He looked up, eyes wide. “You working Letty’s case? Are you that gal working for the cops?”
I had a sinking feeling that this interview was over. “Yeah.”
He pointed to the door. “Out! Now! And you forget you were here.”
I held my ground and glared at him. “What is Ludolf looking for a cure for?”
He shook his head and came around the side of the counter, brandishing his wand.
“Eep!” Heidi held up her palms and slid toward the door. “We should go, guys.”
Will grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the door, but I kept my eyes on the agitated old man.
“A cure for what?!”
He shook his finger at me. “I’ve said too much already. Out! And don’t come back!”
“Jolene! Let’s go.” Will dragged me after him.
“Fine.” I gave the old man one last hard look, then turned and followed Will and Heidi out.
The second we stepped onto the stoop, the door magically slammed behind us, locks clicking into place. I let out a heavy sigh—we’d come here for answers, but now I had more questions than ever.
11
FAMILY CREST
The next night, Peter, Daisy, and I stood on the top step of the castle’s entryway in front of the tall, arched wood doors. The Sansea Winds whipped around us, blowing my hair into my mouth. Yeck.
Peter cast me a doubtful side-eye. “Sorry—you’re telling me you went to see an unlicensed potion maker?”
I nodded. “Yeah—the one who made Letty’s anti-allergy potion. He said he gave it to her in a drinkable vial form and as a shot.” I raised my brows. “Where the shell were those? Your team didn’t find them anywhere?”
Peter let out a heavy sigh. “No, they didn’t.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before shooting me an exasperated look. “Again, though—an illegal potion maker?” He lifted a broad palm. “I am an officer of the law, you know?” He curled his lip. “Are you going to at least tell me where this guy is so I can shut him down?”
I smirked. “Yes, I know you’re a cop, but I’m not.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “Which is how I get you this secret intel sometimes.” I winked, but Peter just shook his head and turned back to the door.
“I’m not comfortable with this.” He lifted his fist to knock, but hesitated. Pointy iron rivets studded the medieval door.
A jolt of annoyance ran through me. Yeah, and he wasn’t comfortable with me being a shifter, either. The guy needed to let go of his rosy view of how the world should be and accept what it was.
I pointed to his right, and he followed my gaze to a gilded rope. He reached up and tugged, and a deep bell rang inside the castle.
A few moments later, footsteps clicked inside, then the door swung open and a maid with dark hair all dressed in black blinked at us. “Officers!”
Peter bowed his head in greeting. “Good evening. We’d like to have a word with the Harringtons.”
A few minutes later, the maid showed us into the family gathering room—an imposing, sober space. A shield emblazoned with a black bat decorated the dark, wood paneled wall above the stone fireplace. The orange flames cast flickering shadows across the dimly lit room.
Mr. Harrington sat in a wingback chair near the fire, a leather-bound book in hand, while Chaz lay out on a chaise lounge, his hand thrown over his forehead in a dramatic pose of mourning. Mrs. Harrington sat on a plush, tufted sofa, her ankles crossed on a stool. The maid bowed her head, then hovered near the door.
Mr. Harrington slid a leather bookmark into the book, then closed it in his lap and looked up at us, half his face in shadow. “Please, come in.” The words were pleasant enough, but the grim set of his mouth conveyed very little pleasure at seeing us.
Peter gestured at the sofa across from Mrs. Harrington. “May we?”
The blond arched a brow at Daisy as we crossed in front of the fireplace and sat across from her. I settled onto the plush sofa and couldn’t help but compare it to my own threadbare one. I had to lie on that just to avoid being poked by the springs, but this thing felt like it was made of clouds and butter. I settled in, a satisfied grin on my face. I took a deep breath—the place smelled of cedar, fire and—I smirked—privilege.
Mr. Harrington angled himself toward us, his back to the fire and features in shadow. “How may we help you, Officer? Have there been any developments in Letty’s case?”
Mrs. Harrington scoffed. “Her case? Please, Teddy, the girl killed herself in one of our guest rooms. The sooner we put this behind us, the better.” She glared at Peter, her nostrils flared. “Tell me this is over.”
Peter shifted in his seat and looked between the husband and wife. “Actually, we wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Still slumped back on the comfortable sofa, I lifted a finger. “First, where can I get a couch like this?”
Mrs. Harrington rolled her eyes. “It’s custom.”
“Of course it is.” I nodded. “Second, did anyone find Letty’s anti-allergy potions? It would have been in a vial or a syringe.”
A muscle jumped in Mrs. Harrington’s jaw, but she kept her lips pressed tight together and crossed her arms.
Beside the door though, the maid choked.
Peter, Daisy, and I snapped our gazes to her.
Mr. Harrington, with his dignified gray hair and deep voice, addressed her. “May, did you find something?”
She darted an uneasy glance at Mrs. Harrington, then looked down at her feet. “I—I found something in one of the trash bins after the wedding, when I was helping clean up.”
“What?” Peter scooted forward and perched on the edge of the couch. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He looked at me, then back to the maid. “I thought our department bagged everything up.”
Mrs. Harrington snorted.
I glanced to my left at Chaz and
