Snitch Witch

by J L Collins

  Once I was done catching up, I knew exactly where I was going next.

  16

  A Delicate Situation

  I swear sometimes, talking to Uncle Gardner is like talking to a brick wall.

  He was pacing back and forth in one of the smaller conference rooms, Rourke’s murder case spread out across the table between us. I hadn’t expected him to be in the middle of a meeting with the other heads of the MARC, so I had to stand outside and wait. When the others made their way out of the room, I peeked my head in only to find Uncle Gardner bent over the strewn about paperwork, rubbing his temples.

  “I don’t know why they aren’t taking this more seriously,” he muttered to himself, his gray brows knitted firmly together. “They’re too busy worrying about the wrong things.”

  According to him, the MARC heads had been arguing over some decade’s old feud between the werewolves and the vampires spilling out of the Dark Market and into the streets of Spell Haven proper. Apparently, a couple of vampires were egging on a werewolf family downtown, and the fur went flying. Literally. The MARC was always having to keep the tensions at bay between the two races of creatures. It was part of the reason the MARC existed in the first place.

  I frowned. “Why don’t they just let some of the civil officers handle them? It seems silly to focus their attention on something that happens every blue moon.”

  Placing his hands on the back of a chair, he sighed. “I think they’re terrified, frankly.”

  “Of what?”

  “We’re still on the hunt for An Leabhar na Ciallmhar, and of course we’ve delegated a team to work on that. I have my best Shadow Hands working that case as we speak—unfortunately it’s the bigger problem since nothing can be done for Rourke. Finding it will also give us a better idea of what happened to him and why. They’re scared of what this all means. The most powerful spell book in Spell Haven—in all of Danann even—gone. Our Keeper of the Pages, dead. No real leads. Suspects with damn-near perfect alibis. It’s not looking good, no matter which way you slice it.”

  “So instead of trying to work harder, they just want to stick their heads in the sand like a bunch of ostriches and pretend nothing is wrong?” It figures.

  Uncle Gardner shrugged. “The last thing powerful authorities want is to look incompetent. And if no one knows the implications of what’s going on, then no one will question the MARC. They’re fearful of losing their power, and they’re fearful of someone else gaining control of it.”

  I stood up to stretch, mulling this over. What was more surprising; the MARC wanting to keep all of this under wraps, or them holding too tightly to their image in the eyes of the public? “What about you? Aren’t you worried about that too?”

  “No. If my power is stripped from me for not doing my duty properly, then it will be because it is true and not for any other reason. We’ll find out who did this to Rourke, and we’ll find the book. The question is, will it be too late?” He drew himself to his full height, a solemn look on his face. As straight-laced and brutally honest as my uncle was, he was a good man who cared not about his title or his power, but about what was right and what was wrong. He was the reason I became a Shadow Hand in the first place.

  “Then maybe we should go back over everything one more time,” I said as I gestured to the paperwork on the table. “It wouldn’t hurt, and Tristan mentioned something to me that might help a little.”

  I told Uncle Gardner what my brother had said about Delaney Drakar and her moving in on territory in the Dark Market, as well as my theory about her possible involvement with our case now.

  “If she has more people to do her bidding, then she has more power to get what she wants. I don’t know exactly how she has this hold over people, though I think I have an idea,” I said, thinking back on her civil records several floors below us in the MARC’s archive room in the basement. She was very good at winning civil cases against others, taking their money, taking their property. With the right people in her pocket it would be pretty simple to go bigger. “I know what Tristan said about her only caring about her position in the Dark Market as the Overseer, but I don’t know if I really buy that. She seems like the kind of person who’s always grabbing for the next scale on the dragon to climb, not caring who she has to push off to get to the top and ride.”

  Uncle Gardner slid a few pieces of paper my way. “That may be true, but we’ve already questioned her and she has a pretty solid alibi. Her family was holding a benefit charity at their home for the Spell Haven’s Retirees. There are several photos that were even in the paper the next day of her being present. The charity was held the evening of Rourke’s death. She has witnesses claiming she was with them at an afterparty well into the next morning. It all aligns with Rourke’s time of death,” he said, pointing to the Health Maester Goodwing’s medical examination report.

  I groaned. Her involvement would’ve made so much more sense than anything else. “Wait. Just because she didn’t do the deed herself, doesn’t mean she didn’t have anything to do with it. What if she hired someone to kill Rourke? Maybe she paid someone off!” Bribery wasn’t a huge thing in Spell Haven—most people here were honest and peaceful. But the Dark Market was full of less-than-upstanding citizens. Someone coming from that kind of background would definitely be into bribery and extortion. Maybe even hiring a hit.

  “It’s . . . possible. But without a solid reason based on evidence to search her home or her businesses, we have no way of knowing. Not to mention her family. Even when I insisted on interviewing Delaney here at HQ, I saw plenty of push-back from others. The Fontaine family is well-connected, and does a lot for the community. In appearances, so does she. And even with her dealings with the Dark Market, she’s seen as an extension of her family. I tried to get some backup with pushing for a warrant, but ultimately it was declined. Right now, my main focus is on an intel mission a few of my Shadow Hands are on. In the Dark Market, actually. Not only are our next reasonable suspects those die-hard Enoch loyalists who still believe your brother was responsible for Enoch’s murder—or at least those who are angry at his spying on them for us—but I feel as though they might offer up some information on Delaney Drakar’s work in the market. With the price on Tristan’s head still standing, it’s only attracting more attention as time goes on. I for one, would like the boy to have freedom to walk freely. Preferably out of the manor and back to his apartment.”

  I could understand Uncle G wanting his space back as his own. But just the idea of the Dark Market still standing made my blood boil. “I don’t understand why you don’t just swoop in and shut the Dark Market down for good. Then maybe all the creeps that do their business there will get the point.”

  “It’s a delicate situation and believe me, we were working on it until Rourke’s death. Right now, our priorities are to find the book and his murderer . . . as well as any accomplices,” he added, giving me a knowing look. “Then we can get back to shutting the market down and taking care of all of the threats against Tristan.”

  An acid green flame bloomed into existence to the left of him. “Sir, your one o’clock appointment is outside your office,” a polite female voice spoke inside the flames.

  His shoulders sagged, but Uncle Gardner gave me a grimace of a smile and started placing all the paperwork back inside the case file. “Thank you, Arinda. I’ll be right there.”

  I wished him luck, stepping outside of the conference room after him.

  As I watched him head around the corner to the elevator, others filing past him and going on about their workdays, I stood against the wall. It wasn’t in my nature to feel hopeless like this, but here I was, feeling hopeless. Enoch’s loyalists might not have anything to do with the murder case, but if they were still bitter about Enoch’s death, then maybe they wouldn’t mind giving up some dirt on Delaney.

  I could only hope these Shadow Hands infiltrating the Dark Market knew what they were doing. Because if they didn’t, then I would be taking matters
into my own hands.

  17

  An Unfortunate Rejection

  It’s funny how disconnected you can feel bouncing from one realm to the other. In Spell Haven, I was moving through the morning as if it were the sugary syrup that drips down the redbud trees in the woods. But when I go back home to the Human Realm, time speeds up and before I know it, half the day is gone. Aside from the ridiculous driving back and forth from the gateway to Midnight Pitch.

  I groaned as I trudged inside the house, the still-humid air of early September in Georgia sticking to my skin. “I’m home,” I called out, having absolutely no idea whether or not Fiona-Leigh was hanging out here for the day with Marina. I didn’t mind as long as they were back over at Sully’s by nightfall.

  Claws that were in definite need of a good trimming clattered down the hallway as Jax rushed up to me, yipping at my legs.

  “Hi buddy. Is it just you here?” I pulled my phone out of my bag, nodding to myself as if he had actually answered me. “I guess it is. Fi’s not out of school yet.”

  Surprising, considering how long it felt like it took to drive home.

  I grabbed the leftover grapes in a bowl in the refrigerator, popping them one by one into my mouth as I checked the mail in a tidy pile on the table that Fiona-Leigh must have grabbed for me. Bills. Cheesy car sales promotions with fake keys and absurd prizes. Coupons for hearing aids… those were especially perplexing. I knew I was getting older, but geez.

  I poured Jax some fresh water and rummaged around the kitchen for my gardening gloves. Since I had a little extra time, maybe doing some yardwork would help release some of the tension in my shoulders. Or make it worse. Who knows? Apparently I’m elderly at the ripe old age of thirty-five, according to ‘Ear Science America,’ so it could go either way really.

  I headed to our tiny garden shed and pulled the lawnmower out onto the grass, yanking at the pull-cord until the grubby red thing roared to life.

  All the while I weaved up and down the rows of our small backyard, I reviewed what I knew about the murder investigation in my head. Rourke died overnight according to Health Maester Goodwing. Zoya found him the next morning after she started working and then realized she hadn’t seen him in a while. His throat was crushed by seemingly Witch-sized hands. An Leabhar na Ciallmhar was found later on to be missing without a trace. There was no evidence found for either of the two crimes except for the weird misplaced Fairy short sword. Multiple interviews were done, Delaney Drakar being my main suspect, had a strong alibi with not only physical proof but witnesses. The Shadow Hands were currently not only working on the two crimes as separate cases, but a small group were working another angle by trying to infiltrate the Dark Market for information about Enoch’s loyalists and hopefully some dirt on Delaney that would lead to a search warrant.

  I wiped at the sweat pouring down my temples. There was a part of me that felt guilty even standing here, working on my yard when things were in such a disarray with the case. I felt like I wasn’t doing enough for Rourke’s sake, the thought sinking like a stone in my gut. I knew he wouldn’t want me to feel this way, but years of Shadow Hand training have a knack of threading themselves into the fabric of your life. It probably explains why I’m such a weirdly paranoid and overly-observant parent.

  “Poor Fi,” I mumbled to myself.

  I trekked down the thin strips of land on the one side of the house, heading toward the front yard. The white paint was peeling in places on the pickets of the fence and I reminded myself to make a note somewhere about taking care of it. In vain of course, because there was no way I’d remember until the next time I noticed, if I were being honest with myself.

  Once the front yard and other side of the house were finished, I slipped inside to grab my pruning shears and a tall glass of ice-water and headed back out to the front. There was still another half-hour before Fiona-Leigh and Marina would be getting off the bus, so I figured I’d go ahead and work on the pitifully overgrown shrubs against the house.

  The sun was pricking at my exposed shoulders, warning me that sun-block was probably a good idea. Even though Fiona-Leigh’s skin was fairer than mine and I was a stickler for her using sun protection, I wasn’t so good at practicing what I preached. The rounded tops of my shoulders were already turning a slight pink. Something I never had to worry about in Spell Haven, where Witches were born with sun damage immunity thanks to the magical energy that ran through realm.

  I bent down to work on the underside of the shrubs, craning my neck to get a good look. “Ugh. I wish I could just use magic to keep these darn things in check.”

  Without the sound of too-tall grass crunching underfoot, thanks to my vigorous grass-cutting, I hadn’t noticed someone standing near me. A dark silhouette stepped into my peripheral, arms crossed.

  “Yeah, that would be rather convenient. Maybe then I’d win yard of the month instead of Mr. Porter for the third time in a row,” Sully said, chuckling. “Or are you looking to give him a run for his money yourself?”

  My cheeks flamed, despite the heat surrounding us. “Not exactly,” I said, standing back up. I tried my best not to make a face when my back cracked. “What are you up to, today? Off from work on a Friday?”

  He shrugged, but smiled all the same. “Pure luck of the draw, I guess. Murray, one of the other guys I work with, asked to take next weekend off so I’m getting a break today while he’s working instead.”

  “I hope you plan on doing something fun! Or at least something relaxing.” I slumped, suddenly wishing I wasn’t the color of a tomato. “Personally, I’d go for the latter. But then again I have an almost fifteen-year-old so I’m in constant need of relaxation.”

  He laughed again, running his hand through his ridiculously perfect dark curls. “I don’t doubt it. I haven’t really done much today except read that new John Grisham book. Oh, and I made some pancetta and sage carbonara. I thought the girls might like it for after dinner tonight. Unless you’re done with your freelance assignment and want to come over and have some with us?” The hopeful tone in his deep voice sent a blast of tingly shivers up my spine.

  Truth be told, I would’ve loved nothing more. I wracked my brain to see what I was supposed to be telling him about my being absent so much.

  “Dinner would be nice . . . I just have so much going on right now. You know, with this extra um, freelance thing. It’s taking up more time than I thought.” Ugh. The lies seemed to just roll right off my tongue. And they didn’t even have the decency to sound half-way convincing.

  “Not that I’ve been checking or anything . . . I’ve just noticed you popping in and out without stopping by. Wasn’t sure if you were still working on that freelance assignment or not. Sorry,” he said, taking a step back. “I promise, I’m not trying to be nosy.” He looked more worried that I was offended than anything.

  “No, no. You’re not being nosy. You’re being observant, which I totally appreciate since you’re keeping Fiona-Leigh for me. I, uh . . . it’s a little complicated,” I stumbled over my words, wishing there was a better way to explain things. It’s not like I could tell him I was really going back and forth between this world and another.

  “I get it,” he said simply, though his eyes said differently. “It’s a pretty secret assignment and you can’t talk about it.”

  Had I told him that? It was getting way too hard to keep up with it. “Right. NDA’s out the wazoo.”

  The both of us jumped when a sudden spray of water hit the ground not three feet away from where we were standing. I looked past him to see Gladys Boone haphazardly spraying down her azalea bushes.

  She pretended to just notice us. “Oh, I’m sorry Gwendolyn!” she called out, waving her arm around. “I didn’t see you there.”

  I gave her a little wave back, Sully stifling the grin on his face by coughing into his fist. “Mm-hm. Hi Gladys.”

  “Oh, are you working on your bushes, dear? It’s so nice to see your yard looking . . . well, more trimmed any
way.” She adjusted her angle on the hose, the stream of water creating a rainbow effect as she turned it toward the crepe myrtle in her front yard. “I usually get this done first thing in the morning before the sun hits everything. But I’ve been too busy with the Rose Club. They think I might have yard of the month in the bag this time!” she bragged with a simpering smile. “Hi, Sully!”

  There was a very obvious shift in her demeanor when she addressed him. And I didn’t think it was my imagination when she patted her hair and adjusted the neckline of her shirt.

  “Gladys. Nice to see you.”

  Gladys finished misting the ugly little garden gnome she had under the tree, before turning back to us. “I hate to tell you, Gwendolyn, but Belinda mentioned the HOA bylaws to me again this morning. And it seems you’re supposed to have your trashcan at the side of the road no earlier than nightfall the night before trash collection, and no later than nightfall the day of trash collection. She said letters were sent. Did you happen to get one too?”

  I looked around to see my trash can sitting at an angle on the curb by the driveway. “Uh, no?” I probably had but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

  She shook her head, sighing way more dramatically than the situation warranted. “It’s just that with little things like that,” she said, pointing to my pitiful trash can, “it brings the value of the houses in our neighborhood down. That’s why the HOA has those rules in place. So no one comes through and thinks our yards look like an utter abomination to the upstanding citizens here. Or so Belinda says, anyway.”

  I started to take a step forward but Sully caught at my hand, tugging me back.

  “Don’t listen to her,” he whispered by my ear. I did my best not to focus too hard on how sexy his aftershave smelled.

  I knew he was right and that Gladys was just trying to get a rise out of me as usual, but I was getting really sick and tired of her little taunts. It was a shame I couldn’t turn her into a bat. Then again, with those thick goggles she wore as glasses, she wasn’t far from it.