by J L Collins
The room didn’t seem to have any recent traces of magic, and I didn’t see anything that looked out of place. Since Enoch had been murdered in his bed according to the MARC’s file, I walked over to it, scanning it with my wand. Each magical being type had its own signature of magic, which left a residue behind. Whoever had killed Enoch must not have used any magic to sneak up on him—a pretty ballsy person, considering how hard it is to surprise an old, powerful vampire. I added this to my notes.
“No evidence of anything,” I mumbled to myself, grabbing the floating notebook and rifling through the notes so far. “Not a single thing.”
By the time I was finished searching the place for a sign of Tristan, Gentry was standing by the door with an impatient look on his face. “Satisfied?”
“Hardly. The only thing I’ve managed to find is that there’s nothing to find. No magic, nothing. Which leads me to think that he wasn’t actually killed here,” I said, finally voicing what had been nagging at the back of my mind.
Gentry leaned away from the wall. “What makes you think that? He was suffocated by the large bulb of garlic they—”
“Yes, yes. I know. But I don’t think it was done to him here. There’s no way someone sneaked up on Enoch and managed to shove that whole thing halfway down his throat without a struggle of some sort and no magic. His body was found with no physical markings, so he wasn’t strangled first, and I’d hate to be the person who tried to put their fist in a sleeping vampire’s mouth anyway. For them to be strong enough, they’d have to be big enough, and they wouldn’t have likely fit up here in the first place.” I said, pointing to the ceiling. “For them to be smart enough to pull this off, they wouldn’t have done something stupid like that at all. Which is why I don’t think this was where it happened. I think it was done somewhere else, and someone used magic, then tried to cover it up to make it look like some idiot got a lucky upper hand on Enoch.”
“Some idiot like your brother?” he said, following along with my logic.
I nodded. “I know he’s not an idiot, but Tristan has a bad habit of befriending the wrong people. And plenty in Spell Haven probably think so, regardless. If he was Enoch’s right-hand man, then it would make sense to try and pin the murder on him.”
Gentry scratched at the gross-looking beard he appeared to have, mulling it all over. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“Probable,” I corrected him, slipping the notebook and pen back into my cloak. “Which means that there’s no point of staying here anymore. Also, your beard is starting to shrink. We should get going before anyone notices.”
Judging by the bigger crowds of people milling around along the Dark Market, we were just in time
A trio of horribly smelling hobgoblins swaggered past us, waggling their dark bushy eyebrows at me. One of them even blew me a kiss, his gross black lips smacking together.
“Ugh. You’d think I wouldn’t have to worry about that, looking like this,” I mumbled.
Gentry shoved at my shoulder. “Shh! You’re a banshee, remember? If anyone catches you talking like that it’ll blow our cover.”
He had a point. Banshees don’t exactly talk, and you didn’t want to be the poor sap who got caught in a screaming match with one. Banshees are the harbingers of death, and to hear the true voice of one would render you completely deaf. Much longer than that, and consider yourself deader than a nail in a coffin.
I winced, carefully eyeing our surroundings until I was sure no one could see or hear us.
“I heard about the laws being changed to open up the gateways to authorized personnel. I don’t really see the point though, I mean it’s not like just anyone can come and go in between realms. They wouldn’t loosen the law that much.” Gentry kept so quiet that I added a quick, “right?” As Inquistor of the Shadow Hands, Uncle Gardner would have some serious power over what got signed into law around here. And knowing him and his feelings toward the general human population, anything that kept the realms apart was for the greater good.
“Inquisitor Brady saw to that.” There was an edge to his voice that left me wondering if maybe he didn’t agree with me after all. I knew my uncle could be what Tristan used to lovingly refer to as a “total hardass” about things.
Something bubbled in my stomach. No one knew what happened with the things from Enoch’s shop. The realms were now open to one another. And the Overseer of the Dark Market who had been sort of playing nice with the MARC to their knowledge, was gone and in his place was probably the MARC’s next-biggest enemy. It had the potential to spill out of Spell Haven and into other parts of the realm. Arcadia, the land of the Fae, had its own protections but aside from it, other parts would be ruined. If they hadn’t done it already.
The outcome of all of this ultimately depended on who had the most to gain from Enoch’s death. But I can’t be worrying about all that when I know my brother is caught in the middle of it. That’s my main concern.
As we drove back to headquarters, neither of us were in the mood for much talking. I also wasn’t too keen on telling Fiona-Leigh the ugly truth about coming home empty-handed. To be honest, I was glad to have my own space to think again once we’d made it back to the car and Fiona-Leigh immediately passed out. I needed that car-ride home to simply take in everything from earlier.
“You look like you could use one of my famous Hazelwood Heavies. Extra heavy on the mead,” Oisín purred when we got home. “Or just straight mead if you’re feeling daring.” I shot him a dirty look.
Once Fiona-Leigh was safely in bed snoozing, I slumped into my own bed, exhausted from the day. There was already so much to process, but none of it seemed to lead me down the right track with Tristan. I was just as far from finding him as I’d been when Aunt Bedelia popped up in my living room.
Groaning, I pulled the covers up over my head in hopes that I’d only see the backs of my eyelids for the next eight hours, and not more nightmares about my missing brother. Maybe Oisín was right about taking up drinking.
16
The Break
I swore off Spell Haven for the day, instead opting to go out for dinner with Fiona-Leigh in hopes that we could talk more about everything non-magically related. Of course, when I brought the idea up to her, she was immediately suspicious.
“Is this the part where you tell me I’m actually not a human at all, that I’m part wood nymph or something weird? Because I don’t think I can handle another secret like that,” she said, raising a brow.
I snorted. “I see you’ve picked up a thing or two with visiting Erie. And no, it’s nothing like that. I just . . . need a break from all of that stuff.” The truth was that it’s been incredibly draining, being thrown back into the Other Realm after being gone for so long.
“Okay,” she replied, throwing her small woven backpack over her shoulder. “Where to?”
We ended up at one of our favorite usual haunts, a newer restaurant in downtown Midnight Pitch named The Cuckoo’s Nest. It was nice, talking about anything and everything that had nothing to do with the past week’s events.
Fiona-Leigh told me all about how Marina was competing in a local skateboarding competition against all boys. And I told her all about my latest photograph that my boss, Henry, had entered into a photo-journalism contest.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, hopping up.
“Bathroom?”
She just gave me a thumbs-up, and I laughed softly to myself. See? This wasn’t so bad. Magic didn’t have to take up all of our time and energy.
The waitress came by, pulling out a pad and a pen with flourish, and I gave her our order without even thinking much about it, still lost in my own thoughts. The thing I’d worried the most about pulling Fiona-Leigh into all this with me, was that we’d never get to go back to normal. That we’d be sucked back into Spell Haven with no chance of really living our lives the way we were used to. And I didn’t want that for her.
I snapped to when she returned. “The waitress should be
back with our drinks in just a minute.”
And she was, bringing plates of food along with, surprisingly.
“Whoa,” I laughed, thanking her as she set the plates in front of us. “That was fast!”
“It’s a pretty dead night, so it’s no problem at all,” she shrugged with a smile. “Enjoy.”
The smell of my chicken was enough to make my mouth water, and I nearly dove right into it before pausing. Something felt off and sure enough, I glanced across the table to see Fiona-Leigh looking down at her plate, utter confusion on her face.
Recognition lit up inside me like a Christmas tree. Of course. How could I have totally forgotten?
My shoulders slumped. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. I forgot,” I groaned as she slowly pushed the cheeseburger and fries away. “With everything that’s been going on lately, it completely slipped my mind when I ordered.”
I sighed.
“Okay. But now there’s a poor cow that’s going to waste. I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how you expect me to eat something was literally born and kept in horrible conditions for the sole purpose of ending up on some chipped dinner plate, shoved between a bun and drowned in ketchup just so I could have something to go with my fries. Nope. Sorry, but no.” She regarded said dinner plate with a disgusted frown and folded her flannel-covered arms across her chest. The resolve in her eyes wasn’t going anywhere.
It was all I could do not to smile and reach out and tuck a strand of her fine coppery hair behind her ear. But I knew better. Fiona-Leigh with her choppy bangs she’d just decided to cut herself this morning, and her sarcastic t-shirt that read, ‘I like books. You, not so much.” Fiona-Leigh with a complete galaxy of freckles on her face and that same defiant look in her dark blue eyes that I saw on my own face from time to time… She was not a little girl who needed me to tell her what’s what. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see how quickly she’d grasped the way the world works behind the scenes.
And as much as I loathe the smug look she gives me from time to time, I’m still proud as anything at her ability to stand up for what she believes in every time.
I sighed again as I stared down at my own plate of fried chicken that was just ready and waiting for me to dig into it. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. You can order something else and I’ll eat this delicious food, feel completely guilty about it the whole time, and then maybe we can discuss more meatless meal options at home.”
Her eyes flickered. “After some dairy-free fro-yo?”
17
The Day Job
It was like running around in circles. Drumming my fingers on the large desk in Uncle Gardner’s office, I sat back and listened to him and Gentry go over the latest bit of intelligence that had come in about Enoch’s case. None of it made much of a difference, and to be honest, it just sounded like they were comparing facts and figures to me. Who cared if Enoch’s neighbor who lives above the next shop over, happened to see a ghost floating around her kitchen the day after his murder?
It wasn’t Enoch’s ghost, mind you, but her dead aunt’s—coming back to hunt down an old portrait hanging in the neighbor’s home. As if that had anything at all to do with what was important.
What it did do though, was remind me of something I’d been completely neglecting lately. “Um, sir? I know I’m supposed to be sticking here today so that Gentry and I can conduct the next interview, but I have my job to think about. Back home?”
They both stopped talking at once and looked down at me, Uncle Gardner’s brow furrowing. “Your job?” he repeated.
What did he think I did all day, sit around twiddling my thumbs until money grew out of the tiny tree in my front yard? I took a deep breath because the last thing I felt like doing was explaining my current job to my former Shadow Hands superior. “Yes. I work at a newspaper. I’m the head photographer. You know, I take pictures with a camera.” I held up my hands to resemble a rectangle with a viewfinder, looking at them through my fingers.
Neither of them looked too amused.
“I’m . . . Not sure how to tell my boss that I’m suddenly needed in a magical realm to locate my lost brother.”
Uncle Gardner scratched at the thick beard on his chin, regarding me thoughtfully. “No need to worry about it. I’ll handle it. I just need Arinda’s assistance.”
“Who’s she?” I asked, trying to recall if I was supposed to remember her or not.
“Arinda Kadir. She’s the Shadow Hand Head Secretary. She’ll see to it that your employer is informed.”
Uh-oh. I didn’t like the ominous sound of that.
Finishing up the unhelpful lack of information, Uncle Gardner finally dismissed Gentry and me. Outside of the office, Fiona-Leigh was seated with an ancient-looking, dark-leather bound copy of Beginnings of Magic and You.
I nudged her leg with my foot. “Is that any good?”
“It’s pretty interesting. Apparently it used to be totally acceptable to dance outside naked, on the full moon after your eighteenth birthday. Did you know that?” She cocked an eyebrow up at me.
Coughing, I quickly shook my head, trying to laugh it off. “No idea. And I’m sure that if I did know that, I would have done it alone, in the privacy of my own property, and certainly not on a dare by my older cousins.”
“Are you ready?” Gentry interrupted, his hands behind his back.
Just then, Aunt Bedelia came hurrying down the hallway, her tanned skin unusually flushed. “I’m so sorry Gwennie, dear. I was fixing up the last bit of a customer’s order of Good Luck Muck. He’s getting ready for his divorce hearing tonight, you know.” She looked between me and Fiona-Leigh and clapped her hands together. “It looks like I’m just in time—wonderful! I have something fun planned for us back at the manor, sweet girl.”
Tucking the book away into her woven backpack, Fiona-Leigh huffed. “I don’t get why everyone thinks I need a babysitter.”
I frowned at her. “Watch it. We have things to do, and I thought you’d like the company. You should be grateful that Aunt Bee is taking the time to spend with you, not rude. She has the Apothecarium to run, too. Thank you for the help by the way,” I turned to my aunt, smiling. “I didn’t like the idea of leaving her back home all alone without knowing how long I’d be here.”
Throwing her arm around Fiona-Leigh’s shoulder, Aunt Bedelia returned the smile. “Any time, dear.”
18
The Minotaur
Our stop for the day wound up being a tavern in town that Tristan was known for frequenting.
“Harm’s Charm,” I read the words splashed across the front window of the place. “Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before.”
“Used to be an old parchment mill before some guy bought it and turned it into a bar,” Gentry said, yanking the door open. “After you.”
The inside of the tavern was dark and smoky, the air thick enough that you could probably hack at it with a good knife if you wanted. I wrinkled my nose. Now would be a perfect time to have a gas mask on hand.
The bar itself wasn’t anything extraordinary with its wooden bar-top and black stools. I was more transfixed by the weird maze-like sets of stairs that went up the far side of the tavern, crisscrossing with several different flights of steps that each took you to a different level of the tavern. Each level seemed to have a landing and a single door. Some people were peering down at the tavern patrons, laughing, casually sloshing and spilling their drinks all over the place without much thought. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought we’d just walked into a very oddly-constructed saloon in the Old West.
Gentry must have caught me looking up, because he pulled at me to follow him over to the first available seats at the bar. “Come on. No need to waste half the day worrying about what those fools are up to, carrying on with the creatures of the night.”
As I sat down next to him I couldn’t help but glance back up one last time. This time I noticed the variety of people up there, including vampires with th
eir fangs easily distinguishing them from the others.
It was impossible to remember how many times I’d read a book where the human’s version of Witches was incredibly skewed. As homo-potentias, we Witches are the closest thing to the homo-sapiens, just a single chromosome off from the rest of the world. But we were almost always lumped in with everything that was considered ‘other.’
I shrugged, looking back down at him. “Aren’t we all technically creatures of the night, though?”
There was a snort that most assuredly came from Gentry, even though I found it hard to believe the man had a sense of humor to begin with. “Yes, but these are creatures of very specific nights when one might be feeling lonely and in need of some company . . .”
I blinked. The realization washed over me at once, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. Or was that the loud people above us actually dripping their drinks down my back? “Oh. Oh, I see. Right. I definitely already knew that.”
Gentry cocked an eyebrow at me. “Did you?”
I turned and hastily pounded the bar top, desperate to change the subject. “Hello? Is the owner back there somewhere?”
“Watch it. I wouldn’t get on this guy’s bad side if I were you . . .” Gentry whispered, nodding toward the other end of the bar just as the door from the kitchen swung open.
A hulking figure seemed to storm through the door that I only just realized was much taller than the average doorway—the figure’s massive head alone, enough to warrant the difference. Anyone else would’ve seen a giant bull’s head complete with sharp horns on either side, set on a massive pair of dark, hairy shoulders that tapered down to the body of an extremely buff human man with skin the color of the mahogany bar top. Me? All I could see was an old friend.
“Arcas?” I gasped, nearly slipping off the edge of my stool.
