting laugh.
“We will see. As for this murder case, if you ask me, you’re barking up the wrong tree.
You immediately suspect a vampire, but what’s our motive?
Exposing one of us exposes all of us. Could there be other people from other species who might have a stake in exposing George Wickham as a vampire? ”
“The only non-vampires who know what I am are Lizzy Bennet, Mary Bennet, her werewolf friend, Lydia and…” I sucked in a breath, my thoughts returning to the fateful masquerade ball a couple years ago.
“And?”
“A young woman from a while back. I broke her heart, and her brother found out. But he wouldn’t dare.” Would he?
“Does he have a reason to want to drop a dead body on your doorstep?”
“Yes, and no.” Darcy and I had bad feelings between us, but why wait until now to act on it? In addition, Darcy didn’t seem the kind to commit such a deceitful act. “But the pricks on the dead fae’s throat. The body was drained of blood—I could tell.”
“And there are no other ways of draining a body of blood? Look, I’m not saying that a vampire didn’t do this, but maybe he was being paid to set you up for who knows what reason.
One thing I know for certain—no vampire in this community wants someone with that much knowledge about us to be discovered. ”
My brain spun. I headed for the door, nearly tripping over the life-sized fox statue that sat just off the kitchen. “I have to go.”
“Time is a river that flows endlessly, and we vampires outlast it all. I’ll be waiting, George Wickham. Farewell, for now.”
Could the killer be someone who wasn’t a vampire? Under other circumstances, I’d scoff at the level of conspiracy that would require, but these weren’t normal circumstances, and I had a rather rocky relationship with one of the few people who might pull off something of such breadth and scope.
But why? Why set me up when he could just expose me for what I was? Darcy was in such a position that he didn’t have to play games.
One thing was certain. When Darcy and I had lunch in two days, we’d have a lot to talk about.