Poisoned Shadow: An Urban Fantasy Supernatural Detective Mystery (The Shadow Series Book 2) Read online

  Dazed, Becka ambled off towards where she’d last seen Vott, continuing across the hall and needing a few moments to settle herself. This time others made way for her with no prompting. She strode through a group from House Oak, which she assumed based on their stocky builds, who quieted and parted ways as she passed through. No doubt their stoic intuition informed their actions, discouraging engagement.

  Catching sight of Duchess Maura, Becka headed in her direction, taking a moment to compose her thoughts. Her Aunt Astrid, head trainer of the Illusionists Guild, stood next to Maura, deep in discussion with a handful of fae.

  As Becka drew near, Maura raised her hand, a silvered orb of energy launching from her fingertips towards the ceiling. It exploded like fireworks, full of harmless, dazzling sparks which drew everyone’s attention.

  When the room quieted, Maura spoke. “House Rowan is delighted you’ve made the journey and we welcome you to our annual regional trade negotiations. At this time, all delegates are invited to the council chambers to introduce their terms for discussion. I look forward to hearing your proposals and aiding in the mediation process. Shall we?” She gestured towards the rear staircase.

  Lady Wynne of House Ash, who Becka had met briefly yesterday, noticed her and then smiled her way politely. “Will Lady Becka be joining us tonight?” she asked Maura.

  Maura’s face was as placid as a lake. “No, she will not. Although she is my legal heir, she’s not yet guilded.”

  Wynne’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yes, I had forgotten she’d blossomed into her powers at so advanced an age.”

  What am I, a spinster? I’m not that old!

  “Does it take longer to train when they start later?” Wynne asked Astrid.

  “It varies,” Astrid replied, resplendent in her floor-length red silk dress. “In Becka’s case, the lack of understanding about the unique aspects of her power adds to the challenge. But those who develop later often take longer to fully grasp the complexities of their powers.”

  Maura turned to Astrid, “Will you join me?”

  Astrid nodded, and the two headed to the council chambers. Lady Wynne was not far behind them.

  Becka watched them go, feeling kicked in the shins and more than a little embarrassed. When would she feel like she belonged here? Would she ever? Becka shook off her thoughts, again trying to find Vott in the crowd.

  Which was when Alain Hawthorne, her fiancé, found her.

  “My dearest Lady Becka,” he intoned, his voice smooth with confidence. He reached for her gloved hand, depositing a chaste kiss on the back of it with a flourish. A fiery phoenix perched atop Alain’s shoulder, stretching its wings as if to maintain its balance as he bent forward. But, as the creature had no intrinsic weight, the display was all for show.

  It was a lovely fire elemental, intricate to behold, but the presence of the phoenix so close to her made Becka’s head throb. Worse, she’d told Alain it pained her when she encountered other people’s magic, and yet he didn’t seem to realize that his magical displays also caused her pain. Did he think showing off his skill was going to impress her? All it did was demonstrate that his need to look good eclipsed being considerate to Becka.

  A cheerful lady accompanied Alain, full of smiles for Becka. “May I introduce my cousin, the Lady Hanna Hawthorne?” he said.

  Hanna reached for Becka’s gloved hand and grasped it firmly and fearlessly. “I am so grateful to make your acquaintance, Lady Becka. Alain has told me so much about you, and I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

  Alarm bells went off in Becka’s head. No fae was this over-the-top ingratiating and sweet, at least not without an ulterior motive. What did Alain have up his sleeve?

  Just then, Becka spotted Vott talking with her brother Calder and his lady friend of the month.

  “Lady Hanna, how lovely to meet you. Now, if you two will excuse me, I’m afraid Vott sent for me.”

  More the spirit of the truth rather than the letter, but any excuse would do at the moment.

  “Of course,” Hanna replied and gave her a slight bow.

  Alain’s slight frown was the only sign of his disappointment. “Tomorrow, then, we’ll speak more? I must be off to the meeting anyway. I’m the designated envoy for House Hawthorne.”

  By the way he puffed out his chest, Becka guessed she was supposed to be impressed. Hanna’s smile shone up at him, which made Becka even more suspicious of this overly cheerful Hawthorne cousin. Becka wondered at the reason for Hanna’s visit. Would she be expected to spend a lot of time with Hanna?

  “Lord Alain,” Becka replied, neither confirming nor denying any obligations for tomorrow, and then with a nod she headed towards Vott.

  She’d moved so quickly towards Vott that when she stopped, her skirts whooshed forward around her, the multi-layered dress rocking against her legs.

  “Vott,” she said. “Calder.” She nodded briefly at both of them.

  “Eloquent, as always, sister Becka,” Calder replied with a shake of his head. “Have you met my paramour, the Lady Alvilda?”

  Becka could see why Calder appeared captivated by this new girl. Alvilda’s hair hung loose down to her hips, her platinum tresses so shiny they were almost reflective in the candlelight. Her dress wasn’t as fancy as some Becka had seen tonight, but the understated pale blue sheath highlighted the petite yet curvy fae’s form. Alvilda’s arm tightened around Calder’s, and her perfect heart-shaped lips held a forced smile not reflected in her pale gold eyes.

  “Not yet. Pleased to meet you.” Becka shot out her gloved hand, to which Alvilda gave a somewhat horrified expression before accepting the handshake, a gesture which was tentative and lasted a mere moment.

  Calder didn’t appear to be sharing complimentary stories about sister Becka to his lover. Fair enough.

  “I need to excuse myself for the meeting,” Calder said. “Vott, will you be joining us?”

  “No. As elder of House Alder, there are no proposals from my birth house for me to present. Maura is well-equipped to manage House Rowan’s interests. Besides, the initial proposals are often tedious and long-winded, and the trade talks run long enough as it is for my liking.” He laughed, and his genuine humor was so infectious they all joined in. Well, Becka didn’t laugh, but she returned his smile. “But you should get going, Calder. It’s your first one, and I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it. Give me an outline of what I need to know over breakfast before the negotiations begin, yes?”

  “As you say, Father.” Calder leaned in close to Alvilda and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Join me in my room later?” he asked, not bothering to lower his voice.

  “I will eagerly await your arrival,” Alvilda replied, a slight flush warming her cheeks.

  Was this open affection standard, or were Calder’s intentions towards Alvilda more serious than Becka had assumed? Surely, their mother Maura had more lofty plans for Calder’s future wedded union, but that wouldn’t necessarily limit his dalliances. By her overly effusive smile, Becka was sure Alvilda had every intention of cementing her place at Calder’s side.

  Calder bowed to Vott and then excused himself.

  Vott, smiling pleasantly as if he didn’t have a care in the world, turned to Becka. “My dearest, would you please join me on the rooftop garden for a cup of tea?”

  “Sure,” Becka replied after a pause. Vott tried so hard to help her, she found it hard to turn him down despite the late hour. “Let me just run by my room first and then I’ll be right up.”

  “Don’t dawdle.” He wagged a finger at her, and then turned to go, leaving Becka standing with Alvilda.

  A few uncomfortable seconds hung in the air between them. Although Alvilda presented as a fawning partner to Calder, Becka suspected Alvilda had lofty aims. Why else would she attend this event hanging on Calder’s arm for all to witness? Did she think Maura would take her more seriously if she saw the two looking the part of fae royalty?

  Perhaps it was rooted in her own dislike of pre
stige, but Alvilda’s focus on upward mobility made Becka instantly dislike her.

  “Give my regards to Duke Vott,” Alvilda said with a wink.

  How boldly familiar! Just because she was involved with Calder didn’t mean Becka had to be friends with her.

  “I suspect I’m in for a more enjoyable evening,” Alvilda continued. She didn’t wait for Becka’s reply but swept off in a swirl of gold and gray mist trailing her steps.

  “With my stuck-up brother? I doubt it,” Becka replied, just loud enough for the departing fae to hear.

  Chapter 2

  Becka was overjoyed to discover a new batch of clothes from her townhome back in the city, freshly laundered, pressed, and hung in her closet.

  “You got more!” Becka exclaimed. She popped her head out of the closet, and Saige smiled back at her. “Did you wash them too?”

  Saige chortled. “No, you have people for that, and I’m not one of them.”

  “Thank you!” She’d have given Saige a hug, but the wolves were touchy about personal space.

  “My ability to smuggle in your stuff has improved commensurate with your bribing skills. To be honest, this week I took pity on your pathetic self. Plus, I had a little more free time, what with your extra training sessions.”

  If it wasn’t for both Luce and Saige being willing to play along, Becka would have had to give up coloring her hair pink and wearing her favorite boho styles weeks ago. Her shifter friends had also acquired a steady supply of her favorite hot sauce. Maura hadn’t asked how she’d managed it, and Becka hadn’t offered an explanation.

  She’d been well-motivated to buddy up with the shifters, not just because they had leeway to travel freely between territories with no one batting an eye, but also because they were far more approachable than the typical fae. For one, the shifters laughed all the time and seemed to try and find the fun in each moment. Second, they didn’t follow strict protocols or get upset if you didn’t use their correct titles. Third, she didn’t have to fear that any of them could be a Shadow-Dweller. Shadow-Dwellers were born fae, later corrupted by an unholy thirst for power.

  “I love it! I’ll find more of that whiskey you like.” She disappeared inside the closet to change. Becka picked out a billowy pair of sage green palazzo pants with a red embroidered dragon wrapping around the legs and a drapey beige crocheted tank to wear. Then she pulled her pink hair back into a messy ponytail. She slipped on a pair of flip-flops and emerged from the closet feeling more like herself again.

  “Those floofy dresses don’t suit you at all. You look happy to be back in your own skin,” Saige said.

  She’d learned the wolves were passionate about being true to one’s self, or skin as they called it. “Be true to your skin, right?”

  Saige nodded, a single brow arched.

  Becka had heard shifters say it to each other in passing, sensing each time the weight of their belief behind the sentiment. The saying reached back into antiquity, often cited in some of the earliest shifter lore. She’d never spoken the shifter phrase before, but Saige didn’t seem to mind Becka using it.

  “Did you agree to smuggle in my things because of the whiskey or because of the whole shifter skin thing?”

  Saige grinned, offering her a shrug. “You may never know. But seriously, trying to be that which you’re not causes many issues.”

  Luce, appearing at the door, sniffed the air and cast her gaze about in a wide net. Alighting on Becka, she nodded. “Isn’t Elder Vott awaiting the pleasure of your company, Lady Becka?”

  She rolled her eyes at Luce and was rewarded with a sly grin. The shifters knew Becka didn’t need or want titles, so their insistence on using them at times had become something of an inside joke. Becka had tried to get them to disclose some similar level of titles within their ranks, but if the shifters had titles, they had yet to share them with her.

  “Just a moment,” Becka replied. She slid on the sea silk gloves Vott had gifted her after her Null gift had been discovered, when she’d touched the Unbreakable and broken it. Vott had these teas with her a few days a week, usually after her training had finished for the day. She wasn’t sure how he timed it, but he was always precise down to the minute.

  This one was an exception to the timing, and perhaps a prelude to an impending lecture.

  Becka swept out of her room, falling into a steady cadence alongside the shorter woman. “Off to the rooftop garden.”

  Luce glanced at Becka. “It’ll be pretty in the moonlight.”

  “She’s worried about getting a talking to,” Saige, walking behind them, replied.

  “I never said that,” Becka replied.

  “Didn’t need to,” Luce said. “There’s a stiffness in your movements that tells me you’re anxious.”

  Becka sighed, unable to disagree.

  As they headed down the corridor towards the main central staircase of House Rowan, they passed portraits of Rowan ancestors along the way. The rich, vibrant colors and historical settings were something she’d stared at in wonder in her youth, both for the intricacy of the art and the richness of the frames, the wallpaper, the carpet, even the lighting sconces.

  Becka wondered if, had the elders still been alive, would they have disapproved of the free-spirited woman she’d grown into as much as her current relatives did?

  Near the end of the hall they passed by a fae who, at their approach, stepped to the side and inclined his head to her. Becka smiled at him and returned the nod, but the interaction, one of many she had during each day, grated on her nerves.

  Becka wasn’t anywhere near used to being heir again of House Rowan. Fae kept strict adherence to their social norms, and she had the sense that it gave them comfort. A feeling of stability, even. She’d tried following along, but it didn’t feel right. She’d lived too long finding her own path, and following customs she couldn’t even remember the purpose of didn’t help her sleep better at night. Sighing in frustration, Becka wondered if she would ever grow used to it all. It didn’t help that she had no interest in fulfilling the role.

  She wasn’t blind to the potential that, as heir, she could hold great sway. She’d have even more power as the future duchess, although that time would be decades away from now.

  But Becka didn’t want to wait. She didn’t want to be patient. Her fire for change was in the present, not some distant, untouchable future.

  However, when she’d had conversations with Astrid and Maura about her desire to have more control over her life, they’d both shot her down. Becka had been told she was pushing for too much, too fast, and to wait until her gift was under control before asking these questions.

  They passed a young man in the hall dressed in the dark tan and green colors of House Oak. He stepped to the side and bowed as they passed.

  Becka skirted around him, lost in her own thoughts.

  During the past few months as she’d spent day in and day out with her shifter guards, Becka had grown to enjoy their company and had encouraged their candor. Luce had been the one who’d warmed to her most quickly, but even then, it had taken over a month to convince Luce that Becka didn’t want to be treated like some fae princess but rather as a respected peer.

  The process had involved a certain quantity of whiskey. Happily, House Rowan’s stores were ample.

  “Did you mean to slight the House Oak youth?” Luce asked under her breath.

  Becka glanced back, but the fae had already continued on his way. “Ugh, I’ve lived for so long around humans. I forget I’m supposed to nod to everyone.”

  “Just add polite decorum to the list of customs you’ve forgotten.” Luce shook her head.

  Becka laughed along. “Well, aren’t we extra cheeky today?”

  “What are you going to do, report me to Vott?” Luce waggled her brows, and Becka laughed again.

  “You know I don’t toe the line. Why would I expect you to?”

  Luce nodded. “That’s one of your redeeming qualities.”

 
; They rounded the end of the hall, entered the stairwell, and then proceeded up towards the rooftop gardens four floors up. Becka loved this staircase with its ornate woven metal banisters and white stone risers. Missing her normal exercise regimen, she loved to pound steadily up and down all four flights at least once each morning. Her shifter guards appeared to like the activity, but she got plenty of raised brows from fae who considered it unseemly behavior.

  At the top of the stairs, windows lined the outer wall, filling the space with bright beams of moonlight through the quiet evening air. Cautious about the conversation to come, Becka paused at an ornate gilt stained-glass doorway, peering out onto the open-air rooftop deck. Pergolas laden with wisteria provided a picturesque setting, inviting Becka to breathe long and deep of their perfume.

  House Rowan really was a ridiculously gorgeous and well-maintained home. So why do I still think wistfully of my townhome in the city?

  Becka knew why. In the city, she’d had freedom over her days. Over her life path. Here? As much as she wanted to belong, it felt like the responsibilities falling on her shoulders grew daily.

  Maura wanted her on the council and Becka was interested in what that entailed, but as she wasn’t guilded yet, that step had been delayed. She’d worked to gain control over her gift, practicing daily, but didn’t feel like she was in control of how fast that mastery was approaching. Then there were the site visits to the farms and houses on Rowan territory to assess production and needs, but it still felt like foreign territory. And then there was her duty to marry per her house’s agreements, which was something she certainly could not bring herself to do, so Becka had dragged her heels.

  With her keen night vision, Becka didn’t require any additional lighting besides the moonlight to see Vott reclined on a couch under the central pergola. When he saw her arrival, he rose to greet her, a broad smile affixed to his face.

  Surprised by the tangle of nerves in her gut, Becka stepped forward and met Vott under the pergola. A couple of candles on the table cast a meager but warm glow around them.