Page 74 of Suspicions on the Stage
“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” The dragon snickers at his own joke, and I have to admit, it’s pretty funny. He’s doing a lot better since the conclave after the club, I think.
Dr. Balor pays us no mind. She glides past, eyes unfocused, as if she’s already memorized everyone’s criminal history and moved on to next week’s obituaries. I can’t help staring at her cheekbones—sharp as glass—and the way her lips never quite meet. I get a chill, like a cold needle of magic down my spine.
I hope this will not take a long?—
The banshee shrieks for attention, then announces, “Scene secure. Next-of-kin contacted?” Her voice is thin and metallic, like a dial tone after someone hangs up.
Kowalski blinks, momentarily nonplussed. “Uh, not yet. University’s handling the family notification.”
Dr. Balor taps her tablet with a red lacquered nail. “First step is to clear these people out; I’ll need an hour to work.”
Jackson raises a finger. “Is it possible to expedite? Some of us have urgent appointments.”
The banshee gives him a stare so icy the hellhound sneezes. “Death is never expedient, Mr. Thorne. But I will be thorough.”
“Understood, Doctor,” Jackson replies before he turns to make a face at Morgana.
As Dr. Balor and her assistant walk around the stage, I stay in place and the others take seats near the middle. Liam and Kaspar stay quiet, observing like me, but Morgana and Channing choose to appear unconcerned.
“Dean, would you like me to set a board meeting for tomorrow morning? I can conference in the relevant trustees.”
Ah, that’s the Channing I know. She’s already thinking ahead to lighten Morgana’s load tomorrow.
Morgana sighs. “Do it, Channing. Virtual is fine unless the board insists on a full bloodletting in person.”
“I’ll block two hours. Do you need time between calls?”
“Yes,” Morgana says, “…ten minutes minimum. Add a slot for me to call the Beauregard matriarch now that I’m tasked with that job because the detective is too cowardly to do it himself.”
Channing makes a humming noise of assent. “I’ll get you her direct line.”
I pretend not to eavesdrop, but the name ‘Beauregard’ is still a trigger for me. My dickhead father played squash with Rialto’s uncle once upon a time, and every Thanksgiving I had to listen to tales of their estate’s ‘rich supernatural history.’ If anyone could tell me how to survive the Beauregard matriarch, it’s my father. I make a mental note to call him at the earliest possible moment, so I can help Morgana.
“All set,” Channing says suddenly. “Board meeting tomorrow, eight a.m. sharp. Your first break is at nine-forty. I’ll text you updates.”
I bet her fingers were moving like lightning on that phone.
“Channing, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Just doing my job, Morgana.”
They’re hoping to keep the grumpy asshole cop from trying to question anyone again by looking busy. I know it, and I guarantee the others know it. Morgana is never this vocal about what she’s doing for the school, and Channing might be chirpy, but nothing like this. It’s a smart play, and I’m glad they’re keeping the focus on it.
“Instrumentum revela?2,” I mutter as I stare at the stage. The hellhound whips around, a low growl in his throat as he warns me off. “Damn it.”
Of fucking course he’d catch me trying to figure out what killed that damn guy. Just my luck.
1 Reveal the truth and show the way.
2 reveal the instrument
taking charge
MORGANA
If you’ve never watched a hellhound try to look smug, imagine a Doberman that just stole a steak.
That’s exactly the vibe coming off the coroner’s assistant as he looms over Iggy, who’s parked in the dead center of the front row with his hands raised like a felon at a traffic stop.
