I truly hoped she hadn’t.
Mimi shook her head. “No. But I’ll tell you, it feels like divine justice that she got hers on bread day after making her fortune off my bread.”
Daisy wagged her tail. Truth.
I blew out the breath I’d been holding. We checked with her team and got their statements. They’d all been nowhere near Polly, denied killing her or tampering with her tea, and they hadn’t seen anyone else do it either. It looked like we’d run into a dead end with these bakers, too.
After questioning Mimi and her team, we found the palace servant who’d brought the tea around. The middle-aged guy seemed distraught.
“I don’t know what happened! I just boiled the water over there—” He pointed a trembling finger at a fire burning in an open hearth near the pantry shelves.
“Did you leave the kettle alone at any point? Could someone have spelled the water or poisoned it?”
The servant dragged a gloved hand through his thinning hair. Sweat rings stained his blue-and-gold palace livery under his arms. “No. I don’t think so. I waited until it boiled, then brought it over to that empty baking station.”
Presumably, as this was midway through the competition, some of the other teams had already been eliminated, leaving a few stations vacated.
“I brought some tea bags down from the palace kitchen with me.”
Peter shifted on his feet, his quill jotting down notes on his enchanted scroll. “Did you leave the tea bags alone at any point?”
The servant shook his head and patted his jacket pocket. “Nope. Kept them on me the whole time. I made the pot of tea, spelled the tray of cups and sugar and cream to follow me, and then made my way around the stations, giving tea to anyone who wanted some.”
Peter took notes on all the contestants who’d taken tea. “And you served Polly last, correct?”
The guy nodded, his brows lifted in the center. “Oh, goddess. Did the tea kill her?”
Peter took a breath. “We, uh—we don’t know for sure yet, but it appears that she was poisoned and that the tea was the only food or drink she consumed today.”
The guy buried his face in his gloved hands. “Oh, snakes. I’m going to get fired.”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t sound like it was your fault. Do you remember anyone tampering with the tea or cups?”
He shook his head, hands pressed to his cheeks. “No! I held the teapot the whole time, and I don’t remember anything untoward.”
Daisy confirmed he was truthful, and after a few more questions, Peter let him go.
“I don’t think he’s involved.”
I shook my head. “Same.”
Peter glanced over his notes. “Alright, well we should track down Polly’s ex-boyfriend, Vince Dupont, soon. We’ll also see what Gabriel has to say after he examines Polly’s body.”
I slumped my head against Peter’s shoulder. “Sounds like a plan. Does this mean we can go to sleep?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve got a few things to wrap up, but we can head out in a few minutes.”
I grinned up at him. “Me and my throbbing headache thank you.”
While Peter moved off to have a word with Inspector Bon, I glanced toward the gleaming white palace. I’d missed my chance to speak to Sam Snakeman and the princess about Ludolf. I bit my lip—sure hoped Madeline was right and that the rally this evening would give me a second chance.
RALLY
After a few hours of sleep that afternoon, Peter, Daisy, and I dragged ourselves awake and headed up the mountain, back to the palace for the shifters’ rights rally. It’d taken me a while to find her in the massive crowd, but I now stood beside Madeline and her photographer outside the palace gates. The raucous crowd jostled us, and though we stood shoulder to shoulder, I had to lean close and shout at her to be heard. “How are we going to speak to Sam and the princess during this?!”
Without looking, she waved me off. “Shh! It’s starting.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved my hands in the pockets of my quilted bomber jacket. I glanced around for Peter. He’d gotten a call from the station about ten minutes ago and had moved off to try and find a quiet spot to talk. I rose on my toes and glanced over the thousands of heads gathered in front of the golden palace gates.
All around, the night was lit up by torches and glowing wands. People pumped dozens of picket signs over their heads, with slogans like The Tide is Shifting and Shifter Rights are Right! scrawled on them. Counter protestors gathered at the edges, held back by police officers and palace guards. My stomach turned, and I avoided reading their signs, scrawled with hateful sentiments. I hoped Peter could find his way back in all this madness. He had Daisy with him—maybe she could smell us out.
I sank back down on my heels, my heart pounding with excitement and anxiety as Sam Snakeman took the raised stage in front of the gates. He stood behind a podium, flanked by Princess Imogen and Prince Harry. Nothing like this had ever happened, at least in my lifetime. And while the cynic in me knew the tide was never going to change overnight, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of hope that the rally might actually make a difference in the way shifters were viewed and treated.
I strained to catch Sam’s words as he began his speech. Heidi, who was back at my apartment watching over all the trapped shifters, had begged me to give her all the deets later. And Will was working at the clinic, still trying to swim under the net with Ludolf so he wouldn’t suspect him of helping me. But even Will, in his gruff, aloof way, had seemed curious and excited about the rally. Of course, he’d expressed that by warning me not to get trampled.
Sam Snakeman fiddled with the red polka dot bowtie at his neck, and his chin receded. He rolled a shoulder
