Dead Is Not an Option (7 page)

"But Vlad," she said, "I could not reverse the spell even if I wanted to."

He said something too low for me to hear.

"The pen," she replied. "I left it." If Circe had used the pen to cast a spell, she would want it where she could look at it every day and gloat. I was almost certain the pen she was talking about was the one I had seen at Wilder's Restaurant when I'd "won" those cooking lessons—the pen with Bam's initials on it.

"You could not find it?" the count asked.

"Perhaps, but the other item was"—she paused—"confiscated."

"Unfortunate," the count observed.

I suppressed a snort. I didn't believe anything she was telling him.

I couldn't pick up anything else she said, so I tried a little mind reading. The only words I picked up were
Balthazar
and
present.
I couldn't do it for long anyway, not without Circe catching me, so I went back to the old-fashioned kind of snooping. I moved closer.

"And there is no way to retrieve it."

"You're certain?" the count asked.

Poppy poked her head into the kitchen. "How's the dessert coming?"

I nearly dropped the plates.

"F-fine," I said. "Can you get the ice cream?"

"What are you so jumpy about?" she said, then looked over my shoulder. The count and Circe were clearly visible.

"Nothing," I said. I didn't sound convincing, even to myself.

"Daisy, I'm saying this for your own good," she said. "Stay away from Circe."

"Don't worry, I will," I told her. At least until I found that pen.

CHAPTER TEN

Seeing Circe
back in Nightshade fueled my determination to free Lily and Balthazar.

The next morning, I called Bianca. "Hi, it's Daisy," I said. "Can I come by Wilder's?"

Bianca agreed to meet me before her shift at the restaurant.

As I maneuvered my car up the long drive, my thoughts went back to my junior prom, which had been held at the Wilder estate. The Scourge had done a total
Never Been Kissed
and had planted an agent who posed as a high school student. Prom night had been interesting, to say the least. I crossed my fingers that we weren't in for a repeat performance.

I waited for her in the empty dining room at Wilder's Restaurant. Her straight black hair swayed as she walked. There was still something feline in the way she moved, even when she was in human form.

She poured us a couple of sodas and then sat down.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," I said, unsure where to start.

"Anytime," she said. "So, tell me where you're going to college."

I sighed. "I haven't heard from any colleges yet," I said.

"None? But isn't that a little unusual?"

"Maybe I just didn't get accepted anywhere," I said gloomily.

"But you would have received word either way, correct?" she prompted me. "Isn't it odd that you haven't heard one way or the other?"

Strangely, the thought cheered me up. Bianca was right. Colleges sent rejection letters as well as acceptance letters, and I had received neither. A mystery indeed.

"Now, I know you didn't come here for college advice. What can I help you with?" she asked.

"I've been looking into the disappearance of Mrs. Wilder's sister," I replied. "And I need your help."

"I'm not sure how I can help you," she said. "Circe and I weren't close or anything."

"Do you know where Circe stayed last time she was in Nightshade?"

"She stayed here, at the Wilders'," she replied. "In one of the guest rooms."

"I'm looking for something that Circe may have left here," I explained. "A pen engraved with Balthazar Merriweather's initials on it. Can I see her room?"

Bianca brushed her long black hair out of her eyes. "I can let you in there for about half an hour. That's it."

"That would be a big help," I said. "Thanks so much."

She led me up the stairs, past Mrs. Wilder's bedroom, which I'd actually been in once before under very strange circumstances.

"When did Mrs. Wilder buy this house?" I asked. I was only making idle conversation but was surprised by Bianca's answer.

"She grew up here. This was her parents' home."

"I just assumed that the mansion had belonged to Mrs. Wilder's husband," I replied. "I mean, it is called the
Wilder
mansion."

"It was the Varcol home before that," Bianca said. "Shortly after Mrs. Wilder married, her parents died and she inherited the estate. Eventually, people stopped calling it the Varcol mansion and started calling it the Wilder estate instead."

That was kind of cool. I was in the house where Lily had grown up. We went down the hallway and then took a different set of stairs up another flight. They were dark and narrow and had probably been used by servants in bygone days.

"Taking me the back way?" I asked.

"Yes," Bianca said flatly. "I don't want any of the staff to see you and start asking questions."

The thick carpet muffled the sound of our steps, and the entire house seemed still and silent. There was no noise from the restaurant in this part of the house. Bianca stopped in front of a door and took out a key and unlocked it. "This is where Circe stayed," she said. She gestured to the adjacent room. "And that was Lily Varcol's bedroom."

"Really? Can I take a look?" I asked.

"Lily's room has been locked for years. Mrs. Wilder has the only key and allows no one entrance. She cleans this room with her own two hands twice a year without fail."

I was disappointed by the news. I would have loved to get a glimpse of where Lily had lived until she'd been banished to the jukebox.

Bianca opened the door to Circe's room. "I'll be back for you in half an hour," she said. "Not a minute longer."

Mrs. Wilder had given Circe a sumptuous room decorated in a sunny yellow. A white silk spread embroidered with violets covered the four-poster bed, and plump down pillows lined the headboard.

There was a delicate writing desk near the fireplace, and I decided that would be a logical place to hide a pen. I didn't find it there or under the bed. I checked in the large armoire, where I found a
Cooking with Circe
apron, but when I checked the pocket, there was nothing inside besides a couple of bad love poems in Circe's handwriting. I scoured the room but didn't find anything else even remotely interesting.

I approached the door that led to Lily's room. Bianca had said the room was always locked, but when I touched the doorknob, it opened without effort.

Lily's room must have been kept just as she'd left it. The room was decorated in a royal blue with a velvet coverlet and matching drapes surrounding the heavy teak bed. There were fresh flowers in a crystal vase on the nightstand, and it struck me that Mrs. Wilder must visit her sister's room considerably more than twice a year.

There was a long white nightgown crumpled on the floor and a jumble of perfume and makeup on the vanity. There was even a large carved box with a bunch of costume jewelry spilling carelessly out of it. At least, I hoped it was costume jewelry and not the real thing. I removed each piece of jewelry as carefully as possible and tried to remember where everything had been.

I wandered aimlessly around the room. There were several sets of sheet music organized by song title on the window seat. Lily had liked music, it seemed, even before she'd been trapped in a jukebox.

Judging from the haphazard state of her room, Lily was somewhat disorganized, except for where her music was concerned. I crossed to the bed and looked under it. It was almost too dark to see anything, but then I caught a gleam of something out of the corner of my eye. My heartbeat accelerated, but it turned out to be a small flute.

The connecting door had been unlocked, which meant that it was possible Circe had been in the room too. I tried to think like a sorceress for a moment.

I heard voices in the hallway and jumped to my feet, then quickly slipped back into the other room through the connecting door.

"Time's up," Bianca said.

"Can I take a look at Circe's old office?" I asked. "Maybe there's a clue there."

"Of course," she replied. "And I wanted to introduce you to our new head chef anyway."

Bianca picked up on my hesitation. "Don't worry," she said. "He's nothing like Circe."

"Well, okay, if you don't think I'll be disturbing him," I said.

She led the way to the kitchen. "Pierre," she said to a round little man who kind of resembled Santa, if Santa had a fat black caterpillar of a mustache marching across his lip. "This is Daisy Giordano. She, er, interned here when Circe Silvertongue was head chef."

Interning was an interesting way to describe my time in the kitchen of Wilder's Restaurant. Shedding blood, sweat, and tears was another way to describe it.

He wiped his hand on his apron and then held it out to me. "The young detective? It's so nice to meet you. Bianca has been telling me we could use someone like you around here. I hear you are a talented chef yourself."

I shot a look at Bianca but managed to respond somewhat coherently. "Thank you." His cheery manner was the last thing I expected from an executive chef.

"Tell me, what are your plans for the summer?" he said.

"I don't have any yet," I said baldly, "although I work at Slim's part-time."

"A lovely establishment," he commented mildly. "I am thinking of starting a new cordon bleu program for talented college students."

"I'm not a college student," I said gloomily. "But I want to attend UC Nightshade in the fall."

"Excellent," Pierre said. "I was thinking of starting out small with a Saturday class. Perhaps a pastry class? Would you be interested?"

"Very much," I said.

"Pierre is one of the premiere pastry chefs in the United States," Bianca said.

He blushed modestly and waved away her praise, then clapped his hands together. "It is settled, then. I will contact you once the details are finalized."

"Do you mind if we take a look at Circe's old office?" Bianca asked. "Daisy is investigating something related to Circe and believes Circe may have left something there that would be beneficial."

He nodded. "I prefer to use the other office," he said. "That one still stinks of bad magic. I did pack up her things. The box is on the desk. Feel free to look through it."

Bianca escorted me to the office and then excused herself, saying her shift was starting soon and she needed to change.

I dug through the contents of the box. I found a couple of recipes in Circe's handwriting, an empty bottle of perfume, and a UC Nightshade mug Circe had been using to hold her pens and pencils. I'd almost given up hope when I spotted a familiar black pen.

My heart beat faster as I turned it over to look for the initials.
BM.
Success! I put the pen in my pocket and replaced the rest of her stuff before sealing the box back up.

I went through the kitchen and couldn't help but notice that the kitchen staff were all smiling, a marked contrast to the atmosphere when Circe had been in charge.

Pierre was showing something to the sous chef when I walked by, but he stopped what he was doing and said, "Daisy! Daisy, please wait. I have something for you."

I stopped and waited for him. He came huffing up and presented me with a pink pastry box.

"For you and your family," he said. "I hope you enjoy these. And please think about my class."

"I will," I promised him. I smiled and said goodbye, feeling more cheerful than I had in ages. I'd found Balthazar's pen and gotten a gift of delicious-smelling baked goods. A good day of detecting.

On the drive home, a thought struck me.

Rose had brought up the very real possibility that the Scourge was responsible for the attacks. Its members hated vampires and shifters equally and would have no qualms about killing as many paranormals as they could.

There had to be someone in charge of that heinous organization, which was the evil equivalent of the Nightshade City Council. The Scourge was behind my father's kidnapping. Did my dad know something?

Dad was being all writer-crazy about his book and refused to talk about it. We'd tiptoed around him ever since his return. Sure, he'd told the council what he remembered, but that had been when he first came home. Some of his memories were coming back. Maybe he had remembered something and written it down, not thinking it was anything important?

I'd promised Wolfie that I would look into Elise's attack. I had pastries and a good reason to grill Dad.

I got lucky. He was the only one home when I got back from the restaurant.

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

His laptop was open on the kitchen counter, but he reached over, hit Save, and then closed it. He obviously didn't want me to read whatever he was working on.

"Rose is out with Nicholas, and your mom is working."

"Where's Poppy?" I didn't want my chatty sister coming in and interrupting my interrogation.

"Work, I think."

Or maybe she's with Liam, giving blood,
I couldn't help thinking.

"Would you like one?" I asked. I opened the pink box and waved it in front of him enticingly.

He reached in and snagged a chocolate-dipped macaroon.

"Dad, can I ask you something?"

"You just did," he said. He took another bite.

"Ha ha, very funny," I replied. "I'm serious."

"Okay, shoot."

I didn't know how to start. "Have another one. This one is a raspberry-filled cookie."

"Daisy, you know you can ask me anything," he said. "You don't have to bribe me with cookies."

"You know about Elise Wilder's attack," I said. "And the others."

He nodded.

"Rose thinks that it's not as simple as vampires versus shifters," I said. "She thinks that the Scourge is behind it."

"She has a good head on her shoulders," Dad said.

"Have you remembered anything about your captivity?" I asked him. "Anything new, I mean?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, a sure sign he didn't want to talk about it.

"It's important," I said.

He didn't say anything but took a long, shaky breath. "I keep hearing the voices in my head."

"Who?" I said, but I knew the answer.

"Her. I hear the sound in my dreams, but when I wake up, it's gone. I can't place it."

"It's okay, Dad," I said. I felt horrible about his reaction. "Maybe it's better if you don't remember."

"I would love to remember," he replied. "I would love to help catch the people who kept me away from my family for so long."

"So, there are no details about your kidnappers in the book?" I asked.

He hesitated. "There is one thing," he finally said. "But I don't think it's important."

"You never know," I told him.

"There were two of them giving orders," he said. "A man and a woman. They were always arguing." My dad almost seemed to be talking to himself.

"About what?" I didn't want to break his concentration, but the question escaped from me.

"Me. Nightshade. And something else." Dad's voice sounded far away. "The woman's voice. It was garbled."

"Garbled? Like she used a voice-modification machine?"

"No," he replied. "I think I was drugged. My vision and thinking were distorted. I felt out of it. I don't remember much about that night. I was working. Someone offered me a drink, and after that..."

"After that what?" I asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "I don't know."

His voice was rising and his hands were shaking. It was time to stop asking him questions.

"It's okay, Dad," I soothed. "Why don't we make some hot chocolate and pop in a movie?"