by Cate Lawley
Ben grabbed a pair of gloves from a tray next to Chalmers’s body and said as he pulled them on, “You broke in before we got that far.” He flipped the sheet back and pointed to the tattoos located just above the pubic bone and in the groin area. “I assume you mean these?”
“Yes, yes I do.” Alex leaned in to get a closer look.
I did the same, careful not to bump heads with Alex. “See, there. The cuts are small but deep, and they definitely didn’t happen at the time of the supposed car accident.”
“Ah, the car accident I’m relatively certain of.” Ben pulled the sheet past Chalmers’s knees. “The bruising across the chest, evidence of a head injury, and the damage to his knees. All of those injuries are consistent with other auto fatalities I’ve seen.” He indicated the relevant injuries as he spoke.
Alex nodded. “Makes sense.”
“It does?” I asked. “Since when does a golem wear a seat belt? Oh.” I hated it when I caught on just a second slower than the oh-so-brilliant enforcer with the Texas-sized ego.
“Since I’m not up to date on the ins and outs of golem physiology,” Ben said, “maybe you can fill me in.”
“The cuts were made first, prior to the accident. They would have made him more susceptible to injury.” Alex pulled the sheet back up, covering the body. “Since it would be almost impossible to do that kind of damage without his knowledge, he had to know.”
“Making it more likely he’d wear a seat belt,” I finished. I’d have figured that out on my own…eventually.
“Right, but if he was aware—as the bruising from the seat belt indicates, then why didn’t he have the damage to the tats repaired?”
“He didn’t have time?” Ben ventured.
I nodded. “The tats were damaged, and the accident happened immediately afterward—before he had any opportunity to get them fixed. What are the chances?”
“Very poor,” Alex replied. “I’d place odds on the accident not being an accident at all, but planned.”
My general feeling that something was off—Chalmers showing up in a human funeral home and the damage to his tats—it all pointed to foul play.
Ben looked between Alex and me. “So we’re all agreed: this man was almost definitely murdered.”
7
Modern (Paranormal) Policing
Ben was probably right. Robert Chalmers likely had been murdered.
Small problem: it might not matter.
The Society had some old-fashioned values, and not of the 1950s Leave It to Beaver variety. More Inquisition meets secret society, with a touch of sadism thrown in for fun. Learning that was not one of my favorite Society moments.
“Go ahead,” Alex said. “He’s your pet. You explain it to him.”
Ben didn’t even flinch at being called a pet, but Alex’s arrogance made me twitch.
I lobbed a surreptitious glowing pink ball at Alex’s backside.
And score.
A satisfying swirl of smoke drifted to the ceiling.
I tried not to smirk as Alex grunted and rubbed his backside.
When he was done inspecting for scorch marks, he said, “Don’t start a fight you can’t finish. Your combat skills are nowhere near up to par.”
“I’ll agree if you’ll refrain from calling my employer a pet.”
Ben looked at the two of us with some incredulity. “Can you guys stop bickering and take a second to tell me what we do next? If this man has been murdered, then we need to call the authorities—and if he’s not actually human, I’m guessing the authorities in question aren’t the local police or the sheriff’s office.”
I sighed. “First, Alex is a member of emergency response, which is as close to police as the Society has.”
“The Society?” Ben shook his head.
Alex dropped some of his attitude and replied, “The Society for the Study of Paranormal and Occult Phenomena, our local governing body.” Turning to me, he said, “You do know we’re going to have to wipe this guy’s memories, right?”
I touched Ben’s arm and said to him, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with it.”
Ben looked worried about the possibility and Alex amused that I thought I could prevent it.
I wasn’t about to admit that I didn’t have the clout to officially prevent a memory wipe. Ben didn’t need the stress of worrying when or if it might happen. Especially since I wasn’t going to let the Society screw with his head. Period. If I had to take drastic measures, so be it.
My word was enough for him for now, it seemed. After giving me an inscrutable look, Ben said, “That’s good, because I like my memories just as they are.” He turned to Alex, and in a businesslike manner asked Alex what he planned to do about the apparent murder.
“Contain whatever magic is still attached to the body, burn it, and get rid of any evidence of his nature—including your memories.”
Ben looked between us, searching for some answer he wasn’t seeing. “What about the part where Mr. Chalmers was almost definitely murdered?”
That had been his original question. One that Alex had sidestepped.
I shifted to stand closer to Ben. I didn’t want there to be any confusion as to whose side I was on. “The Society isn’t officially concerned with murder. They dislike exposure and will certainly punish those who risk a reveal scandal. But killing someone isn’t necessarily illegal.”
“This whole memory wipe question has to do with me being a possible reveal scandal.” Ben frowned.
I shrugged. It wouldn’t do much good to deny it. I’d already as good as promised to handle the memory wipe looming in his future. He was a reveal risk. I’d just find some other way to deal with it.
Ben’s gaze fell on the sheet-covered man. Who was likely murdered. And who wasn’t likely to get justice. It made me itchy, and I was familiar with the Society’s deficits. I could only imagine what an upstanding guy like Ben was thinking.
But his next question went a different direction entirely. “Chalmers was a golem. Is that what you both are?”
“Witch.” I pointed at Alex. “Wizard. Not gender specific; different types of magic.”
Alex studied Ben. “You’re buying all of this? Magic, golems, witches, wizards.” After a brief hesitation, Ben nodded, and Alex said, “Then you can help us.”
“Are you asking me to help cover up a murder?”
Alex replied in even, cool tones, “No. I’m asking you to help dispose of the body. Discreetly. Which is the definition of your occupation. ”
“Are you in trouble if I say no?”
It took a second for me to realize that Ben was asking me that question.
Alex replied before I got a chance. “She’s annoying and pushes all of my buttons, but I’ll make sure nothing that happens with Chalmers comes back on Star.”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Star?”
I tucked a strand of raven hair behind my ear. “That’s my witch name. Long story.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m relieved to hear you won’t be beheaded for your actions—”
“Hanged,” I said. “The Society is into hanging.”
Only after I corrected him did I realize he’d been kidding. Oops.
Ben closed his eyes, and I’d swear the poor guy was counting to ten or chanting some Zen mantra. When he opened them, he seemed pretty calm so it must have worked. “Good to hear you won’t be hung, but outside of the fact that Robert Chalmers was quite possibly murdered, there’s also the very real concern that you’re asking me to defy a dead man’s last wishes. I won’t do something illegal that not only endangers my business but also disrespects the deceased’s desires.”
“Golems are always cremated,” Alex said, “so we’re not asking you to defy his wishes.”
“Except my instructions directly contradict that. I’m to bury him following an open-casket viewing. You’re telling me burial would be unusual for a golem?” Ben looked to me to confirm Alex’s assertion.
Alex typically inspir
ed immediate respect, so it was interesting to see Ben defer to me over my ex.
Probably because Ben hadn’t seen Alex’s best self. I did tend to bring out an even more peevish than usual side to him these days. “Yes, very unusual. Golems are always cremated after certain precautions made to ensure any residual magic is fully contained.”
Ben pulled up a stool. “So we, what, cremate him—after you do some voodoo—and I’m supposed to bury an empty casket?”
“Maybe we can put the ashes in the casket?” I gave Ben a hopeful look.
Ben took off his gloves and chucked them several feet at the nearest waste bin. He missed. “Won’t work. Remember, it’s an open-casket ceremony.”
“That’s actually in your instructions? You’ve got to be kidding me.” My hopeful look faded. I really didn’t have anything. “No body, no open casket. That is a problem.”
“Ah,” Alex said. “I might know how we can fix that.”
“If you ask Ben to break the contract—”
“No. This is more like bending it. There’d still be a body in a casket; it just wouldn’t be Chalmers.”
Sometimes knowing a guy who’d lived through the Crusades and all the intervening years did pay off. When he decided to be cooperative and share some of that knowledge he’d acquired through the years.
“So, spill. You know where we can get a body? Maybe cast an illusion…” But that didn’t seem very persuasive to me. Illusions could be tricky, and that was hardly Alex’s specialty. Breaking and entering, yes. Illusions, not so much.
“Not so much get a body as make one.” Alex flashed his all-too-rare grin. “But we’ll need Camille’s help. You think you can get her on board even though it’s not official?”
“Not official” was promising for Ben, his business, and the burial contract he was trying to fulfill. Because officially, all Alex had to do was contain the magic, burn the body, and prevent knowledge of the enhanced from leaking out into the world at large.
“You know witches, always entrepreneurial. You’ve got cash?” I gave him a falsely sweet look. I already knew the answer.
Alex definitely had cash.
One of the benefits to living donkeys’ years. Something witches, with their only slightly elongated lives, frequently made up for with their mad bargaining skills.
“Sure, I’ve got cash.” Alex unclipped his mobile phone from his belt and handed it to me. “Call Camille, and tell her we need to cook up a doppelganger.”
8
The Witching Hour…or Happy Hour?
I’d had no clue Alex meant it literally when he’d said “cook.”
I wasn’t looking forward to experiencing the smell of baked flesh. Camille told me it stuck inside your nose, more like the smell of human decay than burning hair and tissue.
I handed the phone back to Alex with that lovely image in my mind. “Camille will help, but I’m supposed to tell you that she’s only doing it because I asked.”
I didn’t mention that she also thought it would be a good opportunity to show me what I’d been missing by skimming over my alchemy lessons. No need to bring up one of my witchy failings, and it wasn’t like there were tons of alchemic experts running around. Alchemy had only recently been removed from the big-time taboo list. Not ten years ago, anyone openly dabbling in alchemy would have been in danger of seriously pissing off the wrong people.
Alex gave me a suspicious look. “What are you not saying?”
I fluttered my lashes at him—no easy task, given how much mascara I was wearing. “Nothing important.”
While he had the exceptional hearing of most of the enhanced community, it seemed he couldn’t get past a simple shielding spell. Good to know they worked…when I remembered to use them.
Also, Alex was anti-alchemy, so no need to rub his nose in the fact that technically what we’d be doing was his most hated form of magic. Either he didn’t know or he was turning a blind eye in favor of the easiest solution to our dead body problem.
“So what’s the plan?” Ben was still perched on his rolling stool. In his white coat and with his earnest expression, he looked like a doctor.
“Star?” Alex gave me a knowing look.
He acted as if he knew what was going on inside my head. Sometimes he did. Frequently he didn’t. That had been half our problem: his false assumptions.
The other half of our relationship woes might have stemmed from stunted communication. On both sides. Lesson learned, I hoped.
“Right.” I shook my head. The past was the past. “She’s agreed to meeting us at her place at midnight.”
“Midnight? Is there some magical significance to that?” Ben asked.
“Uh, no. She’s had half a bottle of wine and an excellent meal. If she’s going to be up all hours cooking up a dead guy replacement, she needs a nap. Her words, not mine.”
Alex muttered something unrepeatable.
“Well, it’s nine, Alex. If we’d called earlier, we’d have caught her before she had anything to drink. You know how finicky she is about practicing under the influence.”
“Your mentor is a nutjob. And about half the witch that you are.”
My blood pressure skyrocketed. With a polite smile at Ben, I said, “Give us just a second?”
“I’ll just pull up Chalmers’ file.” He seemed hesitant to leave me alone with Alex, but after giving both of us a piercing look, he said, “I’ll be in the office when you’re done.”
I waited until the swinging door made a quiet shushing noise, indicating it had closed, then I did something I’d been avoiding for some time now: I used my magical sight on Alex. I only got a split second before he shut me down, but in that instant, I saw a whole lot of dark and not a little guilt.
He narrowed his eyes and whispered, “Don’t.”
He was right; it was a terrible invasion. But I was hacked off. He was being an incredible jerk, and it felt good to screw with him for a change.
What had I been thinking, going out with him? Dating Alex, living with him, had been an adventure. At first. But the moodiness and the darkness, it was too much for me. Yeah, he was smoking hot, even when you looked past the glamour that clung to him like a second skin, but that didn’t make up for everything else. Alex was a lot of work to be around, let alone be with.
“I get it. You’re pissed off at the world, and I push your buttons more than most people. But you’re also a pro, Alex. And under all that obnoxious angst, you’re a really decent person. A fair person.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose but didn’t reply.
The guy had a hard time seeing his good traits—all because of some bad choices he’d made as a kid. How long could one man carry the guilt of past choices? I didn’t know, but I was sure Alex was hitting the outer limit. It was a good thing he had an amazing sense of self-preservation that went hand in hand with all his baggage.
Finally, he said, “What exactly do you want?”
“Do the right thing, and to heck with the Society.”
“The right thing is to cremate Chalmers to ensure his remains don’t pose a danger to others.” He raised an eyebrow. “We’re doing that.”
“Come on.” I caught his gaze and grinned. “You know you want to know who did it.” My grin widened. “And how.”
He smiled back at me. It wasn’t wide, but it was genuine. My heart skipped a beat, and I remembered part of the reason we’d been an item. But every time I reacted to his smiles, I was reminded how rare they were. I needed to be with someone who brought out my light, not my dark.
“Yeah. I would like to know.” The smile disappeared. “But I’m guessing you want to chase down the killer and pin some obscure violation on him.”
“Or her—but, you know, that’s not fair. With a proper investigation, we might actually find that there was a legitimate Society violation. It may be that, just this once, the Society’s archaic laws and justice overlap.” I pinched my thumb and forefinger together. “It only takes this much.”
“Small…but large enough to punish a murderer?”
“Now you’re getting it. What do you think?”
He sighed. “I think it’d be nice to do the right thing for a change.”
“Speaking of doing the right thing—”
“No. Ben is your problem. And good luck, because there’s no way you’re convincing Cornelius to keep his memory intact.”
And sometimes Alex got that mind-reading business right. It was especially obnoxious when he naysaid me before I could even articulate my thoughts.
In this instance, I could use his help with Cornelius. He and Alex were friends. Sort of. Cornelius might be Alex’s boss, but they were close. Sort of.
Cornelius was basically the sheriff in our little microcosm of weird, though technically he was the chief operations officer for the Society. Whatever his title, there was no getting past the fact that he was a hardcore rule-follower, and Ben was a security risk.
I clenched my teeth to keep from saying something regrettable. It wasn’t Alex’s fault Cornelius had an accountant’s hatred of risk and the flexibility of a drill sergeant. I needed to make my own pitch for Ben, but while I was at it, I was going to give Cornelius a piece of my mind. Messing with people’s heads just because they’d ended up on the wrong side of the wall of secrets and silence was unfair, unjust, and downright medieval.
“Take a breath and try to move past your outrage. That’s not going to win Cornelius over. Try giving him a reasonable alternative, some kind of assurance that Ben isn’t going to rat us out to the world. If you do, the conversation may last more than thirty seconds.”
“Right.” I swallowed my anger as best I could. “I know that—but it’s hard not to be mad given the context.”
“Go grab your boyfriend. I want a look at that file. We have a murder to solve, right?”
My boyfriend?
I bit my lip. I would not rise to the bait.
Instead, I turned on heel and headed for the office. Besides, boyfriend was a step up from pet.
