by Gina LaManna
“Back to New York?” Nash asked gently. His eyes were on me.
I hadn’t realized I’d been watching Matthew as he walked away from us. “Yeah. But, whatever—what did you want?”
Nash blinked. He wasn’t fazed by the sharpness of my tone. We were family. “I was thinking about the case.”
“Which case?”
“Yours,” he said. “Mason White’s murder. Obviously, it’s a big deal. Someone getting onto campus and killing a student right in the dorms. There’s going to be some alarm around town. The mayoral candidates have already called the chief.”
“Why wasn’t I told about that?”
“Because I’m telling you now. Newton asked me to pass it along,” Nash said. “They talked this morning. Both mayoral candidates are adamant that this wraps up quickly. The campaign is coming soon, and they don’t want it tainted by murder.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” I said dryly. “I’m not sure I can help with that. Tell people to stop murdering one another then. Start your own campaign.”
“I’m serious,” Nash said. “It’s going to hit the news cycle big time. I got to thinking maybe there’s a way we can wrap this up quickly.”
I squinted. “You got to thinking, huh? That’s a dangerous thing.”
Nash narrowed his eyes at me. “Come on, Dani. You know what I’m trying to say. If there’s a way we could get Willa down to the morgue, have her take a look at Mason’s body—with her new powers—”
“Absolutely not,” I said, surprised by the seething anger in my tone. Everything was adding to it this morning: A new recruit tied to my hip who smelled like bubble gum lip gloss, Matthew’s extended absence, and now my brother. “I will not let you capitalize on Willa’s tragedy to look good for the mayor.”
“But—”
“Another word, and I’ll shove your family jewels somewhere they were never meant to go.”
Apparently, I must have sounded quite intimidating because Nash paled.
“Come on, Dani—”
“It’s Detective DeMarco,” I corrected. “I mean, you are talking to me about work, right? I was confused though—because you called me Dani, and you’re trying to drag a personal friend into a mess that’s not hers to worry about. I confided in you about her new powers. The key word being confided—in confidence. Not to brandish about before the world to get ahead of a freaking news cycle.”
“It’s not only about that,” Nash said, bristling. “She acquired those powers for a reason. Does it hurt her to use them?”
“Maybe it does!” I snapped. “Her mother just died! She’s barely used to being haunted by her own mum. She doesn’t need to be around any more death and destruction. She’s already been subjected to more than her fair share of it. The last of her family was taken away by this mess, so, no. I will not bring her into this—and if you so much as breathe a word of it to Willa, Mama DeMarco is not gonna be getting any grandkids from you.”
Nash expelled a breath, turned on his heel, and stomped off down the hallway. The sound of a door closing in the opposite direction drew my attention. To my dismay, I found Officer Primrose staring at me with wide eyes, her skin a ghastly pale, her cheeks an obnoxious pink.
“How much of that did you hear?” I groaned and ran a hand over my face.
“Um,” she said. “The bit about not having grandchildren. I take it that’s Lieutenant DeMarco?”
“Yeah, that would be him,” I said. “Can you forget this ever happened?”
“Well, I can’t forget it, not yet, at least,” she said. “I mean, I can try, but it’s like—my brain holds onto things that I don’t want it to hold onto, and even if I really do try to forget—” She stopped abruptly. “That’s not what you meant, is it?”
“No.”
“I won’t say a word,” she said. “I promise.”
“Better.”
“Now what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t we have a case to work?”
I was jarred by her early use of the word ‘we’. I was more of an ‘I’ sort of employee around the precinct. As evidenced by my last two conversations, I wasn’t always the best at partnering with other people.
“I have a case to work,” I said. “You’ll just be following me along, got it? I understand you’re a genius at classwork, but it’s different in the real world. Working with people isn’t like studying a textbook.”
“I know,” she said. “I mean, yes, ma’am.”
“Call me Detective. Or DeMarco—or something. I hate ma’am.”
“Yes—” She caught herself before she repeated ma’am. “Yes, sir.”
It’s better than ma’am, I figured. And I’d scared the poor thing enough.
“With all due respect, Detective,” Primrose said, “I’d like to assist as much as possible on the case. Getting coffee or whatnot. Running down leads you expect to go nowhere. It doesn’t matter—but I want to help.”
“Great,” I said. “You can do one thing right now to help me out.”
“What’s that?”
“No more talking until we reach the crime scene.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Primrose?”
“Yes?”
“That’s talking.”
Chapter 5
True to her word, almost comically so, Officer Primrose refrained from speaking until we reached the Campus of Magic. Once there, however, all bets were off.
“Where to now?” she asked as we climbed up the stairway to admissions. “Do you want to split up? Might be faster.”
I looked at her. “We’re not at the crime scene,” I reminded her. “We’re on campus. The crime scene is his room.”
“Right,” Primrose said, looking confused. “So...”
“So, no talking,” I said. “Remember? You’re new around here.”
Primrose piped down as we made our way to the front desk. A few flashes of my badge, and the nervous pixie from the night before was handing us a stack of papers that outlined Mason White’s class schedule, the names of his professors, and any extra-curricular activities he was involved in—which wasn’t much.
“Any chance you know the names of any of Mason’s friends?” I asked. “I know it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s come through here a few times with someone you recognize.”
“I’m sorry, but no. I don’t actually remember seeing Mason,” the pixie said. “We get a lot of students coming through these halls.”
I asked directions to the first class on Mason’s schedule. The pixie pointed us toward a classroom that housed Magical Maladies, a course on magical illnesses and afflictions.
“Sir.” Primrose interrupted the silence. “May I suggest something?”
I heaved a sigh. “What is it?”
“Maybe you can check Mason’s calling card.”
“His what?”
“Calling card,” she said. “It’s like a Comm, but it’s only available to students on campus. I just thought—you asked the front desk woman about Mason’s friends. It might not show up on a scan of his Comm, but his calling card could give away friends, study groups, etc.”
“How do you know about calling cards?” I asked, making a mental note to have the team check Mason’s apartment for a calling card if they hadn’t found one yet.
“Um, no offense, Detective,” Primrose said, pausing for that to sink in before continuing. “I’m a little closer to my college years than you are. They issued calling cards my senior year. It’s considered a more secure way to chat between students. A social network if you will.”
“You’re aware you’ve called me ‘old’ twice today?”
“I’m so sorry, Detective, but—”
I waved a hand to interrupt Primrose and offered her a small smile. “I’m kidding. Nice work—we’ll have them check for any records of a calling card.”
Primrose beamed under the compliment. She was still beaming when we arrived at Mason’s first classroom. I’d have to pay he
r more compliments, I realized. They made her speechless.
“Professor Petri,” I said, introducing myself with a handshake and a quick flick of the badge. “I’d like to ask you a couple quick questions about a student of yours.”
The professor straightened, waved a hand. The eraser that’d been washing the board dropped to the ledge. He was an older gentleman on the verge of retirement and dressed like it. His glasses were hopelessly round, his suit charmingly faded and worn. He blinked somewhat incessantly and seemed to have trouble focusing his gaze between me and Primrose.
“Of course,” he said in a crackling voice that sounded like dust. “Which student?”
“Mason White,” I said. “He had Magical Maladies with you first period.”
There was a long, awkward silence as the professor obviously racked his brain for any sign of the student. “Uh,” he said eventually. “Sure. Mr. Mason—”
“Mason White,” I corrected. I held up a photograph. “This man. He’s here on a month-long Orientation immersion.”
“Right, right,” Petri said. “Of course. Hmm, what did you want to know about him?”
“You have no clue who he is, do you?” Officer Primrose blurted out, looking surprised as the words left her lips. “I mean—oh, I’m sorry.”
I hid a smile as I turned to the professor. “We understand you’re incredibly busy and see hundreds of students per day. It’s completely fine if you don’t recall this particular student.”
“I’m sorry,” Petri said. “I haven’t done mid-term grades yet. I don’t require oral or practical tests—I mean, the class is called Magical Maladies so that wouldn’t be good. Though the second level does have a practical portion where—”
“That’s okay,” I said. “We’re just really interested in White. Is there any chance you could tell me where I might find Miss Yam’s classroom?”
With directions to Accounting for Paranormals in hand, I strode toward our next destination without much hope. If Mason White had been trying to blend in, he’d sure done a good job of it. I found myself wondering if he’d even attended any of his classes.
“A left here,” a voice said. It took a second to register that it belonged to Primrose until she repeated herself. “Left there.”
“You know how to get there?” I asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Sir, you haven’t been fond of me speaking,” Primrose said. “If you’d like me to help, all you have to do is ask.”
“Okay,” I said, breathing out a huge sigh. “It would be helpful in the future if, for example, you know your way around campus, you let me know before I take every wrong turn I can find.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Detective. DeMarco,” I suggested. “There’s nothing wrong with either of those.”
“Yes, sir.”
I gave up the lost cause as we came within sight of Miss Yam’s classroom. Her glasses were even bigger and rounder than Mr. Petri’s. She was younger than Petri, but distinctly more scattered. I was surprised she had made it to the correct classroom. And I was entirely unsurprised that she had absolutely zero clue as to the fact that Mason White existed, let alone had been taking her course.
The rest of Mason’s schedule played out much in the same way. He took a total of eight classes. It wasn’t until the seventh class—Magical Etiquette and Paranormal Prowess—that we got any sort of hit.
Professor Bleeker was a severe looking woman with a no-nonsense bun tied into her blond hair and steep high heels that put her a few inches taller than me. Her classroom was organized to within an inch of its life without so much as a piece of chalk out of place. As we knocked and let ourselves into the room, she snapped her fingers, and even the duster and broom straightened to attention.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” Bleeker asked, her gaze fixed on me after the introduction. “I have a class beginning in twenty minutes.”
“This won’t take long,” I said. “Mason White, he’s a student of yours.”
“Yes, I know who he is,” she said. “Monday, Wednesday, Friday third period.”
“Yes,” I echoed, sounding surprised. “You’ve seen him in class before?”
“Of course.” She sniffed, seeming miffed at the assumption she wouldn’t know each and every one of her students. “I know everyone who sits in these seats, and even most of the students who don’t. What would you like to know about him?”
“We’re investigating his death,” I said. “We’re asking around, trying to get a feel for who might have had something against White.”
“You suspect he was murdered?”
I gave a nod that didn’t quite confirm or deny, but it was enough for the sharp-as-a-tack professor.
“I don’t know that he had any friends,” Bleeker said. “At least, I never saw him conversing with any other students or walking to class with companions.”
“What about during class? How did he seem?”
“Private, reserved,” she said. “Which I wouldn’t have minded, but he did make some interesting choices.”
“Such as?” I could practically feel Primrose perking up beside me.
Bleeker gave a tiny frown that somehow didn’t make any wrinkles on her face. “He opted out of any hands-on work.”
“What sort of hands-on work?”
“If you read the description of the course, you’ll see that I teach in a very hands-on way,” she said, opening a drawer and pulling out a class syllabus. She handed it over to me. Sure enough, labs were documented once a week. “I’ve never had a student opt out of all practical work before.”
I considered. “Could he still pass the class if he took only the written tests?”
“I suppose he could scrape by,” she said. “But I’ve never had anyone do that before. Usually, the written work is the hardest. Students make up the majority of their grade in the labs. It’s not difficult for anyone who’s done their homework.”
“So, he doesn’t have any incentive to opt out,” I said. “That is strange. What sort of work do you have them do?”
She gestured to a list of spells on the paper before me. “Simple things. But you’d be surprised how many of these men and women have never thought to use a Key Collector Charm before when they’ve lost their house keys. Or a Bandage Spell to wrap themselves when injured. Simple, practical spells—things that will help them survive and blend into our world. And of course, the etiquette that goes with using such magic.”
“Is there anything else we should know about Mason White?” I asked. “Anything else peculiar?”
Bleeker squinted at her gradebook. “He’s passed all of his written exams with perfect scores. I never expect students to be able to do that. Something felt off to me about it, but I didn’t ever catch or suspect him of cheating—beyond the perfect scores. I suppose he could just be a very lazy student but quite brilliant?”
We all considered, but it still didn’t quite add up.
“Thank you very much.” I handed Bleeker a card. “If you think of anything else, let me know.”
“Well, that matches with what I found on White’s hands—no Residuals anywhere in sight,” I said to Primrose as we left Bleeker’s classroom. “He’s taking care not to use any spells. Why?”
“Maybe he didn’t want to be here,” Primrose suggested. “Maybe he was just here trying to get a message to someone.”
I hadn’t told her about the note in his pocket. I squinted at her. “That’s very perceptive of you. What makes you say that?”
“I might have sneaked a look at the case file,” she blurted quickly. She crossed her arms defensively, looking a bit like a cheerleader as her hair flounced behind her. “I just wanted to be prepared. Thorough.”
“So, you saw mention of the note.”
“I did.”
“What do you make of it?”
“Are you asking my opinion?” she spluttered. “On the case?”
“Unless it’s going to trigger a heart att
ack,” I said, giving her the side-eye.
“No, of course not,” she said, struggling to get the flustered portion of herself crammed into a tiny compartment and tucked away. She raised her chin, put on a more confident expression. “I think he was here for you. I mean, to get you a message, or to warn you, or to put a bug in your ear about something.”
“A bug in my ear.” I glanced at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think he came here to tell you something.”
“Great. Then why not just show up at the precinct? Pick up the Comm? Why go through the whole Orientation process if he was just looking for me?”
“Is there any way you can get someone to do an analysis on the ink?” Primrose asked with a frown. “I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’m thinking he might have just discovered your name. In fact, maybe that’s what got him killed.”
“You’re making me feel great today, Primrose.”
She pinkened again, but she didn’t back down. “I think you know it too. He came to the Sixth Borough for a reason—to discover something. I think whatever he was looking into... it led him to you. And someone didn’t like that.”
The sinking sensation in my gut told me that Primrose was likely correct. And there was really only one reason that my name would cause someone’s death. I wiped a hand across my brow, agitated. There was just no escaping The Hex Files.
“You know why that might be, don’t you?” Primrose asked quietly. “Can I help with something, Detective? Is there anything you want to tell me?”
“No,” I said shortly. “There’s not. End of story.”
“But if we want to solve the case—”
“My personal life is not a part of this case,” I said. “And if it is, it’s none of your business. Got it, rookie?”
It took every conscious bone in my body not to snarl even more at Primrose, though I knew it wasn’t her fault. Not exactly. It was just my luck to find myself paired with the most perceptive new recruit the force had seen in years. Matthew was probably laughing all the way over in New York. It was likely he knew exactly what challenge he’d left me with back home.
