An Erie Operetta (8 page)

Elders bless him. I reached out to pat his frail shoulder.

“I’ll have a word with them about nibbling in the library,” I assured him. That seemed to put the soul at ease, for he nodded and went to stand in his corner. I had no sooner picked my spoon back up when the two nibblers entered the dining room. Vincente, in a dark blue suit that was cut for his sleek body by a tailor to the gods, looked quite animated. His eyes glowed from within. Akio, meanwhile, seemed a tad peaked. I inclined my head when they sat down, one on either side of me. Vincente waved Eru away but his thrall fell on his soup like a starving jackal. Mikel’s pups had better table manners. After a moment of loud slurping Akio raised his pretty eyes.

“Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly, his chin covered with Manhattan clam chowder. “When I donate I get pretty hungry myself.”

“I see.” I didn’t know what else to say. Oh! “I hear that they give humans cookies and juice when they donate blood. Perhaps if—did I say something humorous?”

Vincente’s chuckling stopped after a moment. “Silly skunk, cookies are for kids.”

“What he’s trying to say is that when I give Vincente my vein, I get something in return. I feed him yes, but he also feeds me.”

“Ah! So you don’t swap spit you swap corpuscles.”

“In a manner.” Akio took a moment to finish his soup, then asked for more. “The term ‘thrall’ really doesn’t fit what I am. I’m Vincente’s chosen. I’ll live for a few hundred years, as long as we feed off each other.”

I glanced at Elysium. He waggled his dark brows. “Are you surprised that I would take a chosen?”

Actually, yes, I was, but I shook my head. The vampire laughed. I was beginning to get tired of being the butt of his jokes.

“You are a delight,” Vincente said as he slowly got to his highly-buffed boots. “I don’t really need to dally around inside your head; your thoughts are on your cute little face. I’m off for the morgue,” he told his chosen. “I wish to attend the autopsy of that body Templeton found at the opera.”

“Don’t bring up the opera,” I muttered. Akio asked what was the matter as he set into draining his second bowl of chowder. I gave them a fast run though of the invitation situation.

“Take Akio, he enjoys listening to fat women sing in German. I’m more a Stones man,” Vincente offered before kissing his chosen on his smooth cheek. In a blink the man was a moving mist. Rugby skittered backwards, plastering his shoulder blades to the cold stone wall. The fog swept over our heads then dove into the flue. Eru mumbled something Elvin under her breath. I tore my sight from the fireplace to find Akio stuffing a fat dinner roll into his face.

“You enjoy the opera?”I asked. His dark head went up and down with gusto. “Would you like to attend a performance of
The Magic Flute
this evening? We should be given instant access. Even without Mikel along, since we were invited by the diva herself.” Again more up and down. “Let’s hurry and eat. Rugby. Notify the ferry we’ll have two for pick up.”

Yes! This time I was not leaving the Lupei box, no matter what.

***

I had to put an addendum onto that promise not to leave the box. My bladder insisted I leave Akio as well as the Lupei private seats. Whispering to my new opera-going buddy where I was headed, I slipped through the thick curtain and began searching the huge building for the closest men’s room. I passed several ladies’ rooms. Is it just me, or do the gals seem to get the lion’s share of the bathrooms? Finally I discovered a lavatory for us gents. I ran in, flung open a door to one of several stalls, unzipped, and sighed in relief. Being who and what I am, I much prefer a stall. Bullies have to work harder to get to you in a stall. Old habits die hard. As I stood there I heard two men entering the bathroom. I’m not generally an eavesdropper, but when you have nothing to do besides watch yourself urinate...

“I hope they’re taking the proper measures to protect the touring group,” one said in a deep voice.

“As do I,” a raspy voice said. “Imagine, a whole troupe of beautiful women travelling about with such nastiness following them. You’d think the elders would forbid females from traipsing about without proper male protection, especially in this day and age.”

“True,” Deep Voice said. Zippers were unzipped. I shook and tucked, my ears wide open inside my stall. “It’s bad enough to have those damned rogues ripping up every high breed they can, but now these oddly dispatched bodies showing up everywhere our lovelies travel! And one a human.”

My ears perked up. I leaned my shoulder to the wall. Try as I might I could not see the men through the crack in the door. Bodies, Deep Voice had said. As in plural. When had this occurred?

“If only they would listen, but you know these modern women. They’re so stubborn. If I could gain admittance, I know I would be able to convince our beloved diva to cancel this tour. Two such corpses should warrant such an act from the minister of arts at the very least. I tried sending her messages when the body in Baltimore was found the day after the company left Maryland, but would the buxom wench take my letters? No!”

“She won’t see me either,” Raspy Voice said sadly. “I don’t understand it, either. I have far more money than some of the flea-bitten swains that she admits into her dressing room.”

“Women,” Deep Voice said. Raspy Voice muttered in commiseration. Zipping of trousers and then the flushing of urinals filled the bathroom. I sat down on the seat, hoping they would think I was merely taking a poo instead of spying. They lathered, still harping about Ms. Panagakos. I hadn’t heard so many heavy sighs since I was trapped on a bus with the local high school cheerleading squad. After the two gents left, I flushed as well, then hurried over to a sink to wash my hands.

A basket filled with rolled hand towels sat between the two shell-shaped sinks. As I dried my hands, I mulled over the news I had heard. So another body had been found. It appeared to be directly linked to the opera company. If a body had been discovered in Baltimore, and two had been found here, then the murderer must be part of the cast. But whom? I began to pace the lavatory as I rolled over the tidbits of information. Who could it be? Surely not any of the musicians or performers. They were all women.

I stopped pacing to make a face at myself in the mirror over the sinks.

“Stop being so stupid, Templeton,” I said to my image. Of course women could kill. Some were quite bloodthirsty. Mikel’s sister was a prime example. I tugged out my cell. I had a weak signal but sent a quick text to Mikel anyway. Hopefully he would be returning from wolf form soon. Once the text containing what I had heard was sent, I stepped out into the corridor. I could hear the opening strains filling the acoustically perfect building. Perhaps if I did a wee bit of snooping I might be able to find a clue to pass along to Mikel or Vincente. I stood torn for a moment. Watch the opera while letting those trained to investigate do their jobs, or nose around just a bit to help further the investigation? It was my duty as a citizen of this magical community to aid in whatever way I could, correct?

I walked back into the men’s room, stripped quickly, stashed my tuxedo into the linen closet that held nothing but rolled hand towels and urinal blocks, then shifted. Sneaking about as a skunk would afford me numerous advantages. I strolled up to the door then placed my front feet on it. It didn’t budge. Well, shit. There was the one disadvantage to skunk form. No thumbs to turn a doorknob. I sat down, wrapped my tail around me, and waited. Perhaps five minutes passed before someone ran into the bathroom. I zipped out into the hall and promptly collided with a potted plant. I shook off the impact then trotted away from the main concourse. Using sound to guide me, I continued moving away from the stage.

I moved with ease, my long whiskers trailing over the flocked wallpaper on the wall. When I reached the end of the corridor, I twitched an ear, sniffed a few times, then bounded off toward the smells of perfume and cold air. Thankfully, this opera house had been built way before fire codes were implemented, so no fire exit doors with large bars to push would be encountered. I began going down a spiral staircase. It was quite murky but since I ran on mostly smell and hearing, the creeping fingers of shadow didn’t deter me. I paused a few times to pick up the subtle changes in the air. I smelled the dank stink of a basement. I continued going downward. A door stood ajar at the bottom of the stairs.

I wiggled through, placing one dainty paw down at a time. The music was much louder now, as were the voices of the singers. Also, the cloud of perfumed femininity was so thick it made me gag. My perky little skunk nose was much keener than my human one. I grabbed my tail and sneezed into it five times. Eyes watering, I followed the floorboards ever closer to the dressing areas. I kept looking back over my shoulder but saw nothing. Not that I would have seen anything until it leaped on me. With my nose so compromised by the stench of battling flowery scents, I jumped on the first door I came to. It creaked open. I hurried inside, my tail brushing against a scarf draped over the knob. I gave the door a firm shove with my back foot. It drifted shut.

The aroma of the diva told me I had entered her private dressing room. I padded over to the closet. That door was firmly closed. I thought of shifting back to human but the sound of someone running past made me change my mind. Instead of rifling through Ms. Panagakos’ closet, I leaped up onto the padded seat that housed her derriere when she applied makeup.

Up onto her makeup stand I went. There were bottles, lipsticks, pancake makeup for the stage, hair clips, bobby pins, and any other manner of womanly thing one could imagine. I stepped around what I could, but I did tromp down on an open palette of rouges. I shook my left rear foot violently before moving on. I sat down beside a wooden chest that was quite old. It smelled of ancient wood. I leaned closer to the locked box, my nose going a mile a minute. The odors leeching off the small chest were out of place. I could smell the sea. I could feel the old magic emanating from the box moving over my whiskers.

I was baffled. My mind worked furiously. I put my nose to the lock then drew in a deep breath. I did that several times. Yes. It was the ocean I smelled. I had to know. So I began using a claw to try to pick the old lock. I fiddled for far too long. Having no luck, I set out to find the key. I opened every drawer I could find. Nothing. I even went through the trunks placed so neatly along the far wall. All they held were clothes for street and stage. I hoped my musk didn’t linger too badly on Ms. Panagakos’ frilly things. I was back at the chest, running my paws over it when a stroke of genius overtook me. I draped myself over the chest that was no bigger than a breadbox and began gnawing on the leather hinges. Yes, they tasted like decades-old dead beetles, but once I chewed through the pair I’d know what lay inside this box. I know what you’re thinking. But that saying is about a cat, not a skunk. I like to think polecats are smarter than cats.

When both hinges were severed, I wiped my tongue on the back of my paw then pushed on the lid. It swiveled to the side just enough for a skunk paw. The first treasure I extracted was a glob of wax. I held it between my front paws to study it. Thinking it useless, I threw it over my shoulder then reached into the goodie chest again. This time I pulled out a clump of golden wool. Odd. I chucked the stinky old wad of sheep clippings to join the glob of wax. Once more into the chest went my nimble paw. This time my fingers found a tightly wrapped bit of paper. I wiggled the scroll free. It was yellowed and quite fragile looking. The smell of the sea seemed to be growing stronger. I lay the paper down after clearing a spot then stretched over it to spread the scroll open.

With a paw on each corner I saw that the words were nothing I could read. I picked up my feet. The scroll crumpled into bits. Shit. Well, nothing to do for it now. I reached into the box yet again. The heater blew hot air over me. The long whiskers over my eyes rustled in the hot air. I blinked to moisten my eyes. I latched onto something small yet firm and pulled it free. My eyes went round when I saw the mummified human finger resting in my paw. I squeaked in horror. The wrinkled, grey finger flew into the air. The door opened with a tremendous bang. I stared into the angry lavender eyes of Adelphe Panagakos. Several other blurry women appeared in the hall behind her, each with fearsome expressions. I did what a skunk always does when presented with a group of irate women in funky costumes. I showed them my ass, stomped my feet, then rolled my lip just for good measure.

Normally people draw back in fear when they see a skunk about to douse them. Not these women. They chattered at me in what I assumed to be Greek, their hands gesticulating wildly. I stomped my back feet again when the soprano entered her dressing room, her touring company bringing up her rear. She spit what sounded like a vile word at me. I snapped at her, giving her a final warning before I let the stink go. My tail quivered as it arched over my back. Then the diva began to morph into something far less lovely than she had been. My fluffy black and white tail drooped as my primal fears roared to life.

Before me stood a creature that was a terrifying conglomeration of woman and bird. Ms. Panagakos now had the legs, wings, and head of a white raptor while sporting the torso of a woman. Her costume fluttered down to the floor in shreds. I suddenly was having trouble breathing. Among the few things that eat skunks regularly are birds of prey, owls and hawks especially. Birds have a very poor sense of smell, which is why they’re known to snack on stripers. I have nightmares about owls. Seriously. That messenger of Harry Potter’s makes me break into a cold sweat every time I see it.

I whipped around, sending bottles of nail polish careening to the floor. The woman opened her beak. A terrible squawk rolled out instead of a song. I blinked in terror, then made a wild-eyed dash. Down to the ground I jumped. I skidded around the ugliest, and largest, chicken legs I had ever seen. I swore right then I would never eat KFC again. The siren spun around, her wide white wings tipping over stands with clothes. The women in the hall all changed as well. I backpedaled. Birds everywhere! And not an olfactory among them. Ms. Panagakos hopped closer. I lunged at her toes when she tried to grab me. One of her sisters fell on me, wrapping her large foot tightly around my midsection.