Gil planted his hands on the counter, shaking his head. “This is awful. That
makes seven.”
Our eyes locked. “And that makes seven.”
Believe what you will about the occult, but there are good reasons for certain beliefs to persist. In many traditions, seven is a magical number, but not necessarily in a positive sense. There were seven days of the week, seven colors of the rainbow – but there were also seven deadly sin, and the seven demons who governed them. I glanced around warily at the dusty antiques and curios. The demon princes weren’t involved in this, were they?
Whatever else we didn’t know about the blood moon, this was reason enough to step up the investigation. We couldn’t let another night pass. My hand lingered above my jeans pocket, where my phone waited. I could hardly wait to call Bastion. He wasn’t going to cough up the Lorica’s intel easily, that was clear. But I was more open to the idea of punching arrogant sorcerers in the face than I was to hypnotizing innocent normals.
Olivia pulled herself out of Asher’s arms, patting him on the shoulder in thanks.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said. She nodded.
“We’d closed up the fruit stand for the evening. Timothy was helping me bring the crates into the back, like he always would. He offered to walk me home, but I had to stay at the shop late tonight. Sorting inventory, whatever’s left of it here, scouring receipts, all these things I always do to keep the business afloat.” She rubbed under her eye, sniffed, then glanced around. “God, I hate this place. Maybe if we’d gone together, it wouldn’t have happened.”
Gil clasped his hands together, his expression softer. “What did happen? To Timothy, I mean?”
Olivia took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “The police said that someone heard screaming, out on the edge of town, not really far from where Timothy would usually walk on his way home. Whoever found him was either stupid or brave enough to run into the woods and try to help. But by the time they found him, it was too late.”
We waited in silence, already knowing the condition of poor Timothy’s body. Olivia inhaled, exhaled, then waved her open hand across her face.
“Something ate Timothy’s face.” Tears welled up, then rolled in beads down her cheeks. “An animal, a wolf? Something. The same as all the others. But no wolf would come so close to town. Someone would have heard snarling, or howling. Wouldn’t they? Anything. Any sign of an animal biting his – his face.”
“We’re very sorry to hear this,” Asher said. “We know he was a good friend to you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I was as good a friend back. He always did hope that I would give him more than a passing glance, you know? He was always so kind. I wonder how differently things would have gone if I’d just agreed, maybe to one dinner, one date. This is crazy. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about such things.”
“It’s fine,” Asher said, patting the back of her hand. “We’re at least glad that you’re safe. But Olivia, you need to help us. Be honest, and help bring Timothy’s killer to justice.”
She sniffed, wiping a tear away from the corner of her eye. “How can I help?”
I bit the tip of my tongue, then remembered that this was no time to hesitate. “When we asked you about the blood moon, you didn’t want to discuss it. We have reason to believe that some very bad people are taking local superstitions a hair too far. If you know anything at all – anything – you have to help us. You have to help us. For Timothy’s sake.”
“But what could you even do? You’re not the authorities. Who are you, really?”
I looked at the others, phrasing our role in all this the only way I could. “We’re people who can help, Olivia. Trust us on that.”
Her eyes glazed over as she stared into the middle distance, the gears in her head turning. “I can’t tell you anything that I haven’t already told the police. All those stories are just stories. Nothing like this has ever happened in Silveropolis, you understand? And then in the span of weeks, seven people murdered, just like that? I’m horrified. I’m terrified.”
Asher looked at us, then shrugged. “It’s like I told you guys. I’ve done the research, and there’s nothing. If you’re talking local stories, there’s a little mention of the witch of the woods. But that’s it.”
She pulled up a stool from behind the counter, sitting down on it, huffing as she did. “I don’t even know what to think anymore. Nothing makes sense.” She eyed the ground and chuckled bitterly. “Even the witch of the woods is just make believe, the stuff of children’s fancy.”
I looked at Gil, then at Asher warily. The woman in the hut? Was she the key to all this?
My phone rang. I jumped, surprised by the break in silence. The ring tone was loud and obnoxious, just like the contact it was attached to. My heart raced as I reached for my phone. Why was Bastion calling?
“Hello? Bastion?”
“Sterling? Come to the Twilight Tavern. There’s someone you need to see.”
26
We followed Bastion through the corridors of the Twilight Tavern. Olivia was in good hands. If anything, it was Gil, Asher, and I who needed some guidance, with the problem of the Silveropolis murders, if not with the surprisingly aggravating task of maneuvering the All-father’s beloved bed and breakfast.
Everything was too circuitous for words. I turned my head, wondering why this passage opened into a dead end, why that other one led to stairs that went straight into a brick wall. To say the gods were fickle was an understatement. The All-father could barely make up his damn mind. Even the scented candles clashed. A corridor or so ago the air smelled like Christmas and cinnamon. We turned a corner, and bam! Tropical coconut. Get it together, Odin.
Good thing we had Bastion Brandt as our guiding star. Hard to miss him, too, with the flash of leg he gave us. Tanned, because obviously the Brandts owned a yacht. Several, probably. He was wearing white shorts. What a tool. Who wore white shorts on cold mountain nights? Good thing Bastion was a useful tool.