Elemental - Sisters of the Moon

The Square

“You know we could have walked to the square instead of taking the squad car,” Tristan’s words drifted off when he noticed the irritated tick on Matt’s cheek.

“Hmph! Since we’re apparently in a Hitchcock movie, we should be appropriately dramatic,” Matt muttered.

Tristan chuckled. He knew Matt was right; the station was only a block away from the square. Still, the Sheriff was in no mood to joke.

As they drove, Tristan glanced up at the sky. “Maybe the birds are acting weird because of the weather. The sky sure is looking mean today.”

Matt followed his gaze, noticing the unusual clouds gathering in strange, layered circles. “Does the weirdness include UFOs?”

“Nah, those are lenticular clouds. They form off the mountains when the wind’s right.”

Matt raised a quizzical eyebrow. Tristan returned a wounded look.

“What? I can’t know stuff, city boy?”

“No, it’s just a weird thing to know about,” Matt replied.

“My mom was into weather. I mean, really into it.”

“You mean like a meteorologist?”

“Something like that. When you live on the side of a mountain, you see some weird cloud formations now and then. Freaks out the festival-goers. Some leave here swearing they’ve made first contact.”

Matt laughed, shaking his head. “I can see that happening.”

“Yeah. No aliens—just clouds. Weird, but natural.” Tristan stretched his lean body as they pulled into a parking spot just outside the square. “And we’re here.”

They turned the corner into the square and spotted the only person outside: Mairi Bozwell. She was furiously sweeping at the ground, though there didn’t seem to be anything to sweep. Her back was turned, but the moment Matt and Tristan stepped into the square, she stiffened.

“Shit. Here comes trouble,” Tristan muttered under his breath.

“Mornin’, Sheriff. Tristan,” Mairi’s voice was sweet, almost syrupy, as she spoke without turning around.

“How the hell?” Matt whispered.

“Reflection,” Tristan whispered back. “It’s too early for this town to be giving you the willies.”

“Matt Lowell,” Matt introduced himself, extending a hand as they approached.

Mairi flipped her burnished reddish-brown curls over her shoulder and smiled, though her eyes didn’t match the warmth in her expression. “I know who you are,” she said, nodding once at Tristan. “Tristan.”

“Ms. Bozwell,” Tristan croaked, his voice tight.

“If you’re here about the plague of birds, as you can see, it’s over and done,” she said, waving her hand around the square.

“I see that,” Matt replied. “But it must have been quite a sight—enough to get someone to call it in.”

Mairi’s lips twisted into a sneer. “I don’t know who would call the police over a bunch of birds, but if you’re looking for troublemakers, I’d start over at that Elemental store. That’s where it all started.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “And why would you say that?”

Before Mairi could respond, Tristan jumped in. “The Fenwicks are good people.”

Mairi’s face reddened, and she glared at Tristan before turning back to Matt. “Ask anyone who was here this morning. The first bird fell dead right on their doorstep. Sounds evil to me—worth investigating, at the very least.”

Matt placed a silencing hand on Tristan’s shoulder before he could speak. “Thank you, Ms. Bozwell. We’ll check things out,” Matt said, tipping his hat slightly.

As they made their way toward the well in the center of the square, Matt couldn’t help but chuckle. “This town gets more interesting by the minute.”

“So, do you have history with her?” he asked Tristan, gesturing back toward Mairi.

“Hell no! Well… yes. But hell no.”

“Which is it?”

“I’d never touch that woman. Her whole family is poison. You’ll see.”

Inside the store, Sage Fenwick glanced nervously at the door, already anticipating trouble as she recognized the sound of the bells chiming. She stood, dusting off her hands.

“I didn’t have anything to do with those birds, and you know it, Mairi!” she called out before turning. Her words caught in her throat when she saw Tristan and a tall, handsome stranger standing there instead.

“Hi, Sage,” Tristan stammered.

“Oh! I thought… um, never mind. Hello, come on in,” Sage said, heat rising in her neck as embarrassment set in.

“Have you two met?” Tristan asked.

Matt stepped forward and offered his hand. “I haven’t had the pleasure. Matt Lowell.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Sheriff. I’m Sage. Sage Fenwick. Sorry about the mess and the outburst. I thought you were someone else.”

“This seems like a laid-back kind of town,” Matt said, looking around. “Not exactly the formal kind. And please, call me Matt.”

“Okay, Matt,” Sage smiled. “But you’ll find this place feels a lot busier during the festivals. It’ll be like you’re back in Chicago.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Ah, you’ve heard about my background.”

“Small town. Any news is big news,” she replied, realizing she was still holding his hand. She quickly pulled it away, knocking over a box in the process. A shrunken head rolled out between them.

Matt raised an eyebrow as Sage kicked it back under the boxes, her cheeks reddening.

“They’re getting ready for the Mabon festival,” Tristan explained, breaking the awkward silence.

“Mabon. I’ve heard of it. One of the smaller festivals, right?” Matt said, turning back to Sage.

Sage squirmed slightly. “This will be your first festival here, right? You’ll see—it gets wild. We get a lot of different kinds of people.”

“I’ve heard. Sounds like there’s plenty of mischief,” Matt grinned, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” she replied, smiling despite herself. “Bozwick is a great town, but the festivals bring all sorts of people. Some come for a party, others for spiritual reasons, and then there are the thieves, fakes, and liars.”

“Sounds like any carnival I’ve ever been to,” Matt said. “People just want a little escapism. Can’t blame them for that.”

“But it’s the spiritual seekers I feel the sorriest for,” Sage continued. “They’ll come here, throw their money into the well, and hope for something that’s never going to happen. It’s sad.”

“There are times when Sheriff Harper had to call in help from the next county,” Tristan added.

Matt’s gaze shifted back to Sage. “So, you’ve lived here your whole life, selling shrunken heads and dealing with all this magic—and you don’t believe in it?”

Sage shot Tristan an angry look, her posture stiffening. “Why did you stay in Chicago for so long, Sheriff?” she snapped. “Every place has its ups and downs.”

Matt raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re right—every place has its reasons, good and bad.”

Sage’s posture softened. “I’m protective of my family. We’re the black sheep around here, even though my mom’s done so much.”

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” Matt said, bowing his head slightly. “Now, back to today’s murder investigation,” he added, smiling slightly, though his cheek twitched in frustration.

Sage sighed. “I’m not sure why anyone would call you here. Yes, the birds were acting strange, but they flew off. That’s what birds do.”

Matt nodded. “That is what birds do.”

Tristan chuckled. “She’s right, Matt. Birds do bird things. Doesn’t sound like any crime I know of.”

“Of course not,” Matt said. “Nice to meet you, Sage. Sorry for the trouble.”

“No problem at all. And if I’m going to call you Matt, please call me Sage,” she said, giving him a nervous smile.

“Well, we should be on our way. I look forward to meeting the rest of your family,” Matt said, tipping his hat as he and Tristan exited.

As the door shut behind them, Sage knelt and retrieved the shrunken head from under the boxes. “Really?” she muttered, blowing a stray curl out of her face.

Outside, Matt looked up to see the strange clouds had disappeared. A lone crow circled above, cawing loudly. “Where’s your flock?” he muttered before adding, “Cute girl. A little flighty, though.”

“Yeah, Sage is a beautiful, strange bird,” Tristan replied with a smirk.

“I see what you did there,” Matt said, cocking his head thoughtfully. “Any history between you two?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. Let’s head back. You’re about to meet the petty thieves and fake prophets of Bozwick. Welcome, Sheriff—we’re just getting started.”

Matt grimaced, swallowing hard. “Sort of rockier than I imagined.”

“Oh, just you wait,” Tristan chuckled.