by Gina LaManna
“Please, Miss—”
“Hubick,” she filled in. “What don’t you understand, lady? Unless you’ve got a warrant, I’m not talking. My name would be mud if word got out I ratted on my tenants.”
“I’m trying to help,” I said, struggling with an idea. “My cousin got out of prison, and I just heard the news recently. I figured he must be hurting for money, and I want to help him out.”
Miss Hubick brushed a stray strand of black hair from her face then crossed her arms. “Well, ain’t you a Mother Theresa.”
“He was convicted of killing a woman. He didn’t do it, Miss Hubick—I know he didn’t. Life’s thrown my cousin a few hardballs, so when I heard he’d been released, I had to see if I could help him out. Maybe see that he gets whatever pieces of his life together that he has left.”
Miss Hubick stared piercingly at me, and for a moment, I wondered if she had some sort of magical tendency. Her gaze went straight through, chilling me to the bone. Only when she shifted her weight did the spell break. She was incredibly perceptive for a human.
“Which one?”
“Which, er...” I hesitated. “Excuse me?”
“There’s more than one man convicted of murder living here,” she said, giving a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “Which one’s yours?”
“Oh, um...” I couldn’t help the slight sheen of perspiration at her casual mention of those unsightly statistics. “His name is Samuel Palmer.”
To my surprise, her face brightened. “He was one of my favorites.”
“Was?”
“Lady, he got out of prison almost two years ago. He’s long gone. I liked the guy, but if someone doesn’t pay rent, they’re outta my house. I got a mouth to feed. Mine. And he wasn’t working, so he couldn’t pay. My hands were tied.”
“Do you know where he went?”
She gave a wry smile. “This ain’t a Christmas-card sending sort of place, lady. People don’t leave forwarding addresses. What’d you say your name was, anyway?”
“Um, Zinifred,” I said, blurting out a horrible nickname my grandmother used for Zin. “My name is Ainsley Zinifred.”
“What was your mother smoking when she named you?”
I winced. If I wanted to play undercover, I’d better come up with a better cover, and quickly. “It’s been a tough life with that name.”
“Your mother was on Sam’s side of the family?”
I gave a noncommittal shrug. “Any thoughts on where he might’ve gone?”
“Lady, Zinnyfreddy, whatever—do me a favor. Next time you go making up a name, will you make it something I can pronounce?”
Flushed with embarrassment, I could only nod. “Look, I know you might not know where he went, but do you have any guesses?”
With a long sigh, the woman considered. “I suppose the first place he would’ve gone is down around Filbert Street. There’s a group of guys that hang around there. Mostly ex-cons that don’t have anywhere else to go.”
The thought of wandering into an area of men or women convicted of horrible crimes had my stomach churning and the blood draining from my face.
“Yeah,” Miss Hubick warned. “I wouldn’t go down there alone, pretty little thing like you.”
The note had an element of crassness to it, almost a challenge. I convinced myself not to panic. After all, I had magical powers, and the ex-cons didn’t. With any luck, I’d dance right in and dance right out, practically unseen.
“I see you sizing the idea up, and I’m warning you...” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t go down there. You got money you want to give to Sammy?” With a cackle, she held out her hand. “I can watch it for you.”
“No, no, I think that’s fine,” I said, backing away. “I’ll get my boyfriend to go with me.”
It had become more and more clear over the course of our conversation that Miss Hubick was well-suited for her job. The woman could handle herself. She was sharp as a tack and armed with wits and survival instincts: a combination to be admired on some other day.
“Smart idea to bring your man with you.” The landlady’s eyes fixed on me like a hawk as I backed away. “Hey, Fake Zinnyfreddy—one more thing before you go.”
I hesitated. “Yes?”
“Why do you really want Sammy? He’s a good guy. You hurt him, the others will get you. They protect each other on Filbert. I know you’re not a cop, but there’s something weird about you.”
“I’m not a cop,” I said, ignoring the weirdness bit. “And I do have money for Sammy. I want to help him. I have to talk to him.”
“Oh, shit. You want to see if he did it.”
I didn’t bother to deny it. Pulling the door open, I stepped through and made to shut it, but Miss Hubick’s foot blocked the doorway. She’d moved like lightning across the room.
“I can tell you this, sweetcheeks,” she said in soft tones. “They said Sammy killed that woman. They’re wrong. I don’t know who did it, but Sammy lived here for ten years before that, and he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “I liked having him as a tenant. He didn’t deserve what he got.”
I pursed my lips and gave a nod in her direction.
“I think you’re like me,” she continued. “You don’t think he did it. If you can set his life a little on the right track...well, I think that’d be the right thing to do.”
“Thank you. I appreciate—”
Apparently, Miss Hubick had used up her last ounce of niceties for the day because clearly she was done talking. The door slammed shut in my face.
“Great,” I said speaking to the wooden panel. “Nice to meet you, too.”
It had been nice to meet Miss Hubick. She was an odd soul and an intriguing woman, but she just might have given me what I needed to find Samuel Palmer.
“Filbert Street,” I muttered into my palm as I resumed the Map Maker spell.
Since I didn’t have an exact address, this was the best I could do. Unfortunately, Filbert Street was quite long. It ran the length of the city, though I suspected the down and dirty part I was looking for wouldn’t be too difficult to find. And so, I resumed my hike.
As I moved, I quickly popped onto the Comm to let Ranger X know I wouldn’t be back until later this evening. He wasn’t available, so I left a brief memo at HQ for him to retrieve on his next break.
I found myself thinking of him as I walked. I sincerely hoped he hadn’t worked through the night again; the man would run himself ragged, something I’d worried about ever since he’d been taken down by a bout of Lumiette. It was harder to keep control of his powers on little to no sleep. The last thing he needed was a flare-up in public.
Thankfully, I’d gotten a good night’s rest as a guest at the Shaw house. With an extra pep in my step from a full eight hours in which I’d slept like the dead, I continued toward Filbert.
My last chance to find Samuel Palmer.
Chapter 15
EIGHT HOURS OF SLEEP wasn’t enough to sustain me for a full day of traipsing the city. The first few hours I’d spent wandering around Filbert Street had led me to a whole lot of nothing, and by the end of it, my feet were beginning to drag.
When the sun hit its peak and started its descent, I grabbed a sandwich from a sketchy deli on the nearest corner and inhaled it quickly. I wouldn’t call it delicious, but it contained calories, and I needed energy if I was to continue.
I ducked back into the store to throw the trash away, a new idea brewing as the bell tinkled over my head. If Sammy did live in the area, he’d have to get food from somewhere.
“Can I help you?” The guy behind the counter was big, burly, and bored. “Cash only.”
“I, uh, just bought a sandwich from here.” I pointed to the garbage where my wrapper sat on top. “I have a question, actually.”
“You need a soda?” he leered. “Bag of chips?”
Apparently, this was a neighborhood where infor
mation didn’t come free. “Sure. Diet Coke,” I said, reaching into my bookbag where I had precious little human money left. “Do you know a guy named Sammy?”
The clerk looked at the bottle of pop. “That’s all you want?”
With a hefty sigh, I added a bag of Twizzlers to the mix. “How about that?”
“Yeah, I know Sammy.”
I hesitated, then added some M&M’s as well. “Does he live around here?”
“He does.”
I added a postcard on top of that. Any more candy, and I’d have more cavities than I could count. “I’m sorry, I’m running low on cash. He’s family, and I need to find him.”
The cashier rang me up, looking somewhat appeased by my explanation. “He got out of prison, oh, I don’t know—over a year ago at least. I saw him around here last Christmas, so I know it was at least that long ago.”
“And now?”
“Now, he wanders. He’s a Filberter for sure—lives and scrounges in this area. Makes his home with that pack down by the train station.”
I frowned. “Do you know where he is now?”
“Didn’t you hear me lady? He’s a wanderer. Nobody knows exactly where he is. The closest information you’re gonna get just came out of my mouth.”
I swiped the candy into my bookbag and left a ten-dollar bill behind as a tip. It was my last bill greater than a one. I tore open the pack of Twizzlers and popped one into my mouth while I cracked the Diet Coke open in my other hand.
Down by the train station. I started in that direction. It wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but it was a start. As I walked, another idea dawned on me. So far, I’d only ever input addresses into my Map Maker enchantment.
When I’d initially learned the spell, Gus had explained that most witches and wizards wore a small array of spells across their body—like a spritz of a perfume—called a Spell Splash. Basic protection that would foil a simple tracking spell. In fact, I owned a similar potion and wore it daily.
But humans wouldn’t have a wink of protective spells around them due to the nature of their kind. I decided it’d be worth a try, and instead of giving an address to my spell, I spoke Sammy’s name as discreetly as possible toward my palm.
Nothing happened. I watched as the Map Maker struggled to register the name, the worry building with each passing second. By the time I looked up, my heart thumped hard against my chest and blood pounded against my ears.
After all this, I might not find Samuel Palmer. The idea stung as it settled into place. While I’d gotten a few lucky breaks right off the bat from people who knew him, it was now obvious he didn’t have any sort of stable home base. A wanderer, the clerk had said. If he’d wandered too far, and I couldn’t find him...all of my efforts would be for naught.
I gasped with relief as Samuel Palmer’s name registered with the spell. He popped up as a moving target just a few blocks away, and my blood pressure spiked with adrenaline in response.
I hiked up my bookbag and set after the blinking dot; I didn’t chance a break in eye contact from my palm. I was determined not to lose him now that I’d come this close to getting answers.
I scrambled the last few blocks in what seemed like a flash. Finally, when the slow-moving dot came within speaking distance, I chanced a look up and saw a man in a heavy jacket, ratted old pants, and a surprisingly clean-shaven face.
“Hello,” I ventured, holding up a hand in greeting. “Are you Sammy Palmer?”
“Who wants to know?” His eyes were of such a pale blue they appeared washed out. As if they’d once gleamed bright and now subsisted on something less.
“Me.” I stopped, gasping for breath as I shook the spell from my palm. “I’m looking for you.”
I stopped dead as his gaze landed on mine and we watched each other. It was Sammy, alright. His photo was plastered all over the borrowed files in my backpack. Those eyes gleamed back from the mugshot. Those eyes might have watched my mother die.
“You should know who I am,” I said, my voice low. “My name is Lily.”
His eyebrows pinched together. “You’re too pretty to know who I am.”
“What about my mother? Was she too pretty, too?”
Concern etched over his face. “Look, lady, I ain’t your father, if that’s what you’re wondering. And even if I was, don’t you think it’s a little late to be looking for money? You’re a full-grown adult.”
“You went to prison for the murder of my mother, Millie Banks,” I said, giving her human alias. I wasn’t sure if that was the name she had used while alive, or if that was simply the name the police had slapped on her file in order to close her case. “Now do you recognize me?”
“Where were you during the trial?” he asked, then calculated my age. “You must’ve been just a babe.”
I stepped toward him, surprisingly bold considering he’d been let out of prison a mere two years earlier. “You’re pretty good at math for a murderer.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Lady, I didn’t do it.” He looked worn, spent, maybe, but completely unafraid. “I know the charges against me, and I know the truth.”
“How can you say that? You served over half your life in prison for the crime, and you expect me to believe you’re innocent?” I had to push him. Each passing second had me believing the police had caught and punished the wrong man, but I had to know for certain. I had to see if he’d break. “You made me an orphan.”
“Why would I lie about it now?” He raised his arms on either side of his body. “I served my time. I’m a free man now, whole lot of good that’s doing me. I could confess to you, and they can’t touch me. Double jeopardy.”
I bit my lip, studying him. “Then tell me the truth. We’re talking about my mother’s murder!”
“How dare you come here accusing me?” His eyes went flat. “Look, lady, I’m sorry about your mother. In fact, I’d wager a bet that nobody’s sorrier than me—yourself included.”
“That’s impossible. She was my mother.”
“You got to live your life, didn’t you?” Sammy gestured to himself. “Look at me. I’m on the cusp of retirement age. I was in my prime the night I got arrested, did you think about that? I was considering settling down, marrying, having a family. I’d just gotten a job that paid me regular. I even had my eye on a gal,” he said, cautiously.
I crossed my arms, waited.
“You somehow figured life out even without your mother. Look at you—you’re well dressed, clean, you even got good skin—” He ran a hand over his face, looking more and more exhausted. “Hell, you probably ate three square meals yesterday. Me?” He gave a squeaky laugh that bordered on hysteria. “I don’t know if I’ll make it out alive from one day to the next. I haven’t eaten a warm meal in over a week. The lady I had my eye on won’t talk to me after I missed rent because guess what? I’m a washed up ex-con. Nobody wants to hire me.”
I took a step back as he edged closer. Though my gut told me he was innocent, he looked every bit the murderer in his dirty old clothes and determined expression. The glassy look in his eyes accentuated the red lines there.
“I gave all of that up for what? A crime I didn’t commit!” He roared the last words, his entire body shaking. It took him a long second to calm, and when he finally did, he spoke softly. “If I killed that woman, I’d tell you. I had never seen Millie Banks in my life—not until they showed me a picture of her dead body.”
“Then why were you arrested?”
“Me and Sherman were both arrested.”
“Adam Sherman.”
“Yeah, we was hanging out that night. He was looking to score a bit of coin...” Sammy peered at me through his lashes. “Figure I can tell you since it’s been so long now.”
“I’m listening. I just want the truth—I’m not here for anything more than that.”
“Adam was a little hopped up on something...er, special that night. He made a stupid choice to n
ab a lady’s purse, but it wasn’t your mother’s. The woman whose things he swiped—well, she was a black lady. Really dark-skinned and pretty and curvy. It can’t have been your mother. Millie Banks was white as a ghost and thin as a rail—I couldn’t have been more surprised the day they showed us her picture. I never seen that woman before in my life.”
“Then how were you sentenced to over twenty years in prison?”
“They have security footage of Adam nabbing this woman’s purse a block away from where the murder occurred. They figured we went on a bender looking for money, attempted a second mugging that night that went belly up, and then we killed your mother and ditched the scene.”
“You’re telling me that’s not how it happened.”
“Of course not. I’ve never murdered anyone. I was trying to stop Adam from doing anything else stupid. I didn’t appreciate him breaking the law while I was in his company. Like I said, I had my eye on a gal, the landlady, and she’s not a big fan of convicts.”
“Miss Hubick.”
“Ah, so that’s how you found me.” His eyes flicked in my direction. “She must have liked you if she talked to you.”
“We understood each other.”
He blinked, as if this cemented his own decision to share his take on the story. “Anita doesn’t take crap from anyone, least of all me.” He paused for a forlorn smile, probably picturing the stern Miss Hubick. “I wish...forget it. Doesn’t matter what I wish.”
“Mr. Palmer—”
“Sammy.”
“Sammy,” I started again, raised my hands in a relenting gesture, then let them fall to my sides. “I’m really sorry.”
“You believe me?”
I nodded.
He seemed indifferent to learn this, as if the answer didn’t really matter. I supposed it didn’t since he’d already served the time. If he was innocent and knew it, there wasn’t all that much more to be afraid of—the worst had already happened.
“It’s a waste of a life, you know? Two lives.” Sammy offered a blank smile. “Then again, I suppose better someone like me get thrown into prison than someone like you. I wasn’t—how do they say it politely?—I wasn’t going anywhere. I had fallen in with the wrong crowd. It was just such a shame. Heard lots of them buzzwords that made it easy for them to justify locking me up.”
