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In what felt like only yesterday, Ernesto was standing in the same spot Belle was in now, waiting for her to arrive by train. Now their roles were reversed. She rubbed her hands in excitement together. Finally, something good was happening after the last three days of disappointment.
The morning after her stay at the castle, Liam was nowhere to be found, and she and Cindy had taken themselves to school, which had been fine with them, but she couldn’t understand the cold shoulder Liam had started giving her afterwards. In literature class, he’d ignored her. And when she’d wanted to talk to him about the shocking news of Nieves being hospitalized in a coma, he’d glared at her and told her to go talk to her “other boyfriend” about it.
“What other boyfriend?” she’d countered.
“Jared. After the Halloween dance.” When her mouth fell open in surprise and she couldn’t deny it, he’d stalked off.
She had a mind to forget the deal with big-mouth Jared, but she needed to win that crown. And yes, she was feeling rather icky about her scheming ways. She was using people to get her way. But...it was the lesser evil. It was either that, or allow an unsuspecting, powerless girl to become ensnared in Violet’s clutches.
So, she made up her mind to apologize to Liam and Jared later. After she got that crown.
Ugh, again, that ickiness.
A sleek black train slowed to a stop at the platform as an electronic voice boomed its arrival. A flurry of people departed down its steps, unlike the last time, when she’d been the sole passenger.
Ernesto emerged, and Belle practically fell into his arms.
“Well, this is a greeting,” he chuckled.
She squeezed him and buried her face in his starchy coat. She breathed in that Ernesto-scent, a mix of strong coffee and busy day.
She pulled back, surprised to feel her eyes wet with warmth. “It’s just so good to have you back.”
He gave her a crinkly smile and patted her head. “Then, let’s go home. There’s much to debrief.”
“You mean talk about.” Once a cop, always a cop.
“Same thing.” He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze as they walked off the platform together towards the covered parking lot, where his car had sat the whole time he was away.
“Our talk has to wait until after lunch. Sergio and Trina are meeting us at the house soon. I invited them over for a three-course meal that I am personally preparing.”
He grunted in disapproval.
“Hey, it’s the least I could do for the way they looked after me.”
“Fine. Any chance you learned to prepare Jo’s gumbo?”
~*~
AFTER THE LAST OF THE dishes had been stowed into the dishwasher and the table cleared away, Belle and Ernesto sat down to the kitchen table for “the talk.”
Sergio and Trina had left half-an-hour ago, the lunch being a disaster, but the conversation and camaraderie more than making up for it. Apparently, Belle had mistakenly used sugar instead of salt—the dispensers being the same—and the result was a cake-tasting meatloaf.
Ernesto pulled a file from his briefcase and laid it open on the table. He pointed at the mug shot of a scowling woman with disheveled curly brown hair wrapped up in a scarf. The tell-tale mole on the long, pointy nose gave it away for Belle.
“That’s Hagar!”
He nodded, handing her the photo so she could look more closely at it.
“I saw her when I dreamt as the beast in the Amsterdam hotel. Do you know what potions she gave Violet?”
He shook his head and pressed his lips into a grim line. “A friend’s working on that right now.”
Eddie. Three days now since she last spoke with him through that bizarre connection they’d shared in the West Wing. Admittedly, she’d tried every night since then to contact him. She slept without the rosary on now, hoping to leave herself reachable to him. But nothing. She’d tried talking to him in her mind, calling for him, even hurling insults at him, and then, just once, describing what she was wearing that night. Not even a mind-whisper of a response in return.
She hated to admit it, but she missed her stalker/friend.
Ernesto slid Hagar’s mug shot to the side, revealing another photo. It looked like a small hotel bedroom that had been raided, all marked up like a crime scene. He pointed at the distinct scarf laying on the floor and the drops of blood beside it. “When we looked for Hagar again for further questioning, she was nowhere to be found. We figured she was just laying low, trying to evade arrest again, but then the hotel called this in.”
“What happened?”
“This is the scene of a struggle, and then a disappearance. We believe Hagar was taken against her will.”
“You think Violet had something to do with it?”
“More than likely, but the forensic evidence points to a man being involved here.”
Could Eddie have finally caught up to Hagar like he’d threatened? Dragged her off to interrogate her? She bit her lip, feeling disturbed. Even if Hagar was a witch of sorts, she couldn’t imagine Eddie being physically violent with her...or killing her.
“W-When was she taken?”
“Just yesterday.”
Her heart sunk.
“The team I left behind is looking into it.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I have to turn my attention to here.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
He nodded heavily. “I-I need just one day of rest, though, and then I’m heading back into the station and taking the reins again.” As if on cue, his cell phone trilled. He looked at the caller ID and silenced it.
“Do you know yet what happened to Nieves? Everyone at school was talking about it today; they said her parents couldn’t wake her up this morning. She’s in a coma in the hospital right now.”
“Not enough yet, but....” He stayed looking at her, brows furrowed, suddenly deep in thought.
“What is it?”
He nodded once to himself, as if reaching a conclusion. He started rifling through his briefcase. “I wasn’t going to show you this because I know I’ve told you not to worry about such matters and to focus on being a teen. But...” he lifted two 8 x 10 photos out and spread them on the table before her, “we’re a team. So it’s best we share everything we know with each other about anything concerning Violet.”
“Yes,” she whispered in agreement, her eyes widening at the images. One showed a room that looked like it had been ransacked with clothing strewn everywhere, a chair overturned before a large sewing machine, and—
She gasped, a hand over her mouth.
Ernesto cleared his throat. “Those are mannequin parts.”
“Oh, thank God,” she breathed out with relief. There were limbs everywhere, and clothed torsos and decapitated heads with great hair. Mannequins. Now that she knew she was just looking at a messy tailor shop, the next picture became the most disturbing. It was the side of someone’s leg, an exposed thigh, with three bloody lines scraped through like claw marks.
“This was the main injury found on Vasilisa Shveya.”
Her skin pimpled over like frost. “She was attacked?”
He nodded solemnly. “When she didn’t come home after work, her parents’ personal security guards found her unconscious in that room in the back of her store, The Briar Rose. All security footage wiped. She was sewing some clothing, when she was surprised upon, and an altercation took place. She fought back, and she fought hard. No other human DNA underneath her fingernails, so she was mostly hurling objects at the assailant, which explains the mess in the room. Other than some minor bumps and bruises, the only injury were the lacerations on her thigh and a pinpoint on her index finger. There was a spot of her blood on the sewing needle; she must have stuck herself by accident.”
Belle was in shock. “Poor Lisa.” Actual genuine sympathy sprung up in her for her schoolyard nemesis. “And the police can’t tell what caused those cuts on her leg?”
“They’re consistent with animal claw marks.”
“The beast....”
“I think so. Only a few of us have been privy to the information that allows those dots to be connected. Mayor Markham is one of them, but he’s adamant about no one finding out. He’s afraid of negative press during one of Elmridge’s most marketable media events.” Ernesto reached across the table and covered her clammy hand with his warm one. “Speaking of Homecoming, I think it best you lay low. With Nieves in a coma now too...it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“You think the Homecoming princesses are being targeted? Was Nieves attacked, too?”
“No.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest in thought. “At least, not from what we can ascertain. She just hasn’t woken up from last night’s sleep. There’s no sign of injury. The only connections to Vasilisa are that they’re both in the same coma and both on the Homecoming court, and they both have the same circle of friends.”
She couldn’t stop thinking of Liam as the main suspect.
“When was Lisa attacked?”
“Five days ago.”
She swallowed. Liam showed up five days ago. But Liam was with her just last night, and there seemed to be no evidence of foul play in Nieves’s case. Yet.
She knew she really should bring up Liam’s name now, but she found that she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to instigate the Elmridge police force into breathing down his neck again. Not after all Liam suffered in losing his parents and then being falsely accused of their murder. She couldn’t do that to him. Not yet.
“What are we going to do?” she asked instead.
He extricated his hand from hers. She didn’t realize she’d been gripping them so tightly. “I am going to amp up the wildlife taskforce that’s been searching for this creature, as well as interview the Blanco family, and deal with the dozen other cases I know are waiting for me at my desk.” He got up as if that were the end of the conversation.
“It’s a werewolf.”
He paused, pinning her with a look. “A what?”
“Werewolf.”
“How do you know this?”
Eddie told her. “I dreamt it,” she half-lied instead. She didn’t want to tell him about Eddie. It would just raise more questions and unnecessary worries. “When I saw through the beast in the dream, I figured out later from what Violet and Hagar were saying that the beast was capable of turning back into a man.”
“Ave Maria.” Ernesto sat back down again with an uncharacteristic plop, his face blanched. “And did you see what this man looks like?” His voice had raised to a high pitch.
She bit her lip and looked down, shaking her head. “But the man has to be tall, strong, and have blonde hair, since the beast’s fur is all blonde.”
“And Liam Rawlins did not cross your mind as this werewolf?”
“Whoa. Why do you jump so quickly to that conclusion?” She was trying to spare Liam the witch hunt, but Ernesto was already jumping on that bandwagon.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Liam fits the physical profile you just mentioned, he was in Europe around the same time Violet was, and she does have motive for using him to get back at us.”
It was hard to swallow around the lump in her throat. Liam really was the prime suspect, and it was all Violet’s fault. The witch was hurting him all over again.
“We have to do something, but I don’t want to put Liam through that ringer again with the police. He’s been through so much. If Violet is using him, then I don’t think he’s even aware of it. Can we look into this—just you and me—and not get the police involved with him?”
“I will personally look into him. If Liam really is this werewolf,” he paused and shook his head, stark disbelief at this latest development, “then I don’t want you alone with him. Agreed?”
“Agreed, but I’m helping.”
Ernesto sighed heavily. “Of course.” He lifted from the table.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Honestly? Order silver bullets.”
“What?! You might be shooting Liam! I mean, it’s still a man in there.”
“Fine. Silver tranquilizer darts.”
“O-Okay. That silver ammunition trick might just be a myth, though.” She bet Dr. Helsing would know for sure, but he was still absent from work. Eddie’s concern over his uncle’s absence prompted her to ask, “Hey, do you know if there’s anything going on with Dr. Helsing?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been out this whole week.”
“Maybe he’s ill.”
She nodded, uncertain. She made up her mind to ask someone in the school’s office on Monday.
“I’m going to lie down for a little bit. I’ll order us some dinner later.”
She smiled innocently. “But we still have some meatloaf left over.”
He visibly cringed, and she giggled. “Eh, I’ll bring it to the station tomorrow,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.” He paused, something catching his eye on the floor. He peered more closely and moved along as if following a trail. He straightened and pointed. “Why is there black dog hair all over the floor?”
“Cat hair. Her name’s Lady Catherine Debourgh. ‘Lady’ for short.”
“And just when did we get a cat?”
“Um, when it zoomed in through the front door about a week ago and decided to move in with us. She’s pretty independent. I just leave a bowl of water out front. I tried giving her cat food, but she wouldn’t touch it. She likes meat. I’ll leave some of the meatloaf for her.” Belle got up and started calling for the cat. “Lady! Lady!”
Ernesto recovered from his shock. “You are completely in charge of this animal. What about a litter box? How do you know it hasn’t been going all over the furniture?”
“I think she’s been going outside. Like I said, Lady’s very independent.” Belle pouted, giving up on waiting for the cat to show. “She never comes when I call her.”
“Get a litter box,” he grunted, and then disappeared into his bedroom.
Belle saluted his closed door. “Yessir.”
“Oh, it almost slipped my mind,” he called through the door, the sound of drawers opening and closing. “There’s a book, a novel, in the large front pocket of my briefcase, if you want it. Someone left it behind on the train. No one claimed it, and I figured you’d appreciate it.”
Before he even finished speaking, she was already at the kitchen table, sliding the glossy-covered book out of the pocket of the briefcase.
It was Eddie’s book! Hunger Games! She flipped through the pages, and her heart somersaulted at the scribbles and doodles meant just for her.
Wasn’t Dr. Helsing supposed to give it to her? How did it end up abandoned on the train? Did he take the train out of here and then just carelessly leave it behind on the seat? And for the book to find its way back into her hands...it was preternatural. Possibly the work of the Fae?
In any case, she had it now. Like unwrapping a long-awaited birthday present, she lifted the cover and was immediately glad her uncle had not apparently opened the book because there were life-like pictures of Belle’s face everywhere. Every emotion she exhibited on her face seemed to have been penned in photographic detail.
She continued flipping through, entranced by the incredibly realistic drawings. Her expressions at first were all sad—her lips arcing downward, and her eyes glassy and blank. Then, there were plenty of her smiling, and then an incredibly detailed one of her laughing, with shading and the illusion of light in her eyes, and every curl on her head expertly captured. The last ones were of her angry, annoyed, and then a few that made her flush: she had that come-hither look in her eyes, and it seemed then that even more careful attention was paid to her lips in making them look real enough to kiss.
She figured she should be alarmed by how obsessively he’d need to watch her to capture this level of detail, like he’d memorized her every pore, every twitch. But the last illustration stole her very breath...it was a full-figured one of her the day Vigo took her photograph on Maple Tree Trail. She bet Eddie’s graphite portrait could rival the color photo itself, but Eddie must have exaggerated the roundness of her curves because there was no way she looked like that. She blushed. It was way too flattering.
She snapped the book shut. The man was clearly obsessed with her. This was evidence of his activation toward her. That was all. And of that Jäger juju that neither of them could deny—something he said he would ask the Jäger Father about.
She sighed deeply and opened the book again, this time focusing on his scribbles. The handwriting struck her right away as oddly familiar.
“Like Katniss here in the District 12 woods, I was in the forest when the Jäger found me.”
Whoa. He’d confessed right away to being a Jäger.
“I was out chopping wood in Wychblack. We’d just lost my cousin, Will, and so the mantle had fallen to me now to keep the castle running. With Uncle Jonas having squandered the entire estate with his failed speculations before his death, it was all hands on deck with this Rawlins family, of which I was now the head.
“(So now you know, siren.)”
Her blood ran cold at the revelation. No way. It couldn’t be.
She rushed to her room with the book and laid it side by side with the old Rawlins journal. Her hand flew to her mouth. The handwriting—the high crossing of the t’s, the exaggerated loops of the tails of some of the lowercase letters—like a mix of cursive and print, a fusion of ancient, elegant script with modern, minimalist print...the kind of handwriting a man who’s lived for three-hundred years might develop.
In shock, she lifted her head and blurted out to the room, “Edward Helsing is Edward Rawlins.”
She collapsed into her desk chair. The handsome guy lounging on the couch in that Rawlins family portrait, with the little girl on his chest...that, that was Eddie. Eddie was a Rawlins. He was related to Liam. The same jaw, same lips.... He was Liam’s great-great-great-something, and William’s direct cousin.
Great Scott...Eddie had personally known her mom and aunt before they’d transformed! How could he have kept something like this from her? She should be furious, but her curiosity was stronger. She wanted every detail. What was her mother like as a teenager? Did she also like to read? How did she and William fall in love? And Emily, did she live in her sister’s shadow, or was she her own force to be reckoned with in the family?
She practically ripped Eddie’s rosary off over her head and tossed it onto her night table. She needed to speak with him, now. Squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her fists, she focused on his face. Like the catalogue of expressions he’d drawn of her, she went through her own she’d memorized of him. Suspicious, angry, amused, enthralled...she held on to that last look, the one he’d captivated her with when they last spoke face-to-face using the stones.
Eddie! she called out silently.
No response.
She tried again and again. Over and over.
Still no response.
Tears burned in her eyes. She hated not being able to reach him. Edward Helsing, Rawlins, or Nobody, whatever it was. Next time she saw him, she was going to demand her own set of calling stones.
Her inner life-coach voice whispered right then, It’s not like he’s your boyfriend and has to answer to you.
She snapped back, “No, but he is my partner in crime now.”
A rap on the door, followed by Ernesto’s loud question, made her shriek.
“Everything alright?” he called through the door. “You said something about crime?”
Clutching her jackhammering heart, she answered, “Yes. I-I’m talking about a friend.”
“In crime?”
“No, I mean, he’s helping me solve a problem. For school. It was just a figure of speech.”
A pause. “Goodnight, Belle.”
“‘Night, Uncle.”
Taking a deep breath, she whispered aloud, “One more time.” She focused on repeating what Eddie had showed her in the West Wing about reaching him. She tried to just focus on seeing a rope tied around his waist.
Maybe if she used his real name.... “Edward Rawlins,” she whispered. “Edward Rawlins.”
After a moment, her mind cleared into a smoky blackness, and she saw the edge of a brown braided rope appear. Jubilation flooded her. She picked up the end of the rope and gave it a tug. Something solid was at the end of it, but she couldn’t see it. The darkness was thick and obscured the other end. She followed the rope, one hand over the other, the anticipation of seeing Eddie mounting with each step forward.
She collided with a solid wall. She tugged at the rope, but it disappeared into this wall obscured by the smoky darkness. Shivering at the icy coldness of the air, she slid her hands over the wall, its surface perfectly smooth and cool to the touch.
She banged the side of her fist on it. Eddie! She banged twice more. Harder.
An invisible force expulsed her whole body backward. She flew back like a rag doll, until another black void swallowed her whole.