Birds were chirping merrily outside the windows, and their song plus the warm sunlight that bathed the bed combined to wake Lillet Blan. She rose from sleep slowly, at the gentle pace of a natural waking into the pleasures of the morning. She still hadn't gotten used to living in the townhouse even though it had been nearly nine months. Lillet had grown up in a country farmhouse with her parents and two little brothers, then had a room at the Magic Academy, and later a suite at the Royal House of Magic, but upon being made Mage Consul she'd been able for the first time in her life to have a house of her own instead of living under someone else's roof.
"Good morning, Lillet."
Lillet smiled, enjoying the sound of Amoretta's voice, high and sweet with a hint of breathiness in it. She could feel that the other woman was sitting up, her hip pressed against Lillet's arm. She'd probably been awake for a while, but hadn't gotten out of bed. After five years together, Amoretta hadn't changed; she still always wanted to be touching whenever she could, and at least in the same room when physical contact wasn't possible.
The thought made her happy, but also a bit embarrassed about how she'd acted the night before. Jealousy and possessiveness weren't about love, after all, and she'd gone out of her way to stake a very public claim on her lover. At least Amoretta hadn't been embarrassed or ashamed; she was too fundamentally honest to hide her feelings.
Lillet opened her eyes.
"Good morning, little love."
Amoretta had a book open in her lap; she slipped a ribbon into it to mark her place and set it aside.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Uh-huh."
Lillet sat up and stretched, feeling the pleasantly tired ache in her arms and legs. She smiled again and gave Amoretta a quick kiss.
"I'm so lucky to have you."
"Yes," Amoretta agreed, smiling back, "but so am I. Although it really isn't luck. I'm with you because you love me, and because I love you."
Lillet chuckled. Amoretta saw things the way no one else did. Then again, there wasn't quite anyone like her in the world. After all, Amoretta wasn't human but a homunculus, an artificial being created through alchemy. Even among homunculi she was unique, as her existence had been anchored around a core, a previously existing spirit rather than being built strictly in the laboratory. This gave her abilities other homunculi lacked, most significantly the power to move around in the world separated from the flask that contained her life energy. It also gave her a perspective on things that no one else had.
Especially since the core spirit wasn't human, or even something like an elf or a ghost. It was an angel.
Lillet tried not to think about that, but there was no getting around the fact. She'd seen it for herself. The most painful memory of her young life was of Amoretta killing herself, the homunculus shell dying and the angel released, shining like a pure, golden sun, burning away the archduke of Hell, Grimlet. Lillet had been trying to save everyone at the Silver Star Tower from the devil and so had intentionally summoned it, hoping to command it, but her will and power couldn't hold Grimlet--no human magician's could, not alone, and so Amoretta had stepped in, calmly throwing away her own life to save her love's.
It hadn't been forever, of course, since after all Amoretta was right next to her. Falling through the loops of time, Lillet had finally been able to make it all come out right. Sometimes she thought it was unfair that she alone had to suffer with the memories of the pasts that had never been while everyone else blithely continued on.
When she had nightmares, they were inevitably of that moment, of the pure light of Heaven blazing before her.
"Lillet, is something wrong? You look so strange."
"I love you so much, it almost hurts sometimes."
"I'm sorry."
"You're...sorry?"
"Love shouldn't cause pain; it should take it away."
Lillet thought about that.
"I think...we humans enjoy love while we have it, but we're always aware that it will end someday." Realizing how that might sound, she hurried on. "I don't mean that the feelings will, but that we're all mortal, that some day one or the other person will be gone. We all know that, in our hearts, and it makes love poignant as well as joyous. I think it's why romantic tragedies have such power over us, because they express the fears we all have."
Amoretta frowned thoughtfully.
"I have noticed," she agreed, "that since I've been singing publicly, the audiences do seem more affected by the tragic songs, though I never understood why." She sighed. "I wish I could remember my life before I was given this body. Then I'd know if love endures in the next world."
"Maybe we're not meant to know those things." She snuggled her head against Amoretta's shoulder. "Besides, just having you in one world is a priceless gift by itself." She gave a sudden yawn as a wave of sleepiness passed over her. "And this is way too early in the morning to be talking about such important things without coffee."
"I rang the kitchen half an hour ago, so they should have breakfast ready by the time you're dressed."
"I will never know how you can tell how long I'll be asleep."
"I can...feel the rhythm of it," Amoretta said with a shrug. "I don't know how else to describe it."
"I just know it's useful, because breakfast is always hot and ready when I am." Lillet gave her a quick peck on the cheek and reached for her robe.
Half an hour later she was seated on the terrace overlooking the sun-drenched garden, dressed and hopefully ready to face the day. Covered platters were set out on the stone table; Lillet had already transferred eggs, sausage, toast, and several slices of cheese to her own plate and was savoring a steaming cup of coffee. Amoretta nibbled delicately at a sweet roll, since her body didn't work quite the same way as a human's she didn't need the same amount of food. What amazed Lillet was that so many people in the capital routinely ate the same breakfast as the homunculus. She herself had grown up on her parents' farm and had gotten used to the kind of breakfasts that gave one the energy to get through a day of chores. Lillet might not have milked a cow or mucked out a stable in years, but practicing magic burned just as much fuel.
She was just picking up her fork when the relaxing ease of the morning was broken.
"Um, sorry to interrupt, but there's a couple of people here to see you."
Lillet turned to see that the elf boy Gaff had come out on the terrace. Three feet tall, he could have been mistaken for a human child but for his pointed ears and typical green elven garb. He'd been with Lillet since she was a student; originally the caretaker of her room at the Academy, he'd left with her when she graduated and was now the majordomo of the townhouse. Lillet had the feeling, though she'd never asked, that it was a point of pride for him as an elf not only to be in the service of a powerful witch but that he was actually in charge of her human staff.
"Who is it, Gaff?"
"They're with the Watch. An Inspector Raoul Ballatore and a Ms. Riesling. They're not here to see you, though, Lillet. They're here to see Amoretta."
"To see me? Did they say why?"
Gaff shook his head.
"No, only that it was official business."
Lillet and Amoretta shared a surprised look.
"Please bring them here," the homunculus decided, giving Lillet her second surprise in as many moments.
"Why here?" she asked as Gaff passed back into the house.
"I assumed that you'd insist on meeting them with me, and I didn't want you to have to interrupt your breakfast."
That was sweet, but if an Inspector of the Watch was there to bother Amoretta, Lillet didn't think she'd get much eating done. She didn't trouble saying so, though, but addressed herself to the food. After all, she hated cold eggs.
Gaff returned in a couple of minutes, escorting the two Watch officers. Ballatore wore his red-piped navy blue uniform with ease; its military cut suited his quick, efficient movements. He was slightly above average height, lean of build, and about thirty-five, with premature gray dusting his sandy brown moustache. The brass hilt of his sword gleamed in the morning sun, throwing back fire. Riesling had sharp cheekbones and large brown eyes, but wore a gray dress and white lace cap instead of a uniform, which was odd. From what Lillet knew, the capital's official police always went uniformed except when on special undercover assignments.
"Mage Consul Blan, Miss Virgine, may I present to you Inspector of the Watch Raoul Ballatore and Ms. Janice Riesling," Gaff said formally as if he'd been doing all his life.
"Good morning, Inspector, Ms. Riesling."
"Mage Consul Blan," Ballatore said, nodding to her to suggest a bow, then repeated the gesture towards Amoretta. "Miss Virgine." He turned back to Lillet. "I beg your pardon, Mage Consul, but we would like to speak to Miss Virgine."
"Go ahead."
"I meant, privately," he came out and said.
"No," Lillet told him directly without losing her smile. Sometimes Amoretta's plain truthfulness was the best style to take.
The answer seemed to take him off-guard.
"Mage Consul, this is an official inquiry."
"And as loyal subjects of Her Majesty, we're glad to cooperate with you, but I will not allow you to come into our home and badger Amoretta without explaining yourself."
Something flashed in Ballatore's eyes and Riesling scowled openly. Amoretta, though, quickly stepped in.
"Inspector, Ms. Riesling, won't you sit down? Would you like a cup of coffee?" she offered, gesturing at the silver urn.
Riesling looked like she wanted to bark out something, probably negative, but deferred to her superior. Ballatore paused, obviously considering which way he wanted to take the interview, then pulled out one of the cane-backed chairs.
"I'd appreciate that, Miss Virgine. It's been a long night."
"You've been up all night, Inspector?" Lillet asked.
He nodded.
"I'm sure you understand how the work can grab you, Mage Consul, particularly when time is of the essence."
Lillet nodded back. If he was going to be civilized, so would she. Amoretta reached for the coffee service, which always had four cups regardless of the fact that there were only two of them expected at breakfast. She poured a cup for the Inspector, though Riesling deferred. He drank gratefully, finishing the cup in two long drafts.
"Miss Virgine," he said, "are you familiar with the lines, 'My heart is hollow; my soul is ash'?"
"Yes; they're from the closing aria that Elie sings in The Crimson Key."
"You play Elie in that opera at the City Theater, don't you?"
"I played her," Amoretta corrected. "Last night was closing night."
Ballatore nodded.
"Can you describe the final scene for me?"
"Elie and her lover Artur had agreed to elope, only Elie's father discovered their plan. He bribed the messenger to alter the rendezvous note so that she would come half an hour late. When Artur arrives, he walks into a trap laid by the father and his men. He cuts open Artur's belly and leaves him to bleed to death. Elie arrives and finds her lover dying painfully. He begs her to end his pain; at first she can't bear to, but she finally gives in and uses his sword to cut off his head." Amoretta frowned. "It's not a very realistic scene. Artur could hardly sing half of a passionate duet while dying in that way, and a maiden without battle training could hardly decapitate a man in a single stroke. The audiences seem to like it, though. Lillet and I were just talking about why that is this morning."
"Personally," Ballatore said, "I like a good melodrama--if it's kept on the stage. Go on."
"Elie then takes Artur's head in her arms and sings a last lament about how without her love her soul is barren and her life hopeless, and so at last she hangs herself from a nearby branch."
"Why are you asking about The Crimson Key, Inspector Ballatore?" Lillet asked.
"Because it relates to a crime. Last night, a woman was hanged in an alley. She was holding the head of a second woman, whose corpse was also there, disemboweled as well as decapitated. The quotation I asked about was written in the second victim's blood on the wall."
Lillet gasped.
"Then somebody deliberately staged the murders to look like the end of the opera?"
"That's the obvious conclusion, Mage Consul. Unfortunately, the average Watch officer doesn't have a lot of familiarity with the opera. I only recognized this one because my sister had taken me to it a couple of years ago. As I said, I enjoy melodrama."
He took a leather-bound notebook from his uniform pocket and checked a notation.
"Four weeks ago, there was a similar crime, apparently senseless violence perpetrated against a prostitute. Her body was literally torn into four pieces."
Lillet and Amoretta both shuddered, but Ballatore went on relentlessly.
"Mr. Saint, the manager of the City Theater, told me that this was how the heroine of Dorothea dies, drawn and quartered as a traitor when her husband's rebellion fails. He also confirmed that you, Miss Virgine, sang Dorothea as your role before The Crimson Key, and that the date of the murder was also the closing night of that opera."
Amoretta made a high, gasping sound that was almost a scream, and Lillet reached out and took her hand. Ballatore went on, however, with an almost relentless force.
"I also spoke to your manager, a Mr. Ouzowen. He informed me that before you were signed by the City Theater's company, you sang at the Camden Lane music hall as a soloist, performing a combination of classical songs, popular melodies, and operatic arias. Is that the case?"
"Y-yes."
"Your final night there was, I believe, December 19th? On that date, there was also a murder. A prostitute was burned alive. I'm told that the heroine of Winter's Lament dies this way, and you routinely performed songs from that opera?"
With a wordless cry Amoretta buried her face against Lillet's shoulder and began to sob. Lillet held her, cradling her gently while staring at the Inspector. Horror and fury warred inside her.
"What are you trying to do, Inspector Ballatore?"
"Isn't it obvious? You can't deny that there's a connection here. I could have been the City Theater if it had only been the second and third incidents, but the first killing makes it clear that the one or ones doing this are following Miss Virgine's performances and for whatever reason are arranging a tableau in blood to celebrate or curse each closing. We want to know what she knows about who might be doing this and why."
"You're crazy if you think Amoretta would have anything to do with murder!"
"Not just murder, Mage Consul Blan, but also magic."
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NOTE: Ouzowen, whom some of you may remember from "Life in a Bottle," takes his name from ouzo. Incidentally, all of the opera titles, characters, and plots appearing herein were invented by me rather than being taken from the real world.
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