by Lori Drake
“Because she was doing a really good job of pretending she was helping Hector look for you.”
“Oh, that.” Dan smiled, and so help me I wanted to smack him again. “Yeah, she’s running a little interference for me. She’s been great.”
“Please tell me you’re not fucking her,” I said with a little groan. Okay, so maybe it was blunt of me, but I don’t think it was completely out of line.
“Tracy? No. I mean, I probably would if she wanted to. But she’s pretty into Hector.”
“Okay, you can stop there. So, you do know that Christina’s husband wants to kill you, right?” I turned on the blinker to change lanes, passing a slower-moving car.
“Yeah, but that’s old news. He got in my face, made some threats. That was weeks ago.”
“Weeks ago?” I glanced over at him again, frowning. “How long have you been on vacation?”
He shrugged, scrubbing at his scalp absently with his fingertips. “Haven’t been keeping track.”
“Don’t you have something… I don’t know… better to do?”
“Nope.”
“Must be nice.” We were getting off-topic, so I tried to bring us back to the matter at hand. “Okay, so you know Christina and Tori burned out. Do you know how?”
“No. I didn’t assume they were related. Were they?”
I could feel him looking at me, but I kept my eyes on the road. “How am I supposed to know? But Hector sure seems suspicious, and he’s convinced Joseph has it in for you, like you were somehow involved.”
“Hector’s a dick.”
“That was my impression too,” I murmured, barely aware I’d said it out loud.
He grinned again. “Finally, we agree on something.”
Chapter 11
Dan didn’t have much to go on when it came to what caused Tori and Christina to burn out, but he insisted he had nothing to do with it. More to the point, he didn’t understand why anyone would think he had something to do with it. There was little I could do in the end but take his word for it.
I dropped him off at the Hilton downtown and headed back to my apartment. I was way too uneasy about my reunion with Dan to bring him home with me, but we exchanged phone numbers before we parted ways so we could reach each other if need be. I hoped he could manage to stay out of trouble for the rest of his vacation. Also, that it’d be over soon, and he’d go back to wherever it was he usually infested.
It was evening by the time I got home. I’d stopped by a sandwich shop on the way to grab something to eat. I’d skipped lunch, and skipping meals wasn’t something I did often or happily. I plugged my phone into my laptop, then kicked off my shoes and settled on the couch for what I was sure would be the best thing I’d put in my mouth hole all day. However, as I was about to bite into a delicious-looking turkey club—to the musical accompaniment of Barrington crunching kibble in the kitchen—my phone buzzed against the coffee table. Leaning over, I peered at the message displayed on the lock screen
Matt: OMW. We’re still on, right?
Shit. I’d completely forgotten I was supposed to go out with Matt. What a crazy twenty-four hours it had been.
Me: I’m on it. Eating now. Grab something on the way?
A little margarita therapy sounded like just what the doctor ordered. At least I was still dressed for going out. The phone buzzed again within seconds. That’s my Matt, fastest thumbs in the West.
Matt: Ok.
I noticed a few other missed messages, including one from Liam. He’d come through with Dan’s number, but I had that taken care of. He also asked me to call him when I had a chance, so I put it on my mental to-do list, right behind, well, everything.
As I reached for my sandwich again, I did some mental math. If Matt was just leaving work, he was about forty-five minutes away with traffic. Pad it with fifteen minutes to stop and grab food, and I had about an hour to kill. I turned on the television while I finished my sandwich, leaning back into the fluffy pillows of my secondhand couch and putting my feet up on the coffee table. It was one of the habits I’d picked up since leaving home. Okay, to be fair, it was one of the habits I’d cultivated since leaving home. It was right up there with not making my bed and leaving my clothes wherever the hell I wanted—little acts of rebellion gleefully committed, simply because there was no one around to tell me not to.
The news was on. Someone once told me that they really ought to call it the “bad news” because that’s really all it was. We don’t have any big network affiliates in Santa Fe (PBS doesn’t really count), so all of the nightly news broadcasts come out of Albuquerque. I did mention it was kind of a small town, right? Anyhow, the stations in Albuquerque do their best to cover the news in Santa Fe too so it’s not like we exist in a black hole where nothing happens that well-groomed strangers don’t talk into a camera about. Mostly, I wanted to catch the weather, but they just kept teasing it, so I grabbed my laptop once I’d finished eating—I had pretty strict rules about food and my computer since losing one to a terrible soup accident—and was about to check the forecast when I noticed I had new emails waiting. Guess where I clicked? Yeah, I’m easily distracted.
Amidst the usual junk that slipped past the spam filter, I found a message from a friend inviting me to a gallery opening, a plea from a co-worker to cover a shift for her the next day, and a few emails from Matt sent over the course of the afternoon asking, in this order: if I liked my new phone, if I had set up my email yet, when I would get around to setting up my email, and if I wanted him to set up my email for me. Laughing, I fired off a quick reply.
Me: Yes, no, eventually, and only if you want it done quickly. Respectively. -Em
I was still snickering when my phone vibrated again. Answering it was a logistical challenge due to it being on the coffee table with my feet while my laptop was on my lap. Fortunately, I managed to catch it before it went to voicemail. It was an unknown number, so I figured it was a telemarketer.
“Em’s house of pain, will it be whips or chains?” I chirped, giving in for a moment to my inner thirteen-year-old.
“Miss Davenport?” The voice had a vague ring of familiarity to it, but I couldn’t place it. Female, a hint of nasal but not too unpleasantly so.
“Speaking.”
“Oh, good. This is Suzi. Um. Russell’s wife?” There was hesitation in her voice, uncertainty. Not that she wasn’t sure if she was who she claimed, more that she wasn’t sure if I was connecting the dots properly. For once, I was. I’d met Dr. Carson’s wife at the office Christmas party last year—a tall woman with long dark hair, endless legs, and at least a hint of Asian in her blood. I wanted to hate her for being prettier than I was, but she was actually really nice too. Damn her.
“Oh! Hey, Suzi, is everything okay?” I wasn’t even sure how she got my number. Did Russell have it? I couldn’t remember giving it to him, but…
“Yes,” she said quickly, then seemed to reconsider. “Er, no. I mean, it’s fine now.”
I frowned, not sure where this was going. “You’ve got my attention. What’s up?”
“I keep dreaming of you. I think it’s important. There’s a dark shadow covering half of your face, and a man with silver hair and lightning in his eyes.”
I confess, that’s not where I thought she might be going with the whole “I dream of you” thing. Hey, I’ve gotten stranger phone calls. “Okay…”
“Maybe it’s just my subconscious at work, but I thought I should let you know. Sometimes dreams, they work in ways we don’t understand. Be careful. I think… I think something dark is coming.” She paused, then added, “Or someone.”
Precognition is totally a thing. I mean, I haven’t experienced it myself, but I’ve heard that it’s among the gifts that witches can sometimes possess. Everyone’s magic is different. The only thing that made me skeptical was that Suzi wasn’t a witch. I would have noticed when I met her. And then maybe I could have hated her. I’m not saying I hated witches. I’m just saying that I didn’t
particularly want anything to do with them—which was making my current position with Dan and Hector’s coven such a pain in the ass.
Then again, I wasn’t a witch either, and I could sense magic. Men in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones and all that.
“Wild,” I answered, after perhaps too lengthy of a pause. “Well, thanks for letting me know. I appreciate it.” A knock on the door saved me from trying to figure out what else to say. “I’ve got to go, there’s someone at the door. Thanks again, Suzi.”
I hung up without waiting for an answer, hopping to my feet and heading to the door with phone in hand to let Matt in.
“Since when do you—” I blinked, finishing after a beat. “Knock?”
The man from the casino was standing on my doorstep.
Chapter 12
He seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. That was a point in his favor. It meant he hadn’t come looking for me specifically. But if he wasn’t looking for me, why was he here?
It’s funny how many things can flash through your mind in situations like this. No more than a few seconds could possibly have passed, but in that time I considered shutting the door in his face and calling the police. I considered going on the offensive, demanding to know who he was and why he was looking for Dan. I considered just playing dumb. Who, me? No, I wasn’t at the casino. It must have been my doppelgänger. Wearing this exact outfit. Crap.
“Hi, um, can I help you?” is what I ended up saying, figuring that playing dumb wasn’t really going to get me anywhere. Plus, there was always the chance he’d just happened to move in next door. Okay, maybe not.
He recovered from his surprise quickly, flashing a smile and reaching into his pocket to remove a leather wallet. “Sorry to disturb you at dinnertime, ma’am, but I have a few questions for you if you don’t mind. Detective Mike Escobar, Santa Fe PD.” He flipped open the wallet, showing off his shiny metal badge.
Mike. Not Joseph. And a cop? I was so screwed, but I tried to play it cool, giving him the closest approximation to a confused look that I could muster on demand. “Is something wrong? Was there a noise complaint or something? I was just watching the news.” The television was still on in the living room, so at least I had something resembling an alibi to back me up there.
“No noise complaint, no ma’am.” He shook his head as he tucked his badge away again. “May I come in? You’re letting your heat out.”
I was, and given that the heat was actually working again, I didn’t want to tax the system more than necessary. Still, there was hesitation in me even as I nodded and stepped aside, holding the door open. “Sure, come on in. Do you want something to drink? I have some soda and orange juice.”
He wiped his feet on the mat outside—brownie points for him—and stepped inside, glancing around my sparsely decorated living room in the process. “Water would be great, thank you.”
I closed the door and headed for the kitchen. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
Though I quickly got a glass down from the cupboard, I took my time about getting a bottle of water from the fridge and opening it to fill the glass. Don’t drink the tap water here, it’s got all sorts of crazy shit in it.
“You have a lovely home,” the detective said from the next room.
“Hah. You’re too kind,” I answered, while my thumbs furiously manipulated the pixelated keyboard on my phone’s face, firing off a quick text to Matt.
Me: Cop here. Sooner would better.
I could imagine him blinking and cursing as he read the message off the phone cradled in its dashboard holder. There was no immediate reply; he was probably still driving.
Tucking the phone in my pocket, I walked the glass of water out into the living room. “Hope you like it cold.”
“Cold is fine, thanks.” He waited for me to sit down and followed suit, settling at the opposite end of the sofa with the middle cushion and my laptop in between us. “You were at the casino earlier today, right?”
I smiled, tucking a lock of blond hair behind my ear. All the curl had probably fallen out of it by now; my hair was iron straight and tended to revert to its natural state quickly.
“Yeah. It’s my day off.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was looking for someone? It didn’t seem like lying was a great idea at this point.
Escobar sipped the water before leaning over to set the glass on the coffee table. I knew what he was reaching for when he slipped his hand into his jacket, and he didn’t disappoint. The photograph came out, and he held it out to me. “See anyone you recognize?” he asked.
I took the picture from him and glanced at it, even though I didn’t really need to. “Yeah.”
“So, you know why I’m here?” he prompted, leaning back again and draping an arm along the back of the couch. On the whole, he looked too damn comfortable on my damn couch.
“Not exactly,” I answered, still sticking with the truth. Mostly. “But I’m guessing this is about Tori?”
He nodded, and I didn’t have to look up to know his brown cop’s eyes were watching me. Weighing. Measuring. “How did you know Miss Young?”
“I didn’t know her,” I said, offering the photo back to him.
He raised a brow and said nothing, waiting for me to continue. He didn’t even reach for the photo, just let me hold it out to him.
“Not well, I mean. Not personally. I’ve seen her around. She’s local. Was local.” I set the photo down on top of my laptop for now. “Am I in some sort of trouble?”
“Should you be?” he asked. Notice how he kept turning every answer into a question? I did too and frowned.
“Not that I know of.” They say you shouldn’t fold your arms when you’re in a conversation, that your body language makes you look guarded, closed off. I did it anyway. I was both, and I didn’t mind showing it.
Escobar smiled, appearing so at ease that I itched to turn the tables somehow. “Well, I guess that’s good then.”
Barrington hopped up on the couch between us and sniffed at Escobar’s pant leg. The detective stroked him absently, and he flopped over onto his side across the man’s lap. Traitor.
“I’ll cut to the chase, Ms. Davenport. You strike me as the sort of woman that might appreciate that.”
I nodded, silently willing my cat to at least start licking himself.
“I know it’s difficult for you to trust someone in my position, being someone in your position, but I could really use your help.”
My position? “I’m really not sure how I can help.”
“I know you called in that tip. Thank you, by the way. It was very helpful. We were able to locate her next of kin in Arizona.”
Grimacing, I reached up to rub the side of my neck but gave him a brief nod. “It didn’t seem right, knowing and not telling anyone. But I don’t really know much more about her.”
“But you knew she was an unregistered practitioner?” he probed, fingers rubbing behind Barrington’s ears. I could hear the creature purring from the other end of the couch. I’d never seen the cat react so positively to someone. I couldn’t decide if it made me trust Escobar more or less.
“Yes,” I said, still not sure what he was getting at.
“You’re not a registered practitioner either.”
So that’s what this was about. I couldn’t help but laugh, while he looked at me quizzically. Finally, the tables were turned! “That’s because I’m not. A practitioner. A witch. Whatever you want to call it.” I made a dismissive gesture with one hand.
“Alright,” he said, after a moment. “So, if you’re not part of the rogue witch club, how did you know she was?”
He had me there, and for a moment I wasn’t sure what to say. Staring at him wasn’t helping, so I reached for the remote and flicked the television off to give myself something to do. “I think this is when I should probably decline to answer any more questions without an attorney present.”
Chuckling, Escobar continued to lavish attention upon my c
at, but still in that absent way like he was barely aware he was doing it. “I’m not on a witch hunt here, Ms. Davenport. I’m just trying to find out what happened to Victoria Young. She was a young woman in the prime of her life, and one day she just… laid down and died. No medical explanation. So, there has to be a magical one.”
“Technically, there was a medical explanation. Her heart stopped beating.”
He ignored my snark, just letting it roll off him like water off a duck’s back. Smiling again, he shook his head slightly. “You know what I mean. Throw me a bone here. I know you’re holding something back. You called her Tori. That’s pretty familiar for someone who didn’t know her personally.”
I grimaced. Damn, he was good. Even if I’d only called her that because Hector and Tracy had.
“Do you know much about the Magic Crimes division of the SFPD?” he asked, shifting tracks sharply enough that I’m sure I blinked.
“What? No.” I didn’t have to feign cluelessness.
“Magic Crimes investigates crimes against or perpetrated by witches. I am the Magic Crimes division of the SFPD. That’s it, just me.”
“Really?” If I sounded astonished, I was. As soon as magic being real became public knowledge, the government quickly got on board. Every agency wanted practitioners on their staff. Homeland Security, DEA, INS, FBI, CIA—okay, to be fair, the CIA probably had witch agents all along and were glad everyone else was finally getting on board. Santa Fe was a small city, but for a metropolitan area with some eighty thousand residents to only have one detective in their Magic Crimes unit—and a mundie, at that—felt odd. “But you’re…”
He smiled wryly. “Not a witch. I used to have a partner, a magical consultant, but about three weeks ago she ate her own gun. Without her, I’m flying blind here. I get the feeling you can help me, or you know someone who can. What do I have to do to earn your trust?”
That was a good question. I don’t trust easily, and the way this conversation was going was not helping matters. Escobar’s hand stilled, resting atop Barrington’s side. The cat didn’t seem to like that, shifting and rolling, trying to get his head back under that hand.
