Page 91 of Wateredge

Dagmar showed no sign of surprise. “I heard this is your signature move, Headmistress. Documenting everything. Served you well once. Will be entirely useless to you now.”

As the Headmistress set the phone down and motioned for Dagmar to speak, the room quieted down.

“My hypothetical people did not set fire to the former Atelier. Neither did they break into any of Crow’s Nest establishments.” She glanced up at Deryn. “With the exception of the Resort. And even that, allegedly, was a completely botched job that should have never happened.”

Paloma was halfway out of her chair when Deryn caught her.

“She almost died, you bi⁠—”

“My love, I didn’t. And Dagmar here will give us the names, and Judge Astor will do what is necessary to pursue⁠—”

“The night concierge, Mayor. His orders were not to assault anyone, but to mess up the office, set a small fire in your suite, and stage it. Just empty fear tactics to set you off pace and off balance before the final part of the elections.” Dagmar shook her head, as if lamenting the poor execution of her plan. “Can’t trust men, you see. Something frightened him. Ms. Crowhart was not supposed to be in your suite.”

“The night concierge?” Paloma sounded deeply offended.

“Everyone has a price, Mayor Allende, everyone. He had his.”

“So the break-ins? The burglaries?” Rhiannon pressed.

Dagmar shrugged.

“As part of my influence on the island, I claim the corrupt former mayor who now resides in the Caymans. Your father served me quite faithfully for years, Ms. Fowler. I will not apologize for his actions. There would simply be too many to apologize for.” Dagmar threw Prudence a contrite glance before continuing. “Like pushing to hire Redding. He’s another one who has been on the payroll. That’s how I found out that Magnus was on the island again two nights ago. Redding called me.”

Dagmar looked away for a long moment, her throat spasming visibly. Was she sorry? Was she actually regretting what had happened? Lark didn’t trust anything coming out of her mouth not to be self-serving. But she was damn curious to hear more. Dagmar obliged after a while.

“Then, there was that one absolute liability of a potential mayoral candidate who recently sold his family business to also relocate to the Caribbean. As well as a plan to buy unsellable land in the middle of Crow’s Nest to turn into a Faith Museum, a place for pilgrimage for the entire nation, with the artifacts on display to rival any exhibition. My family has had years and millions to collect them⁠—”

“Steal them, you mean,” Deryn chimed in.

Dagmar waved a hand.

“I’m not going to debate semantics. As I said, zealots are easier to control when they are occupied. One can make a lot of money while the masses are distracted by things that don’t matter.”

“You know that carrying water for the patriarchy, believing you will be the one woman spared…” Ceridwen shook her head and did not finish her line of thought. It was entirely obvious where she was going with it. Dagmar did not look at her, hiding her eyes.

“But why Dragons? You could build this museum of yours anywhere. Any state. Any town. Why here?” Seren asked.

“Do you know the value of real estate on Martha’s Vineyard? Or Nantucket? It’s all millions and millions. And here, on this tiny piece of land, everything is worth almost nothing. Just a few thousand people own the whole lot? Dragons with a Faith Museum as a potential pilgrimage site? This island infected by religious fanaticism? Turned into a cult-like destination? Could be a veritable gold mine. I was too late to take over the bigger islands. But this one? This one was to be mine. And yes, it would have played on the mysticism of the family history… The Rathcrosses of old and their battles with Gwendolyn Abigail.”

The Crowharts exchanged sideways glances. Ceridwen’s face took a look that Lark did not recognize. Judge Astor glared. Lark stared incredulously. Again, all this effort for money and some kind of centuries-old homage?

“And your Southern cousins? How were they going to be distracted?” Seren all but spat the words.

Dagmar met her eyes for a second before dropping her own again.

“Well, there might as well be one less of those cousins to distract.” Her tone held no sadness, just exhaustion and disgust. “Magnus has been transferred to a private facility. I am told he suffered extensive brain damage, and he will likely never wake up. Whether it’s a long-term situation or a matter of pulling the plug remains to be seen.”

“And you will see to it?” Seren inquired.

“Ms. Crowhart, I’ve been mopping up my relatives’ messes for decades. Of course, I will see to it.”

“Lark isn’t anyone’s mess, Ms. Rathcross.” Seren’s voice rang like a whip.

“No, she’s my cross to bear. And I am sorry. I should have never told him that I stumbled upon you. I take full responsibility for that. For what it’s worth, he acted like it wasn’t news to him. Just the final confirmation that he needed to act.”

Lark watched as the cold eyes searched hers, but said nothing. How did one even begin to answer any of this? Forgive any of this?

Seren gave Dagmar a direct glare.