Sheridan Bell & the Vanishing Beast: Chapter Eight

Henry froze on the threshold to Lord Anghau’s office, staring at the massive hound that waited for him inside. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he tried backing quickly out but only succeeded in colliding with Lord Anghau’s chest instead. He dug his heels in when the looming sídhe began shepherding him back inside, but it was too late. Lord Anghau shut them both in with the beast, the door locking behind them with an ominous click. And just like that, Henry found himself trapped between the most powerful sídhe in Tamarley and a beast nearly as large as himself.

His only solace was that the beast slept, nestled at the hearth of a smoldering fireplace, but even that was taken away when Lord Anghau whistled. The creature woke, lifted its great, shaggy head to look at them, and a shudder passed through Henry. He didn’t like the way it stared: too intelligent, too knowing. It was a long-limbed, shaggy thing, its fur the same silvery-white as its master’s hair and its eyes — partially hidden behind tufts of fur — the same shade of red.

Lord Anghau must have felt Henry shudder, because he laughed. “Oh, that’s just Etta. She’d never hurt you, Mr. Bell,” he said, smooth and low and directly into Henry’s ear.

This time, Henry knew he didn’t imagine the emphasis placed on you. Lord Anghau said it, unmistakably, like it was an honor bestowed on Henry and Henry alone. Before Henry could question this, Lord Anghau whistled again and the dog — Etta — jumped to her feet. She was even larger than she’d seemed laying down, her head level with Henry’s chest, and fear gripped Henry all over again.

He tried yanking his hand away when Etta moved to sniff it, but Lord Anghau caught it in his own and held it out to Etta in offering, palm up. Henry tensed, Lord Anghau’s heat at his back a constant reminder of his precarious position. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Etta’s sharp canines, but Etta surprised him, licking his hand with a very long, very wet tongue. Henry wrinkled his nose but allowed himself to relax, even going so far as to tentatively scratch Etta’s head when Lord Anghau finally dropped his hand.

Her tail wagged with the force of a bludgeon, her whole body wriggling with excitement. Without quite meaning to, Henry asked, “Is this really one of the cú sídhe?”

“Why, Mr. Bell, it seems you know more about us than you let on. Few in this world know of the cú sídhe’s existence beyond common folklore, let alone that they work with the Uí Anghau. You must have dug very deep for that information.”

Henry flushed. Fortunately, Lord Anghau didn’t sound upset, merely amused. “I read it somewhere,” Henry said, evasively. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t expect them to be so…”

“Friendly?” Lord Anghau asked. He stepped around Henry and patted Etta, who, by now, was throwing her entire body into her tail wagging. His voice sweetening as he cupped her large head in his hands, Lord Anghau said, “Etta here is the most spoiled dog in all of Tamarley.”

Etta whuffed in response. While the sídhe set his clipboard down on the desk, Henry took a moment to look around, reasonably certain now that he wouldn’t be eaten the moment he let his guard down. They were in a lavish office, more ostentatious and more cluttered than everything Henry had seen so far. Wide windows made up the far wall and overlooked the streets of a city that, though strikingly similar to the Tamarley Henry knew, differed in all the ways that mattered.

When he turned toward Lord Anghau, he found the sídhe watching him, expression thoughtful. Lord Anghau gestured at the seat facing his desk, and Henry sat. He expected Lord Anghau to go around the desk and sit opposite him, but instead, the man crossed in front of Henry and simply leaned back against the desk, the edge of his boot resting against Henry’s. He studied Henry closely, staring until Henry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Finally, he asked, “Are you really here to make a deal, Mr. Bell? You don’t have the usual look.”

“What look is that?” Henry asked.

“Despair.”

Despite the chill that passed through him at that, Henry managed a polite smile. “Perhaps I hide it well.”

Lord Anghau tipped his head to one side, studying Henry, and Henry studied him back. He couldn’t help but wonder how old Lord Anghau was. He looked to be about Henry’s age, perhaps a few years younger. Certainly too young to be the Lord of the House Anghau. Of course, looks were always deceiving with the sídhe.

“No,” Lord Anghau said, finally. “I don’t think so.”

Henry blinked, unsure what to say to that. At the same time, tired of being ignored, Etta wandered back over to the fireplace. She gave the smoldering ashes a long, hard look, and Henry watched the fire roar back to life, blazing as if it had never gone out. With a satisfied huff, Etta settled back on her rug, curling up near the warmth, oblivious to Henry’s shocked stare. “I’m sorry, did she just…?”

Lord Anghau looked from Henry to the fireplace, then smirked. “Have you never seen a dog use magic before?”

Forgetting the danger he was in, forgetting all of Lord Anghau’s thinly veiled threats, Henry sat forward, excited. “So the cú sídhe really do have magic? How does it work? I read that the hounds’ magic is bound to that of their masters. Does she have her own, or does she only draw on yours? Do you have to be near her? Can she do whatever she wants with it?”

Lord Anghau stared at him, red eyes wide, then surprised Henry by laughing. “You ask a great many questions, Mr. Bell.”

“Ah, my apologies,” Henry said, forcing himself back into his seat again. “Sometimes, when I get excited, I don’t realize how I…”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Lord Anghau said. His smile was different, this time, less sly, almost soft. “I must say, though, I’m hurt that you seem more interested in Etta than you are in my services.”

Henry blushed. “That’s not—”

“To answer your questions,” the sídhe continued, “Yes, Etta and I have a bond that allows her to draw on my magic. She can do it whenever, wherever, and however she needs to, whether it’s to follow an order or light a fire so that she may sleep more comfortably.”

“Thank you,” Henry said, “For answering.”

Lord Anghau clicked his tongue. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Bell, but you should be more careful thanking the aes sídhe. In this case, it was information freely given, an act of goodwill, and that’s not something that requires thanks. Lesser sídhe might be offended.”

Henry nodded. “Tha— I see. I’ll do my best to remember that.”

Lord Anghau grinned, the slip not escaping his notice.

If Lord Anghau kept running Henry around in such circles, Henry thought he might get dizzy. On the surface, the sídhe was calm and polite, even generous, but Henry sensed an undercurrent of…something in every word Lord Anghau spoke to him. Something taut, something eager, something hungry. Like a dog with a treat balanced on its nose, Lord Anghau simply waited for the right word to snap. Despite that, and despite the strange things Lord Anghau said, Henry felt unexpectedly comfortable around him. Without even realizing it, he’d let his guard down.

So when he noticed something on Lord Anghau’s messy desk, an ashtray with a single, unmistakably familiar cigarette bud sitting inside of it, his heart sank. He recognized the custom brand, the looping silver logo on the side. He’d have to examine it closer, but it seemed to match the one he’d found outside Camberley Hall.

“Do you smoke, Lord Anghau?” Henry asked without thinking.

Clearly surprised at the question, Lord Anghau followed Henry’s gaze to the ashtray. “Would it bother you if I did?” he asked.

“No! No,” Henry said, too quickly. He scrambled to think of an explanation for the strange question. “I was just wondering if you had a spare cigarette.”

Lord Anghau grimaced. “I don’t smoke, myself. This is just for clients and coworkers — I can see if one of them has a cigarette for you?”

Henry briefly imagined making the Lord of the House Anghau go from subordinate to subordinate looking for spare cigarettes. He quickly shook his head, horrified. “No, no, that’s not necessary, I assure you.”

No lingering smell of tobacco hung in the office or clung to the man himself, and Henry had stood close enough in the elevator that he would have noticed. Whether Lord Anghau was telling the truth or not, though, the presence of that cigarette bud was too perfect to be coincidence. Maybe Lord Anghau wasn’t at Camberley Hall the night of Hathaway’s murder, but it seemed likely he knew who was. The question now was whether he’d had any involvement.

“Then I suppose we’re back to my first question: what can the Uí Anghau do for you, Mr. Bell?” Lord Anghau asked.

Henry hesitated. He considered repeating the story he’d told the receptionist about wanting to make a deal, but a single wrong word now could lead to dire consequences. He didn’t know why, but he felt that any lies would be the wrong words, so he chose his next ones carefully: “I told your receptionists that I’m here for information, and while that’s true, it’s not the entire truth. I’m a private detective. I’m here on a case.”

“I see,” Lord Anghau said, expression unreadable. “We do occasionally deal in information, but we can only share information we already have, not find answers for you. Though if you’ve done your due diligence, Mr. Bell, you must already know that.”

Henry nodded. “I understand. Two days ago, a man named Arthur Hathaway was killed. I just want to know if he ever did business with your House.”

The sídhe tapped a finger to his lips, thoughtful. “Arthur Hathaway…the name sounds familiar. Was he someone important?”

“An accomplished mathematician, but not someone I expect you would’ve heard of otherwise.”

“Does this involve the cú sídhe?”

“Possibly. Hathaway was killed by some sort of canine — one that stands at least three feet tall and has the hunting habits of a large predator. I suspect it has sídhe origins.”

“Well, that’s certainly more detailed than the usual accusations we get.”

“Accusations?” Henry asked.

“There’s a reason we don’t like people knowing we control the cú sídhe,” he explained. “Back when it was common knowledge, people pinned any dog-related misfortune they could on the Uí Anghau. A man gets attacked by his neighbor’s terrier and suddenly, it was the cú sídhe. A stray mauls a passerby, and surely, it must have been sent by the Uí Anghau.” Lord Anghau waved a hand, dismissive. “I suppose it’s possible we killed Arthur Hathaway, but I doubt it.”

For a moment, Henry thought he’d misheard. “I’m sorry? Did you say it’s possible?”

“I did. It’s his own fault, if he made a deal with us. Did his mourning family hire you to find the killer? I’m afraid there’s nothing they can do about it, even if we did kill him.”

“That wasn’t it,” Henry said, bemused. “I was hired by Saoirse Evans, the woman wrongly arrested for the murder. If I don’t find the real killer, she’ll hang.”

Lord Anghau’s smile fell. “I see. Well, that changes things. We don’t like innocents getting caught up in our business here, so I’m happy to assist where I can,” he said. “I have nothing to hide, so how does this sound: I’ll make a deal with you, after all. I’ll answer any question you have about my business if you give me something in return.”

Seeing Henry’s eyes widen, Lord Anghau laughed and shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking: you expect me to ask for your soul, right? But we rarely do those sorts of deals anymore, Mr. Bell. I don’t want your death; I want a piece of your life.”

“What does that mean, exactly? What do you deal in, if not death?”

Lord Anghau hopped up to sit on his desk. “My house is the wealthiest in Tamarley — on either side of Tamarley. We have everything we need and can buy most of the things we want, but some things can’t be purchased.” Lord Anghau met Henry’s gaze and smiled, soft and predatory. “Everyone has something we might covet, even you. It might be a piece of knowledge, a first kiss, the fading memory of a childhood friend…”

Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Are those all things you want from me?”

The sídhe’s smile widened, revealing the tips of sharp canines. “I want everything, Mr. Bell.” He tipped his head to one side, considering. “What are you willing to give me?”

“Um,” Henry said, buying himself time to think. “I have knowledge I could share, but I doubt any of it would be of interest to someone like you unless you’re curious about soil or the effects of common poisons.”

Lord Anghau laughed. “Soil?”

Henry scratched his nose, embarrassed. “I’ve done some studies on the soil quality across the two sides of Tamarley. It’s useful for me in my profession, but for you…”

“I’m interested in whatever you’re interested in, Henry. With no limitations,” Lord Anghau said. He leaned in closer, eyes glittering. “And while that does sound fascinating, I was hoping for something more personal. Tell me a secret, something you’ve never told anyone else. Something you miss, or long for, or fear.”

The eye contact making him uneasy, Henry watched Etta sleep, instead. He didn’t know what secret he could offer that would satisfy this person who’s heard it all, seen it all. There was nothing he missed, nothing he truly longed for. He had fears, but even those were boring, expected. When he looked up again, he found Lord Anghau still watching. For a moment, they both simply stared, then jumped together when a knock came at the door.

Lord Anghau turned to glare at it, gripping the edge of his desk until Henry heard the wood creak. Over by the fire, Etta picked her head up, interested.

“Come in,” Lord Anghau called. He sounded, suddenly, like a different person, his voice hard and void of the playfulness and ease Henry had come to associate with him. He snapped his fingers and the door unlocked with a click.

When the door opened, an older sídhe woman peered around it. She had the same delicate features as the long line of portraits Henry had seen downstairs, the same smattering of freckles as Lord Anghau. Her eyes widened when she saw Henry. “I’m so sorry, my Lord! I didn’t realize you had any appointments today.”

Still with that cold, distasteful affect, Lord Anghau asked, “What is it, Brona?”

“I’m here to take Henrietta on her morning walk.”

Lord Anghau stilled, his gaze flitting briefly to Henry, then waved the woman in impatiently. “Fine. Take her, but make it quick.”

Apparently, the dog understood them to some extent. Even without Lord Anghau addressing her directly, she rose and trotted over to Brona, pausing to give Henry’s hand a goodbye lick on her way. The woman and dog eyed each other with distaste, Etta’s tail, which had wagged so violently before, now still. Even so, Etta left with her easily enough when the woman held open the door and said, “Come along, now.”

“Wait,” Lord Anghau called. He grabbed a stack of papers off his desk and held it out to Brona. “Rejected intake forms for the front desk. Take these down with you, will you?”

Brona took the papers, shooting Henry a curious glance as she did. When the door finally shut again, Henry realized that he and Lord Anghau were now completely alone — not that the presence of the cú sídhe had been a great comfort, before.

“Is Brona one of the negotiators?” Henry asked.

“My assistant. I can’t say she’s a great one, but she’s been around since my father’s time, and she takes care of Etta when I can’t,” Lord Anghau said. “I apologize for the interruption. Brona usually knows better than to intrude.”

Henry wanted to ask more about the word can’t, sensing more weight behind the word than there seemed to be on the surface, but he didn’t want to put Lord Anghau off with invasive questions, not when the sídhe was still so tense. So instead, he asked, “Henrietta?”

Lord Anghau twitched. He nodded, warily.

“It’s cute,” Henry said, remembering only after saying so that he was talking to the most powerful sídhe in the city. “Um…did you name her?”

“Yes. I did.”

Henry wasn’t sure what he’d said wrong, or what had changed since Brona knocked on the door, but he tried another question: “What circumstances lead to an intake form being rejected?”

At that, Lord Anghau finally relaxed again, sitting back on his hands. “Under normal circumstances, vague requests,” he said, giving Henry a pointed look as if to say Henry’s evasiveness on the intake form had not escaped him. “If a client has made a deal with us within the last six months. Illegal requests, obviously. Sometimes, I’ll reject a form simply because I’m in a bad mood. But I do believe you were about to tell me one of your secrets, Mr. Bell. I hope you’re not trying to get answers before you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain; once we sídhe have been promised something, we don’t let go of it easily.”

Henry sighed. He had, actually, hoped Lord Anghau had forgotten. “A secret, then,” he agreed, still not sure what to say. He could share something he’d learned during a previous case, but most of those weren’t his secrets to give. He could tell Lord Anghau how desperately afraid he was that someday soon, someone would need him and he’d fail, but that was too personal, too close, and Henry didn’t think he could speak it out loud.

He looked around the room for ideas. Once again, his gaze landed on the ashtray. “I…don’t actually smoke. I’ve tried, but I hate the taste.”

Lord Anghaublinked. Then, catching Henry off guard, he threw his head back and laughed.

Henry fidgeted, nervous. “I’m sorry, was that…Was that good enough?”

“If you don’t smoke, then why…No, don’t tell me. I only asked for a secret, not the explanation behind it. I do think that’s a little unfair, though, given that that wouldn’t be a secret if you hadn’t lied in the first place. If you’d like to make it up to me, tell me this, instead: you say you hate the taste of cigarettes. What’s something that you do like?”

“Oh,” Henry said. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

This time, Henry didn’t have to think as long. “Sabhaircín.”

Lord Anghau smiled, nodded, and clapped his hands together, “Very good, Mr. Bell. Now, in exchange, I’ll tell you whatever you need to know to help your Ms. Evans.”