by Gina LaManna
“Thank you,” I said. “And this didn’t happen to you because you were living with a man before marriage. It’s unfortunate timing.”
“If I wasn’t living with Mason, I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
“Maybe not,” I considered. “It’s too soon to know anything.”
I made my way back to the crime scene and confirmed with Renola that the emergency Comm had come from Olive at 10:44 p.m. which lined up with her story.
“Can you track down her alibi while I talk to Sienna?” I asked Renola. “Just to be sure. I don’t think she’s capable of lying, let alone murder, but...”
“Yes, of course,” Renola said. “I’ll get back to you shortly.”
I made my way inside the apartment, stopping for an initial scan of the scene. A glance at the door told me nobody had forced their way inside—at least, not with any magical methods. There were no Residuals anywhere on the lock. I continued into the apartment, hiding a smile at some of the Residuals scattered around the kitchen.
There was a burnt orange sparkle above the sink that was beginning to fade—a few hours old, if I had to guess—a dishwashing spell that had gone somewhat awry. If performed correctly, the Residuals should be a pale, pleasant orange, not the sort of charred color that drifted through my peripheral. I had to wonder if the faint smell of smoke was a result of the botched charm.
There were a few more similarly bungled spells around the house. It seemed Olive had been practicing a few things earlier this afternoon in the privacy of her apartment. The rainbow of unfortunate Residuals led me to a bedroom that had a distinctly feminine flair. So far, I hadn’t seen any Residuals that told me Mason White had practiced magic in this apartment at all.
I stepped into Olive’s room and found a young witch’s dream space. It seemed that by arriving late to magic, Olive had missed out on all the things normal teen witches went through—and was in a desperate race to make up for lost time.
Posters of bands I hadn’t listened to since I was sharing a bunk bed with my twin brother lined her wall—the Witchy Way, the Backstreet Bewitching, the Black Cats—and a new band made up of elves, the Ogre Eaters. Holiday music played quietly in the background, and I realized Olive must have left her Christmas Cauldron’s album on when she’d gone to her class.
I stepped out of the pink and yellow room, overwhelmed by the bursts of frilly pens and colorful paper, the lightly scented perfume on everything, the blasts of Residuals almost overwhelming in their hopefulness... most of them having failed to complete their task. Olive was a burgeoning witch, that much was for sure. Emphasis on the burgeoning.
I returned to Sienna’s side. “If anything, I’m more convinced than ever that it wasn’t Olive. Her room is a teenage witch’s dream.”
Sienna glanced up at me from the body. I scanned Mason White for the first time and found an average looking man somewhere in his early thirties. He had brown hair, no distinguishing features—scars or otherwise—on his face to make him truly memorable. No visible tattoos, nothing that made him particularly stand out.
Which would make questioning those he knew all the more difficult—people rarely remembered the Average Joe. And that fact had me wondering if our Mr. White was trying to be unmemorable. For certain professions, the ability to blend in while hiding in plain sight was a major advantage. Could this be more than the average murder? Was Mason White who he said he was? And what in the world had brought him to Orientation?
“I hear you have something for me,” I said to Sienna, scanning over Mason’s body. I’d worked past the Street Sweep—my normal Residuals check—and moved onto Residuals I would have expected to come from Mason.
“I do,” Sienna said. “Literally—for you. It’s—”
“That’s weird,” I muttered, not truly hearing Sienna’s response. “His hands are almost clean. Aside from the Sweep.”
“No Residuals at all?”
I shook my head. “I can’t find a drop on him. Spells from others, sure. Hint of an Invisibility Incantation... but it’s so old it might have come from the marketplace last week.”
“That is odd,” Sienna said. “Especially at a school where people are supposed to be learning—and practicing—magic.”
“Olive’s doing enough practicing for the both of them,” I said with a wry smile. “Do you smell the smoke? It’s from all of her botched spells.”
“Oh, my,” Sienna said.
“I sincerely feel that it’s a possibility our victim has never performed a spell on his own.”
“He’s a week into Orientation. That’s not possible. The curriculum demands it. It’s a very intensive program, meant to be immersive of living in the paranormal world.”
“Then he must have been a good faker because he’s not doing his exercises. I doubt he’d know a spell if it hit him in the face. Actually—” I hesitated, raised a finger as I looked to Sienna. “That’s not really funny. Because I think a spell did hit him in the face. And it killed him.”
Sienna glanced up. “Heartstopper Hex.”
“That’s what I’m getting,” I said. “The Residuals are fresh—less than two hours old for sure. Can’t tell if it was performed by a male or female—they might have used a sort of masking spell, but you can’t mask this much of a killing curse.”
Sienna nodded. “I won’t have an official cause of death until he’s on my table, but I’m ruling this a suspicious death.”
“No kidding,” I said. “Anyway, sorry—I interrupted you. What did you have for me?”
“Something with your name on it.”
It was only when Sienna reached out and pressed that very something into my palm that I realized she had spoken literally. I glanced at it, shocked to find my own name printed on the piece of paper. “What the hell is this?”
“You tell me,” Sienna said. “I found it in his pocket.”
“The dead guy had my name in his pocket?” I groaned. “For crying out loud. Don’t tell—”
“Me?” A dark voice, a river of melted chocolate, rolled familiarly over my shoulders. “Good evening, Detective.”
I spun around, my gut clenching, and came face to face with the man I loved more than anything in the world: Captain Matthew King.
“Now,” Matthew said, bringing his tall, broad figure closer to me, so close I could smell his expensive aftershave. “What didn’t you want to tell me?”
Chapter 3
After I caught Matthew up on the details of our victim—from his roommate’s story to the mysterious note in his pocket—Matthew examined Mason White for himself while I took a moment to look more closely at the name printed on the slip of paper. My name.
“No idea why that’d be there?” It was Sienna, watching my face. “Maybe he was in trouble. Needed help, got your name.”
“Yes, but who did he talk to that gave him my name?” I studied the paper again. The handwriting wasn’t particularly distinctive—it might have been Mason’s. We’d have to check it against his schoolwork if, in fact, he’d actually done any of it. “If we can find who gave him my name, we might be able to figure out what sorts of things he’s into. What he needed to talk to me about.”
“What got him killed,” Sienna finished.
“Exactly,” I said. “But if my gut tells me one thing, it’s that it won’t be as easy as we think to find the answers to those questions.”
“Speaking of questions,” Renola said, returning from her task to find an alibi for Olive. “Do you have a time of death?”
“Approximately two hours ago,” Sienna said. “Not less than one hour ago. He was here for a bit before his roommate came home.”
“Then Olive is clear,” Renola said. “I talked to three separate sources who all say they were with her in that—uh, burgeoning witch’s class—right up until ten thirty. Her library scan card matches. Timestamp 10:32 as she left the building.”
“Yeah, makes sense,” I said. “What about our victim? Did you run his name?”
> “I did—it appears to be legit. However, he didn’t turn up much of a record.” Renola handed over a sheaf of paper, her eyebrows raised. “I found all the big ones—birth certificate, yada yada. But when he turned fifteen his records stopped. The next file I could find was his application to Orientation. After that, there’s the typical acceptance letter to the Campus of Magic, etc. But otherwise, squeaky clean.”
“Too clean,” I muttered.
“I thought so too,” Renola said, her eyes twinkling. “So, I ran his name through MAGIC, Inc.’s mainland database.”
“Nice work,” I said, impressed, making a note to check into Renola’s service record, see if she had a history of being a good cop. Might be worth roping her in on a few cases, especially since Matthew was out of town more often than not lately. I could use the extra help, especially since my part-time hours had been sort of flowing into this full-time-plus gig.
Renola shook off the compliment and dropped the papers into my hand. “You’re looking at an accountant from Texas.”
My jaw dropped. “What?”
“Mason was born and raised on The Isle,” Renola said. “Hence the reason he had magical records at all. Lived there—parents are a witch and a sorcerer in good community standing. One sister. Mason had an average childhood if I’m reading everything correctly... or so it appears on the outside.”
“Until he turned fifteen,” I said. “And hopped on a plane to Texas. Finished high school, got a college degree, and slipped into the most average job a guy could hope to find.”
“Maybe he wasn’t a fan of the magical way of life?” Renola suggested, though she sounded skeptical. “I’m not sure how anyone doesn’t want to live on The Isle—it’s safe, beautiful, and a freaking vacation destination.”
“Stranger things have happened,” I said. “So, let’s play this out. Our guy decides—for whatever reason—that he doesn’t want to be part of the magical community. He does his best to blend in with the human world and, by all accounts, does a good job of it.”
“He never married, no kids,” Renola said. “Not sure about a girlfriend, but he wasn’t getting in trouble, and he wasn’t filing a ton of paperwork. He kept a low profile.”
“What made him change his mind?” I pressed. “Why now? Why at—” I paused, checked the documentation—“thirty-four years old, would a man settled on the mainland decide to up and return to the magical community?”
“Because he realized that living without magic sucks?” Sienna suggested.
“What—it took him nineteen years to figure that out?” I asked. “I don’t buy it. Something had to trigger his return. I’d swear by it.”
Renola shrugged.
“And if he did return, then why go through Orientation?” I pressed. “He has a magical background, grew up in a paranormal family. It’s not like he needed it. And that would explain why Olive was so weirded out by his lack of ‘awe’—or whatever she called it. He’d seen this whole magical schtick before. Wasn’t impressed.”
“Then why isn’t he practicing?” Sienna asked. “You say it looks like he’s never done magic before—could he have done it when he was a child and it faded?”
“Absolutely. Fifteen-plus-years is plenty of time to fade Residuals. Make him a new man,” I said dryly. “But it still doesn’t add up—if he’s going through the effort of Orientation, why not actually practice? Get his money’s worth? Otherwise, he could’ve just gotten an apartment.”
“It’s odd,” Matthew said. “His scent is... quite strange.”
“Well...” I deadpanned Matthew. “He is dead. That doesn’t tend to help with stench.”
“No, not that,” he said. “It’s... familiar, but different. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he was a human based on scent alone.”
“I wonder if you can smell Residuals,” I said. “If I saw him on the street, I’d give him the same assessment.”
“But there’s more,” Matthew said. “Something I can’t put my finger on...”
I could tell it was driving Matthew insane not to know. He was precise, accurate. Gray areas weren’t his expertise. He liked facts, rules, and order. A likely reason he clashed with my very mysterious friend, the Elderwolf Grey, who matched his name and walked all sorts of morally ambiguous fine lines.
“Familiar how?” I asked. “Like you’ve smelled him before, or—”
“No, never seen him,” Matthew said dismissively. His eyes flashed. “It’s—I’ll come back to it. I’m not sure.”
“Prognosis: We’re all stumped,” Sienna said, rising to her feet. “I’m going to finish up here, get the crime scene techs to bag everything. I’ll do the thorough autopsy in the morning.”
“Let’s call it a night,” Matthew confirmed, seeming eager to wrap things up for the moment. “Get some rest, we’ll meet at the station at nine. Sienna, you’ll Comm when you’re done?”
“No, Captain,” she said dryly. “I prefer to keep my results secret.”
I smirked, but she had a point. Matthew was acting strangely. I wondered if his anxiousness to wrap up the crime scene was part of it.
“Detective,” Matthew said. “May I speak with you outside?”
“You good here?” I asked Sienna.
When she nodded, I thanked Renola, then followed Matthew outside. Olive sat across the room, quivering from fright as she gazed up at Matthew.
I made my way to Olive. “His bark’s worse than his bite,” I said, then realized my unfortunate choice of words as I knelt before her. “Forget I said that. Captain King is the best in the business. He and I will find out what happened to your roommate and who did this to him.”
“Am I...” she hesitated. “Do you still think I...”
“No,” I said. “You’re cleared. We might have more questions for you about Mason, but that’s all. Do you have a friend you can stay with for tonight?”
She gave a jerky nod. “M-my friend Marty offered me her couch. Can I go?”
“Of course.” I gestured for Renola to come over. “I’m going to have one of our finest officers walk you to your friend’s. You think of anything else, let us know.”
Once Olive was taken care of, I rejoined Matthew down the hall. Together, we walked through the chapel. Matthew stood stiffer than usual, foregoing his usual attempts to appear less vampiric and more human. He didn’t breathe, didn’t blink.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“You Commed Willa?” The speed at which he blurted out the accusation told me he’d been thinking about it for some time. “You were attacked, and you called Willa before me?”
“Come on,” I groaned. “I wasn’t attacked. It was my brother following me.”
“A fact he kindly let me know.”
“What?” I whirled to face Matthew. “Rob contacted you? How do you even know him?”
“Rob and I have crossed paths before,” Matthew said simply. “We don’t make a habit of keeping in touch. Unless he believes his sister is in danger.”
“What an idiot! I’m going to kill him.”
“He was just looking out for you.”
“What doesn’t he understand? What don’t you understand?” My voice cracked through the chapel. I lowered it until we reached the main admissions hallway. “I can take care of myself. I’m not only a grown woman, but a well-trained cop. He wouldn’t have called Nash’s girlfriend to complain if he had been walking home alone.”
“That’s different.”
“Why, because he’s a man?”
Matthew bit his tongue, looking like he didn’t know whether to step forward or backward. Either way, his chances of landing in hot water were high. “I’m sorry. It makes me...”
“Annoyed at my brother?”
“Angry when I’m not near enough to help you.”
“Well, no offense, but you accepted the job in New York. You had an option.”
“Did I?” He turned his beautiful eyes on mine, his face chiseled from stone, his expression
one of deadly seriousness. “I’m not sure that’s what I would call it.”
“The answer you gave was yes,” I said. “The other option was no.”
“Would you rather I—”
“It doesn’t matter what I thought,” I said. “You took the job before asking me. And frankly, even if you had asked me, I wouldn’t have made the decision for you. The choice was yours alone.”
“I have a duty to the citizens of Wicked and beyond.”
“I can see that.”
“Danielle—”
“Look, I wasn’t going to pick a fight tonight,” I said, lowering my voice as we passed the nervous pixie and the stuffy looking gnome security guard at reception. “I was just happy to see you when you showed up. You’re the one getting all... fluffy about this stuff.”
“Fluffy?” King glanced at me. “I’m fluffy?”
“I was going to say pissy, but it’s the holiday season and my mom told me to try and be more cheerful. Am I a freaking load of cheer or what?”
“Cheerful,” Matthew said. “Ah. Yes, you’re full of it.”
I rolled my eyes, but a smile grew on my face. “Are you ready to stop being fluffy?”
We stepped into the darkness together, and in that instant, Matthew changed. He went from stiff captain to the Matthew King I’d grown to know and love. Once the moonlight hit his face, he came alive.
His pale skin glinted, his eyes brightened. His black hair glittered under the glow, and his very figure seemed to lengthen, broaden against the darkness. If anything, Matthew King became the deadliest creature in the world at night. And he was mine.
I slipped my hand in his, and he took it. His skin was cool against mine. Our pace picked up an urgency as he pulled me toward the pond on campus where even the wildlife had retired for the night. With a flick of his wrist, Matthew cleared the rest of the area of fairies—driving them into their homes as he led me across a bridge to a small island in the middle of Dewdrop Lake.
