Page 14 of The Thief's Mark

He rapped lightly on the door. “Hello? Is anyone there?” When no answer came, he knocked again, harder this time. “My name is Griff Denton. I’m an inspector with the Derimay Watch. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Still no answer. Did that mean no one was home? Or were they even now making their escape out a window?

Before he could decide whether or not breaking down the door was worth the potential paperwork, it opened of its own accord, revealing an older woman dressed in a clean but weathereddress. She peered out at him, squinting as if struggling to make him out.

“Well now, what’s this racket all about? An inspector, you say? It was that creep Larf from 7b, wasn’t it? He always struck me as the type to get into trouble.”

Griff didn’t reply. He couldn’t, so stricken was he by the woman’s aura. It was unlike any he’d ever seen before. Despite their shabby surroundings, it burned so brightly that it was hard to look at. Its mix of colors bled and swirled together in a constant flux he couldn’t help finding beautiful despite its tattered edges and darker streaks. A thin black ring surrounded the rest which he wasn’t entirely certain what to make of. Such flaws only seemed to enhance its ethereal beauty.

Merciful Light, whoisthis woman?

The woman frowned at him. “Are you all right, Inspector? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Blinking, Griff shook his head to clear it. The urge to shield his eyes from the stunning sight was strong, but he resisted the impulse to grab his aura blockers. He had to remain watchful for any potential clues. This was still the site of an active investigation. While the woman’s resplendent aura made it difficult for him to concentrate on anything else, he sensed the thread of that darker aura continue past her into the room.

Could this elderly woman really be involved somehow?

He finally found his voice. “Apologies for disturbing you, madam,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss details of my current investigation, but I have reason to believe a suspect I’m searching for may be in this building. Is there anyone else here with you?”

He tried to look past her into the apartment, but all he caught were glimpses of an empty sitting room and a tiny kitchen that was little more than a stove and wash basin.

“If there is, it’d be news to me,” the woman said with a gap-toothed grin. “Sorry to disappoint you, Inspector, but I’m afraid it’s just little old me here ever since Albert passed last winter.”

He ducked his head. “Sorry to hear about your loss.”

She waved a hand. “Eh. We knew it was coming. Old codger never did learn how to take care of himself.”

Still feeling thrown off-balance, Griff awkwardly nodded. “Would you mind answering a few questions? They might help in my investigation.”

The woman stepped back from the doorway with a bony shrug. “Why not? Don’t know how much help I’ll be, mind you, but it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. Come in and take a seat. I’ll fetch some tea and biscuits.”

“Oh, that’s not really…” His protest trailed off, the woman already bustling over to her tiny kitchen.

He stared after her alluring aura a moment longer before he finally managed to jerk his gaze away. Stepping inside, he scanned the room.

It looked like any other run-down apartment in the city he’d seen: a step up from true squalor, but a far cry from the pristine villas one found closer to Derimay’s center. Yet despite its apparent normalcy, that awful aura hung over the place like a pervasive rot.

He wrinkled his nose as he took a seat on an ancient couch, certain he could smell it like a foul stench permeating the air. It clung to everything inside, even the woman slowly preparing her pot of tea.

He eyed her while she worked. It seemed unlikely Blackjack or any other Brotherhood associates could’ve been here without her knowledge. Yet at the same time, he found it hard to believe she was involved. After all, how could someone with an aura that resplendent be up to no good?

“Here we go,” the woman said, returning with a tray containing the steaming teapot, a pair of cups, and a plate of obviously stale biscuits. Her hands, he noted, were surprisingly steady as she set down the heavy tray.

She sat down across from him in a patchwork chair leaking stuffing. “So,” she said, pouring herself a cup of tea. “Lay it on me, Inspector.”

He nodded. Reaching into his coat, he took out a small notepad and a Vantoric pen with a nearly unlimited supply of ink. He flipped to a blank page. “Let’s start by getting your name, please.”

“Of course. You can call me Cassandra.”

He dutifully copied down the name. “You said you live here alone. How do you usually spend your days?”

“Reminiscing about the good old days when I had more to do than sit and reminisce about the good old days.” She gave him another of those toothy grins and took a sip of tea. “My knees don’t much like the stairs these days, and it’s not as if I’ve anywhere to be. I head to the market every Sunday, and sometimes I take a walk along the water to stretch my legs. But most days I’m right here.”

“And yesterday? Did you leave at all, day or at night?”

Cassandra shook her head.

He scribbled some more notes, logging her response. “So, you were right here in this room all night?”