Inkwell of Shadows 4: Echoes of the Past

November 2, 2024. Back office of Moonlight Curiosities. Making the uncomfortable choice…

Author’s Note: Inkwell of Shadows is a serialized fiction story in Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries, set in Blighridge County, Alabama. A quiet corner of the world where old ghost linger, cursed objects refuse to stay quiet, and some secrets never stay buried—at least, for long.

New installments or chapters will materialize every Monday…

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Previously. With the bloodleech destroyed, Daniel and Cassidy took a well-earned collapse. It wasn’t the ‘day after getting married’ they expected, but it was far less terrifying than their wedding day. But life decided to spice things up a bit with a visit from another bloodleech. Only this one was less set on murder, but a little monetary mayhem wasn’t quite off the table. One Dorian Callix arrived with a business proposal, one that might help Daniel and Cassidy get the shop back in order…

November 2, 2024. Back office of Moonlight Curiosities. Making the uncomfortable choice…

The back office still felt like it belonged to my uncle. His space. Not mine—not yet. But at least it wasn’t crowded. Compared to the rest of the shop, it bordered on spartan.

An old, wide wooden desk dominated the western wall. It paired well with a refurbished 19th-century banker’s chair. Shelves held a mix of my books and my uncle’s keepsakes, from pocket watches to small ink paintings, and black-and-white photographs. Some were photos of my uncle with antique ‘pickers’ he’d worked with over the years—mostly locals from around the county. I hadn’t thought about them in years.

Last of all, there were three padded, red canvas chairs that kept the office desk company. Dorian Callix was already seated in one of them, directly across from the desk as Cassidy and I walked in. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, admiring the photographs.

“Moonlight Curiosities,” Dorian said thoughtfully, his New England accent stretching the words. “Good name for an antique shop. Has a nice sound to it. Did it always have that name, or was it a recent change?”

Cassidy and I swapped a wary glance. I took the chair behind the desk while she pulled over one of the canvas chairs to my right.

“My uncle named it when he first opened up shop,” I explained. “After the place passed to me, I didn’t see a need to change it.”

“Too many memories?” Dorian asked casually.

“Something like that.” I clasped my hands in front of me, leaning forward on the desk. “So, you mentioned something about a matter of interest?”

Dorian shifted position in the chair. It let out a muffled squeak in protest.

“That I did, but before we get to business, I’d like to offer my congratulations on your wedding.” A smooth smile brushed his face. “Two days ago now wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cassidy replied. Her voice carried a quiet promise of violence.

Dorian nodded slowly.

“Shame Valeria interrupted your reception, wedding night and all. The woman had no sense of manners—or propriety.”

Cassidy looked ready to leap across the desk and throttle Dorian. I scowled. The last thing Cassidy and I wanted was fresh reminders.

“She had a lot of problems,” I replied, my words as brittle as dry clay. “Mr. Callix, if you don’t mind…”

He raised a hand idly to interrupt me.

“No, no. It’s Dorian, if you please. No need for formality between the likes of us,” he replied, an all too easy charm sliding easily off each word. “After all, we’ve something of a connection. Like I said outside, I owe you both a favor of getting me free of Valeria’s shadow.” Dorian gestured lightly to us with both hands. “So, I’m looking to repay that debt—if I ever can.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Which means what?” I asked carefully.

Dorian interlaced his fingers in his lap.

“Belated wedding gift,” he explained. “Maybe some help with that honeymoon. I can recommend a few nice places. All out of the way, of course, with no prying human eyes.” Dorian nodded to me. “No offense, mind you.”

I managed a thin smile. “None taken.”

Cassidy cleared her throat, staring holes in Dorian.

“Thank you for the congratulations… Dorian,” she said, her words honeyed poison. “But the other night was a bit trying. If that’s all…?”

“Oh, not in the least,” Dorian replied quickly. “Now, as I said I’ve a business offer I wanted to discuss. One I think you two are perfect for.”

He pursed his lips as if gathering his thoughts, eyes shifting between the two of us.

“As I mentioned, after you two had your little adventure with Valeria the other night, I had to tidy the remains. Best to clean that up before your sheriff got too curious.” He raised his eyebrows at us. “Though, two iron spikes? Really, one would have done in Valeria just fine.”

“We were pretty motivated,” I replied in a clipped tone.

I kept to myself that the second one was less ‘strategy’ and more ‘lethal panic attack’.

Dorian hummed, nodding at the statement.

“I suppose. Well, other than disposing of her remains, such as they were, I needed to take ownership of her things. Most I had burned. Some I had sterilized. But one in her personal safe caught me by surprise. Which is where you both come in.”

He reached into an inner coat pocket, producing a dark-toned beechwood box a good six inches long and two inches deep. The whole thing had been polished enough that the edges and corners had been worn smooth. Dorian set it on the desk, then slid it over to us. I exchanged a curious glance with Cassidy, then accepted the box.

Inside, nestled in faded crimson silk, was a fountain pen that made my pulse jump.

The barrel of it gleamed with the smooth, liquid tone of old, polished tortoiseshell. Swirling amber lines wound through the surface like vines, suggesting movement if you stared at it too long. They caught the light in a way that made them seem to move.

I wanted to lift it up but was a little worried to touch it. Beside me, Cassidy sucked in a sharp breath, staring.

“May I?” I raised an eyebrow at Dorian.

He gestured toward the pen.

“By all means,” he replied casually.

“Pre-1930s Waterman,” I explained with a thoughtful nod. “Classic tortoiseshell cover, but these amber lines aren’t typical Waterman design.”

I turned it over with my fingers. Just holding it made me want to scrub my hands with a rough sponge.

But what I said wasn’t a lie. Those amber lines around the pen shell weren’t typical. They were slightly raised, as if added later. I slowly ran my thumb over them. A dull cold settled in the pit of my stomach. I returned the pen back to the wooden case.

“Certainly vintage,” I told Dorian. “But you didn’t need either of us to figure that out. What’s so special about it?”

Dorian gave me a sly smile.

“It wasn’t alone,” he said. “The original box held four pens, two of which are missing. One is there, the other is with my accountant in New York. He’ll be moving down here later in the week as the rest of my estate arrives.”

I filed that away under future problems. Dorian didn’t seem to notice, or mind, that we didn’t comment on his moving plans.

“Waterman’s you say? Hm.”

Dorian’s face was calm, but I could tell the thought picked at him for some reason. Then he met my eyes again.

“In any case, my accountant assures me the last two of this set are here in Gloamstead. I’d like you to track them down for me.”

“Why us?” Cassidy asked suspiciously.

Dorian’s eyes glinted. “Honestly? Beyond your brief and bloody association with Valeria, I believe you two are best suited for the search.”

“We don’t make a habit of doing favors for murderers,” Cassidy snapped, leaning forward with the hint of a predatory posture.

If Dorian noticed, he didn’t let it show. That is one thing about bloodleeches—when they want to be composed, they’re masters at it.

“Which is why I’m wanting to pay you,” he replied smoothly, idly waving a hand. “As I said, it’s Valeria’s, or was. I can’t imagine why she kept them. She wasn’t, as you might expect, all that interested in this kind of history.”

Cassidy and I exchanged a look.

This was a mess. The kind that had already tried to kill us once. But the idea of passing up the work gnawed at me. I could tell by the tension in Cassidy’s shoulders and her jaw, it ate at her, too.

“Suppose we take the job—”

Dorian held up a hand to interrupt again.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll pay quite handsomely,” he explained. “Signed contract, all above board. Let’s say,” he waved a hand around at the room, “enough to rebuild this lovely little shop of yours to your exact tastes. Also, a bit more beyond that for you both to have a proper time away?”

He leaned forward conspiratorially with a smile so smug it made my shoulders twist into knots.

“Come now, you’re both far too clever to turn this opportunity down.”

I saw Cassidy was as tense as a spring. It was obvious, at least to me, that it took all her restraint not to claw either the desk or Dorian.

“And what happens if we don’t take it?” Cassidy asked uneasily, as if she suspected the answer and didn’t like it.

“I’ve been known to sulk,” Dorian replied with a theatrical sigh. “Which likely means impulse shopping therapy at antique stores… daily.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed.

He leaned forward to place his hands on the desk, interlacing his fingers. Again, he looked like an upscale salesman. At least Valeria had looked dangerous. Dorian was exploring new and inventive twists on exasperating.

“Shall we say, oh, two weeks to track down the missing pens?” He raised his eyebrows. “Possibly longer if needed? It really is quite important to me.”

Cassidy and I sat in silence for a moment, weighing our options in the heavy, almost thick moment. I glanced at Cassidy, face tense, eyebrows knitted tight. She sighed a little back, giving me a slight nod. I raised my eyebrows in reply, then matched Dorians’s serious look with my own.

“Fine,” I said. The word tasted like powdered rust on my tongue.

“Wonderful!” Dorian declared, clapping his hands together in pure delight. I almost flinched. That one word sliced through the tension like a silver-plated knife.

He stood, adjusting his immaculate, probably stain-proofed cuffs before he gestured to the door.

“I’ll be staying here in Gloamstead while making arrangements on property,” he explained in a casual tone. “There’s a charming old home near one of the local cemeteries that has completely carved out my heart. We can meet at your convenience. I’ll give you my number.”

He gave us another gracious smile.

“But don’t worry, I’ll check in here now and again.”

Oh, goody. I wasn’t sure if that was a threat. But he was going to pay us, so I decided it wasn’t.

“Keep the pen,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll need it for your research. Let me know when you’ve got a contract drawn up, and I’ll stop by.”

He placed a business card on the desk with his number. Then, with one last, sweeping small wave, Dorian strolled out of our office. We watched him go, then stared at the pen on the desk nestled in its wooden box.

Cassidy turned toward me, arms crossed, wearing that tight-lipped look she saved for really irritating problems she couldn’t swat.

“Well,” she sighed. “Isn’t that one hell of a wedding gift?”

I put my head on the desk and sighed.

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Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.