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“I’m sorry?”
“While I try not to judge people for how they choose to live their lives, it is confounding that these were your first trips to Fairy.” She waved a hand at the safe room. “Granted, I do not call this Fairy. This is a safehouse within Fairy, tethered to CEB headquarters Earthside. Which means that you have not, in fact, ever stepped foot in true Fairy.”
Heat crept up my neck. “I was told…”
I broke off. It seemed unwise to repeat all the things Bess and Martin had said about Fairy to a creature who spent ninety percent of her life there. And I had promised Derrick to review the reports and keep an open mind.
The thought brought back the heat of his kiss and I fought hard not to blush. It seemed so long ago now, and I wondered if he had managed to find his mother. I wanted to believe he had. I wanted them both safe, and to believe he was on his way back with news.
“It doesn’t matter what I was told,” I said. “The opportunity never arose.”
Eucilla’s slanting eyebrow lifted. “I am aware of what you were told, Miss Grayson. For better or worse, Constable King’s reports are always accurate and detailed. And opportunities did not arise for you because the two criminals who raised you would not permit it.”
I stiffened, feeling not a little betrayed. Just how detailed was she talking here? “Bess and Martin are not criminals.”
And then I frowned because I recognized full on denial when I heard it. Or, in this case, when I spoke it. Still, I didn’t like the callous way she threw the term out. I owed Bess and Martin more than that.
“Your loyalties remain unshaken, I see,” Eucilla said and began neatening the piles of paperwork on the table. She drew out one folder from beneath the pile and set it prominently on the table before her. “Martin and Bess Birchwood – yes, they adopted your name to hide from us - have a long and tangled history with the CEB. Their crimes range from theft to enchanting humans, and even suspected murder. But they did raise you, so I imagine there is an element of gentleness to them, and I will not attempt to convince you myself. You may read what they have been convicted of in the past while I am gone.”
I stared at the folder, not at all liking the implications. Still, what purpose would it serve for this woman to lie to me? We were strangers. She had no stake in my life beyond the oaths of the CEB to protect all Bright creatures. Uncle Martin would insist that the CEB as a whole lied every day, intent on cowing the populace into order. But his words felt shallow somehow, a superficial argument fueled by selfish motivations.
Suspicion gnawed at me, and it was several seconds before I realized Eucilla was heading for the portal. “You’re leaving me here alone?”
“Yes,” the dracken said. “You are as much a part of this Leslie mess as the rest of us now, and you may be able to make something of the evidence we’ve collected. If, of course, you choose to look at the paperwork after you’ve updated yourself on your caretakers.”
I glanced back at the table and chose not to respond to the way she said caretakers. “I’ll be safe here?”
“It is a safehouse, Miss Grayson. I rather thought that was implied in the title.”
“Titles can be misleading.”
This time I spotted a flicker of humor on Eucilla’s face. “That they can. But if it is any comfort, you are safer here than at the manor where we are still sussing out who is a warlock trafficker and who isn’t.”
When put that way, it was hard to argue. Still, I didn’t like being left behind. “How do I contact you if I need to?”
Eucilla turned back to the portal. “I will send someone to fetch you when it is safe.”
The water in the portal rippled and glimmered as she stepped through, leaving me to the quiet of the safehouse and the pile on the table. I scowled after her. She’d been so direct, so matter of fact, that it was hard to dismiss her accusations. And really, hadn’t I already known there was something shady about Uncle Martin and his pawn shop? Still, I wasn’t certain I wanted to see what was in that folder.
Cradling my wounded hand, I made my way to the table. Nothing made sense anymore. I wasn’t certain much had made sense since the moment I spied Derrick lounging on my step. Martin and Bess agreed the CEB abused their authority, lording it over the Bright of Earthside for their own gain, and while I had been swept from my home thanks to their investigation into the Leslies, it had never been Derrick or Cade’s intent for me to be here. They wanted me safe, had fought to keep me that way, and these were not the actions of a tyrannical group hellbent on ruling the world.
I touched the folder. It was red, with black numbers running across the front; 76453.
With a deep breath, I sat at the table and opened the folder. Inside were yellowed pages printed in familiar typewriter font, and detailed sketches of both Martin and Bess. Photographs must not translate to Fairy, I thought, tracing Bess’s familiar, round face with a finger. There was something odd about the sketch, something around the eyes that lacked Bess’s humor, and the smirk she portrayed did not have the kindness I always thought was there. Her hair was longer too, and she was lighter, younger.
Beside her sketch was a date that took me by surprise: Birth 1187, Norwich, England.
Warlocks could live long lives, but not quite that long. Not seven hundred plus years.
Further down the page, her species was marked with a V-Cadaver Sanguins.
I stared at the page. Bess was a vampire? A corpse-eating vampire?
But that couldn’t be. I’d known her my whole life. I’d seen her eat roast beef on Sundays and grilled potatoes and leeks. She made me cookies when I had a bad day. When I was young and full of questions, she told me she was a warlock.
“Same as you,” she’d said, and gone back to basting the turkey.
But I had never seen her use magic. She never manipulated runes, even while I was practicing from schoolbooks and father’s library. The protection runes warding the house had been put there by my parents when they moved in and never needed fixing until I’d grown and started bringing clients to the house. And then, of course, I had done all the work rebuilding or amplifying or tweaking the old runes, creating our little haven in the middle of Boston.
