Chapter 9 - The Cold Shop

Every back alley I’ve ever been in has the same neglected feeling to it. The front of the buildings have to look well kept, so if peeling paint wants to survive, it has to hide out in the back, nourished by the scattered litter, the faint smell emanating from the closed garbage cans, and an omnipresent loneliness.

This one felt less lonely because the four of us were gathered around the same door. Its paint was peeling.

“Well?” Jacky said.

“I warned you,” Autumn said.

“Are you sure?” Olivia asked.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” I reached out and grabbed the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. “It’s locked.”

Autumn had enough humor left to smile as she shook her head. “I warned you,” she repeated.

Olivia gazed at the knob with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Don’t even think about it,” Autumn said. “Ansel would haul you up and fillet you.”

“Ansel’s in charge?” Olivia asked.

“Spearing retired. Ansel was appointed the next day.”

Olivia scowled at the door as if it’d been the one to offer the appointment.

Autumn went on, “Kirby usually leaves a spare key tucked under that rock, but it’s gone. There’s no way to get in.”

The long silence was broken by death.

He went “huh.”

We all looked at Big Jacky.

“That’s odd,” he said, “even for a—”

Olivia stepped on his foot before he could say “human.” Like some people who know how to ask where the bathroom is in almost every language, Jacky was well versed in all forms of nonverbal communication that were aimed at getting him to shut up.

But Autumn was still watching him.

I tried to fill in the gap. “What’s odd?”

Jacky rubbed the top of his shoe on the back of his other leg, “My understanding was that spare keys are left out so that nonresidents would have a way to get inside or a way to lock the door if they left when the owner wasn’t around. They aren’t normally used by the person who lives there unless they’re unusually forgetful.”

“Kirby wasn’t forgetful,” Autumn insisted.

“Then why would he remove the key?” Jacky asked.

“He wouldn’t,” Olivia said.

“Right!” I took a step forward. “Come on, Jacky. We’re going inside.”

“I thought we’ve established that there’s no way in,” Autumn said.

“We’ve established that there’s no key and the door is locked,” I said. “There are lots of ways to get inside that don’t involve keys.”

“You’re going to break in?”

“What?” I put a hand to my chest. “I wouldn’t dream of it! After all, I’m trying to stay out of trouble. Especially if Conrad asks.”

“Who’s Conrad?”

“He’s her zookeeper,” Olivia said.

I grabbed Jacky’s skeletal hand without looking at it. My brain still got miffed whenever it expected to touch bones and felt a normal body instead. I stepped toward the door but was jerked back by Jacky’s stiff arm. He hadn’t budged.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” Noctis said. “Darius has explained it to me. Multiple times.”

Stupid vampire.

“Darius?” Autumn whispered to Olivia.

Olivia sighed. “And that’s his zookeeper.”

“Jacky,” I said, “I know for a fact you’ve done this before.”

“Those were in extenuating circumstances,” he said.

“Are these not extenuating circumstances?”

“We don’t know that a crime has been committed here.”

“That’s what we’re going to find out!”

“And if there hasn’t been? If Mr. Kirby really has gone on vacation?”

“Then we’ll know for sure that we shouldn’t have done it.”

Jacky tapped the front of his jaw bone with his free hand. “I suppose some certainty would simplify the situation.”

“Cool! Let’s go get some certainty.” I tugged on his arm again.

This time it was Autumn that stopped me.

“You won’t use magic, will you?” she asked.

It all seemed like magic to me, but spending four months around a nit-picky vampire had taught me that other people in the magical community didn’t see it that way. If it didn’t use magic power, then it wasn’t magic.

“Nah,” I said. “All the same, if you like plausible deniability, you might want to investigate that handy distraction over there.” I pointed behind her and Olivia.

Autumn eyed me. Her smirk only lifted one side of her mouth. Then she slowly turned away. Olivia followed her lead.

“What? Where?” Autumn cried.

She would have made a wonderful B-list actress.

Hand in weird skeletal-not-skeletal hand, Jacky and I walked through the door without opening it.

That was his power. Maybe it was because death could go anywhere and reach everyone. Or maybe he could make himself so unsubstantial that not even the door noticed him.

The lights were on, but there was a heavy chill in the air that made the store feel more empty and lonely than the alley we'd left behind. I turned, unlocked the door, and opened it. Olivia and Autumn came inside, shutting the door behind themselves, while I took my first good look around.

We were standing in a small storage area. It was filled, almost to overflowing, with boxes, bags, and crowded shelves, but I could tell there was an order to everything. The area was cut off from the rest of the shop by a partial wall. Back in the corner was a staircase that led up to the second floor.

I nodded to it. “Does that lead to more storage?”

Autumn looked in the direction of my nod and a gentle smile lit up her face. “I say yes. Nolan would say no. It’s supposed to be his apartment, but his store keeps crawling up the stairs like some hungry blob.”

Her voice had dropped into a quiet drawl when she’d said the word “crawling,” making it sound more like “crawlin.’” It seemed natural in her mouth, as if that was her real accent, and the rest of the time she was consciously shaping each word. There was something tender about that moment of forgetfulness.

I noticed that she called him Nolan, not just Kirby. She also knew he had a spare key, and she knew what his apartment looked like.

My heart murmured with sympathy. No wonder she felt so sad and worried.

“He lives above his shop?” Jacky asked.

Olivia stopped a foot past the dividing wall. “A lot of shopkeepers around here do. Either that, or they rent the apartment out.” She scanned the store with her eyes. “The lights are on, but the shades are down.”

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Autumn said, “Kirby had the lights put on a timer so he’d stop forgetting about them.”

Jacky crossed over to the opening and said to Olivia, “Can you sense anything?”

“If Ansel is the chief of police, I’d rather not use my magic if I can avoid it,” she said. “Autumn?”

“Nothing so far, but he did go missing a week ago.”

“Then let’s just…look around. For now.”

The rest of us followed Olivia into the front of the shop.

The building was long and narrow. The front wall, at the far end of the store, was made up mostly of windows. I could see the yellow sunlight trying to shine through the white shades, but it was swallowed up by the distance and the navy-blue paint of the woodwork, making the store feel like a cave.

The side walls were lined with low rows of cabinets that ran from the front, all the way to the back. They were topped with butcher block counters, three tiers of tiny drawers and, above them, row after row of open shelves holding a variety of plants, bags, bottles, and large glass jars—all arranged and spaced so that they looked full without feeling crowded.

The center of the room was dominated by a long island cabinet, topped with white marble. On it were a collection of brass weights, old-fashioned scales, scoops, bowls, a mortar and pestle, and other tools I couldn’t even recognize, all lined up in the center.

Beside us, near the back of the store, was the checkout counter. It was as long as the dividing wall and the only thing on it was a sleek white register. Compared to the rest of the room, it looked bizarrely modern, as if it’d been dropped off by a careless science-fiction character. I could imagine some poor aliens, already halfway across the galaxy, arguing over where they’d seen it last.

My feet took me out past the checkout counter while my eyes drifted over the shop. It was easy to picture what the store was like at other times—the shades open, sunlight glinting off the white marble, the butcher block counters glowing like honey—and when I took a deep breath, I thought I could smell the fading warmth in the fragrance the plants were giving off.

“What kind of shop does Kirby run?”

I felt stupid asking, but I’d never seen a store like this one.

“He’s an apothecary,” Olivia said.

I reached the front door and pushed aside the shade enough to look out. There was one person on the sidewalk. They passed the store without a glance. I pushed the shade further aside to get a wider view, revealing the “gone on vacation” sign that had caused so many problems.

“A real one?” Jacky asked.

The street was clear. I let the shade settle into place and turned to the rest of the store.

“He isn’t a classic apothecary,” Autumn said. “He doesn’t make drugs. He’s more like…an herbalist. He specializes in plant and plant derivatives.”

I walked back to them.

Jacky said, “Is he an alchemist?”

“Kirby’s no magician.”

Olivia stopped and laid her fingers on the center counter. “Everything looks the same.”

“Well, it would,” Autumn said. “He hates it when he has to rearrange something.”

As Olivia gazed around the store, her eyes fell on a bright pink figure beside the register. “That’s new.”

She went over and picked it up. Autumn stayed where she was, but Jacky and I gathered around Olivia.

It was Kirby—like, Nintendo’s Kirby. The bright pink ball of gluttonous joy was riding a star as if it was a bronco. One arm was raised high and there was a huge smile on his face.

“I gave that to him,” Autumn said.

Autumn Langley’s skin was too dark for me to see her blush, but she studied the old boards that made up the floor with the kind of attention I’ve long associated with embarrassment.

And I would know. I’m an expert on the study of flooring—floorology, if you will.

A smile stole over Olivia’s face. “Oh?”

“He said he’d keep it there so people wouldn’t forget his name.” Autumn held out her hand. “We should probably be careful not to move anything.”

Olivia handed me the figure to hand to Autumn.

The moment the plastic hit my palm, haze poured into my vision. A translucent scene took shape, imposing itself over reality. My stomach rolled as the scenes vied for supremacy, and I had to grab onto the counter to steady myself. The murk cleared as one image grew solid enough to dominate my view.

There was a man sitting behind the counter on a tall stool. He was lanky and had dark hair made up of loose, floppy curls that were long enough to be unruly. He wore a polo shirt and jeans. His eyes were closed and he was grinning. His fingers were resting on the Kirby figurine. Autumn was standing on the other side of the counter, talking to him.

“It’s like the smell of roses and bubble gum,” she said, “or the feeling of buzzing electricity. You know—like when you put your hand on one of those glowing glass lightning ball things.”

“And this is pink?” he said.

“Well!” Autumn cried. “What am I supposed to say?”

“No, no! Don’t be embarrassed! That was perfect.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“You’re laughing too!” His fingers brushed her arm before he took hold of it. “Autumn, promise me you’ll hang around. I want you to describe everything to me.”

As if from a distance, I heard someone calling my name. It was Olivia. The scene blurred and faded, until all I could see was Olivia standing beside me.

“Sorry,” I said.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

I rubbed my eyes. Maybe I could clear a vision the same way I clear out eye boogers. “It’s nothing.”

Olivia gave me a skeptical look, then turned and walked further into the shop.

I put the figurine down. Autumn’s memories were none of my business. Not even ones as cute as that.

Autumn reached out and moved the figurine closer to the register. When she saw me watching her, she said, “Kirby’s particular about where things are put.”

Olivia’s voice came from behind us. “Very particular. Each item has a home, and if he’s out of something, the spot stays empty.”

We turned. She was halfway across the room, staring up at the shelves.

She pointed to a line of large jars. “Someone’s messed up the spacing. We need to find that jar. It’s one of the mints.”

The hunt didn’t take long. Jacky found it in the garbage can behind the check-out counter and called us over.

Shattered, toothy pieces of the broken jar were sitting in the bottom of the can. Everything was dusted with dry green speckles. The smell of mint wafted up to my nostrils.

“Is this significant?” Jacky asked.

“There must have been a struggle,” Olivia said.

“If Mr. Kirby had accidentally dropped it, wouldn’t he have swept it up and thrown it away?”

“He would have—but he wouldn’t have scooted the jars around to make the shelf look fuller. And he would never have done that.”

Olivia pointed to a collection of dried flowers crushed by the largest chunk of broken jar. Tiny desiccated leaves clung to the brittle stems. The blooms were small knobs of yellow and ivory white.

“Chamomile,” Autumn said.

“Jacky,” I said, “can you pull them out? Carefully?”

He did as I asked. Half of the dried flowers dropped back into the garbage can as he lifted them.

It was a bouquet. The bundle of stems was tied with string. There was a loop in the knot.

I looked over my shoulder.

Along the store shelves were occasional vertical supports. Each of the supports had a line of small hooks that held up similar bouquets of dried plants. One of the hooks next to the disarranged shelf was empty.

“It looks like it was torn down,” I said.

“The loop is intact,” Jacky noted.

“If it had fallen, Kirby would have put it back up,” Olivia insisted, “and if it had been crushed, he would have put them aside so he could process what was left of them.”

“Process them how?”

“He sells parts of the dried plants,” Autumn said. “Especially chamomile. The blooms are used to make tea. Only witches buy the entire plant.”

Jacky returned the broken herbs to the garbage can. “Olivia, do you know your friend well?”

Olivia flushed and scowled—but she also said “yes” in a nice, loud voice.

I broke away from the group and walked over to the misaligned shelf while Jacky went on.

“I agree that the evidence could point to something being wrong, but I’m troubled by how little evidence there is, and even you must admit, humans do occasionally act outside their habits.”

“But—”

I never got to hear the rest of Olivia’s retort. At that moment, I reached up and put my hand on the shelf.

This vision didn’t pour in slowly; it slammed into my head, changing everything from light to darkness in an instant. The black was fathomless and formless. The empty world was filled with nothing but noise and terror. There was panic. Grunting. Shuffles. Pain.

Someone had my neck—

No, my wrist.

The hand on my wrist tightened and jerked me away.

When my hand left the wood, the darkness cleared. Under the lights of the shop, I could see Autumn watching me, her eyes wide.

“Honey,” she said, her voice all drawl, “are you okay?”

I took a breath and nodded. I wasn’t sure if I could speak. I could still feel the weight of the bent arm pressing into the sides of my neck.

Autumn released my wrist. I lowered my trembling hand.

Jacky and Olivia had stopped, mid-argument, to watch me. I looked away so I wouldn’t have to see Olivia’s expression.

I should have been grateful. If Olivia Oliversen was experiencing an emotion directed at me that wasn’t contempt, it was time to break out the confetti. But her concern made me feel awkward. If the whole human race was a collection of figurines, I’d been taken out of the case and put in front of everyone to be stared at.

“Emerra?” Jacky said.

I hesitated, then forced myself to reach out and touch one of the large glass jars. No vision this time. The label on the front of the jar was done in black vinyl with old fashioned, ornate white lettering. Under the label was a clear sticker, visible only because of the shine and the texture created by the small raised dots.

“Kirby’s blind, isn’t he?” I said.

Autumn glanced toward Olivia, before saying, “I thought you knew.”

“That’s my fault,” Olivia said. “I forgot to mention it.”

“No, I get it,” Autumn assured her. “After a while, you start to think everyone knows Nolan Kirby.”

Darkness and terror. That must have been something from Kirby.

Darn shame it hadn’t been given to me from a third-person perspective. That would’ve been helpful. Not that I should expect my stupid powers to be convenient or anything.

“How long has he been blind?” I asked.

“Since birth,” Olivia said.

“Does it matter?” Autumn asked.

I tapped my finger across the line of jars, bouncing from one to the next. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Not really. I just happened to notice that all the labels on the jars are printed. And there are no notes or post-it notes around the register.”

“Kirby remembers all that stuff,” Autumn explained. “He says it’s easier than using a slate and stylus.”

Olivia added, “If he doesn’t trust himself to remember something, he uses a voice recorder.”

“No handwritten notes?” I asked.

“I don’t think Kirby’s written a single thing in his entire life.”

I smiled when I heard the off-handed cocksureness in Olivia’s voice. The familiarity made it almost comforting.

“So you wouldn’t be able to tell me if the handwriting on that vacation notice is his?” I asked.

Olivia and Autumn froze. Then there was a jerk of movement as they simultaneously went to the front door. Olivia raised the blind without a thought for who might be out there to see them.

There was enough light outside, we could read the letters backwards through the paper. They were carefully written by a practiced hand.

Olivia reached for the paper, but Jacky yelled her name. When she looked back at him, he was standing with his weight balanced on his forward foot, and his skeletal hand extended.

“I advise you not to touch it,” he said. “It would be reasonable to find a hundred different fingerprints in a store. But probably not on that.”

“You do think he’s been kidnapped!” Olivia made it sound like an accusation.

“I think the evidence is tending that way.”

Autumn and Olivia looked back at the note.

“How did I miss that?” Autumn asked. She scanned the paper, as if maybe the answer to her question might be written in invisible ink.

“As blind as a witch,” Olivia muttered. She frowned, grabbed the shade, and pulled it back down.