I set my jaw, shot one more fiery glare at Quincy, then turned back to Peter and nodded. I’d meant what I’d said to the sloth—there was no way I was letting these people rot in here. One way or another, I was going to see justice for these fellow shifters.
29
PHOTO FINISH
After a call to Edna up at the station, Peter, Daisy and I trekked all the way back down the mountain to a run-down apartment building just a few blocks over from my place. The sky was lightening with the first faint rays of dawn peeking through the thick clouds and mist that hung over the sea. The chill in the air and the walk helped calm my nerves down a bit, but every time I thought of those dozens, maybe hundreds, of shifters trapped in cages, I could feel the heat of anger flare up in my chest again.
Peter knocked on Libbie’s door, the faded green paint peeling. The hallway was open to the elements, and rain fell behind us in a steady curtain. The open railing looked out over a central courtyard with a green fountain and pots full of dead plants. The door opened a crack, and Libbie peeked out at us. “Officer.”
“We’d like to come in and have a few words with you, if that’s alright, Ms. Brown?”
She glared at us. “Is this about Cassie? ’Cause no take backs.”
I planted a hand on my hip. “Not sure the law works like that, but no, that’s not why we’re here.”
“Fine.” She grumbled to herself but unlatched the chain and held the door for us as we entered. She hugged Cassie, the wombat, to her with one arm, resting the animal on her hip like a large baby. I nodded my hello at it and settled beside Peter on the shabby couch. Not that I was judging—mine was way shabbier. And not in the chic way.
The apartment was small and dark, with a short hallway leading to a couple more rooms with closed doors. Libbie grabbed a wooden chair from the dinette table in the kitchen and dragged it over in front of the couch. She sat down and cradled her wombat in her lap.
“Alright, if you’re not here for Cassie, what do you want?” She wore sweatpants, a hoodie, and her dark hair wrapped up in a silk scarf. She looked like she’d been just about to go to bed. I stifled a yawn behind my hand, suddenly realizing how long a night it’d been for me, too.
Peter leaned forward and laced his fingers together between his knees. “What do you know about the Underground Animal Rescue?”
Libbie snorted. “Not much.”
Cassie sniffed her chin.
“It was sort of a ‘don’t ask questions’ kind of scenario. As in, Malorie told me not to ask any questions or ask for any paperwork. A wagon from UAR would show up with a cage, usually at night, some animal in there, and we’d just take them.” She shrugged.
Peter narrowed his eyes. “What questions would you normally ask?”
She smirked. “Look, when I had my own zoo, if I bought an animal, the breeder would give me paperwork and permits certifying it was legal. And if they didn’t…” She lifted her palms, and Cassie circled in her lap like a dog settling down. “They probably weren’t legal.”
Peter frowned. “I just came from the Magical Animal Sanctuary. Quincy showed me paperwork.”
She smirked again. “That’s the sanctuary’s paperwork, just tracking the animal and where it came from. That’s not the same as the animal being registered with the government certifying the animal is legally a rescue or comes from a legal breeding facility.”
I nodded. “So you’re saying the Underground Animal Rescue is likely supplying the sanctuary with illegally obtained animals?”
She nodded. “Exactly.”
Peter and I exchanged looks. Just further evidence to support my theory. If Ludolf was behind this, why was he supplying the sanctuary with shifters? My stomach clenched. Fifty years ago—that was around the time of the Monster Wars. If Ludolf hadn’t banished those activist leaders to Carclaustra—maybe he’d found an entirely different sort of prison for them.
Libbie frowned at me. “You okay? You look like you’re going to be sick?”
I waved her off. “Just having an existential crisis, that’s all.”
Peter shot me a concerned look, but I gave him a reassuring nod. I’d fill him in on my theory later. He turned back to Libbie. “Who’d you meet when the animals were delivered? Who was your contact?”
She stroked her wombat’s head. “It varied. We never got names. The guys didn’t seem like they wanted to talk. Not the friendliest.”
I sighed. Of course Ludolf wasn’t going to do grunt work himself—he’d distance himself, like he did with all of his underhanded dealings. But the more we learned, the more convinced I was that he was behind this.
Libbie shrugged. “Look, Malorie was up to all kinds of shady stuff—my two merkles? She had it coming. Plus she paid terribly.”
Peter frowned. “I thought she gave you a big severance payment when you left??”
Libbie snorted. “I asked for a raise and she said no. Then last week, I found that old photo of Malorie and the gang, and her tune changed.” She looked sheepish. “I, uh—didn’t exactly tell you guys everything the other night.”
Peter and I exchanged looks. He withdrew his wand and muttered a few words. The manila folder (which I’d given back to him) magically appeared in his free hand. He picked through it and withdrew the old photograph we’d found in the safe in the sanctuary’s office, the one from the first Night of the Phoenix party fifty years ago. He turned it around and showed it to Libbie. “This photo?”
She smirked and nodded. She leaned
