“I’m over here,” I shouted, stepping from behind the hedge.
Derrick strode across the courtyard, his features morphing between anger and relief, as erratic as a child plucking petals. He loves me, he loves me not… Unfortunately, he ended on not, halting with a deep frown.
“Were you looking for me, Detective?” I injected extra sweetness into my tone.
He didn’t buy it. In fact, it only made him grouchier. His arms crossed like steel bands across his chest, and I dropped the act fast to point to the hedge.
“There was a man peeking through the branches. I tried to get a closer look, but he disappeared.”
“What was he wearing?” Derrick’s hard gaze left mine and searched the grounds.
“It was difficult to tell. I could only see a portion of his face. He appeared to be late twenties, early thirties. And fast. He didn’t want to be followed. It was probably a servant who ran off when I caught him snooping.” A rush of guilt tightened my insides. I knew I shouldn’t keep the strange man’s words a secret, but there was too much at stake, and I couldn’t risk telling Derrick the truth.
He gave up his search. “It’s possible. The king ordered the crime scene off-limits. I’m sure curiosity is rampant. Come with me, there’s a witness I want you to meet.” He ushered me past the fountain and down the stone walkway.
“Has the fountain been dredged?” I asked, remembering Ella’s desperate thrashing beneath the surface.
“It has. There was nothing of consequence, though we did find a thin strip of leather in the grass. It could be unrelated. There’s no telling how long it’s been there, but we’ve collected it as evidence along with the wine stem.”
“Wine stem?”
He steered me around a marble bench, where I noticed the faint glitter of glass shards. A few more were scattered across the tile, and one glinted beneath a giant rose bush.
“We found the wine stem here.” Derrick pointed to the base of the bench. “It had shattered on the walkway, but a portion remained intact.”
I nodded, my attention focused on the rose bush. “The roses aren’t the same. The ones in your office are a different strain from the ones planted here.”
“Good catch. You’re right, the rose wasn’t cut here. The palace plants a breed of tea rose, but the roses left by the killer appear to be an unknown strain. We haven’t located the source.”
We kept moving, approaching an older gentleman wearing a scarlet jacket and charcoal gray pants. Gold buttons the size of coins gleamed down the front of his coat. He bent at the waist in a curt bow, revealing a balding spot on top of his head.
“Tessa, this is Bradford, the King’s steward. He encountered Miss Lockwood shortly before midnight.”
“That’s correct, Detective.” Bradford smoothed a puff of white hair near his ear. “Miss Lockwood was acting strange, swaying a bit, and I saw her stumble. She was alone, carrying a glass of wine, so I attempted to offer assistance. Many of our guests had too much to drink that evening. She declined and said she needed some fresh air.”
So, she’d had a little too much to drink. I frowned in thought as the man went on.
“I helped her through the crowd, but she stumbled again and spilled her wine on my jacket. She was so embarrassed, she ran off before I could tell her it was all right. I lost sight of her in the crowd. A short time later, she was found in the fountain.” He paused, and a somber look hardened his features. “I was in charge of selecting the two vintages we served at the ball since my skills as a sommelier are unrivaled. In the rush of the moment, it didn’t seem important, but given the tragic nature of Miss Lockwood’s demise, I should tell you that when she spilled the wine on my jacket, it smelled off. Looking back, I believe it had been altered in some way.”
Had Ella been poisoned? My mind raced with the implications. It could explain her disorientation and also suggested the killer had premeditated the act.
“There’s been so much upheaval in the palace, I didn’t recall the discrepancy with the wine until yesterday, and unfortunately, my jacket has been cleaned.” Bradford hung his head as if he had single-handedly lost the case.
“What about the wine stem?” I asked Derrick. “You said you collected it as evidence?”
“We did, but it was broken. There wasn’t any wine left for a sample.”
“Not to the naked eye, no, but to a witch?”
Shadows played over his handsome features when Derrick lifted a brow. I grinned, suddenly feeling a rush of excitement.
“Fetch the wine stem, Detective. It’s time I showed you just how much my mumbo jumbo, as you call it, is worth.”
Chapter 12
“We’re here,” Derrick murmured.
I shifted deeper into the cushioned seat. “Five more minutes.” My eyes felt grainy and heavy-lidded as I peeked beneath my lashes. I must’ve fallen asleep while waiting at the agency. The last thing I remembered was him running inside to collect the wine stem.
A sliver of moonlight poured through the window, splashing across his shoulders and the white sleeves of his shirt. Wasn’t he wearing a jacket before? The weight of it registered in my mind. He’d draped it over me, and I currently had it pulled up to my chin, collar clutched tight in my fists. It smelled pleasant, so I inhaled a deep breath.
Derrick leaned forward, the moonlight revealing his features, and tugged the edge of his jacket over the exposed area on my arm. “I know you’re awake.”
I let out a slow breath. “Good detective work. What gave me away?”
“Years of training and a finely tuned sense of others.”
“So modest and impressive,” I drawled. “You can’t blame me, you were inside the agency for a long time.”
“My superior wanted an update. I filled him in on Bradford’s account and mentioned we’re looking into the possibility Ella was poisoned. I came back to get you, but you’d already fallen asleep.”
Maybe he did have a finely tuned sense of others. I felt completely drained. The coat sagged as I straightened in the seat. I offered it to him, but he gave a subtle shake of his head.
“Keep it. It’s cold.” He opened the door, and a blast of night air confirmed the frigid temperature. I wrapped his coat tighter around my body and followed him out of the carriage.
Inside the magic shop, I lit the lamp wicks, and the flames glowed over worn books and clay pots. Placing one of the lamps on the workbench, I swept aside sprigs of herbs and dried leaves, careful not to scatter them on the floor. The chill from outside had made its way indoors, so Derrick coaxed a fire to life. Soon, the burning logs snapped and cracked in waves of heat.
He held his palms over the flames and rubbed his fingers together, a small shiver shaking his shoulders. I glanced at his discarded coat and felt a twinge in my chest. He’d been cold on the ride over and hadn’t said a word.
“You can put the wine stem on the table. I need to collect a few things before we get started.” I slipped away before he could respond, hoping the unheated air from the supply room would clear my head.
As usual, I was overreacting, latching onto acts of kindness and making them more than they were. So what if Derrick had given me his coat? It was the gentlemanly thing to do, the bedrock of chivalry, and I’d already established he was an overachiever. It didn’t make me special. Still, his gestures went to my head like champagne bubbles and made my stomach fizz. Better not to get addicted. Too much champagne made a person ill.
In the storeroom, I surveyed the shelves. The floor-to-ceiling nook was a shabby shrine to my mother. I’d tried to keep her organizational system, remembering she’d spent hours cataloging the powders and liquids and recording their uses in thick ledgers at her feet. But over the years, my special brand of chaos had seeped in around the edges, and now, the catalog didn’t match the inventory.
My fingers grazed wistfully over the vials, searching for one in particular. I ducked beneath a bundle of herbs hanging from the ceiling. The bouquet swayed around m
y ears, filling my nose with the soothing scent of lavender.
“Where is it?” I whispered, standing on my toes. Dust left filthy smudges on my fingertips, and cobwebs created a wispy barrier to the jars in the back. Plunging my hand through the sticky threads, I prayed its occupant was visiting a neighbor’s web and felt around until I grasped a glass container with a raised symbol.
“Gotcha.” I hesitated, jar in hand, listening for sounds in the other room. Left to my own devices, I’d discovered secrets in Derrick’s office. Was he doing the same now, sifting through my things and making judgments? His attitude during our first meeting still stung, and even though it seemed like he was coming around, I couldn’t dismiss the hurt that had burrowed deep inside my chest.
When I reentered, I found him leaning against the workbench, arms casually folded over his chest and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked relaxed, almost in his element. If he had searched, he’d done so quickly and had the wherewithal not to get caught. Smart man.
Derrick watched me cross the room, seeming to capture every nuance of my journey.
“I thought I’d find you snooping in my cupboards the moment I left you alone.”
He angled his head, and a lock of dark hair fell over his eye. He had no interest in searching my shop. Whatever secrets he might unearth, he’d discover them by studying me.
“Were you testing me?”
“Perhaps, but I wasn’t worried. Witches don’t hide dead bodies in their cupboards.”
“If I remember correctly, there weren’t any in your basement either.”
“That’s because I only keep them there in emergencies.”
He gave a half-smile at my answer. There was something in his tone, a hint of mischief that made those champagne bubbles fizz in my stomach again. The candlelight flickered over his features, and I admired the hard lines of his jaw, the way his lips moved, and the low rumble of his voice.
What was wrong with me?
Dropping my gaze to my feet, I mentally cursed. It wasn’t every day—or any day at all—that a tall, dark, and handsome detective occupied my shop, but this was no excuse to go all swoony. Derrick’s fondness for doling out fines was partly responsible for the mess I was in, and here I was letting myself be charmed by him. Maybe some things were inevitable.
Yeah, right. The only thing inevitable was my debt coming due at the end of the month.
I placed the jar onto the table and pulled out the stopper. A spoonful of powder went into a clay pot, followed by a cup of herb-laced tonic and a sprinkle of black salt. The liquid bubbled and frothed, emitting a fragrant steam.
Derrick read the label on the jar. “Rosenphyn? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Be careful with that.” I plugged the stopper into the container and moved it out of reach. “Rosenphyn is used to detect poison. It’s a little secret of mine. When I was younger, my mother never let me mix my own potions—something about her not wanting me to blow the roof off the shop—so, like any good witch, I went behind her back. It sounds silly, but I wanted to prove to her that I could create something useful.”
He was silent for a moment, giving me that look again. The one that made me think he saw through all of my bravado to the vulnerable witch beneath.
“That doesn’t sound silly to me.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t let me get to the part where I went a few months without eyebrows.”
He flattened his lips to keep from smiling, then wrinkled his brow. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make jokes at your own expense whenever you talk about your magic?”
I fidgeted with the spoon handle and dropped my gaze. “It saves someone else from having to make them, I guess.”
His inscrutable gaze returned, and I ducked my head, tugging the long strands of my hair to hide my flushed cheeks. There was a clog in my throat. I cleared it away.
“Anyways, the eyebrows grew back, and I eventually figured out the correct combination of ingredients. It works by altering the composition of the toxins. In their altered state, the mixture changes color, which can then be used to determine the type of poison present.”
“That’s incredible! Was your mother impressed?”
“No, um…at the time, I could only detect one type of poison, not a lethal one either, so it wasn’t very impressive. It took much longer to compile and test for other types—years, in fact. She was gone by then.”
He nodded, and his hand brushed lightly against my shoulder, hovering there for a second before he closed his fist and dropped it to his side. “Well, I’m impressed. It sounds like something that would be useful to the agency.”
“Useful only in the right hands. Meaning witches. Watch this.” Placing my palms over the bowl, I channeled my magic and spoke the incantation. The mixture popped and then settled with a slow hiss. It was ready.
“Unfortunately, rosenphyn is a deadly poison all on its own. Ingesting even a small amount can kill, which is why you should stay back. I’d hate to have to explain to your superior why there’s a dead detective on my shop floor.”
He eyed the potion warily. “I don’t know, that sounds an awful lot like an emergency. I’d end up in your basement.”
“Only until I can bury you beneath the garden shed.” I flashed him an innocent smile.
He wasn’t amused. “So, you developed a poison to detect a poison? Is that wise?”
“You tell me, Detective. Don’t you often have to think like a killer in order to catch one?”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
Derrick’s jaw clenched as he struggled to answer. “You have to know what you’re doing.”
“Exactly. It boils down to experience. What is deadly in the wrong hands can be a solution in another’s. But don’t worry, you’re safe with me. I’m too tired to dig a hole.”
His comical expression was worth risking his wrath. I stifled a grin and reached for an ox hair brush, then dipped the bristles into the filmy substance.
He stilled my wrist. “That isn’t funny. This is dangerous, and I imagine highly illegal. I could—”
“I know, I know, you could have me arrested. Now, hand me the wine stem.”
Derrick scowled as he removed the lid from the wooden box and placed the wine stem on the table. “Be careful with that. I’d hate to have to explain to my superior why there’s a dead witch on her shop floor.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
He lifted my chin with his fingers until our eyes met. “I would.”
The certainty in his tone wobbled the brush in my hand. Why did he have to stand so close? I could feel the heat from his touch like a brand.
As if I’d spoken my thoughts out loud, he let go and stepped back. Feeling off-balance, I brushed the bristles over the wine stem, leaving a milky-white stain.
“Now, we wait.”
“How long?”
“Patience, Detective.”
Derrick cast me a long-suffering look and flipped through a leather-bound volume of moon phase rituals. He moved on to a manual on fortune-telling.
“You certainly have a lot of interesting merchandise. Where do you find things like this?”
“Specialty markets, mostly. The charms and candles are all local. I mix my own potions, but some ingredients I have shipped from overseas. That’s where you get the good stuff, but it’s more expensive.”
He nodded absently, his gaze traveling over a shelf of faceted crystals. Beneath it was a series of spells arranged side-by-side under a pane of glass. His brow quirked as he read the small brass plate affixed to the display.
“Beginner Love Spells: Make Him Yours Before He Sees the Real You. Really, Tessa?”
I leaned my elbow on the case and tapped the glass. “Those are some of my best sellers.”
“I bet. Do the love spells work?”
“There haven’t been any complaints. Why, are you in the market?” I teased.
He le
aned closer to read one of the scrolls. “Let’s see, this one looks good. The Lightning Love Spell. Ingredients call for lemon zest, hemlock, a mirror shard, and a scorpion’s tail. Mix with a lock of your target’s hair, and it will send an enchanted bolt straight into your lover’s heart.” He squinted at the fine print. “Caution. May cause burning.” Throwing back his head, his throaty laughter filled the quiet shop.
I couldn’t resist a smile. It was nice. More than nice. I’d finally cracked his cool exterior. Who knew what lay further underneath?
When his amusement faded, I placed my hand on his arm. He went still beneath my touch, the heat from his skin warming my palm.
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh. I like it. You should do it more often.”
A beat of silence passed while he looked at me, his expression haunted and tinged with a sense of loneliness. It was riveting, and I couldn’t turn away from it. Didn’t want to.
“In my line of work, there aren’t many reasons to laugh.”
The room had grown unbearably warm. I closed what little distance remained between us, and his hand moved reflexively to my waist, gaze falling to my mouth. The action alone sent a shiver of anticipation through my body. For the love of spell books, he was handsome.
“How tragic.”
His voice was rough. “Do you think so?”
“Very much. You might need me more than you realize.”
The air thickened. My lips parted, and his fingers tightened against my hip.
“Maybe I do.”
I held in a breath as he dipped to brush his mouth against mine in a tentative kiss. It was unhurried, a lingering taste that left me restless. His fingers smoothed over the back of my neck, drawing me closer, deeper. The scent of his skin, the slide of his lips, and the low rumble in the back of his throat became my only focus when our bodies molded together. He didn’t kiss like the straitlaced detective with alphabetical taste; his mouth was pure abandon, leaving my senses in shambles.
The pressure of his lips softened, and Derrick drew back, dragging the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip as he expelled a ragged breath.
Spellbound After Midnight (Ever Dark, Ever Deadly Book 1) Page 10
