Tempest called her grandfather, who assured her that he and Morag were safe and sound in their tree house, as was her father in the main house. Morag had gotten back from her dinner out, and she and Ash had locked up the tree house and were enjoying mugs of warm turmeric milk before bed.
“Of course the doors are locked,” Ash said. Tempest imagined him frowning and rocking back and forth on his heels as he spoke to her. “Why are you asking?”
“Brodie has been acting strangely. I just want to make sure everyone is safe.”
“Brodie?” Ash clicked his tongue. “He’s been misunderstood the entire time I’ve known him. He was typecast because of his features. You know better than to judge someone based on their physical appearance.”
“But you don’t know him well.”
“I suppose not.” Ash paused. “But he’s not related to … what you asked about earlier this evening.” He must have been with Grannie Mor, and he didn’t want to upset her.
“I’m not sure of anything,” Tempest admitted.
“You’re still at Ivy’s?”
“I’ll be home soon.”
“Good. Your father is waiting up for you.”
Tempest sighed. Of course he was. He was normally an early-to-bed kind of guy, with the hours he kept for Secret Staircase Construction, but anything involving his family took precedence over sleep.
“Even if you’re right,” Ash continued, “you don’t need to worry. I’ve been here all day, and Brodie hasn’t come back to Fiddler’s Folly yet.”
“He has the code to get through the security gate, so you might have missed him.”
“You know the system alerts us when anyone comes or goes.”
She did know. It wasn’t something she liked, but she appreciated it based on everything that had happened that year.
“I had dinner with Nicodemus,” Ash continued, “and Brodie wasn’t back when I helped Nicodemus back to his guest room with a basket of midnight snacks.”
She called her dad as soon as she hung up with her grandfather. She didn’t ask if he’d locked up because that would only worry him. She was sure he would have, plus she’d bet on her dad winning a fight with anyone who wasn’t a superhero. But she wanted to hear his voice and let him know she’d be back soon.
Nicodemus’s light was on when Tempest got back from Ivy’s house, so she rang the buzzer to the secret entrance that led to the guest wing. She could have just pulled on the arrow held by the cupid statue that activated the secret staircase, but she liked to give guests their privacy.
The secret stairs opened up three seconds later. Nicodemus was grinning when she reached the top of the stairs. “Between that nap and jet lag, I couldn’t sleep. Not to steal your grandfather’s line, but have you eaten?”
“Extremely well.” Tempest patted her stomach and avoided his gaze. Dahlia couldn’t be right about Nicodemus.
“Your grandfather sent me back from dinner at the tree house with a midnight-snack basket.”
“What did he give you?”
“Enough to feed an entire theatrical troupe.”
“How’s the hand?”
“In a strange way, the pain reminds me of when I was young, when I took terrible risks on stage and got injured all the time. But I never risked the safety of anyone else besides myself.”
Tempest pointed at the poster of Nicodemus and the Cat of Nine Lives on the wall. “I remember it took me years before I earned your trust and you’d tell me how you accomplished your illusions bringing Cat back to life.”
“You weren’t a particularly trustworthy teenager.”
Tempest winced. “Is anyone trustworthy at that age?”
“Your grandfather was entrusted with a lot of Raj family illusion secrets even before he was a teenager.”
“Not all of them. Plus that was a different time.”
“Ha! Every generation thinks they’re unique and that life was so different before them. I refuse to be provoked into generational warfare. Why don’t you tell me what you think of my latest pop-up. And are you sure I can’t tempt you with some idli? There’s a bit of everything left, except for his guacamole. I finished that jar. I think he has a secret ingredient.”
“Maybe you’ll earn his trust one day.”
He chuckled and tossed her a folded card with his good hand. This one wasn’t made only of paper, but also string. The cuts of the black paper weren’t especially crisp, as if he’d been in a hurry, but it was still easy to recognize the shape of Brodie’s tall figure and the puppet strings that pulled the figure left and right.
“Where’s Brodie?” Tempest shut the card.
Nicodemus pressed his lips together. “Haven’t seen him since this morning. He’s cross with me.”
“Why?”
Nicodemus took the card back and opened it up. He tugged on the string. Unlike when Tempest had pulled it, this time the string twisted the figure around, revealing not a black shadow nearly hidden by the black stage but a light gray figure that shone brightly compared to the darker paper. “He always said he was happiest being in the shadows, but I don’t think he’s pleased that in all the support pouring in from my fans, nobody is mentioning his contribution. A few people have mentioned the puppet, but they don’t know his name.”
Tempest’s phone rang before she could decide whether to tell him her suspicions about Brodie.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” former detective Blackburn said, “but it’s important.”
“I’m not asleep. What’s so important—Oh! They found Paloma?”
“They found Paloma?” Nicodemus whispered.
“Where are you?” Blackburn’s voice hardened.
“At home, why?”
“I heard another voice.”
“I’m having a drink with Nicodemus.”
“Your phone isn’t on speaker, is it?”
“No, why?” She scowled at the phone, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Stop being so cryptic.”
“I need you to meet me at the police station.”
“The police station? Is Paloma there? Is that why—”
“Tempest. This is a situation where I need you to trust me. Have you had too much to drink to drive?”
She looked at her barely touched glass. “No.”
“Good. Stay on the phone with me, and come to the police station. Don’t wake your dad or your grandparents. Don’t bring your guests. Come alone.”
“But—”
“Tempest. Please.”
She wasn’t afraid of Blackburn, but he was definitely freaking her out right now.
“I have to head to the police station,” she said to Nicodemus.
“What’s happened? Let me find my shoes—”
“No.” She put her hand on his. “I’m fine. I don’t know what’s going on yet. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course. I’ll be perfectly safe at the police station.” Tempest gave him her best stage smile. One she was so good at, she almost believed it herself.
“Tempest,” Blackburn said softly into the phone. “Pull your car out of the gate and go the direction you’d head if you were going to the police station—then take the back way to the hill. You’re meeting me at the Whispering Creek Theater.”