Alkimiya - A Fantasy Mystery Series

EIGHT - A Flash of Red

The best thing about joining the constabulary force was that it was illegal to caption constables and those in training from arriving or leaving work. Guild Square was conveniently off-limits as well. The Noire Manor House was given, along with the rest of the manors that made up the old block of homes, a Class Three listing and was therefore under strict regulations. The corner between Zenetra's work and home, however, remained a gray zone where hagglers, vagabonds, and reporters from the Hive freely loitered.

Securing her jacket, as well as the tubes of blueprints in the process, Zenetra tucked her chin out of habit and glanced ahead. A brash reporter usually waited for her at the end of each workday, but as she drew nearer to the corner, she discovered the area remained unoccupied.

Zenetra released a breath she had not known she was holding and crossed into her neighborhood without any pestering. Either the Hive had too much excitement with the caption they published of her that morning, or they did not expect her to reappear until the end of her regular shift. Either reason suited her just fine.

Having been granted a year's worth of reprieve during fight training, her return to the city a few days prior prompted reporters from the Hive, and what seemed every magazine in the nation, to swarm her for an interview. The first year of living in Guild Square was the hardest for her to adjust to that level of intrusiveness. The neighbors lived too close, people shouted her name at all hours, and reporters dug through her trash. 

In an effort to convince herself that she had made the right decision in joining the CF, she told her father, Mr. Tedman, and Commissioner Fokle that she had grown used to people buzzing about, shouting questions and insults in an attempt to provoke some kind of reaction. It had been a blatant lie. One Zenetra maintained out of willfulness. 

The constant hounding had affected her greatly. She avoided eye contact, even with her neighbors at Guild Square. She jumped at shouts, even when not directed her way. She braced herself—muscles tightening, jaw clenching—anytime a stranger came too near.

How long would it be before news broke that she was off on her first assignment? Would she be, as Commissioner Fokle hoped, far out over the Ghost Sea by then? Had the leak already reported it to the Hive?

Zenetra's breath came out in puffs of white air. It was the heart of winter, where the days were just as cold as the nights and the freezing rains from the northern windstream cocooned everything in layers of clear ice. The nation had not experienced a winter so brutal in half a century.

She crossed onto the sidewalk that ran in front of the block of white manor houses. The land in the center of Guild Square could have fit at least twenty more buildings but because of the restrictions on Class Three listings, the preservation committee overseeing historical structures such as hers would allow a park and nothing else. The outgoing Prime Minister, who had held his position for a solid fifteen years, had wanted to build a monument of Áki Noire to represent the liberation of the nation. That idea was squashed soon after it hit the papers.

Zenetra was glad there would be no monument. It was bad enough seeing a statue of her grandfather every time she entered and left work, but to have her great-grandfather in her front yard, obnoxiously large and taking away from the beauty of the scenery, would have been too much.

As it happened, Zenetra was very fond of having a park as her front yard. Not only was it similar to the land around the family mansion, but it was also one of the rare areas where nature ruled within city limits. The evergreen trees, which maintained their bright green color year round, proved efficient at keeping the neighbors across the way from pointing their spyglasses at her front windows. The small pond in the center of the park was home to ducks, herons, songbirds, and on occasion, a few white swans. Flat areas of grass were usually occupied in the summer by couples enjoying romantic picnics. She would often hear delighted laughter from her place inside the manor on those warm, beautiful days.

Her father had little desire to visit the manor house in Guild Square, but that was because the Hive had easier access to it than to Noire Mansion. It was no secret Orton Abelard hated Elvira Waxworth and her busy bees.

As Zenetra strode down the sidewalk, her black and gold roamer twinkled into view. The metal-plated vehicle, with its delicate, yet strong curves and clear glass windows, appeared ever more lustrous in the sunlight. Combined with Guild Square's whitewashed stones, the street was iridescent in the afternoon sun.

Her gloved hand stroked the shiny black paint. She loved this particular model above all the others. Noire Transport had named it Obsidian.

As she admired the roamer, the tiny hairs on the side of her face tingled. Her shoulders rose in defense. So attuned to being watched, her body often reacted before she even spotted a reporter. She paused beside her roamer and glanced around.

The street was deserted on her side of the square. No face appeared in any of her neighbor's windows. Across the street, the park remained quiet, but between the evergreen trees and the brown branches of leafless bushes was a flash of red.

Zenetra did a double-take. All pretense of subtle looks ceased. The red was gone, but the feeling of eyes on her remained ever-present.

Determined to find out who was watching her, she crossed the street and followed a well-worn trail leading into the park. Her ears strained at the sound of a splash and a squelch. She set off at run and came upon the brown barricade of spindly branches where the lively pop of color had been. Imprints of large boots sunk into the mud and filled with water. A smeared step led off into a pool of slush.

Someone had left in a hurry.

Zenetra skirted the puddle of melted snow and found the same set of footprints behind a large pine tree. The brown needles littering the ground helped hide their ultimate direction. Fingers gripping the ridges of rough bark as she steadied herself against a tree, she searched the mucky surroundings. All she saw was a brown forest speckled with small piles of dirty snow.

"I saw you!"

Tree trunks buffered the noise and her words sank into the wet ground. Wind whistled through the branches. On its heels was the unmistakable sound of heavy breathing.

"Mr. Clay?"

In the distance, deep within the woods where the trailhead did not go, a twig snapped.

Zenetra's head whipped around.

It couldn't be Captain Inglehart's winger hiding in the park. James Clay's pungent odor would have given him away. The air was thick with the sharp scent of pine and nothing else.

Someone else was in the park. Her father had seen a masked man hanging around the grounds of the mansion. Could it be him?

Feeling exposed, Zenetra hugged herself with one arm. The tubes of blueprints pressed uncomfortably against her body. She couldn't afford to lose them by chasing after a stalker, but that certainly didn't stop her from issuing a threat.

"There better not be any reporters lurking about or I'll have words with Ms. Waxworth! Guild Square is off limits!"

Zenetra turned and fled the park, glancing over her shoulder for any hint of red all the way to her front door. When the black door closed, her hand sought the inner deadbolt.

A Noire could never be too careful.

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Preview for next chapter:

Zenetra examines her estates' blueprints and finds a startling revelation, but what's more startling is what awaits her at her family mansion.

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