by Jane Hinchey
“Mine. Which is why I’m keeping everything under wraps here until I’m ready.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Have you met Daisy and Flora?” There was a certain tone to his voice that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Annoyance? Irritation? Or resignation. I turned to look at him, watching as he puttered at the sink, filling a kettle with water and setting it onto the wood-burning stove to boil.
“Tea?” he asked, setting a floral cup and saucer on the sink before reaching for a matching teapot and tin of tea leaves.
“Got coffee?”
“I think I’ve got some instant somewhere.” He rummaged in the cupboards and crowed in triumph, holding up a Folgers container. Carbonne was a giant of a man with wild curly hair that bounced around his head as he moved and a bushy beard that reminded me a lot of Hagrid from Harry Potter. To see him with a teacup that looked impossibly tiny in his bear-sized hands was enough to make me giggle.
“I get that a lot.” His teeth flashed as he smiled.
“Sorry,” I quickly apologized. Laughing at someone’s appearance was incredibly rude.
“No need. I’d laugh too. I mean, look at me.” He waved a hand down the front of his body. “I’m massive. The image of this,” he jerked a thumb toward his chest, “and this,” he pointed to the teapot and cup and saucer, “do not gel. I one hundred percent get it.”
I could feel a wave of heat climbing up my neck and wasn’t sure if it was a hot flash or embarrassment at being so gauche.
“Take a seat.” Carbonne pointed to the only armchair while reaching for a bucket and flipping it, turning it into a makeshift seat. He lowered himself, legs spread apart, elbows on knees. He loosely clasped his hands together and looked at me while waiting for the kettle to boil. I dutifully sat, dwarfed in the oversized chair.
“Tell me about Daisy and Flora,” I invited.
I didn’t miss the eye roll. “Where do I start?” He sighed, rubbing a hand wearily around the back of his neck and studying his boots. “Flora, as you probably know, is a Goddess of Plants.”
I nodded my head. A lesser Goddess, but a Goddess none-the-less.
Carbonne continued, “And as such, she takes great pride in the gardens and enjoys spending time in them.”
“No doubt.”
“A lot of Flora’s plants supply vegetables and such for the kitchen.”
“Okay.” An excellent way to keep costs down for the home as well, I would think. “And do you and Flora get along? Do your duties overlap?”
He shook his head while simultaneously saying, “We get along just fine. I do any heavy lifting Flora requires. The pruning, mowing the lawns, general maintenance type stuff. We confer on what new beds to plant, that type of thing. She likes to think I know nothing about gardening, and I let her.”
“Sounds like you have a good thing going.”
“We did. Then Daisy McGubbins moved in.”
I cocked my head. “That changed things? She’s an Earth Sprite, isn’t she?”
“Correct. And she is incredibly enthusiastic about the garden.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Surely having another resident who enjoys gardening would be a help?”
“Daisy means well. But she likes things done her way.”
“I’m sensing some friction here. Between you and Daisy? Or perhaps between Daisy and Flora?”
“Daisy ripped out Flora’s chili plants because she doesn’t like chilis,” he deadpanned.
“Oh.”
“Exactly.” He shook his head and played with a loose thread on his pants. “In the end, I had to segregate the garden. Designated garden beds for each of them.”
“Flora wouldn’t have been happy with that,” I guessed. “Considering she had the garden to herself before Daisy arrived.”
“Actually, she took it rather well. Flora is a gentle soul. She’s all about peace and harmony, and if it meant giving up some of what she considered her own turf, then she was okay with it.”
That surprised me. I’d been expecting Carbonne to tell me Flora had flown into a rage. “And Daisy?”
“Like I said, she means well. She’s one hundred percent focused on the garden, and sometimes she doesn’t stop to consider other people, that others may enjoy gardening too.”
The kettle started to boil, and Carbonne busied himself making his tea. “I like the ceremony of it, you know,” he said, scooping tea leaves into the teapot before pouring in the water. “And, of course, the taste.” He tossed a grin over his shoulder.
“Were Claude, Irving, and Janet interested in gardening?” I asked on a hunch.
Carbonne paused in scooping coffee into a dented tin mug. He shot me a look I couldn’t decipher, then returned to making my coffee. “Claude and Irving had a passing interest. We run a twice-monthly gardening group, and they are members. Janet as well, but as a Water Sprite, she was more interested in irrigation, ponds, and water features.”
“There’s a gardening club?” This was news. And all three victims were members. My interest in Daisy the Earth Sprite and Flora the Plant Goddess intensified. Would either of them resort to murder if they felt their garden was threatened?
“Who else is in the gardening club?” I accepted the cup of coffee Carbonne held out.
“Hmm. Not counting the deceased, there’s Flora, Daisy, Dot, and Clarence.”
“Clarence the Wombat Shifter?”
“Yeah. He likes to dig. Comes in handy when we’re planting, but other times, he can be a nuisance.”
Sipping my coffee, I listened to the rain on the roof and the thunder that rolled and boomed outside while enjoying the crackling fire Carbonne had thoughtfully lit in his magical gardening hut. I liked it here. An escape from the craziness of the world. A haven. I surveyed the gentle giant of a man and wondered if he’d kill to protect it.
7
“Well?” Banks asked, waiting while I dried myself off after my mad dash back across the garden. “Anything?”
I brushed my hair back from my face and picked him up, snuggling him close to my chest. “I don’t know where to start,” I admitted. “Firstly, there’s a gardening club, and all the victims were members. Then there’s friction and or rivalry between Flora and Daisy. And then there’s Carbonne himself, who seems lovely, but in all honesty? Any of them could be the murderer.”
“So, despite everyone confessing to the murders, you’re still no closer to finding the real culprit?” Banks summed it up perfectly.
“Maybe I should take them all in,” I grumbled. “You know, when I first heard about storytime, I was hopeful. Usually, murder is a crime of passion, and if our residents were bed-hopping, well…” I trailed off.
“Jax was pursuing that line of inquiry,” Banks told me. “Dead end. Have you noticed the residents of Bewildered Retirement Home are getting more action than you?” he added helpfully.
“Don’t I know it,” I mumbled. Blowing out a breath, I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin. “Right. Where’s Jax? We need to compare notes.”
“I left him in the café.” Banks wriggled, demanding to be let down. After depositing him on the floor, I followed as he presumably led me to Jax. Sure enough, I found the Silver Fox in the café, a steaming mug and a plate holding a massive muffin in front of him. I practically drooled at the sight.
Banks jumped up onto the chair next to him, and Jax patted his head before looking around for me. I didn’t miss the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched me approach.
“How’d you do?” he asked.
Pulling out a chair opposite Banks, I sat with a heavy sigh. “Nothing concrete. You?”
“Same.”
“Did you visit the Dungeon?”
He nodded. “Yeah, but I couldn’t get a good read on the wards to tell if they were broken or not. That’s more your wheelhouse than mine, I’m afraid.”
I steepled my fingers beneath my chin. “Rookie mistake. No wonder they want me to supervise
you.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. You’re new to Bounty, I get it. Of course, you’re going to need someone to supervise you and show you the ropes.” I reached over and patted his arm in a conciliatory gesture.
“I’m not a rookie, and I don’t need a supervisor,” he growled, leaning back in his seat and pulling his arm away from my touch.
I plucked the laminated menu from its home wedged between the salt and pepper shaker and examined it. “Of course you don’t.” I knew better. Why else would Bounty send us to the same job? Being a Magical Bounty Hunter was a solo position. We didn’t partner up, which meant Jax was wearing training wheels, and I was his supervisor.
“I was a homicide detective for the paranormal division of the New Orleans Police Department for five years. I’ve been in law enforcement for over twenty-five. I am no rookie.”
“Relax. Don’t get your panties in a wad.” I didn’t bother looking up from the menu, torn between a Spanish omelet and pancakes. Maybe I’d have both. “You’re used to the confines of the law. You’ll find different rules apply for Bounty. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find your way in time.”
I was shocked when he shot to his feet. Glancing up at him as he towered over me, I noticed a flush of color across his cheekbones and his hands clenched into fists. Was he mad? At me? “What’s wrong with you?” I demanded, dropping the menu and crossing my arms over my chest.
“No wonder they said you were difficult to work with,” he growled. “You think I’m a rookie? You think I can’t handle myself in Bounty? Think again.” Snatching up his muffin, he sunk his teeth into it, spun on his heel, and stalked away. I watched him go with my mouth hanging open.
“Maybe you should apologize,” Banks said, jumping onto the table to sniff at the crumbs left behind by the muffin.
“Get off the table.” I waved him away absently, still unsettled by Jax’s abrupt departure. “Why should I apologize? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“He clearly didn’t like being called a rookie,” Banks pointed out, returning to his seat.
“But he is!” I failed to see what he was so upset about. “He’s new to Bounty. Therefore, he’s a rookie. Why is he so sensitive about it?”
“Did you catch the part where he said they’d warned him you were difficult to deal with?”
I reached over and snagged the steaming beverage Jax had abandoned and gave it a sniff. Coffee! I took a sip and sighed. The Folgers I’d had in Carbonne’s garden hut had been palatable but not particularly enjoyable. The café made much nicer coffee. “I did catch that, yes. What do you think it means?”
“No idea.” Banks jumped down from the chair. “I’m going to go find out.” He trotted off in the same direction as Jax. Picking up the menu again, I stared at it blindly. Am I difficult to work with? What did it matter anyway? As a Magic Bounty Hunter, I didn’t need to work with anyone. In fact, if I had to work for Bounty at all, I much preferred it this way. Jax must have misunderstood, which wasn’t surprising given his police background, where working with a partner and team was the norm. Plus, given our history, he should think himself lucky I was working with him at all, considering he’d ghosted me.
Appetite suddenly gone, I gulped down the remainder of Jax’s coffee and left the café in search of the Dungeon, muttering under my breath the entire way how Shifters should be able to read wards and what use was he if he couldn’t? See? Rookie.
The Dungeon was nothing like a dungeon. Despite being told by Hettie that it was simply a safe space to practice magic, I’d still envisioned gray stone walls, chains, bars on the windows, decidedly medieval. What I found was more like a science lab. The room was huge, ballroom size, with white walls and clean white tiled floors. A glowing sigil lit up the center of the room, along with a cauldron as big as a hot tub. Towering bookcases were dotted around the perimeter, along with a collection of comfy-looking chairs and sofas. There was a rack for brooms and a glass case for wands. Plenty of room for the residents to practice their magic safely.
“Wow.” Overhead, the ceiling sparkled with stars, and I admired the magic used to emulate the night sky. But there was something else here. I could feel it, cold and dark and creeping along my skin, making the fine hairs stand on end. “What is that?” I whispered to myself. Turning in a circle, holding my arms out and palms up, I tried to get a feel for whatever it was that clung to this space. As far as the wards were concerned, they were non-existent. Either totally destroyed or never created in the first place, for I found no trace. How had Jax not sensed that?
“Is that Soul Bending magic? Or Astral Magic? Maybe both?” Since I was alone, I wasn’t expecting an answer and nearly peed myself when a voice responded.
“I think it’s both,” Dot the Slayer said from the doorway.
“Hmm. Possibly.” I had to admit, she could be right. I watched as she shuffled into the room with her sparkly walker, a cup of tea balanced on the padded seat.
“Where’s your cauldron, Dot?” I asked. “I thought they were returning it to the dungeon?”
“One thing you’ll learn about this place, girlie, is that they say one thing…” She trailed off as if forgetting the rest of the sentence.
“And mean another?” I supplied.
She snorted out a laugh. “Nope. They say one thing and do nothing about it. They say they’ll do something, but we all know they won’t.”
I frowned. That didn’t seem right. “So, you’re saying they won’t bring your cauldron back to the dungeon?”
She shook her head, the lime green curlers nestled within her white hair catching the light. “Never do.” She painstakingly made her way to an armchair, parked the walker beside it, and sat with a heartfelt sigh. On her feet were two mismatched slippers.
“What do you know about the wards for the dungeon?” I decided to try my luck with Dot. She seemed coherent and aware now, and I may just glean some helpful information out of her.
She sniffed and reached for her cup of tea, which was unfortunately out of reach. I hurried forward, passed it to her, and then took a seat in the armchair next to her.
“They came down a while ago,” she said.
“So, there were wards in place?”
“Of course. There are some powerful magical beings here. Can you imagine if we were all running around using our powers at full strength? Bedlam.”
I nodded, my lips twitching. Bedlam indeed. “What spell were you using? When you moved your cauldron into Clarence’s room?”
“Oh, that wasn’t me. I haven’t used my cauldron in ages. They just like to blame me.”
“If it wasn’t you, who was it?”
She narrowed her eyes and glared at me. “Isn’t that what you’re here to find out? And you don’t need this.” She moved surprisingly fast, considering the snail's pace at which she walked. So fast that in between one blink and the next, she’d shot out her hand and wrenched Baba Yaga’s bracelet from my wrist.
I gasped, clutching my wrist. How had she done that? It was bonded to me. I couldn’t remove it. Yet Dot had swiped it from me without difficulty.
“How did you do that?” I breathed. “And why?”
“How can you live up to your full potential if you suppress yourself?” she shot back.
I blinked. Twice. Wise words, Dot the Slayer.
“Maybe I’m not trying to live up to my full potential,” I countered, trying to regroup and gather my scattered wits, all the while rubbing my naked wrist. Would Baba Yaga sense the bracelet had been removed? Would there be consequences?
“Midnight Alden,” Dot tskd. “Stop lying to yourself.”
“Are you a seer?” I quizzed, truly taken aback by this turn of events.
“Are you blind as well as stupid? I’m an Elf! No wonder you can’t solve this case.” She picked up her tea and slurped noisily while I reeled from her insult. “I suggest you get off your butt and get to work before more bodies turn up in the garde
n.”
“You think the killer will strike again?”
“I think they’re not done with their sorcery, no.”
I sat back, lapsing into silence while I pondered Dot’s words. Particularly the word sorcery. More than magic. Sorcery was calling on evil magic. And that’s what I felt in this room. Now that the bracelet Baba Yaga had bound to me was gone, it was as if I could see again. The shutters were lifted. Glancing around, I could literally see the sigils of the wards, glowing where they’d been placed strategically around the room—only they all had a deep black burn mark scored through them, rendering them useless.
8
“There has to be a clue on the bodies,” I said to myself, standing in the doorway of the Waiting Room once more. Despite not being able to reanimate the victims, I should be able to glean something from them, for while I’d been talking with Dot, memories of Rhalanise Bayou flashed through my head. The young Witch, Elsa LeBlanc, and her death. She’d been hexed and her magic stolen. But Claudia Delacroix, aka Theodora Highmore, the Witch responsible, had been caught and was now under lock and key, so she clearly wasn’t responsible for this.
I whipped the shroud off the body of Janet the Water Sprite, then squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and placed my hand on her forehead. To my utter surprise, her eyes popped open, and I squealed and leaped back, breaking the connection. Damn, the reanimation had worked! I quickly stepped forward and placed my hand on her once more.
“Janet,” I said when her eyes flickered open again. “We don’t have much time. My name is Midnight. I’m a Magic Bounty Hunter, and I’m here to investigate your death.”
“I’m dead?” she squeaked.
I nodded. “Sorry. Can you remember what happened? Who did this to you?”
“But I can’t be dead. We have bingo.”
“Of course you do. Think, Janet. Who did you see last?”
“Where’s Claude?” She attempted to turn her head, but of course, couldn’t. Because she was dead, and my reanimation wasn’t that powerful. Or long-lasting.
