Framed Part Three

"T'is is 'er?" Borris questioned in obvious surprise.

Frederick grunted in confirmation as he stared at the little witch through the two-way mirror.

She looked so tiny, so vulnerable, sitting there in the interrogation room with her feet dangling a good few inches off the floor due to the height of the chair. Her swollen eyes and flushed cheeks looked bruised in the nearly non-existent lighting.

It was the most disturbing, uncomfortable thing he’d ever bore witness to. He didn’t want to look at her, but he also couldn’t look away.

She shouldn’t be in there, Frederick thought morosely. His beastly other half vehemently agreed. It felt wrong to see such an itty bitty thing in this iron box. And it was entirely his fault. Well, that’s what the monster inside of him believed at least. The human part couldn’t have just let her go; not with having found direct evidence linking her to the murders. Frederick sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.

Vivian sniffled and gingerly dabbed at the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and when she winced, so did Frederick. The skin looked so raw that he was sure the slightest of touches burned.

“Ta lass don’t look like much,” Borris said as he scratched his chin. “Guess it’s always ta ones ye least expect.” The old orc shrugged and stepped away from the mirror.

Frederick grimaced. “Did the techs find anything at her place?” he asked.

His partner shook his head with a scowl. “Not’ing but a bunch of books, potions, plants, and an angry weasel.”

“Weasel?” Frederick repeated as he reluctantly pulled himself away from the mirror to follow Borris out into the hallway. “Her familiar, you think?”

“Pretty sure.” The both of them looked down the hallway where a banshee-esque screech was coming from. “Feisty t’ing, ain’t it?”

With raised brows, Frederick asked, “That’s the weasel?”

Borris snorted and bobbed his head in a single nod. “Mm. Ta t’ings probably taken a chunk or two outta each tech brave enough ta touch it.”

“All the more reason the damn thing should be put down,” a scathing voice growled behind them.

Frederick’s teeth clacked together as he bit back a snarl. “Detective Moore,” he drawled as both he and Borris turned to face the human.

Detective Robert Moore was a sleazeball of a man. He was short, thin, and sallow skinned with a prominent hooked nose. His hateful beady gaze was narrowed on them as he tucked a manila folder under an armpit. The disgust he harbored for them oozed from his pores in a thick cloud of foul smelling pheromones and cigarette smoke. For Frederick, it was like standing in front of a rotting corpse, only this one could walk and talk.

“What are ye doin’ on t’is side o’ ta precinct, Moore?” Borris asked.

Moore’s upper lip curled into a snarl, so they could see a few of his yellow stained teeth. “I’m here to interrogate the suspect.”

The orc scoffed and Frederick raised a brow in question. “This case isn’t under your jurisdiction, Moore,” Frederick said.

“It is when there are human victims involved,” he snapped.

“Not when ta suspect is one o’ us.” Borris argued.

The two of them could hear Moore’s teeth squeal as he ground them together. “I have direct orders from Chief Carr to interrogate this suspect, and I will be doing so.” He gave the two of them a pointed glare before turning to the door of the interrogation room.

“Not,” Frederick stepped forward to grab the door handle, “without us.” Just the thought of allowing this hateful little goblin into the same room as Vivian, let alone by himself, set Frederick on edge.

Moore scoffed and gestured for him to open the door. “If you insist.”

It took every ounce of control Frederick had in him not to bare his fangs at the human. Without another word, he thrust the door open and stepped in first, followed by Borris, and then Moore. The sudden and forceful opening of the door caused Vivian to jump, her cuffs clattering against the underside of the table, and Frederick immediately felt guilty. He gave her an apologetic tilt of the head, but she wasn’t looking at him; instead she was watching Moore in obvious surprise as he briskly walked to the only other chair in the room. She must not have expected a human to be involved in her questioning.

“Miss Vivian Blackwood, I presume,” Moore said dryly as Borris and Frederick took up residence in front of the two-way mirror. Vivian swallowed audibly and nodded. “You are a first generation witch, and owner of the Blackwood Apothecary, yes?”

First generation? Frederick and Borris glanced at one another in shock. There hadn’t been a case of a first generation witch born since the late 1690’s.

“Y-yes, I am.” The delicate, wavering tone of Vivian’s response had Frederick shifting uncomfortably. His inner beast hissed, displeased with the fear tainting her voice.

“So, your parents are human then, am I correct?” continued Moore, and Vivian nodded. “Is that why you’ve been lacing your candies with a love potion?” The little witches jaw dropped open in shock.

“W-What?” she breathed, flabbergasted. “W-,” Moore cut her off.

“They must have really abhorred you for you to turn to such malevolent means of revenge.” Everyone in the room stared at the human detective in disbelief. “Were all these poor people, human and paranormal alike, just a means to an end for you?” Moore smacked the manila folder onto the tabletop, making Vivian jump, and began laying out photos of the victims bodies.

The little witch stared down at the pictures in horror. “Did you manage to do it? Perfect the potion, so you could finally use it on the people you believe deserve it? Or do you still need a few test subjects-.”

“How dare you!” Vivian cried, interrupting Moore’s tirade. The end of her sweater was clenched in a white knuckled grip in her lap, and despite the tremble of her lips, she was glaring at Moore (who simply raised his brows at her outburst) with fire in her eyes. “My parents are loving people; they love me. They’re proud to have a witch in the family.” Frederick caught the subtle grimace tugging at Moore’s lips at her words, and his hand twitched with the urge to backhand the expression right off his greasy face. What a disrespectful little twat. “I would never disappoint them in such a way as this.”

Moore scoffed. “Then explain to me why we found vials of love potion, the very same one found in all of our victims, in the cooler of your apothecary.”

“I don’t know,” Vivian answered in a soft voice. “But they’re not mine.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I can’t even brew a love potion,” she answered with a pointed look.

Moore barked out a humorless laugh. “What kind of potioneer can’t brew a love potion?”

The little witch looked at him with an expression that told the room of what an idiot she thought he was. “I thought you were a detective,” she said, and Frederick had to cover up his snort of laughter with a cough at Moore’s mixed expression of offended confusion. “Love potions are illegal, meaning all manner of books and recipes containing even an inkling of information on them were destroyed long before I was even born.”

Huh… She was right. Frederick had forgotten all about that. And by the look on Moore’s face, it was news to him.

“The only way anyone would have a copy,” Vivian continued as if she were giving a long since memorized speech to a class, “is if it’s in a family’s book of shadows, which I do not have.”

“I thought all witches had a book of shadows?” Moore questioned with a dark look.

Sighing quietly, Vivian said, “They do; I do, but,” she rushed to finish her sentence before Moore could interrupt her, “I don’t have a family book of shadows. I’m first generation, remember?” There was a subtle satisfied grin on her lips at Moore’s stumped expression, and Frederick couldn’t help the pleased pur that vibrated at the back of his throat.

Not only was she intelligent, but she was witty as well. And sweet, he couldn’t forget that part of their earlier encounter. Before it all went to hell that is.

Perfect for a mate.

The thought took Frederick by such surprise that he froze, his heart lodged in his throat. Mate?! His inner beast purred, and he mentally shushed it. Is that why the monster in him practically went wild while around her? Is that why she smelled so damn delicious?!

Frederick cautiously tasted the air. The first scent to grace his tongue was Borris’ odd mixture of rose water and musk, and then the odor of decaying cigarettes quickly followed, making him gag. With a subtle shake of his head, Frederick pushed past those scents to the tantalizing one underneath.

The heat coated his tongue like a balm, and he breathed out a sigh through his nose. It tasted amazing enough that he could easily ignore the sour bite it still had from her lingering fear. His gums pulsed with the need to sink his fangs into her neck while, at the same time, the monster lurking under his skin wanted to pull her close and soothe her. The contrasting feelings of lust and sentiment were beginning to make his head spin.

“Devoe!” Frederick blinked. Moore was standing at the end of the table closest to him, glaring up at him with a crooked scowl. “We’ll be going to search through the belongings that the techs gathered from the apartment for Miss. Blackwood’s Book of Shadows. Are you coming?”

He glanced towards the door to find Borris already holding it open, so he nodded his affirmation. “Yeah, right behind you guys.”

Moore rolled his eyes, grumbling curses under his breath as he stiffly stalked from the room and out into the hallway. From the doorway, Frederick’s partner watched him with hard eyes. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it and stepped out into the hallway instead.

Now alone, Frederick straightened up and glanced down at the little witch, who sat staring at her hands in her lap. “Miss. Blackwood?” he called gently. Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t acknowledge that she’d heard him beyond that. “Vivian?” he tried again.

Slowly, Vivian lifted her head so he could see her face, and he winced at what he saw there. The skin around her eyes was still beet red, and he could see the miniscule rips in her skin from where she’d rubbed them hard enough to hurt herself. Her lips were pressed into such a thin line there was a white ring around them, and when he finally gathered the courage to meet her eyes directly, his stomach dropped to his feet. His beastly other half gave a pathetic, warbling whine in the back of his mind that almost escaped from his throat. It might not have been hatred reflecting in her eyes, but the utter distrust in them was close enough for him.

“Do-,” Frederick cleared his throat to try and dislodge the lump there. “Do you need anything? Water?”

Vivian’s eyes hardened. “Not from you,” she bit out before looking back down at her hands, dismissing him.

He flinched at her tone. It quite literally felt like a slap to the face; he could even feel the slight sting dancing across his cheek. “Well, uh, okay. Hang tight. We’ll, uh, be back.” Frederick tapped the tabletop with a finger before quickly making his exit.

Once he was out in the hallway with the door shut behind him, Frederick let out the shaky breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Such a mish-mash of unfamiliar feelings swirled about his head; he didn’t like it. He felt so...out of control. Off-kilter. Emotional. Ugh, it was so unlike him.

Shaking his head, Frederick pushed off the door and made his way down to the evidence locker.

It took no time at all for him to reach the solid iron door in the lower level of the precinct, but he had to stop within a few feet of it because of the god-awful screaming that was coming from inside. With his fingers stuffed in his ears, Frederick had to hit the rune panel on the wall with his elbow. The door swung open with a low moan, and the screams spilled out into the hallway at a high enough pitch to shatter glass. Or, at the very least, his eardrums.

"God damn!" He yelled as he stepped into the room. "What the hell is that?!"

Borris and Moore stood at the counter over on the far wall wearing earmuffs and matching pained grimaces as they flipped through the pages of a book. His partner didn't look at him, but he gestured over his shoulder to something behind him. Frederick looked in the direction he had waved him in, and stopped short, mouth agape, at what he found.

An iron cage rattled atop the only table in the room as a white, fuzzy blur the size of a small dog flung itself against the bars while screaming its head off. It did another couple circuits of the cage before it came to an abrupt halt when it noticed him. Pupiless burgundy eyes stared out at him from a small, triangular face; the pink button nose certainly belying of its fierce attitude. It regarded him for a tense moment, the unnerving gaze seeming to pierce the very center of his being, and then its lips curled up over a fearsome set of fangs so it could growl at him.

"That flea-ridden vermin," the weasel hissed at Moore’s insult, "apparently doesn’t like that we’re going through its owners' belongings.” The little critter glared hotly and its hiss grew in pitch until it was screaming at the detective's backs once more. If Frederick didn’t know any better, he’d think the thing was trying to set the two on fire with its gaze alone.

“No one likes anybody snooping through their things,” Frederick commented off-handedly as he bent forward to be eye level with the cage.

The fuzzy little beast quieted down and met his eyes head on. Beneath all that fire and rage was a calculating intelligence that shouldn’t have surprised him. Now that the small creature was more calm, Frederick asked, “You good?” It twitched its tiny nose and narrowed its eyes marginally.

“You’re not seriously talking to that thing, are you?” The scathing question drew their attention back to Moore, who stood there watching the vampire and weasel with a dumbfounded expression.

Frederick could hear the little vibrations of air beginning to oscillate inside the weasel's chest as it readied to start screeching again, so before it could he said, “It’s a familiar, so...yeah.” He could tell Moore didn’t understand the implication of what he had said, but Frederick didn’t feel like offering anything more in way of explanation. The human huffed out a breath but said nothing.

“So,” Frederick said as he straightened up. “Did you guys find anything?”

Borris strode from the counter to the table, and slammed the thick leather tomb they’d been reading through down on top of it. “Not’ing incriminatin’ at least,” he groused. Frederick frowned and his beastly other half bristled at the slight disappointment in his partner's voice. Had he been hoping to find something more than the potion vials? That thought disturbed Frederick more than he wanted to admit.

“So… That means she couldn’t have made the love potion then,” he said slowly. “Right?” There was an odd little squeak of agreement from the cage. “Without the recipe, she wouldn’t know how.”

“T’at doesn’t explain ta vials of it found in ‘er shop,” Borris pointed out.

Frederick grimaced as he struggled not to shout that the vials had to be a plant. That was the only explanation that made sense to him. He believed Vivian when she said that she didn’t do it. Maybe it was because of the half of him that felt she was his mate, but he didn’t think that was the only reason. He liked to think he was a good judge of character, and he knew in his gut that the little witch didn’t have it in her to kill indiscriminately.

Shaking his head, Frederick said, “I still don’t think she did it.” Moore scoffed and Frederick shot him a glare. “I believe her when she says she didn’t do it; that the vials aren’t hers. Maybe they’re a plant!” He looked to his long time partner for a little bit of back up. “We haven’t looked too far into her history yet. Maybe someone’s got it out for her!” Borris looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“I believe you’re either thinking with your cock, or your fangs,” Moore said flatly, completely ignoring the snarl his words incited. “I’m not sure which exactly, but it’s obviously affecting your ability to think logically.” With a malicious smirk, the human turned to gather his stupid manila folder before striding to the door. “I’ll be delivering my findings to Chief Carr.”

Frederick stared at his retreating back as his expression slackened in disbelief. “What findings?!” he yelled. “There’s not enough evidence to convict her of anything!” His words followed Moore up the stairs, but they went ignored.

Feeling panicky, Frederick turned to his partner with an imploring look. The reserved expression on Borris’ face did nothing to ease the cold feeling in his veins though. “Borris? Come on, man.”

“Freddie-,” Borris started, but Frederick cut him off.

“Borris!” He stared at his long-time partner in horrified fascination. He felt like he barely recognized the man standing across from him. “You can’t be serious? You’re ready to convict someone based off a few scraps of evidence without any more digging? She hasn’t even confessed!”

The old orc shot him a snaggle toothed snarl. “Ta lass literally ‘ad ta potion t’at’s been killin’ people in ‘er shop! Not everyone’s goin’ ta confess ta murder, Freddie!”

“But that doesn’t mean we can lock her up without turning over every stone!” He countered.

“T’en w’at do ye suggest? T’at we just let ta lass go home ‘til we find somet’in’ more substantial t’an ta murder weapon?” When Frederick didn’t answer immediately, Borris tossed his head back and barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Ye’ve got ta be jokin’! Moore’s right.” Frederick shot him an afronted look. “Ye need ta get yer ‘ead on right, Freddie. T’en we can figure t’is out toget’er.”

“Borris,” he pleaded, coming within a few inches of his partner's puggish face. “I know she didn’t do it. I can feel it. You’ve got to trust me on this.”

The panic at this point was nearly all consuming, and his beast was mere millimeters from surfacing. All he could think about was that his mate was in danger and he needed to get her out of it by any means necessary. Even if that meant attacking his partner. And damn was that a foreign and terrifying feeling.

Borris just shook his head slowly and stepped around him. “Get it toget’er, Freddie.”

Those parting words lingered in the room long after his partner's footsteps had disappeared.

Frederick’s veins buzzed and his vision blurred as a snarling growl ripped from his chest. He knew, he knew, he wasn’t thinking this through logically. If it were anyone else, he was sure he’d be right behind Borris in his belief (or at the very least suspicion) of guilt. But he just, he just couldn’t think, or believe, that of Vivian. Not anymore. He couldn’t fight the beast's instincts any longer. Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to anyway.

Frederick shoved his hands through his hair, laced his fingers atop his head, and began to pace the room. After passing the table for possibly the tenth or eleventh time, Frederick looked down at the items on top of it. He reached out with a hand to gingerly trace the cauldron etched into the leather of the book, and shivered at the shock of electricity it sent up his arm.

Carefully, he gathered the thing in his hands and brought it to his nose. With a deep breath, he saturated his lungs with Vivian’s intoxicating scent and let the fire seep into his core. He exhaled slowly, every part of him throbbing pleasantly, and glanced down to find a pair of deep red eyes watching him.

Something inside of him settled, all indecision leaving him, and before he knew it, Frederick found himself bursting through the interrogation room door with cage and book in hand. So focused were he and his beast on the task at hand, he was easily able to ignore Vivian’s scent for the time being. He strode toward her, faintly registering her expression of shock and distrust, and dropped to a knee at her side.

“W-What-?” She tried to say, but Frederick shushed her.

“We don’t have much time, and I need you to just go with it. No questions.” He didn’t bother to look at her face to gauge her reaction as he set the cage on the table and the book in her lap. Before she could make a comment about his demands, the weasel chirped excitedly, drawing her attention.

“Slink!” Vivian cried in surprise. She reached for the cage that now held a happily squirming weasel, but Frederick took hold of her wrists to stop her.

“Vivian, listen,” he said, his voice thick with an unrecognizable emotion. He needed her to focus. Vivian seemed to war with herself between concern and scathing anger as she met his gaze, but she remained quiet, so he took that as she was going to listen to him for the moment. “We need to go.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “I, I don’t understand. Where are we going?” There was a flash of fear in her eyes as they flickered to the door, and Frederick cupped her hands in his in an attempt at comfort.

“Away from here,” he said simply.

Before she could say anything else, Frederick slid his thumbs across the runes on her cuffs and they clicked. Vivian pushed out a shaky gasp of relief as he pulled them off and tucked them away at the back of his belt. She brought her hands to her chest to rub at her wrists gingerly. With her released, Frederick then moved on to the cage, swiping a finger across the runes carved into the edge of the door. The marks flashed and the door popped open. With a gleeful chitter, the newly dubbed Slink flew from its prison and into the waiting witches arms.

Frederick unfortunately didn’t have time to enjoy the sweet scene of the two nuzzling each other though; they needed to disappear before any of the others caught on. “Vivian,” he said, getting both hers and Slink’s attention back as he pulled his scrying mirror from his coat pocket. “We gotta go.” Frederick popped the P.I.U. crested medallion from the lid, and tossed the mirror itself carelessly onto the floor. “This,” he held up the medallion, “is a transporter. Untraceable. All P.I.U. Detectives have one in case of emergency. We’re gonna use it to get out of here,” he explained quickly.

Those steel grey eyes looked from the coin pinched between his fingers to his face. “Why?” she whispered after a long moment.

Frederick reached forward to touch her in some way that was meant to ease her uncertainty, but she flinched away from him, so he grabbed the arm of the chair instead. “Because,” he said softly, “I know you didn’t do this.” Her expression morphed into one of surprise. “I know you didn’t,” he emphasized, “and I’m gonna help you figure out who did.” Frederick glanced at the door. He could hear the muffled footsteps of several someones coming down the hallway, and the panic began to leak through his calm facade. “I need you to take my hand, Vivian,” he said as his eyes swivelled back to hers.

Vivian and Slink regarded him for a long moment, long enough that he was tempted to just grab her and go, but then the little weasel tapped its nose to her cheek. It seemed to spur the witch into action, and she hesitantly wrapped her shaking hand around his as she clutched her familiar and book to her chest.

“Hold on,” he told her.

Then they were gone with a soft pop.