Much Ado about Something

Chapter 5 - Jezelle

I reached to the back of the closet and touched the tip of my finger to a scratch in the paint. Made while hastily packing?

"Was this here before?" I asked Mrs. RedWolf. She frowned and shrugged.

"I don't know. Grace-" Her chin wobbled a little at saying the girl's name. "Grace always did the laundry, but I hung up clothes sometimes. If it was there, I never noticed."

"Let me guess; Grace was good at getting clothes clean, and she used her own combination of soap and other things to make the colors brighter and the smell better?"

The woman stared at me in wonder.
"How'd you know that?"

"I'm an investigator. I get paid to know things." I leaned against the door frame to the closet and stared at her.

Finally, I crossed my arms and asked the question I'd really come here to ask.

"Tell me, Mrs. RedWolf, how long have you known your daughter is a witch?"

"Impossible," Thundered Mr. RedWolf, standing in the living room, pacing agitatedly. "My daughter is not- NOT! -a witch."

I crossed my arms calmly.

"It's the only explanation. And why don't you talk to your wife about that?"

"D-dear," Murmured Mrs. RedWolf shakily. "I-I think we need to talk."

I wisely made myself scarce, heading down the hall to investigate Grace's room further, although I already knew almost everything I needed to know.

When the sound of crashing and shouting ended, I peeked out of her door to see the couple holding each other on the couch. I closed my eyes and tipped back against the door, sighing.

She wasn't even that attractive.  Why would she risk the one stable, definite relationship she could have?

I had spent my life as an investigator watching the people around me act as slaves to their own emotions, all the while pondering their motives and actions. Did people never think? I had to wonder, lounging against the door. Why would they do what they do?

Perhaps, never having been in a relationship of any kind, I didn't really know what love was or how it made people act in the best interests of someone else.  My parents abandoned me on the steps of an orphanage when I was a baby, and I never developed any close relationships there. All throughout my life, I've looked out for myself first, never for anyone else. Perhaps that was selfish, but I figured, if no one ever had my back, why should I have anyone else's?

I walked back out after several minutes of quiet and sat on the chair opposite them.

"My mother was a witch," Mrs. RedWolf began, taking a hiccupping breath. "And I never knew my father, but my mother had a half-brother who was a werewolf, and we lived with his pack from the time I was three. When the other kids went out and began shifting, so did I." She shrugged. "We all thought my father must have been a werewolf, so... so was I.

"I met Aaron when I was in a relationship with a bat shifter. We were..."

"Having sex, yes, go on," I waved my hand impatiently. Mr. RedWolf growled, and I was proud of myself for not shooting him the finger. "But that bat shifter was..."

"Actually a vampire," Nodded Mrs. RedWolf.

My mouth opened, then closed.
In all my years as a private investigator, I have rarely been struck dumb. I wasn't sure that this was truly one of those few times, either. But a vampire? Really?

"We broke it off not too many weeks later, and Aaron and I started dating right away. I found out I was pregnant the day after we married."

"You knew whose child she was?"

She blushed.

"I-I-I suspected," She admitted. "When she was born... She had the witch's mark, and the caul on her head... and fangs." She whispered.

"How did you keep them hidden?"

"It wasn't easy. When I nursed her, she drank my blood, too. When she sucked on her fingers, she often bled. She wouldn't eat solid food until she was nearly two years old, and she rejected formula entirely. She was starving; I couldn't give her enough milk. When I started seeing her ribs, I had to give her blood."

Mr. RedWolf's face was going from pale to white.

"Mine, mostly, but I experimented with animal blood, too. She started accepting raw meat with blood eventually, and I eased her into eating food. With time, the fangs disappeared. She became a normal child, but clumsy, accident-prone. She was always having little emergencies, sometimes big ones. She was pale, ghostly pale, compared to other shifter children. But she was so CAPABLE for a child. Grace made fires in the fireplace from the time she started walking, and she cooked obsessively. She made all our food from the time she was 5, and washing dishes and laundry and making medicines... She had little recipes for everything. She made them up or they seemed to just come to her. Bleach and soap and baking powder and I-don't-know-what all. Like you said, she had a special way for everything."

"You knew she was probably a witch... but did she?" I leaned forward, a feeling building in my chest. I had a sudden suspicion...

"I... I don't know," Mrs. RedWolf whispered. "She shifted all the time, she never questioned her origins, and she seemed so normal."

"But not very social," Interjected Mr. RedWolf, wringing his hands. "She was often so... bitter. Sarcastic."

The buzz in my chest increased.

"A loner? Often private, hiding out in her room or somewhere else?"

They nodded in unison. I jumped out of my seat.

"Thank you. You've both been very helpful. Best of wishes and... my condolences."

"So the girl was a witch, not a shifter. What's it got to do with anything?" Freddie, my partner, leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head.

"It has to do with everything! Tell me, what do witches do?" I paced across the worn carpet, too agitated to stay still.

"They... use magic," Freddie said, chewing on a piece of jerky. "Make recipes and spells."

"Can they be killed by being stabbed?" I paused to ask, flexing my claws, allowing them to slide out, then back in my fingernails.

"Not unless it's directly in the heart. They're immortals."

"Can they create false images?"

"With powder, yeah."

"Can they teleport?"

"Yeah..."

"Then Grace is not dead, and that corpse is not her body. I knew it! The body IS fake!"

"...and she got killed - looked like she got killed - by a witch!"

"Which leaves us with the question... Where is Grace now? I have a tentative solution, but I'll need more evidence. How's your project going?" I finally plopped down in my desk chair, staring out the large picture window of our agency.

Freddie took a big gulp of coffee, then began his retort with gusto.

"Just got back from talking to the vampire. The older girl is still missing, and I'm waiting for word from my informant about the younger sister, but she should be fine. We have her stashed in a spot right under their noses, where her killers will never even think to look, and she's being guarded by her hounds. Nobody will lay a finger on the little-"

A short, very thin young man appeared in front of him as he was speaking, seeming to melt into being, going from vapor to solid within a few seconds. His long, curly hair brushed his lean cheeks, and he stared at Freddie with the silver eyes that identified him as a vampire before announcing solemnly, "The princess has been kidnapped."
********
Dun dun dun duuuun...

Oh, yes, people, things are getting started.

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