The Hex Files - Wicked All The Way

by Gina LaManna

  “You’ve done a good job today,” I said, clearing my throat when the words got stuck halfway out. “What do you say you interview White’s last teacher and report back?”

  “On my own?”

  “Unless you’ve got an imaginary friend you plan on bringing along.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then, yes,” I said. “You’ve done a good job keeping your mouth shut. You’ve proven that you’re dogged and will say whatever needs to be said, regardless of audience.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I hadn’t meant it entirely as a compliment, but it was better she took it that way. “I’ve got to check on a few things back at the precinct. I’ll be waiting in the admissions lobby making a few Comms. Meet me there when you’re done.”

  “How long do I have?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When should I report back, sir?”

  I glanced at my watch. “However long it takes. No more than an hour, or I’ll be gone. This afternoon we’ve got paperwork, and I’ve got a personal event that will take me away from the job today. It’s rare for me to leave early on a big case, but—”

  “Holiday Happy Hour.” Primrose nodded happily and smiled. “Sounds super fun.”

  “How do you know about everything?”

  She looked taken aback. “I’m, uh, perceptive. Anyway, I’ll get going. Comm if you need anything.”

  “Great,” I said, and turned to walk toward the admissions lobby. I knew there was a small, private office I could slip into and take care of some outstanding business. I halted, turned halfway back to my rookie. “Oh, and Primrose?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No more commenting on my personal life,” I said. “Got it?”

  She gave a hearty nod. “Yes, sir. Sorry, Detective. It won’t happen again.”

  Chapter 6

  Fifty-nine minutes later, I was tapping my foot in the admissions lobby. I’d completed my calls no more than thirty seconds prior, but it wouldn’t hurt to have the rookie thinking I’d been standing around waiting for some time whenever she deigned to return.

  I sipped the mug of apple cider I’d been nursing since parting ways with Officer Primrose. I was feeling especially surly and knew that I’d have to get my cheer back before Holiday Happy Hour, or my mother would force cheer down my throat. The apple cider wasn’t working.

  Mulling over the case, over my phone calls, and over Primrose, I couldn’t stop stewing on everything on my plate. I had spoken with Sienna. She had the autopsy results ready, so I’d need to stop by before the end of the day. I’d roped in Felix to get warrants and search for Mason White’s calling card—if there had been one. And I’d tried to get ahold of Captain King, but as usual, my Comm had gone unanswered except by his receptionist.

  As I wondered what Matthew was up to, a bright and shiny face appeared in the hallway. Primrose glanced down at her watch.

  “One hour exactly,” she said uneasily. “That’s okay, right?”

  “What’d you find?”

  She cleared her throat then glanced at the notebook in her hands. “Professor Harold didn’t know who Mason White was. That much was obvious.”

  “It took you an hour to figure that out?”

  “Well, I used my extra time to poke around a bit.”

  I groaned. “What sort of poking?”

  Primrose reached in her pocket, pulled out something resembling a small, flat disc. “I found Mason’s calling card.”

  My jaw almost cracked open. “How’d you do that?”

  “I asked around, found a few of his friends.”

  “I didn’t think he had any friends.”

  “He doesn’t,” she said quickly. “I should say... acquaintances. The professor said that his students are required to do a lot of group work. His class is called Paranormal Professionals—simulates the workplaces in a paranormal world. So, he makes them do a ton of work together.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  “I think it’s a great idea, sir,” Primrose said easily. “Regardless, he couldn’t remember who Mason worked with, but it was easy enough to sweet talk him into handing over the last class assignment.”

  “You’re a cop,” I said to Primrose. “No sweet talking necessary. Flick your badge at him, and he has to cooperate.”

  “You catch more flies with honey, and all that,” Primrose muttered. “Anyway, I found Mason’s three study partners. I’ve got their names here: Charlie Yertz, Violet Bradshaw, Quinn Wearly. As it turned out, he met with them the afternoon he died.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Time?”

  “He was with them around six to nine p.m. They’re not sure where he went after,” she said. “But they remarked that Mason seemed agitated, in a hurry. He left a notebook behind along with his calling card inside. They thought it odd he hadn’t come back for it. Obviously, they now know why.”

  I reached for the calling card, examined it. I was about to stick it into my pocket when I had a better idea. “Bag it for evidence,” I told her. “Take credit for the find. It’s yours.”

  “You would have found it,” she said hurriedly. “It’s just—”

  “It’s not a competition,” I said. “We’re all going after the same goal. Finding White’s murderer.”

  She nodded. “Absolutely. Well, I don’t think his friends had anything to do with it. They took a break for food when Mason left, but then the three of them met back up to finish studying after dinner. Their library cards didn’t scan out until midnight—I checked.”

  “Good work, Officer,” I said, impressed. “What else did you get from the friends?”

  “Not much,” she said. “They weren’t friends. They were just forced to work together. Mason didn’t contribute much from the sounds of it. Just enough to squeak by in class and not let his groupmates down. If they assigned him a project, he did it. But he wasn’t extra talkative. Though he did ask questions.”

  “What sorts of questions?”

  “Violet said he was always reading books on witches and sorcerers, blurting random questions in the middle of study hall,” she said. “He was particularly fascinated by prophecies. She remembered the book he was reading the night he died, she said, because he wouldn’t take his nose out of it long enough to help with the project. He was especially distracted, and his group was a little annoyed with him. Until they found out he was dead, of course.”

  “Funny how that changes things,” I said. “This book—I wonder if it’s in Mason’s apartment?”

  “It wasn’t cataloged by the crime scene team as being taken in for evidence,” she said. “Though I imagine we could pop by, ask his roommate to unlock the door for us.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Let’s do that.”

  Sure enough, a quick sweep of now-Olive’s apartment showed no book of the sort. But when we went to the library and reviewed the records, it showed the book was still checked out under Mason’s name.

  “That’s going to be one helluva late fee,” I muttered, earning a soft giggle from Primrose. “Where’s the book?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t leave it behind. I have his notebook that I’ll put into evidence, but there’s nothing that makes any sense on it.”

  I flipped through the pages, and sure enough, it didn’t look particularly useful. Notes from class, syllabi, and meeting times for his study groups.

  I stopped at the end, my heart racing. The last page had a corner torn from it. And I was willing to bet that if I slid the note from his pocket with my name on it edge to edge, it would fit like a puzzle piece.

  Primrose read my mind. “Ah. Maybe he met someone at the library he talked to? Asked questions, got your name? They didn’t like him poking around—killed him, took the book. Whatever is in that book might have tipped him off. Otherwise, why would the killer take it?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” I said. “Great work today, Primrose. I think we’re done here for now. This afternoon, I’m g
oing to need you to log all this stuff into evidence. Be sure Felix sees the calling card and notebook entry and moves it to the top of his queue.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then, I need you to prepare a flight plan tomorrow to The Isle. Let’s rent one of the department’s magic carpets. It’s the easiest legal way to travel on short notice.”

  “A single?”

  “Double,” I shot back. “Assuming you fancy a trip to The Isle?”

  She blinked, her lips curled back in frozen excitement. “Yes! Please!”

  “Then, I’m going to need you to get on the phone with MAGIC, Inc. Get me a copy of that book,” I said. “Obviously the original would be best, but if the killer has it—that doesn’t help us much. See what else you can find on it and start digging through. Maybe something will trigger our attention.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Me?”

  “What will you be doing this afternoon?”

  I wasn’t used to reporting my movements to anyone, and I wasn’t a fan of having to adjust. Not because I was hiding anything, but because I sort of hated being told what to do. And Primrose was nosy. But it was work, I reminded myself, and I had to play nice if I wanted to keep my job.

  “I’m headed to speak with Sienna at the morgue,” I said. “Then back to check on the evidence and file our report from the day. After that, I’m off for a few hours. I’ll check back in after my mother’s shindig in case there have been any developments. Obviously, if anything urgent comes up, Comm me.”

  “Of course. But sir, one more thing.”

  “What is it, Primrose?”

  “Can I come to the morgue with you?” She rose onto tiptoes with desperation. “Please?”

  Chapter 7

  Primrose trailed behind me to the morgue. I thought I saw her skipping once. When she caught me watching her, she hunched her shoulders forward and turned her skip into a slower trot. She guiltily didn’t meet my eyes until we arrived at the building to the south end of the borough just near the Dead Lands.

  “Been here before?” I asked. “Ever seen an autopsy?”

  “No,” she said. “How’d you guess?”

  “It’s not like I’m a detective or anything,” I drawled, leading the way to the front desk where we quickly checked in with Ursula, the purple-colored monster who was the other half to Sienna’s office staff.

  The two had a strong bond—like sisters from separate planets. Ursula didn’t let anybody through the doors she didn’t trust which meant she took an extra-long moment to size up Officer Lexus Primrose.

  “Who’s she?” Ursula finally grunted, wiggling her mass behind the desk as she stood and glanced at my new shadow. Then she gave me a serious stare. “You don’t like working with other people, Detective. If you’re under a spell, blink twice.”

  I barked out a laugh while Primrose looked taken aback.

  “I’d never put the detective under a spell!” Primrose yelped. “I swear! I follow the rules. Most of the time. Except for once when I forgot to file my report, but that was an accident. And anyway, the detective is basically legendary! Plus, she’s dating Captain King. I mean, that is career—and personal—suicide to think I could get away with an attack on Detective DeMarco! Not that I’ve thought about it,” she added weakly. “I’m just going to stop talking.”

  Ursula just gave one look at me and raised an eyebrow. I matched it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “Sienna’s ready to see you.”

  “What’s this about me dating King?” I asked once Ursula had brushed us past the front desk and Primrose and I were alone.

  “I—” She stopped abruptly and looked at me. “Aren’t you?”

  “It’s none of your damn business,” I said. “When we’re on the clock, we’re on the clock. Don’t make a habit of bringing up my personal life, got it?”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, I—”

  “You don’t get queasy at the sight of dead bodies, do you?”

  “Um, I’m not—”

  Sienna swung the door to her lab open, cutting off the conversation. “About time.” Then she glanced at Primrose. “Who’re you babysitting?”

  “This is Officer Primrose,” I said as diplomatically as possible. “She’s my, uh...”

  “Partner,” Primrose filled in. Then her face turned bright pink. “I mean, um, not really, but sort of.”

  “She’s the rookie I’m paired with for the week,” I said. “Apparently she got high test scores and wants to make detective someday.”

  Sienna studied the girl, coming to a silent conclusion that ended in a shrug. The necromancer turned back to the lab, apparently unbothered by my personal and departmental problems. Sienna had the rare ability to focus exclusively on what she did best—working with the dead.

  “As I mentioned at the scene—” Sienna began, but her description was punctuated with a gigantic thump.

  We both whirled around at the sound. I had my Stunner pulled and Sienna looked like she was ready to whip out some karate moves because her arms raised in a defensive stature.

  Our weapons were of no use, however, against the unconscious body. Primrose’s hair dusted the floor as she lay sprawled against the cold, sterile tile.

  “I guess high test scores don’t equate to a strong stomach,” I said, toeing the officer’s hip. “You okay, Primrose?”

  “A strong stomach?” Sienna glanced behind her. “I didn’t even pull the sheet off the body yet. Wait until she sees the Y-incision.”

  When there was no response from Primrose, I knelt next to her, muttered a Salting Spell I’d used on a few other newcomers to the lab, and waved my newly scented palm under her nose. She came to in seconds.

  “Oh, no,” she muttered. “Did I faint?”

  “Unless you’ve got another reason for taking a swan dive onto the floor,” I said. “You okay?”

  “No! I’m so embarrassed.” She scrambled to her feet, shifting her clothes straight and flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. “You’ll never let me in here again.”

  “Maybe that would be a good thing,” I said. “Let me get you some juice or something. Take a seat.”

  “No, I’m good. I’ve got this,” she said, rolling her shoulders, standing up straighter and keeping her chin as high as physically possible. “I got this,” she repeated, more to herself than anyone else. “And if I go down again, just let me be. I’ll come back to it.”

  I was torn between laughter and slight admiration for the girl’s guts. She might have a weak stomach, but her determination made up for it. “Take a seat then and get a pillow. The last thing we need is to keep stopping the results to catch you. And please don’t hit your head—there’s a lot of paperwork if we have to take you to the hospital.”

  “I’m great,” she said. “No paperwork needed.”

  Sienna turned back toward the body, a hint of amusement on her face. Her hair this afternoon was a deep pink-red, shaved on one side. She wore her usual uniform of ripped jeans and an inappropriate T-shirt, and the effect of her outfit seemed mesmerizing to Primrose as the rookie took a seat on a chair and clutched a pillow against her lap.

  “I’m afraid this visit will be rather brief,” Sienna said. “Aside from any other mishaps.”

  “Sorry,” Primrose piped up. “I’m really fine. Just sort of let myself down easy back there. I felt it coming. I’ve been fainting my whole life.”

  “Don’t tell people that, Primrose,” I said. “There is such a thing as too much information.”

  “Right,” Primrose said, nodding seriously. “Sorry.”

  “Cause of death won’t be a surprise to you,” Sienna said. “It’s—”

  “Because she saw the Residuals?” Primrose piped up. Then, “Sorry.”

  “Yes,” Sienna said tersely. “A Heartstopper Hex took him out. As DeMarco also noted from the Residuals, it’s hard to say if it came definitively from a man or a woman. I’m running what I can through the lab to find trac
e evidence on his clothes from the spell, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. My best theory is that the spell came from The Void.”

  “I figured,” I said. “No signature calling card, no way to tie it back to him unless we find who sold it, yada yada. Not gonna happen.”

  Sienna shook her head. “Looks to be a dead end. There aren’t any defensive wounds—so either White was surprised, or he knew his attacker.”

  “Or both,” I said. “But who needed him dead? And why? It barely seems like anyone knew White at all.”

  “It might seem that way,” she said. “But someone did. The spell hit him right in the chest. They weren’t messing around—they wanted him dead.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Anything else? Anything from his clothes, belongings?”

  “His clothes were likely purchased on the mainland. The brand is of a local Texas company, but I don’t think it tells us anything except where he shopped before he came here. Nothing notable about them. And in the pockets, nothing except—”

  “The note,” I finished. “Yeah. Got that.”

  “Speaking of the note, the paper is standard notebook issue, pen is nothing special. Ink was dry when he put it in his pocket.”

  “Yeah, I figured. We found the notebook with a torn piece of paper in it—belonged to him. So that’s a dead end. Either he scribbled that name down, or someone else did it.”

  “He had the notebook,” Primrose said. “So why did he tear the paper out if he wrote it down himself? He could have just closed the notebook.”

  “True,” Sienna said. “And that lines up with the preliminary handwriting analysis we’ve done on it. I can’t say for certain, but I don’t believe the writing belongs to Mason White.”

  I blinked. “You said the ink was dry before he put it in his pocket?”

  She nodded.

  “So, how did this go?” I asked, shoving my hands in the pockets of my black jeans and pacing in a square. “We have White meeting up with somebody—possibly in the library, maybe elsewhere. Not sure yet. They get to talking... about what? Something that interested him. White asks for my name, or advice, or something—the other person agrees. Mason reaches for his notebook, yanks the first thing he sees out, hence our torn paper.”