Spellcaster series #4: The Virtuoso

Orchid Blues

HEIDI

Johnny knelt on the grass as he placed a bouquet of vibrant, yellow sunflowers in front of the engraved marble headstone. His bulky stature hunched as his arm stretched to trace his finger across her name. His blond hair shone under the ray of sun that escaped through the cracks of the clouds.

"She always loved them because they are bright and bold; like her," he picked at some weed that peeked from the edges of the headstone. Then his voice lowered, "I miss her, Heidi."

I stood behind him, reading her epitaph. I barely knew Germaine but in those moments before we parted ways during the battle of the North wing, we connected somehow. It was always the case, wasn't it—the need to cling onto a short memory to keep that person alive? But for whom?

I lifted my gaze and scanned the area. Then I said to Johnny, "I'll be right back."

I made my way to the far-most end of the cemetery. His grave came into view; a large headstone—the largest there was—with a sword on its pinnacle, an emblem of royalty. His name was carved onto a golden plaque, like a museum for mortals that had no clue of what went down about three months ago.

I crossed my arms as I read his epitaph. I wrote it. I remembered Vicky asking me if it made sense. She had tears in her eyes and her fingers trembled. Help me write it, she pleaded.

"Dearly Beloved King of the Underworld and friend to the Sages," I read out loud to myself.

This dearly beloved tried to kill me.

"Heidi? I'm done here," Johnny called. I turned away from the grave and walked to him.

We descended the hill in silence, our footsteps in sync. I wasn't sure if it was the quietness of the cemetery that held our tongues or if Johnny's mind was elsewhere. Like the fogginess of the morning that shrouded the air, I let the grief hover between us until we reached the foot of the hill, through the gate and its overgrown hedges. As the roadside noise greeted us, whatever we held inside us was alleviated. Johnny spoke first, back in his usual cheerful mien.

"Are you ready for tonight, Heidi? We got work to do."

The night before, Tristan dropped by Orchid Blues, the record store that we were posted to, to brief on our mission and expectations of a Scout. Tonight, we would start our investigation.

We took a stroll down the streets where the shops were. The cemetery wasn't too far from record store and the flower shop. Between the two was a quaint little cafe that supposedly sold the best coffee in town. As soon as Johnny and I entered it, we spotted the old florist in the corner sipping a steaming mug of black coffee with his back against the wall.

"Mr Lee," I greeted as I took my seat in front of him. Johnny went to get us a couple of espressos.

"You must be Miss Heidi," the old man chuckled as he lowered his coffee. "Sir Tristan never told me you're pretty!"

I laughed along with him. "So, Mr Lee, about the reports you made?"

"Oh yes," Mr Lee took a small sip and put his mug down again. His eyes blinked as he recalled his suspicions. He wove his hands together with his fingers and leaned in.

"It was a cold night, just like every night this month. A Tuesday night, it was. I was sweeping my shop which I had closed for the day. Out of the blue, I heard my metal shutters shake. I took a look at the monitor where the camera showed the pathway outside my shop—nothing! So I ignored it and then the lights began to flicker."

Johnny joined us with two cups of espressos in his hands and slid one to me.

The old man continued, "Then I felt the temperature drop so low inside my shop but my thermostat was still at twenty-four degrees."