The Mysteries of Holly Diem (Unknown Kadath Estates Book 2) (7 page)

“Sure!” Sumire appeared perfectly serious. “Don’t know
exactly how long that will take, though.”

“Oh,” April said, pausing to glare at us, and then
snuggling closer to Battle-Damage Sumire. “Good.”

“Told you I was invulnerable,” Sumire boasted. “I do
need someone to figure out who did it, though. I hate to ask, but they are
probably going to want me to stay here for a few days.”

There was a lot of non-verbal communication in that
hospital room of a sudden. April glanced at me with her face nestled in the
side of Sumire’s chest, delivering a message only I understood. Yael’s spine
stiffened with self-induced nobility. Professor Dawes studied his students with
apprehension, nervous mannerisms making it clear that he would have locked them
all up somewhere, for their own safety, were it only possible. Sumire glanced
uncertainly at Holly Diem. Holly, as usual, was radiantly and deliberately
unaware, wrapping a lock of her blond hair around her forefinger and smiling
beneficently at no one in particular.

Oh, and me?

Easy. I was hardly even there. I cleared my mind and
waited for the next bomb to drop.

Didn’t need to wait long.

“I’ll do it.” Yael employed the grim and determined
demeanor of a soldier volunteering for a suicide mission. The effect was only
mildly comedic. “Don’t worry.”

Judging from a brief review of facial expressions, I
don’t think anyone liked that idea, except Sumire.

“Thanks, Yael!” Sumire grinned and reached out her
intact arm toward Yael, and they clasped hands. It was an earnest display, the
kind performed with sincerity by those too young to know better. “I knew I
could count you.”

I had a brief vision of digging a hole to hide Yael’s
body. It wouldn’t need to be that big.

“Let’s cut to the chase.” Yael put her hands on her
hips, flush with newfound authority. “Preston – did you murder Sumire?”

The whole room must have heard my teeth grind.

“No one murdered Sumire. She’s alive. Right there,
next to you.”

“That doesn’t change a thing.”

“Seems like it should.”

“I think she’s probably right, Preston,” Sumire
chirped. “I think I died there for a minute or two.”

“Still not murder.” I folded my arms defiantly. “Still
not my fault.”

“It would probably help,” Yael mused, “if anyone in
this room would attest to believing you.”

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds of
silence, but it felt endless.

“Thanks, guys,” I sighed. “I feel like this
investigation might be biased.”

“I feel like you lie about everything,” Yael
countered. “You woke up covered in Sumire’s blood. Right next to her.”

“Yeah, but...”

“There are no other suspects.”

“You’re asking me to prove that I
didn’t
attack
Sumire. That’s not an investigation.”

“Preston is right,” Dawes agreed gently. “We cannot
presuppose conclusions.”

“Okay,” Yael agreed, after a moment of thought. She
really was
fair
. Despite my objections, I had no real doubts that Yael’s
inquiries would be honest and thorough. That was a potential problem. “Someone
else should join the investigation, then. Someone who doesn’t suspect Preston.”

Crickets chirped. Birds sang. I tried not to meet
anyone’s eyes.

“I don’t think he did it.” April piped up hopefully. “Shall
I investigate?”

“No,” I said, hurriedly and firmly.

“Not the best solution,” Dawes allowed, wincing.
“Perhaps.”

“No,” Holly agreed. “Let’s not.”

“Definitely not,” Sumire said, with a rueful grin.

“Who, then?” Yael demanded. “No offense, Preston, but I
can’t really picture anyone else taking your side.”

She wasn’t alone in that.

“Yael is right,” Holly said, with a nod of her pretty
head. “No one is going to advocate for Preston...”

“Thanks, Holly.”

“...so I think the best solution is for Preston to
join your investigation personally.”

Yael and I staged a competition to see who could make
the more outlandish effort to catch Holly’s eye, but she wasn’t having it. She remained
deliberately and blissfully ignorant of our objections.

“That is a terrible idea,” I retorted.

“Just terrible,” Yael agreed.

“Yael thinks I did this,” I said, pointing at Sumire
(rather rudely, I imagine). “She thinks I’m responsible.”

“I’m not accusing you, Preston.” Yael’s blush was a
very quiet apology. “You’re just the most likely suspect.”

“See? Collaborating already!” There was a warning
embedded in Holly’s humorous eyes. “I think that’s a rather solid basis for an
investigation, don’t you?”

“No, I think this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“Don’t make assumptions,” Holly scolded. “You haven’t
known me long enough to judge.”

“I agree with Preston,” Yael said, with a dismissive
shake of her head. “Regarding the terribleness.”

“See? The two of you are in perfect agreement.” Holly seemed
delighted. “I think we should move forward.”

“Holly, forgive me,” Dawes said, tugging anxiously at
his collar, “but I’m not sure that this particular pairing...”

“Not you, too, Professor,” I moaned. “I thought you
were on my side.”

“I am sorry, Preston,” Dawes said, miserable in his
sincerity. “I regret this all most profoundly. Nonetheless, when the welfare of
a student is concerned...”

“Wait a minute,” Yael snapped, her eyes blazing and
her spine straight as a rod. “Is this is about protecting
me
? From
him
?”

Everyone exchanged glances, more or less confirming
that, yes, that was the general idea.

“You must be kidding,” Yael said, voice cracking in
disbelief. “This absolutely must be a joke.”

“They don’t know you, Yael,” Holly said, putting a
hand on Yael’s arm. “They have no idea what you’ve been through.”

“I left my home and family behind. I made my own path
through the Underworld, and faced the Whistler in the Dark,” Yael said, giving
each of us in turn a cold and unequivocal stare. “I crossed the Waste, and took
passage on a Black Train. I confronted the Outer Dark, and survived. The Cats
of Ulthar count me as an ally.” She studied me closely, long enough to make
everyone uncomfortable. “I make my own aerosol-delivered chemical deterrents. I
have an excellent cat. What exactly is the issue?”

Yael’s boasts sounded a great deal like one of
Elijah’s stories. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

“She’s right,” Sumire chimed in brightly. “Yael’s
hella tough.”

“I’m not sure,” Yael said, looking concerned. “Was
that a swear, or not?”

“Not really,” Sumire assured. “I just mean you kick
ass.”

“That
definitely
was a swear,” Yael said,
blushing. “But, thank you.”

“No one doubts your capabilities, Yael,” Dawes said,
clearly unaware that his head was already underwater. “We are simply concerned
with your personal safety...”

“When you say that, Professor, you insult Preston and
myself.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, surprised.

“Not so much,” Sumire countered.

“Yeah, not really,” April agreed reluctantly.

“That’s it. I’ve decided. You don’t have anything to
worry about,” Yael said, patting Sumire’s leg tenderly. “We’re going to find
the person who did this to you.”

“Yay!” Sumire said. She probably would have clapped,
if she still had two hands. “Get ‘em, Yael!”

“Even if Preston did it,” Yael added thoughtfully.

“Not necessary,” I snapped. “Besides, what if I don’t
want to play detective?”

“No one asked,” Yael said, with a shrug. “As of now,
you’re the prime suspect. Isn’t it in your best interests to prove otherwise?”

Fair enough.

“Fair enough.”

“One thing to remember.”

Yael marched up to stand in front of me, and then
craned her neck to look me in the eyes.

“Do. Not. Try. To. Murder. Me.”

She punctuated each word with a poke to my sternum.

“It won’t go well for you.”

Truer words, and all that.

***

I was stuck at the hospital for longer than I liked. April was starting
to get weird – stuttering and tripping over words, the muscles around her eyes
twitching and tooth marks on her lower lip. She really doesn’t like hospitals.

Fortunately, Kim Ai despises me, and had no desire to
spend any extra time in my company, so she took April home, while I escorted
Holly and assisted her with the extensive paperwork. The Carter Academy
provided students and recent graduates with healthcare, but the school didn’t
have an operating room that could handle the kind of damage Sumire sustained.
Dawes and Yael disappeared shortly after the inquisition, leaving us to deal
with the logistics. It was a pain in my ass, and the fluorescent lights gave me
a headache.

Eventually we finished, and I saw Holly to her door
and then hustled back to mine, well past dinnertime. I performed the special
knock that theoretically prevented April from murdering me on entry, and then
let myself in.

April was working on her protective cocoons of sigils,
characters in her private, invented language. She had shed her dress, hat and
shoes, each item arranged carefully in the center of the room, and worked in a
cream-colored shift stained with ink and sweat. Her hair was in wild disarray,
locks hiding her face and spilling over her shoulders, her skin flushed and
damp. She was crouched in a corner, intent on modifying one of the papers she
had taped to the wall. Her protective barrier required regular refreshment, and
the maintenance of linguistic defenses was an ongoing burden absorbing hours of
each day. This, however, was another beast entirely. She glanced slyly, gave me
an ambiguous smile, and then returned to her labor.

“Hello, Preston. Why don’t you sit down?”

Abandoning argument, I readied myself as best as was
possible. A couple of deep breaths, and I felt steady enough to cross the room.
April scribbled fantastically ornate characters on the living room wall, having
used the last available scrap of paper. She paused occasionally to exhale on
the ink, to avoid smudging her work, and the apartment was thick with the fumes
of paint pens. Her art supplies and stuffed animal menagerie were heaped in the
far corner, and the television was unplugged.

“Is…something wrong?”

She glanced at me and gnawed on her bruised lip. Her
tongue darted out of her mouth, bitten and red with blood. Her attention
quickly returned to her characters.

Each character was created to the same exacting
specifications, though she eschewed use of guides or rulers. The interlocking
chains of characters she created had a dramatic effect on the viewer, sort of
like a gallery show arranged by an artist in the terminal throes of a nervous breakdown.

The characters she drew tonight were sharp and
carnivorous; I found it better not to examine them closely. They invoked
simultaneous bouts of anxiety and arousal, as if in response to a dark and
transgressive pornography.

Even from the corner of my eyes, the characters
troubled me. I realized belatedly how far I was from rescue.  

April wasn’t making a barrier. She was making a cage.

I watched her as one watches a wild animal – warily, a
little awed. There was no sound in the apartment but the scratching of her pen
on the drywall.

“Is everything okay, April?”

She finished a last character, and then laughed
shrilly.

“I’m sorry Preston.” She didn’t sound sorry. “I’m
afraid that I
am
myself right now.” She uncoiled, pacing the dimensions
of the cage she had created with the nervous energy of a confined tiger. “Sit
down.”

The tips of my fingers and my lips tingled. I sat down
in the center of the room, and lowered my eyes, oppressed by the lexicon of
confinement.

With feigned glee, April flopped into the pile of
stuffed animals. She emerged holding a chain of paper dolls cut from thick
white construction paper. Most of the dolls had a limb torn from them. The doll
at the end of the chain was missing her right arm.