Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Allies

by Lydia Sherrer

  Agent Grant nodded at his partner, who kept a watchful eye out while he approached and patted Sebastian down. He found nothing, of course, but a large silver coin in Sebastian’s right pocket. Satisfied, he stepped back.

  “Pardon the precautions. Our mutual friend has proven more dangerous than we expected and people have gotten hurt trying to help us.”

  “Understood. Now, if you please…” Sebastian waved dismissively at Agent Meyer. She looked annoyed, but, at a nod from her partner, stepped back, going to cover the front door.

  Sebastian beckoned Agent Grant closer, lowering his voice even more and choosing his words carefully. “You are investigating the connection between elusive criminal Rex Morganson and upstanding citizen John Faust LeFay, correct?”

  Agent Grant nodded, expression carefully controlled to hide any surprise he felt at Sebastian’s knowledge.

  “I can assure you, they are the same man. I heard Mr. LeFay himself admit to perpetrating several local crimes under the guise of Rex Morganson.” That was a lie, but Sebastian wasn’t about to give them more reasons to bother Lily, the person who’d actually heard John Faust admit such things.

  “Really? When and where was this? Give me details.” Agent Grant got out a notepad and pen, poised for writing, though Sebastian assumed he was miked and had agents listening in down the block in some unmarked van.

  “I most certainly shall not,” Sebastian hissed, making his hands and voice shake even more. “My life would be forfeit. I simply wanted to assure you that your suspicions were correct.”

  Agent Grant gave a little sigh. “Sir, I appreciate you risking yourself to tell me this, but you said on the phone that you had critical evidence. Your hearsay, especially if you’re not willing to give details and testify in court, doesn’t do us a shred of good.”

  “Well, you certainly are a young whippersnapper if I do say so myself!” Sebastian grumbled, adding in a huff or two for good measure. “Positively ungrateful.”

  The FBI agent opened his mouth, but Sebastian raised a gnarled-looking hand, cutting him off. “Never mind, young man. I am simply frustrated, you see. My position is precarious. I am, however, committed to the cause of justice. I will get you evidence. Oh yes, such evidence it will be. But on one condition only.”

  That got him a suspicious look, but Agent Grant nodded. “Go on.”

  “You must leave Mr. LeFay’s daughter completely out of your investigation. Your nosing about is endangering her life. Her father watches her, I’m sure. Who knows what retribution he will carry out, what with you canoodling up to her like you are.” He glared sternly at Agent Grant who looked away, carefully controlled face showing a flash of guilt.

  But it was only a flash. He masked his movements by pretending to jot down a few notes, then looked back up at Sebastian. “I can’t comment, nor make any promises on behalf of the FBI regarding whoever you think you’re talking about. This is an ongoing criminal investigation and we can’t exclude anyone from it. I promise you, however, that we take the utmost care in ensuring all our sources and witnesses are protected.” He gave Sebastian a significant look. “If this hypothetical daughter were in any danger, we would provide protection. But to do that, she would have to come forward and tell us everything she knows. We can’t protect someone we don’t know about.”

  That. Bastard. Sebastian thought, forcing his jaw to relax lest he clench his teeth and give away his anger. This little pipsqueak knew exactly what he was talking about, but was playing dumb to try and squeeze him for more information. And, based on the warmth of the truth coin in his pocket, the FBI may or may not be as committed to protecting witnesses as Agent Grant claimed.

  “I am disappointed that is how things must be,” he said coldly, stepping back a pace and giving the agent his best haughty look. “I had thought our law enforcement would be committed to protecting the innocent and bringing the guilty to justice. I see I was mistaken.” He began to turn, as if to walk away, but Agent Grant caught his sleeve, holding him back.

  Glancing behind him at his partner, he drew closer and whispered to Sebastian, “Look, mister, I don’t know who you are or if anything you’re telling me is true. But you’re wrong. I do want to see this man brought to justice, and…his daughter protected in the process. But you’ve got to give me something to go on. I can’t just blindly trust every loon who calls in a tip. Most are high or delusional or making things up to get a reward.”

  Sebastian’s jaw muscles loosened a bit, noticing that his coin remained cool. He had to give the man credit: he did seem to care, even if he acted like a git in the process. Heck, what did he know about being an FBI agent? It couldn’t be easy. “Very well,” he said slowly, then paused, giving the agent plenty of time to sweat. “I will see what more I can acquire for you. I shall be in touch.”

  The FBI agent seemed to want more but finally released Sebastian’s sleeve, reaching into his own pocket and drawing out a business card with his cell number on it. “Call me directly this time. The sooner, the better.”

  “I will do what I can,” Sebastian replied, pocketing the card and stepping back. “I think I shall wait here while you leave. Until we meet again, Agent Grant.” He gave the man a curt nod and stood, waiting.

  The man didn’t look happy, but he nodded and turned to leave, muttering some words to his partner as he passed. They both exited the building.

  “Pip,” Sebastian whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Follow them and make sure they leave, then come back and get me. We’ll go out the back.”

  He felt the wind of her wings as she zipped past him, invisible to the normal eye. While he waited for her return, he reviewed the conversation, thinking about where he stood. It had gone about as well as he could have expected. He hadn’t actually had evidence—nothing that would hold up in court anyway—to give the FBI agent, he’d just wanted to establish contact, confirm his suspicions, and gauge the man’s reactions.

  Hopefully, though, things would soon change. If Tina could track down one of the women whose children went missing, they could find out if Mr. Fancypants had indeed used a spell to hide his involvement. The trick would be gathering evidence that framed the slimeball without revealing the magic involved. Not out of a fear that mundanes would discover magic—they’d been ignoring what was right in front of their noses for decades already—but because no judge would believe it. They would throw it out on principle.

  Well, he couldn’t worry about that just now. He had to get home and prepare to track down a reclusive wizard who absolutely, positively did not want to be found.

  Lily really was going to kill him now. He couldn’t believe Tina had insisted he come right away. It was as if she knew how much trouble it would get him in. But he’d started this thing, so he had to finish it. And Tina had a point: The sooner, the better.

  But the look in Lily’s eyes when he’d had to leave…she thought he was abandoning her on a whim and being irresponsible, unreliable. It wasn’t like that, of course. But he could only hope Lily would understand once he had a chance to explain himself. Which wouldn’t be anytime soon. Not until he had proof of his suspicions. Dagnabbit. He really did have himself in a pickle this time.

  Yet, all he could do was move forward. He’d already sent Jas back to Savannah to keep an eye on things, though he felt sure Lily would be safe in Aunt Barrington’s company. That old bat was a force to be reckoned with. He had to focus on the task ahead: meeting up with Tina so they could go talk to the woman she’d tracked down. He couldn’t imagine the lady would be eager to speak to them on a Saturday morning, but Tina had been in no mood to argue. No point in stressing an already tenuous alliance.

  Foot to the gas pedal, he pushed his old junk-heap of a car as fast as it could go—an impressive fifty-five miles per hour—roaring down the street in a cloud of exhaust. Several newer cars passed him easily, ruining the brief image he had of himself racing to the rescue in a sleek, sexy ride. Ah, well. You couldn’t always be both fashio
nable and effective, though he suspected Lily would disagree.

  It turned out that Tina was in a rush because the woman she’d found, Heather Foster, lived down south in Valdosta, Georgia, a good three and a half hours away. They carpooled from her house, taking her car because she threatened to strangle him if they had to drive at fifty-five miles per hour the whole way.

  On the way, they argued about whether or not to call first. Sebastian thought it would be odd to just show up on her doorstep, and she might be more inclined to help if they had the courtesy to call ahead. Tina thought it would just give her more of a chance to turn them away. Plus, what if she were being watched? Calling ahead would give the watchers—whether John Faust or the FBI—advance warning of their plans. Eventually, Tina won the argument.

  Sebastian had never been to Valdosta before. It was a good-sized city, with its own mall, university, manufacturing plants, the works. But they weren’t there to sightsee. They followed Highway 75 down toward the southern end of town—the poorer end—getting off and paralleling some railroad tracks as they searched for Heather Foster’s address. It led them to a small neighborhood bordering a train yard, its narrow, shotgun-style houses in various states of disrepair. Some were lovingly patched and maintained, while others were obviously vacant, with boarded-up windows and tall grass out front. A few children played in the streets, though they stopped to stare as Tina drove slowly by, counting the numbers on the houses.

  “Here it is,” she said, stopping the car and pointing out the window at one of the nicer-looking houses on the block. Though the paint was chipped and fading, the porch steps had been recently replaced and a small garden out front showed the owner went to pains to keep her domicile looking cheerful.

  They parked and locked the car, heading up the steps to the front door. On the way down from Atlanta they’d agreed that Tina should take point. Being small, cute, and female, she would appear less threatening. Both wore nicer-looking clothes than they usually preferred—they were pretending to be reporters for an Atlanta newspaper—and Tina carried a small, hand-held camcorder. To that, Sebastian had made her add a pocket-sized audio recorder, which she had, already recording, in her handbag. To his great relief, she’d made Percy stay home for this, though she grumbled about the state her house would be in when she returned.

  Sebastian stood back, one foot on the porch and one on the first step, as Tina rang the doorbell. She pasted a welcoming smile on her face, looking as bright and cute as she had the first time he’d met her. He had to smother a smile at the thought, remembering how flustered Lily had been at their exchange. He hadn’t dared read into her reaction—alright, he admitted, hadn’t been brave enough to read into it—yet he thought it might have been jealousy. Which was, of course, why he’d shown interest in Tina in the first place, to provoke a reaction. Okay, so maybe that hadn’t been the only reason, but he’d figured out pretty quickly that Tina wasn’t his type. Maybe if he’d met her a decade ago…no, he wasn’t that person any more. In any case, that had all been before Mr. Fancypants had entered the scene and kidnapped his best friend. Ever since then he couldn’t stop thinking—and worrying—about Lily.

  The scrape of an opening door reminded Sebastian to focus, and he quickly tucked away his speculations and smiled politely as a woman in her late twenties or early thirties appeared behind the still-closed screen door. Her clothes were worn, but clean, and she wore no jewelry except a shining silver locket on a thin chain around her neck. Her face looked middle-aged, but she already had a few grey streaks in her dark hair. She stood slightly hunched with arms wrapped around herself as if literally holding herself together.

  “Can I help you?” She asked, polite but uncertain.

  “Good afternoon ma’am,” Tina greeted her smoothly. Sebastian was surprised at the mix of genuine concern and professionalism in her voice. Apparently she was better at this game than he thought. “My name is Stella Smith and this is my colleague Frankie Overton. We’re from the Atlanta Daily doing an exposé on the problem of child disappearances and the FBI’s lack of attention to these very serious cases. You filed a missing person report for your two-year-old son five years ago and no progress has been made on the investigation. We were hoping you could give us a few brief moments of your time to discuss how you feel about this.” She stopped there, giving the woman time to think.

  Sebastian watched Heather Foster’s face closely, trying to see her expression through the screen door. She hadn’t closed the door on their faces—a good sign—but she still seemed hesitant. Time for a little persuasion.

  “Ma’am,” he said softly, tenderly. “I can’t imagine how painful it must be to bring up these awful memories. I’m sure you’ve already been through hell and just want to be left alone. But we’re committed to helping you find your son, and we really think this article will put a fire under the FBI’s collective posterior. It’s going to make a difference. But we can’t do it without you. Will you please help us? For your son’s sake?”

  His plea did the trick, and he had to push down a stab of guilt at the flicker of hope that crossed Heather’s face. What they were doing would help the FBI find her son. Just not through a newspaper article.

  “Come on in, then,” Heather said, holding open the screen door.

  They filed into her house, carefully observing the surroundings for any clues. Sebastian thought the interior looked humble but well loved. The furniture was definitely on the battered side, but bright throws covered the back of the couch, and small pots of flowers decorated the windowsills.

  As they sat, Heather disappeared into the back of the house, returning with two glasses of iced tea. Surprised but pleased, Sebastian took his and savored its rich, sweet flavor. It had been so long since he’d hung around normal people, he’d almost forgotten the delights of southern hospitality. Not that Lily wasn’t hospitable, but she showed it in the form of hot tea and scones, having been turned into a tea snob by his aunt.

  They spent a few minutes exchanging small talk. Sebastian could tell from Tina’s twitching eyelid that it took all her self-control to keep up the friendly façade. Being polite wasn’t Tina’s strong point. Taking pity on Tina’s waning powers of polite conversation, Sebastian steered the conversation toward the reason they had come.

  “Ms. Foster, you don’t mind if we record this, do you? So we can be sure to make accurate quotes in the article?”

  “I…suppose that would be alright,” she said, hesitantly.

  Sebastian nodded to Tina, who set up her camcorder and started filming.

  “Now, Ms. Foster, I wanted to start out by asking a few questions about the case, to establish the true facts behind the investigation so our readers know what’s going on. Any and all names and places can be altered, if you prefer, to protect your identity. Alright?”

  Heather nodded, looking even more uncertain.

  “Good. Now, can you tell us the name of your son’s biological father?” Sebastian asked, watching Heather’s eyes very closely.

  As he’d suspected, they clouded, taking on an unfocused look as the woman’s mouth hung slightly open. “I—I don’t remember,” she stuttered, uncertainty replaced by a blank mask of confusion.

  “Are you sure?” Sebastian pressed, glancing over at the camera to make sure Tina was getting a good shot of the woman’s face. “Didn’t he give you his name when you all met?”

  “I d—don’t remember,” she said again, forehead creasing in what could have been pain or distress.

  “What about pictures? Do you have any pictures of him?”

  “No, no. No pictures.” Her eyes remained clouded, but her answer was more certain now that she could give a definite yes or no.

  Sebastian looked at Tina again, giving her an “I told you so” arch of his eyebrow. She’d argued the whole drive down that they were wasting their time and there was no wizard behind the disappearances.

  Tina glared back at him, but nodded curtly, acknowledging the need to move on to P
lan B.

  Despite endless hours of searching, they had not been able to find a single picture of John Faust LeFay anywhere on the Internet. Without there being time to sneak up to his estate and take a few—an incredibly risky venture in any case—Sebastian had a different plan.

  “Ms. Foster, why don’t we take a short break? Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

  She nodded, eyes clear once more as she showed him to a tiny bathroom off the hall. He locked himself in, taking with him a small knapsack he’d brought from the car. Moving with difficulty in the cramped space, he used fae glamour to change the color of his business slacks from black to grey, and put on a grey suit jacket he’d stuffed into the backpack. Then, he looked in the mirror and slowly shaped his facial features to mimic what he remembered of John Faust’s appearance. He knew it wouldn’t be perfect, as he’d only seen the man briefly. But he had a good eye for these things. It should be close enough to fool Heather. Unruly black hair appeared to pull into his scalp and spread down his face, giving him a trim goatee and beard. His smooth, boyish features appeared to lengthen and flatten, giving him an older, patrician air and a prominent Roman nose.

  When he was ready, he emerged from the bathroom, taking a deep breath and hoping Tina had remembered to stop the recording, change the internal date stamp, and restart it so the recording appeared to be at a later time.

  Well, here goes nothing, he thought, and stepped out into the small living room.

  Tina, who was facing the hall with her camcorder, jumped involuntarily at the sight of him. She uttered a colorful curse, eyes wide as she let the recording device droop. He’d told her what he could do, to prepare her, but she hadn’t really believed him. Until now, of course.

  Sebastian cleared his throat and gave her a pointed glare, jolting her out of her opened-mouthed shock and returning her attention to the camcorder, which she dutifully raised to focus on him.