“I have the address you wanted.” Zoe beamed at her. “Programmed it into my GPS. He lives out in the boonies. Expressways will help, but it might take an hour.”
Morning traffic was heavy. Once they hit the outskirts, Zoe sped up. She kept up a constant stream of chatter, pointing out turnoffs to local sites, once relating a multiple homicide by a dwarf with an axe. Considering Ari had gotten little sleep, Zoe was rather perky, but at least she didn’t require frequent responses. Ari leaned back, letting the words flow past. When Zoe began to talk about Dubrey, Ari started paying attention again.
“He’s a hermit. Lives on an old estate that once belonged to wealthy French émigrés. From the description I got, it’s one shade this side of condemnation. Dubrey rarely leaves the property.” She honked at a driver in her way but kept on talking. “I’m not sure he’ll let us in.”
“I’ll get in somehow.” Ari yawned, covered her mouth, sat up straighter. “Sorry about that. Short night. I have to talk to him. He’s my only chance to learn about the drugs.”
“If he’s making Fantasy, like you mentioned on the phone, why haven’t we seen it in Toronto?”
“I don’t know. In some ways that’s even more suspicious. The original formula is everywhere else. Why not here?”
“It does seem strange. Rumor says there’s a secret lab. Might explain why he doesn’t want anyone snooping around.”
“Especially if he’s doing something illegal,” Ari said. “Wouldn’t be the first or last time a magic user crossed the line.”
“That’s true. Otherwise humans wouldn’t fear us so much.”
Zoe finally lapsed into silence. She seemed to have run out of morning chatter, and they drove for miles in silence. Ari had nearly dozed off when they left the main roadways, followed a deserted road for a couple of miles, and pulled into a narrow private lane.
Zoe peered through the windshield. “I think this is it. Just down here a ways.”
The dirt drive was lined with bushes gone wild. Branches scraped at the sides and top of Zoe’s VW. After two quick turns, they saw buildings through the trees and stopped, covering the rest of the way on foot. If they surprised Dubrey before he realized anyone was near, they might avoid a greeting that involved weapons—magical or otherwise.
Their approach to the house went unchallenged. The old mansion stood forlorn from decades of ill-use and lack of repair. Withered weeds poked through the wooden porch floor; windows frames were empty; the front door sagged open.
Ari drew her jacket a little closer. Evil had visited here. Shrugging off that thought, she motioned to Zoe. They edged across the porch, testing each board, and entered the house. The musty smell wrinkled Ari’s nose, and she stifled a sneeze. Huge cobwebs hung in the corners. A layer of grime coated the shabby furniture. Dubrey hadn’t used this area for some time. No footprints in the dust. Near the back was the kitchen area with windows overlooking a weedy garden, servants’ quarters, a guesthouse, and a large storage shed.
Ari crossed to the garden door. Zoe followed her outside.
The servants’ quarters were also empty of life or activity. No furniture, no rugs. A trail of scuffed footprints across the dusty floor lead to a stack of clean, white packing boxes, dust free and recently packed. Zoe pried open a box corner. Test tubes. This must have been the lab.
As they approached the guesthouse, goose bumps raised along Ari’s arms, a prickle at the back of her neck. A heaviness hung over the building. The front door was a gaping hole of freshly splintered wood.
Zoe gave her a wide-eyed look and flattened against one side of the door. Ari took the other, edging forward and going in fast. The smells hit first. Ozone. Blood. Charred wood. Walls and ceilings displayed black gouges and deep burns. Magical fire. The lethal kind. It had been one hell of a fight, Ari thought.
They picked their way past the debris, the smashed lamps, and overturned furniture. Only two or three steps inside, Ari picked up another telltale odor—decomp. They found the wizard’s body in a back bedroom.
Daniel Dubrey’s body had been brutalized. His limbs were shattered, bone poked through the skin, slashes and bites covered much of the body. Buzzing flies coated the eye sockets and open wounds. Whatever Dubrey had been in life, his uniqueness was gone, marked only by a mass of stringy, black hair.
“Mon Dieu,” Zoe muttered, recovering after a moment.