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“But you don’t completely doubt my word,” Ben countered as he set a hand on the back of my chair. “Your hesitant reply tells me that much.”
Wexelman’s cheeks reddened and he narrowed his eyes at Ben. “I don’t care what the hell it tells you. The idea is just too stupid to even entertain.” He wagged his pointer finger at Ben. “Is this because of his music? Are those stupid women putting you up to this?”
Ben shook his head. “This is no joke, Wexelman. We’re quite serious about this accusation, and we’ve seen the proof with our own eyes.” I had to try not to flinch. Technically, we didn’t have any proof other than our own eyeballs.
Wexelman lifted an eyebrow. “What proof?”
“We’d rather discuss this matter with the Phantom first,” Ben insisted.
The manager shook his head. “No go, Ben. I want to know what you have against him.”
Ben lifted his chin slightly and the corners of his lips tightened. “Then call him in here and we will confront him with the evidence right here and now.”
Wexelman pursed his lips, but he snatched the rat off the desk. He whispered a few words to the rodent before he tossed it onto the floor. The creature scurried past us and disappeared under the door.
Meanwhile, Wexelman dropped into his seat and glared at us. “You know, you picked a hell of a day to come here to accuse him. First, the soldiers send away my best bodyguards, then they try to cancel the concerts altogether, not to mention the rehearsal.” He threw up his arms. “And all this over some stupid undead. As if that hasn’t happened before.”
I cocked my head to one side. “It’s happened before?”
Wexelman shrugged. “Sure. One of the cities a while back had trouble with that. Skotadi, I think it was. We were playing a show there and the whole thing got shut down for the same reason. Public health risk, they said. Wouldn’t want anyone to get bit during the concert just because it’d be hard to tell the difference between a fan and one of the undead.”
“Did they discover the culprit?” Ben asked our host.
Wexelman cast a sharp look at him. “No, but that doesn’t prove anything. That place has that weird academy, and someone from there could have done-”
The door opened and Phantom stepped inside. The nose on his face had shrunk to a more bulbous look, and a grin of black paint now covered his lips. He shut the door behind him and looked us over before his attention settled on his manager. “You wanted to see me?”
Wexelman leaned forward and draped his arms over the desk. He nodded at Ben and me. “These two want to talk to you about the trouble in the graveyards.”
The Phantom lifted an eyebrow. “Why me?”
Ben looked him up and down. “Where’s your tan cloak?”
I noticed the question made Wexelman lose a little color on his face, but the Phantom shook his head. “Why are you asking me that question?”
“Because we saw you wearing it last night in the Totten,” Ben informed him.
“And I saw you wearing it the first time Ben and I came here,” I spoke up. “It was the day before you were supposed to arrive, but you got here early, right?”
Wexelman balled his hands into fists on his desk and his worried eyes studied his client. “Looks like they know something, Phantom. You’d better ‘fess up.”
A bittersweet smile appeared on the musician’s lips. “I suppose I must reveal myself.” He grasped a ring on his finger and drew it off. As he did so, the mask fell away like the rippling effect of my ribbon. In a moment the plain young man I had run into in the hall stood before us, though he still had his shocking white hair. He crossed one arm over his chest and bowed at the waist to us. When he spoke there was no longer the echoing voice in our heads, but a normal almost tenor voice. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He straightened and smiled at us. “I am the Honorable Elias Hearth, formerly of the city of Skotadi.”
Wexelman shot to his feet and his mouth hung open. “Then it is you! You’re the one raising the dead! Here and in Skotadi!”
Hearth’s good humor dropped off his face and he shook his head. “No, old friend. I’m being framed.”
Ben lifted an eyebrow. “By whom?”
“My father.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX
I blinked at him.“Your dad? Why would he want to frame you for raising the dead?”
“And more importantly, how does he do it?” Ben questioned him.
Hearth sighed. “I have an answer for the first, but not the second. My father is Baron Josiah Hearth, a man of great lineage but horrible morals. He wants to frame me for raising the dead because he disapproves of the way I use my family’s magic.”
