After completing her homework the next afternoon, Millicent, outfitted in a tank top with battered jeans and combat boots, strolled casually towards the library near her house. More accurately, she was headed to the Moors, the easiest entrance to which was in the woods past the vacant lot behind the building. Stopping at a crosswalk, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other while she observed a robin flying overhead. A girl holding a can of spray paint came rushing towards her. Bonk! Though Millicent attempted to avoid her by moving to the left, the other girl had the same idea, much to the regret of both their heads.

“Ow! Watch where you’re going!” the girl shouted with a thick Jersey accent.

She must have just moved here, Millicent thought. Everyone else I know here sounds Midwestern.

“I believe you ran into me, not the other way around,” Millicent returned crossly. Observing the stranger, Millicent got a decent look at the strange girl; she was dressed somewhat similarly to Millicent, except she had a leather jacket, no necklace, and all her clothes were black. She was tall, taller than Millicent, at least, and possessed an air that suggested she was the queen bee of her school and knew it.

“Who are you, anyway?” she demanded.

“Oh, right. I’m Millicent Shelby, bibliophile, folklore expert, and sleuth extraordinaire, at your service. Who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Alexis. Alexis Dale,” the girl replied. She glanced behind her warily. “You won’t tell the cops, will you? About, you know...” she gestured to her spray paint.

“Vandalism? I didn’t see you do it. Therefore, I can’t say you did a specific thing on a certain building.” Millicent smiled. “So, you’re an adventurer, I take it. Or else you’d like to be, at least.”

“What makes you say that?” Alexis asked suspiciously.

Millicent pointed to the paint. “That. You want excitement, ergo, you create some for yourself.”

“Really? I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about,” Alexis sarcastically noted. “Where are you headed? The library’s almost closed, and nothing else is in this direction.”

“Finding a… picnic spot. Yeah, that’s it. For Saturday. You can come if you’d like, though I’m the only one who’ll be there,” Millicent improvised. She wasn’t sure who this girl was, but this was the closest thing to a friend she had outside the Moors, not including fat-cat Muffin.

“Picnics are dumb,” Alexis said, “I’ve gotta bounce.”

“Goodbye, Alexis. If you change your mind, you’re still welcome. No need to bring any food for the picnic; I’ll take care of everything.”

“Cool. See ya.”

The next day at school, Alexis sat with her many friends during lunch, a typical occurrence. “Hey Alexis, who was that redhead you were talking to on the corner of Fifth and Main?” her friend Ava inquired.

“Oh, her? Some girl named Millicent,” Alexis answered offhandedly. “She’s weird, though. Introduced herself as ‘Millicent Shelby, bibliophile, folklore expert, and sleuth extraordinaire, at your service.’”

“Wait. Millicent Shelby? Like, from the papers, Millicent Shelby?”

“I guess so. Why?” Alexis could care less about the notoriety of the paper and more about her not spilling the beans about Alexis’s vandalism escapade.

“She’s got the Moorland Curse, duh,” Ava answered, now very pale.

“And the moon’s made of green cheese,” Alexis snapped. “I don’t know, Ava, she knows something. Something important.”

“Yeah, right,” Ava scoffed.

“I’m serious. She invited me to a picnic in the lot behind the library, and--”

“You’re not going,” Ava interrupted.

“Oh yes I am,” Alexis replied. “Gotta go. Smell you later.” With that, she left the cafeteria and went into the practically vacant halls.

Who am I kidding? This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever done. Her more logical side pointed out.

“I doubt it’s the dumbest thing I ever will do, so shut up,” she told herself quietly. The bell rang and Alexis meandered towards her algebra class, lost in hopeful thoughts.

“Oh, I just know I was way too obvious,” Millicent sighed. She had just finished her homework and was conversing with Muffin under her bed, which was her unofficial thinking spot.

“Meow.”

“Really, you don’t think I did?”

“Meow.”

“Alright. If you insist. Now, about the picnic. What should I bring? Obviously I should take sandwiches, ginger ale, and scones. But no tuna, since tuna is nasty.”

Muffin’s reply to this rant was a sneeze in his favorite person’s face.

“Eww, Muffin, that’s disgusting!” Millicent exclaimed.

“Millicent, sweetie, do you need any help with your homework?” her mom asked through the door.

“Just a second,” Millicent replied, crawling out from under her bed. She opened the door. “I don’t think so, but thank you for asking.”

“Okay, then,” she said, turning away.

“Hey, Mom? May I ask you something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“You know about my…excursions, let’s call them. Why don’t you stop me from going?”

“Well, you belong over there, exploring, discovering, and adventuring, in general. And, well, I don’t know, I guess, it seemed right for you.”

“Mo-om, I need some help with my homework!” Millicent’s sister, Beatrice shouted. “Can you help me?”

“I don’t know. Can she?” Millicent hollered.

“Mo-om, Millicent’s correcting my grammar again!”

“One minute, Bee,” she yelled in reply.

“She would appreciate it if you didn’t correct her grammar, Millie.”

“Don’t call me Bee. That’s a baby name,” Beatrice complained.

“Okay, I’ll try to stop,” Millicent sighed. Correcting grammar was a habit for Millicent, and, conveniently, was an excellent way to irritate her sister.

“I’ll be there in one moment, Beatrice.”

“Thank you,” Millicent’s sister said, “Oh, wait. Never mind. I got it myself. Thanks, anyway.”

“You’re welcome, then.”

To Millicent, she said, “I’d better go start dinner. Your father said he was coming home early today, so if we finish dinner before dark, we can go for a walk or something.”

“Okay. Do you need help?”

Her mother laughed, “No, not today. But thank you.”

“Alright then.” As her mother walked away, Millicent turned towards her will-lit desk. Noticing an old picture frame had been turned, she adjusted it and then shut the cover on the maple stained piece of furnature.

Shutting the door, Millicent went back under her brass, twin sized bed, accompanied by a rather drowsy cat, as she continued planning her next adventure to the Moors. Tomorrow was Saturday, and Millicent desired to collect something from the Moors before the picnic occurred.

was mid-morning, and Millicent rearranged the sandwiches, scones, and lemon curd under the shade of the oak trees for what must’ve been the twentieth time. Hoping Alexis detested fish as mush as she did, the sandwiches, which consisted of about a dozen different varieties, all lacked the water dwelling, stinky creatures. Two cans of ginger ale were in the ice-filled cooler, along with a pint of burstberries Millicent had picked earlier that morning.

Burstberries are some of the most wondrous things in the world; it would be a crying shame not to have them, she reasoned. Although the pearlescent round fruit smelled like sulfur, it tasted almost like the scent of nature the consumer loved most. For Millicent, that smell was the teasing scent of the wind just before rain comes.

“Hey,” Alexis greeted while coming towards her.

“Hello. I hope you like sandwiches, ‘cause we’ve got plenty.”

“Mmm, sandwiches. Got any tuna?” Alexis asked.

Millicent groaned.

“Okay, so no tuna.” She grabbed a turkey and cheddar instead.

“Here. I brought water too, if you dislike ginger ale,” Millicent added, handing her a can.

“How’d you know I love ginger ale?”

“It’s my favorite, too,” Millicent admitted while shutting the cooler. Unfortunately, she neglected to completely close it.

“Let’s eat,” Millicent suggested, already feeling the heat of the day.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Alexis answered. They sat and ate in awkward silence for awhile, the May sun warming their food.

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” Alexis queried when she had finally confirmed the stench, “It’s like rotten eggs, but way worse.”

“Oh, probably these,” noted Millicent, producing the fruit. “They’re burstberries. Don’t let the smell fool you; they taste absolutely amazing.” She took a few for herself and set the bowl down on the blanket.

“From the Moors?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t think-”

“Please. If you’re cursed, I’m the Queen of England,” Alexis scoffed and took a berry hesitantly.

“Wow! I had no idea something so smelly could taste so… fantastic!” Alexis exclaimed, “It’s like a rose covered in dew!”

“It’s surprising, right? And they’re just as good for you as brussel sprouts, which don’t taste a tenth this good.”

“No joke. Wait, you’ve been there recently?”

“Yeah, this morning. Why?” Millicent noted, eating a scone. She was leery about her new acquaintance's seemingly sudden interest in the otherworldly place.

“Where is it? Is it far?”

Millicent felt terribly uncomfortable with her acquaintance's sudden interest, so she sacrificed direct truth for vagueness. “It’s near this part of town, yes.”

“Can I come with you?”

“What? No! It’s way too dangerous and, and-”

“People will think I’m cursed? Whatever! I could care less!” she exclaimed. “Besides you go often, and you’re fine.”

“That’s self evident,” muttered Millicent.

“So we’re going?”

“Against my better judgment, yes. I’ll be back. I must put away the picnic things. Do not go without me. You could get killed if you don’t know what you’re doing; it’s honestly a miracle I’m still here today.”

“Okay, sure,” Alexis said, crossing her fingers behind her back.

Millicent packed up the picnic basket, tossed the blanket over her shoulder, and told Alexis, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Fine by me.”

And with that, Millicent began walking home.

“Mom! I’m back!” she hollered. She walked to the kitchen and deposited the picnic basket and cooler on the counter.

“She’s not here; she went to get groceries with Dad,” came Beatrice’s answer.

“Did your friend eat all the scones?” her sister inquired innocently. Beatrice had a craving for anything containing sugar, and scones were by far her favorite.

“Seriously, Bee? You could care less that I am about to go back to the Moors and more about weather or not we ate all the scones? I think you need to realign your priorities.”

“First off, don’t call me Bee. Secondly, of course I don’t; I didn’t know you’re planning on going back soon. Third, don’t call me Bee.”

“Not calling you Bee was the first thing,” Millicent pointed out.

“Well, it’s so important it deserves a second mention.”

“If you say so,” Millicent sighed, going into the kitchen. For as often as the two got into sometimes slightly aggressive banter, they never really got offended by the other’s words, and would occasionally start random debates just for the fun of it.

After placing the uneaten food in the refrigerator she scribbled a note reading, “Gone adventuring. Be back by 4:30. I have my phone in case something goes wrong. Love Millicent.”

“Millie?” Beatrice asked.

“Yes?” Millicent responded patiently.

“Don’t die, okay?”

Millicent laughed. “I’ll certainly try to stay alive.” After giving her sister a hug, she jogged back to the lot behind the library.

Turning the corner, Millicent soon discovered that her companion was missing. “Of course she’s gone,” she chastised herself. “She went off to the Moors.” She shot off into the woods toward the Moors, not stopping until she reached the palace. The Moors was a rather diverse land, some parts forest, some plains, some cliffs. Millicent didn’t enjoy her venture as she usually did and purposely attempted to ignore everything other than her mission.

As she approached the palace, Millicent couldn’t help groaning. The shorter guard on duty, Leonard was trying far too hard to win Millicent’s affections, even though she had mentioned in his presence that she wasn’t looking for a relationship.

“Identify yourself,” the taller guard commanded.

She held out her necklace; the blue beads had come from the queen so everyone knew she was welcome. “Millicent… Annabel… Shelby,” she panted.

“Very well. Enter.”

The palace was less of an edifice and more of an enormous, living tree, in which grew pockets of space for rooms. Furniture consisted of branches and leaves intertwining into the likeness of tables, chairs, beds, and anything else one could imagine. At the very top of the tree was the throne room, nestled in the leaves.

“Please, I must speak with the queen. Do you know where she is?” Millicent asked of the guard who had spoken to her.

“The throne room.” Leonard said, flashing her a flirting smile and trying to stand a little taller.

“Thank you,” she breathed, frowning slightly. Dashing up the stairs, she hardly even noticed the beauty of the halls which typically awed her.

“Millicent, what are you doing here?” the queen asked. Her dark green dress trailed behind her as she went to embrace her friend, and a gold diadem rested on her head.

Forgetting all formalities, Millicent said, “I… have some bad news, Karana. You might want to sit down.”

“If it has anything to do with that queer young woman who acted like she thought she owned the Otherworld, I believe I already know.” The Otherworld was the Moorish name for Earth and usually had a negative connotation.

“You know where she is, then?” Millicent queried.

“Regrettably, I do,” the young ruler answered, “You see, she claimed to know you, but as she had no proof, and was clothed entirely in black after the fashion of the Mountaineers, sworn enemies of the Moors, I was advised to lock her in the dungeons and leave her to rot.”

“She’s not there, is she?” The Moorish dungeons were formerly known far and wide to be a practical death sentence. If a person was neither executed nor tortured to death, they used to sit in a dank cell under the tree till they perished of hunger and thirst, for the convicts had no daily rations. Though Millicent was certain they weren’t in that state now, the stories from the place were enough to give anyone nightmares.

“No, she isn’t. That being said, I did put her into a spare bedroom with guards at the door where she will be well taken care of until a trial can be arranged.”

“I can’t just say she’s innocent and take her with me, correct?”

“The law of the land does prevent us from doing that, yes. By the time the law could be changed, the trial would have taken place already, anyway.” Karana sighed, then smiled mischievously. “Of course, nothing stops you from witnessing in said trail, and you can visit the girl before then.”

“Great. That’ll help,” Millicent noted, relieved. “Is something else wrong? You appear to be distressed.” Only twice had Millicent seen her friend like this, neither event something she wanted to repeat.

“It is traditional here that the native-born citizens of the Moors select a noble juror from all the lords and ladies of the court,” the queen explained, “and they chose Lord Razo to help govern this proceeding.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid your friend is practically a dead woman walking now, for he is already convinced she’s guilty.”

Just then, they heard the sound of Beethoven's “Für Elise” coming from Millicent’s pocket. Pulling her phone out, Millicent stated, “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” Millicent greeted into the microphone.

“Millie, I know you planned to come back at four thirty, but there’s been a change of plans. Instead of going to Nuestro Escondido to eat dinner, we’re going to your grandparents’ house, so you’ll need to come back now. Gramps’s knee is really acting up from all the rain in the city.”

Millicent sighed, “Okay. I’ll come home now.” She hung up and told her friend she had to go.

“Does that… wicked device ever demand your attention at a convenient time?” the queen asked, exasperated.

“Not really, no.” After a rather awkward goodbye, Shelby left and jogged towards home, seeing a pair of young dragons trying to avoid colliding with each other as they flew.

The house of Millicent’s grandparents was a very stately building, large with a grand, pillared porch in front and several ancient trees on the lawn. Though Beatrice had termed it a mansion, the estate was more like a museum than anything else. Being curators of the Circulating Materials Repository downtown, they always had a table cloth, cloak, or chess set in the house that needed mending, maintenance, or a mechanism repair. It didn’t help that Gran collected teacups; she had several cabinets of them, each cup carefully labeled with its origin and when she got it and any repairs or damages she knew of in her collection. That being said, it wasn’t the house Millicent disliked, but the ghost who lived there, who claimed to be a spy during the Civil War.

At her grandparents’ abode, Millicent and her sister were setting the table for dinner when the ghost approached her. “Why hello, Mildred. Would you like to hear about the time I had to tell the Confederates how much I supported the War to suppress Yankee arrogance?”

“Some other time, perhaps. Also, my name is Millicent, not Mildred,” she muttered so Beatrice wouldn’t overhear the conversation.

Wailing, the specter floated out of the room and into the kitchen. Thankfully, Millicent was the only one who had been who could see or hear her, as she was the only one who had traversed the Moors. Feeling as though she faced a pack of starved lions for barbaric sport, she rushed past the teacup cabinets in the hall and hurried outside with Beatrice as soon as their duties were done. That ghost always managed to cause damage, so that it appeared to be Millicent’s fault. Millicent was a generally clumsy person to begin with, so the phantom had no difficulty giving her trouble.

“Millicent! Beatrice! Come in; it’s time for dinner,” her grandmother called out the door.

“Coming, Gran,” the girls replied. They all sat down and had a delicious spaghetti dinner, and afterwards, brutally obliterated each other in cards, because no one in the family had any mercy while playing. Millicent hardly tasted her food, and lost most of the games, her thoughts and concerns in a place where fairy tales may have once come from. Then, she had an idea.

“I’ll be right back,” Millicent declared, standing up from the table during their third or fourth card game. Slipping into a guest bedroom, she called for the ghost.

“Hello. You want to hear my story now?” the phantom assumed, floating partially inside the dresser.

“If you help me with something, yes. I need you to go the Moors and watch over someone who is being held captive there.”

“And I’ll get to talk to you after that?” the ghost affirmed. Millicent assured her that she would hear every gory detail when the former spy came back.

Seven rounds of cards later, the Shelbys had left and the ghost returned to Millicent, sitting next to her in the car. “Other then the tree smelling like foot, the girl is perfectly safe.”

“Ghosts can smell? I don’t really think I needed to know that,” she noted, not agreeing with her that the tree smelled strange. Then the grammar police took over. “Also, wouldn’t it be ‘feet’, not ‘foot?’”

The ghost began to glow, agitated. “I meant what I said,” she growled. “Now, about that story.” Until they got home, Millicent was bombarded with boring, fantasized Civil War stories, getting yelled at every time she almost fell asleep. Millicent was glad when the phantom returned to her grandparent’s house.

Millicent set out early the next morning, frantic to save Alexis’s life. Running through the dew drenched grass, she hoped she wasn’t too late. She was clearly still in a daze, because she barely registered where her feet were taking her.

At the palace, Shelby and Karana rushed to the room of Alexis’s confinement. Millicent could have sworn she heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed. The queen urgently spoke a few words to the guards, and they opened the door. Millicent gasped. There on the floor by the window, Alexis lay, dead, blood oozing from her neck.

Standing there bewildered for some time, Millicent’s tongue stayed mute, though her thoughts were flying at a mile a minute. “Who could’ve done this?” she finally breathed.

“I honestly don’t know,” her friend said. “There’s a detective in Willowbrook; he can help us.”

“No, no. I can do it,” Millicent protested, slightly offended. Tears stung her eyes, threatening to fall at a moment’s notice.

“I’m sure you can. However, he has...abilities that will be useful towards the peculiar series of events.”

“I understand. Where’s Willowbrook? I’ll go ask for his help.”

“Nearly an hour north of here,” the queen told her, “Really, you don’t have to go yourself. Surely I can-”

“I need to do this. Alexis was the closest thing to a friend I ever had in the Otherworld.”

“Go, then. Ask for him at the inn; one of his brothers owns it.” Millicent left without replying.

The welcoming party at his sister’s house hardly felt that way for Matthew of Willowbrook. Though Violet, his sister, had made the most wonderful food, and light and music poured from the ramshackle cottage, Matthew was dazed. He couldn’t understand why, out of all his brothers, did it have to happen to him. Why hadn’t he fully changed back?

The cottage and field were crowed with partygoers; Matthew could’ve sworn his sister invited the whole village and half of the next one as well. Awkwardly, he meandered toward the food table. Close to the end sat a covered tureen and a note: “For Matthew. Sorry,” it read.

Ah, so she thinks she can earn my forgiveness with food. He thought bitterly. Ever since coming back home, things hadn’t been the same between him and his sister. Once close, the two were distant, Matthew blaming her for something that wasn’t entirely her fault. Peace offerings like this one were more than common. Hungry, he chose to accept the apology and lifted the lid.

A rich, tangy smell flooded his nostrils. Inside the tureen was a thick aromatic dish, dragon scale soup. After filling up a bowl, he began to eat, savoring the hearty, spicy dish.

It’s good to taste again, Matthew thought, even if it’s as something as common as dragon scale soup. Prevalent in the Moors, dragons shed their scales frequently, and it was quite an ordinary occurrence to find a few in one’s garden every day or so. When cooked properly, dragon scales became a delicacy, tasting lemony and slightly earthy.

“Matthew, someone’s here to see you,” his sister said, approaching him.

“I can’t see people right now, Violet,” he told her, “Besides, I’m tired of condolences; I need help, not pity.”

“And this person is here to give you something to help,” Violet contradicted.

“I doubt anyone can,” Matthew spat. No one understood how it felt to have your dreams shattered, to become hopeful, and then to have your dreams shattered again, all by things the you can’t control. He understood; it was his life now.

“You never know, now do you? C’mon, worst that’ll happen is it won’t help, right?”

“That’s what you think,” he contradicted, following her anyway. In a world where dragons existed and naiad warnings were posted around lakes, he was different, alone. There was nothing he could do, or at least, all he could do was give up something he couldn’t lose, hope.

The two siblings strolled over to a short, balding man. The stranger didn’t bother to give them his name as he explained his gifts, “This is for covering it if you’re ashamed, and this,” he stated, handing Matthew something largish and brass, “is so you don’t loose what you were. It’s time to be who you were made to be, Matthew,”

Thanking him, Matthew walked away, donning the cloak. I’m meant to be a musician; I can’t do that now, he complained to himself. He looked down at the wooden panpipes hung around his neck. Or can I? Sneaking away, he climbed into the loft and began to play.

Clearly, the hour’s journey was not by foot; it was late afternoon when Millicent finally entered the village. Stepping into the bustling, cheery inn, Millicent walked up to the owner and made an inquiry for the detective of Willowbrook.

The innkeeper looked surprised, then told her gruffly, “You’ll find him by the lake outside of

town.”

Just after she left, she heard the sound of spontaneous laughter erupting from the open windows. Someone shouted, “Guess old bird brain’s service are finally needed for once!” Millicent had no idea what that was about, so she continued walking, now wary of her destination.

As she neared the lake, she heard a slow, distinctive melody on the wind, steadying her tense nerves. Coming closer, she spotted the musician; the man sat against the tree, playing a set of panpipes using only his right hand. Several months of continual practice had come a long way. Most of his body was covered by a cloak, even though it was a rather warm day. Millicent stopped, awestruck, for she had never heard Moorish music before. The pipes had small range, but the tune seemed to have a quality of harmony to it, as though three people were playing.

Abruptly, the musician ceased playing and turned to Millicent. “The swans said you’d be here. Come, sit. What’s the case?”

Millicent blinked. “I’m sorry. I’m confused. I didn’t even say why I was here yet.”

“Mysteries are all anyone comes to me for, even my family,” he added with an undertone of regret, or possibly sorrow, “Name’s Matthew. Matthew of Willowbrook. You’re Millicent Shelby and the queen sent you.”

Because of her unique red hair and clothes, Millicent was hardly surprised he guessed who she was. She couldn’t understand how he knew Karana told her about him, though. After about a minute of pondering, she gave up and explained, “There’s been a murder in the palace. A girl named Alexis was being held in one of the spare rooms for spying. When I came in with the queen, she was dead. The guards say no one came in or out though the door.”

“Well, then I suppose I should investigate the scene.” He stood up, careful to keep the left side of his torso concealed by his cloak.

“Actually, I’d like to help you. I’ve solved a few cases before, and Alexis was a good friend of mine.”

He sighed, “Very well, pack up. We’re going by horse this time; it’s faster.”

About a half hour later, they were examining the clues. As they sat in the sunny, warm palace library, Millicent and Matthew reviewed the case. “They said she was able to utter a few words before she died,” Millicent recalled, referring to the guards. She reclined with her bare feet on the table facing Matthew, the evidence between them. The palace tree smelled particularly damp.

“However, the guards couldn’t determine what she said, though it was not Moorish.” Contrary to his tag-along companion, Matthew sat stiffly with his feet on the floor. His cloak remained covering his left shoulder, as it was designed to do, and his brass colored satchel rested next to him. The sunlight dimmed as clouds rolled in on the wind.

“I should imagine she spoke English,” Millicent mused. She placed her feet on the wooden floor. “The only evidence we have confirming that she was even deliberately murdered are this feather and the blood on the floor.” The feather was black and came from a wing, larger than a raven’s, though nowhere near the size of a Pegasus’s.

“That is most likely true, especially since you say she had a different accent than you do, so they wouldn’t understand her.” Matthew lifted the feather with his right hand and examined it. There was a slight silver shimmer on it. Sniffing it, he could tell they were dealing with no ordinary bird. “We should go back to the scene of the crime. I’ve exhumed some useful information,” he suggested. Millicent agreed, and they collected their things to prepare for the trip.

As they came toward the room, the sky outside the windows became more brooding and dark. The guest room in which the victim was found was quite plain in appearance. The walls and floor were made of the same living wood as the rest of the royal home. Situated on the ground floor, the chamber was darker than some of the structure’s other rooms with only one minuscule window for light. There was a small cleft in the wall under the window, where the young woman in question was found dead with a lurid expression on her face. When they arrived, Matthew asked Millicent, “What do you know of the victim?”

“Alexis Dale was a vandal and an amateur adventurer who didn’t care two cents what people thought about her and disliked the police. She always wore black.”

“That’s all you know?” he clarified. Millicent nodded.

“The window is too small for a human to fit though,” she observed.

“That is true,” the detective acquiesced. “However, the criminal was a shape shifter; I could smell it on the feather.”

“So you’re suggesting that some shape shifter came in here as a raven, murdered Alexis as a human, and left though the window?” Millicent challenged.

“That is where the clues lead. The question is-”

“Why?” the man’s comrade interrupted.

Matthew winced. “I was going to say ‘who,’ but that is also a valid question.” It began to rain, making the room even darker and the smell more pungent. He frowned.

“What do we do now?”

“We should check the registry for any poly-form whose secondary shape is a raven,” the man from Willowbrook decided, leaving the room. Poly-forms were any Moorish resident who could change the physical appearance of their body though their own power. A poly-form usually had four bodies: one human and three animals, and their secondary form was their easiest and best transformation. By law, all poly-forms had to be registered annually.

In the palace’s root system where the kingdom records were stored, the bookworms were particularly antsy to take a break from work and enjoy the deluge outside. Therefore, they were incredibly helpful to the sleuth and his assistant, finding the records immediately. Thanking the slimy invertebrates, the pair began to take notes.

“Write down everyone’s name who fits the criterion,” Matthew instructed.

“All right.” Within the hour, the duo had about a score of names.

“There’s no way we can interrogate everybody tonight,” Millicent said, “I have to be home in time for dinner, and its a twenty minute walk from the border to my house.”

“Go on, then. It’s too late to do anything of this time at night anyway. I’ll plan something.” Millicent set off, becoming soaked from the rain. She pondered about Matthew, who couldn’t have been much older than herself. He seemed acquainted with sorrow, but why? Had someone died? And what about his cloak? Why did he never take it off? She arrived home with more questions about her colleague than the case.

After dinner, Millicent crawled under her bed, talking to Muffin, relating the afternoon’s events. “Matthew is strange. He never goes anywhere without his pipes and his metal satchel, and he doesn’t show people his left arm. He’s a good sleuth, though.” She began gesticulating, her expression slightly distraught as she acted out the experiences of the day.

“The case seems pretty obvious,” she noted. “Someone killed her, probably someone working for Razo. But I can’t understand Matthew. He seems to be hiding something. And why does he keep his left arm concealed?”

“Meow,” vocalized the feline. He crawled into his bed by her door. Millicent ignored the hint.

“Maybe something happened and he lost it, or maybe it’s injured. And maybe the satchel is medicine to keep it from hurting,” she postulated. Muffin yawned and meowed again.

Millicent laughed, “Good night, Muffin.” She woke early the next morning, left a note, and traversed to the Moors, hoping Matthew had a better plan than her, mostly because she didn’t have one.

The sun shone obnoxiously; its cheerfulness appeared to slander the recent demise of an innocent girl. In front of the palace, Matthew announced, “I have a plan, and it’s bound to work. All the raven poly-forms are coming here in an hour.”

“How could you have possibly done that? They live all over the Moors. In order to reach them all, you would’ve needed flight, or some centaurs, and the latter aren’t ones to grant favors.”

The man pushed his satchel behind his back, using only his right hand. “I have...methods,” he stammered, then regained his composure. “The point is, all the suspects will be here at one time, so it will be much easier to get an answer.”

“Okay,” Millicent intoned suspiciously. She began to wonder if the real criminal was staring her in the face and using the poly-forms as a red herring; however, she didn’t voice her concerns. It couldn’t be possible, and yet, Matthew was definitely hiding something. The notion tickled at the back of her mind.

Just as the mysterious detective foretold, the poly-forms were indeed there within the hour. Matthew addressed them, saying, “Many thanks, friends, for coming on such short notice. I’m sure you are all wondering why you are here, to which I say the queen should like to know her subjects better and has charged me of carrying out the order. Please, come in.”

Millicent stopped him at the door. “Why are you lying? The queen has nothing to do with this,” she whispered.

“It’s necessary,” Matthew responded. Millicent was dubious.

Inside, Matthew looked for anyone who appeared uncomfortable with their surroundings. Many of them didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves being inside a living tree, but only one looked guilty. She was short and had blonde curls and pleasant physiognomies.

The Moorish sleuth pulled Millicent aside. “See the short, blonde woman? Bring her into the crime scene and we’ll interrogate her first.”

Millicent protested, “I really believe that’s a terrible plan. We should interrogate them in the library.”

“Have it your way, then,” he sighed.

Millicent approached the lady. “Hello, ma’am, your presence is requested in the library.”

Trustingly, the woman obliged and followed Millicent. “Before you say anything, I’ve something I need to tell you,” she said as they got to the library.

“All right, then,” Millicent responded as she open the door. “This is my colleague, Matthew of Willowbrook.” She pointed to him during the introduction.

“Brought in the detective, did you?” the suspect asked calmly.

“I am a detective, yes,” Matthew answered. “And I should like to ask you a few questions.”

“You don’t have to,” the woman retorted. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“For starters, my name is Jessie Skye and my profession is a bounty hunter. I was told by one of the nobles to come into that room and wait for an assignment, as we had done business previosly. I flew into the chamber and heard a voice behind me, shouting in a tongue I’d never heard before. Someone stabbed me with a tree branch. Startled, I drew my sword and whipped around. I’d struck her without realizing, for she was closer to me than I thought, and she was dead before I could do anything about it. I’d severed her neck, which, as you know, is an incurable malady. Terrified, I flew out the window, not knowing what to do. That is all.”

“If you don't mind my asking, which noble’s business were you operating for?” Millicent queried.

“A lurid, capricious man by the name of Lord Razo, who has asked for my services before the aforesaid events only once before. It was a job of highly questionable circumstances, I’ll tell you that much. It was the arrest of a Mountaineer who moved here some decades ago. Poor man, he had a family to look after.”

“I’m afraid, Miss Skye,” Matthew told her, “that you have been framed by your patron.”

Jessie pondered this for a moment and declared, “That’s honestly not surprising. My humblest of apologies, he knew I would pull out my sword. Well, you have a crook to catch, let’s find him.” She stood up and hastened out of the edifice, with Millicent and Matthew behind her.

“Follow me! His manor is this way!” cried Jessie, eager to be vindicated. Running into the grasslands, the threesome spotted the noble villain.

“There he is! Stop him!” Millicent exclaimed with renewed vigor. Naturally, Lord Razo was more than eager to escape them, and ran towards the west. If one turned south, the canyons began not too far away.

Matthew stumbled, tripping over a rock. “Keep going. I’ll catch up,” he shouted. The girls continued running, calling the criminal to cease his escape. For the first time in nine months, Matthew hesitantly removed his cloak in the presence of others.

After a while, a shadow passed over Millicent’s head, one that looked vaguely human. Pausing, she looked skyward. “Skye! Look!” she yelled. Flying above them, Matthew was swiftly traversing over the gusty fields and towards Lord Razo. Sunlight glinted off his right arm, and upon further inspection Millicent deduced that he was carried by a mechanical wing, most likely the contents of his brass satchel. Where his left arm should have been was a massive, white bird wing.

“Impossible,” Millicent gasped. “That’s what he was hiding,” she then surmised, still awestruck. The bounty hunter stopped beside her.

“He didn’t tell you?” Jessie asked, shocked. “Everyone from the capital to Yonwood in the west knows about his wing.”

“Apparently, I’m not part of that everyone,” Millicent observed.

“He’s escaping! Hurry!” Matthew shouted from the sky.

“Oh, right,” Millicent recalled foolishly. The two kept running, the detective overhead.

Lord Razo, seeing that his pursuers were coming quickly, turned and headed toward the gorge not very far off. Noticing the maneuver, Matthew rushed to head him off, still in the stratosphere. Eventually, the unfortunate nobleman ran to the end of a precipice. In an attempt to escape, he searched for an alternate route down the canyon.

The detective landed behind him. “It’s over,” Matthew decreed authoritatively.

“That’s what you think,” the man retorted. He jumped off the cliff and onto the upper limbs of a tree. Scrambling to the bottom, he cried, “You’ll never find me!” as he disappeared.

“That’s…what you…think,” Jessie panted. Millicent stopped behind her and collapsed on the grass, exhausted.

“Razo is still out there, you know,” Matthew reminded his companions.

“Yeah, and there’s only four caves down there, and none of them lead out of the gorge. The only way out,” she explained, taking out her sword, “will be through the village over there, which just so happens to be outside his province, so he’ll be noticed, and captured for tresspassing. We can get a search party out to find him.” With that, the bounty hunter leaped to the top of the tree and began slicing lower limbs off it. Skye had obviously recovered her breath sooner than Millicent, who had only just now sat up.

Matthew stared at her. “What? I know my profession.” she shrugged and kept working.

“I like that plan,” Millicent agreed, “especially if it doesn’t involve more running.”

Back at the palace, Queen Karana had dismissed the other poly-forms, and was now demanding explanations. They all sat in the drawing room, the sun lowering in the sky. Matthew had just finished relating the day’s events, with an occasional interruption from Millicent or Jessie. The queen did not speak.

“And Lord Razo did escape?” the young monarch clarified.

“He did, Your Highness,” Jessie replied. “We have a search party looking for him, and the surrounding villages have been notified.”

“I see. I shall have notices posted everywhere. Hopefully, we can apprehend him soon.” The queen rose and departed, thanking them for their help. She took Jessie with her in order to administer justice to the offender.

“Oh, dear, she’s in a mood,” Millicent fretted, “I hope Jessie will be okay.” She was grateful, though, that Alexis had survived execution by Razo’s hand.

“Miss Skye will be fine,” Matthew assured her. “I’ve seen Her Majesty in worse temper than that, and Jessie did help in attempt to apprehend Razo, so she’ll have a slightly alleviated sentence.”

“Matthew, may I ask you something?” She stared into his eyes, telling herself she needed him to know she wanted a serious answer.

He laughed. “You already have, but you may ask me another question as well.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your wing?”she inquired.

“It boils down to shame, really,” he admitted. “Several years ago, my mother died and my father remarried, an act that none of my brothers appreciated. Our stepmother was a jealous woman, and a witch to boot. One day she got it in her head that our father loved his sons more than her, and she turned us into swans, but left my sister as a human to help her with the house work.

“Loyally, my sister ran away to find us—after awhile, she did—and a wizard in Yonwood told her the only way to cure us. For seven years she was obliged to remain silent and weave seven shirts from nettles for us. She could not even write out her predicament or else forfeit the cure. She set about to her work tirelessly.

“After some time, she married the blacksmith three villages over, who knew nothing about the curse on me and my brothers. His mother was a very devout woman and swore that her son’s wife was a demon. My sister’s husband denied the fact many times, though no one listened.

“Near the end of the seven years, the woman started a riot, and had the intention of burning my sister alive. My sister was still working on my shirt. Just as they neared the house, the seven years were over, and we flew to her home. She tossed the shirts on us, and all my brothers transformed back into men. She had not quite finished my shirt; the left sleeve didn’t exist. When she put my shirt on, I still had a swan wing where my left arm should’ve been.

“Before that, I had hoped to become a musician. No one really found that an ideal profession, but I didn’t care. I always had my pipes with me, and there always seemed to be a song in my head. Panpipes are all I can play now, but I can do it well after several months of practice. I took up sleuthing because I was unable to perform any other trade well, and even then, I hid my deformity. The brass wing came from the wizard who helped my sister.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Millicent said dumbly.

“Don’t be. I should be the sorry one for not telling you before.” He smiled at her, taking Millicent aback.

“I understand why you said nothing,” Millicent sympathized. “I should head home. It’s late; Mom will be expecting me home by now.”

The queen ran in, frantic. “Millicent, Matthew, they found him. They found Razo.”

“Looks like I’m not going home yet after all,” Millicent mused.

“Actually, we can do absolutely nothing until we organize a trial. At most, that will take three days,” Karana corrected.

“In that case, forget what I just said.” Hasty goodbyes were then said, and Millicent left.

Shelby didn’t get home until about nine o’clock that May evening. A certain someone waited for her. “Where were you?” a voice hissed, causing Millicent to jump.

“Bee! You’re supposed to be asleep! You almost gave me a heart attack! What were you thinking?” Millicent whisper-yelled back.

“Mom and Dad are still awake, you know,” Beatrice told her nonchalantly. “And don’t call me Bee.”

“Actually, I didn’t know that.” Her parents, hearing the commotion, came into the living room and had everyone sit down on the couch.

“You’re lucky Mom’s voice sounds so much like yours; she had to call in sick for you at work. Maryanne sounded about ready to fire you.” The girls had just finished the school year a week ago, so at least that hadn’t been a problem.

“Beatrice!” her mother said. Beatrice immediately and sincerely apologized.

Millicent looked at her feet, ashamed. “I have no excuse. Not a believable one, at any rate.”

Beatrice asked innocently, “Oh, what is it?” She paled almost immediately, “Did you almost get eaten by a dragon?”

“I told you; Moorish dragons aren’t much bigger than Muffin. It’s the trolls and ogres you have to worry about. But that’s not important. What matters is that I had to help out with a mystery for Queen Karana.”

“Wait a second, you mean that you’ve been friends with royalty this whole time and you never told me?” Beatrice demanded.

“I never thought it was worth mentioning,” Millicent admitted, flustered.

“Girls, please, stay on topic.” Their dad was an expert at keeping everyone on the same page. Both sisters quickly muttered apologies before he continued, “Now, Millicent, you came home late because you had to help solve a mystery, right?”

“Yes. An innocent girl was accused of spying, and the next day, they discovered her dead.”

“Yes, we’ve seen the papers,” her mother said grimly, “though I had no idea she’d expired.”

“And this has taken four days of your time?” her father asked her.

“Three, actually. The investigation has taken three days.”

“And have you solved it?”

“Not yet. The suspects need to be on trial before anything happens.”

“Do you need to be there for the trial, Millie?” her mom asked, clearly worried. Millicent told her that she did, not forgetting to mention the speed of the Moorish justice system.

Her dad sighed. “We understand why you have been unavailable, but you still broke our rule that you had to be home by dinner. We can’t let that go unpunished.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She was truly greived, first for her only friend’s death and now for disappointing those who loved her.

Her mom chimed in, “Honey, we were two minutes away from calling the police. We need to know where you are and if you’re okay.”

“So I take it I’m grounded, then,” Millicent assumed.

“No books for the rest of the month, and after the trial, you’re not allowed to go to the Moors until we say so. Understood?” Millicent nodded.

“You’ll also be working for your grandparents instead of at the Bazaar. You need to be around people who care about you more often. They won’t be around forever.” Millicent nodded again, and went to bed, grateful she didn’t receive a stricter sentence.

Three days later, Millicent left for the Moors one last time. The palace was filled with an unusual hubbub; lawbreakers didn’t usually require the royal court for justice. She found a seat just as the bailiff came into the ballroom, which the tree had morphed into a courthouse the previous night.

“All rise. The court is now in session. Her Majesty, Lord Perkins, and the Honorable Judge Julian presiding.” The Moorish court consisted of three overseers, called the panel; this was the king or queen, a member of nobility, and an official judge, who in this case was a centaur. Known for their impartialness, centaurs were able to sense a person’s honesty, which was ideal for finding false witnesses.

Then Millicent, as Alexis’s spokeswoman, stood up. “Most esteemed personages, I make a plea for Alexis Dale, who was found to be killed a week ago today. Defendant was found suspect of orchestrating the event.”

“Thank you. You may be seated.” Lord Perkins asked, “Defendant? How do you plead?”

Lord Razo didn’t even bother to stand as he yawned, “Not guilty.”

“The plaintiff would like to call Matthew of Willowbrook to the stand, er table,” Millicent corrected herself. Not all the court terminology was the same as back home, and Millicent was having difficulties keeping everything in order.

Matthew came up, swore to speak only truth, and began, “I was called in the middle of the afternoon last week to investigate the case. The only evidences that there was a killing were the blood and a poly-form raven’s feather. Jessie Skye was found to have committed the crime itself, though she believes she was framed by the defendant, who called her into the room.”

“Would the defendant like to requestion the witness?”

Standing, Razo began, “Yes. Did Miss Skye admit to committing the crime?” Matthew responded that she had indeed confessed the transgression. “That is all. If it pleases the panel, I would like to call Jessie Skye to the table. Jessie swore in and the interrogation commenced.

“Did you or did you not kill Alexis Dale?” the indifferent Lord Razo asked.

“I did,” Jessie responded coolly. When an explanation was demanded, she replied, “I was...requested for a job and I was to meet Razo in the hallway. She startled me, and I was a little too quick with my sword-”

“You’re not lying,” Judge Julian interrupted, “but you’re choosing your words very carefully. Just speak. The whole truth is the best one.”

Just then, the guards walked in, a girl between them. “Your Majesty, we found this young woman trying to spy through the window.”

Millicent gasped. “Beatrice?”

“Hey, Millie.” It was indeed Beatrice, looking like a younger, more pink obsessed version of Millicent. She had battered jeans and a mauve tank top, but insead of combat boots, Millicent’s sister wore her favorite pink high tops.

“You. Could. Have. Died. Do you realize how utterly stupid that was?” Millicent wasn’t entirely angry at her sister, more like crazy worried for her. She didn’t care that everyone could understand her, even though she was shouting in English. All Moorish citizens were required to learn the language, for at one point, the two worlds had often communicated with each other, until greedy Otherworlders sought to usurp the throne for the treasures of the land.

“Mom said to watch over you. Considering I’ve been doing that for weeks and haven’t been caught yet, I’d say I did a pretty good job, too.” Beatrice seemed to have forgotten that she was still being held captive.

“Wait a second. You mean to say that you’ve been spying on me this entire time and succeeded in not telling me anything about it until I found out?” Millicent demanded.

“Not entirely on you. I tended to wait at your destinations a long time until you showed up. It is convenient, not having window panes. I could hear where you were going.”

“Well then, in that case, if it pleases the panel, I’d like to call Beatrice Evelyn Eleanor Shelby to the table,” Millicent requested. After their consent, she had to apologize several times for using her sister’s full name before she would come to be questioned.

“Please, tell us what you know, assuming you have a knowledge of what’s happening,” the queen asked.

“Okay. Well at the start of it, I ran over to the room when you and Millie were going to see Alexis, and you two were taking an impossibly long time. I was bored and wet cause it was raining, so I began to look around for somewhere drier and I saw Razo and Jessie-” she pointed at them as she said their names and continued, “talking.

“He said, ‘Not here. Meet me inside that room,’ he pointed to the window where Alexis was.

“She seemed rather reluctant, saying, ‘You know full well if the queen finds me-”

“‘Come now. We won’t have to worry about that,” he argued with a voice like oil and honey. She looked at her feet. ‘You know what you need to do,’ he said in that same voice. ‘I just want to discuss the terms of business.’

“She groaned, then poof! she turned into a crow and flew off.”

“Raven! Crows are dumb!” Jessie shouted. Someone else in the crowd agreed, and chaos started to bloom.

“Order! Order!” Perkins shouted. “The panel is making its decision.” The next few moments could have been cut with a knife, the air was so thick. Muttering softly, the panel sat behind a screen enchanted so no one could hear them.

“The panel has come to a decision,” Karana declared.

“Lord, Razo,” Judge Julian began, “You are hereby charged with willful murder, and because of denying it, you are sentenced to lifetime banishment to the Otherworld, where you will have no title or power. Jessie Skye, you are also charged with murder, but under the circumstances and your actions, the panel has decided to sentence you to five years of manual labor and a fine of twenty thousand Lusters.” Lusters were Moorish currency; one luster was equivalent to about five dollars, so that was quite a large sum.

The case ended and Millicent immediately went to find Beatrice. “You’ve really been watching me for weeks?”

“Yep. I’ve been telling Mom what you’ve been up to, and I think that’s a mistake. She keeps flipping out every time I tell her you almost died.”

“Maybe you’d like to come with me for real sometime, you know, after I’m un-grounded.”

“I’d like that,” Beatrice decided. “And we can tell Muffin everything that happened tonight.”

“How do you know about that?”

“You’re not very quiet.” Both girls laughed and headed home, Millicent feeling glad that she now had a new friend, her sister.