The Hex Files - Wicked All The Way

by Gina LaManna

  “What makes you say that?” I wrapped my hands around the mug, surprised to find that Angela had known exactly what I’d needed. I hadn’t had time to get coffee this morning, and my forced patience had been rewarded. This was a far cry from the typical sludge in our breakroom. It smelled delicious.

  Angela smiled as she caught me pulling the mug closer. She pushed the creamer and sugar over. “Well, my son had sworn off magic. I’m sure if you looked into his records, you’d see a bit of strangeness.”

  “Yes, and not only that, the Residuals on his hands were—well, there weren’t any,” I said. At Angela’s curious look, I explained. “I’m a Reserve. I see—”

  “I know what a Reserve is,” she said hastily. “I just... I didn’t expect to ever meet one. We don’t have anyone with such skills on the island that we know of.”

  “Angela, why did your son swear off magic?”

  She frowned. “I’ve always wondered where we went wrong. I’m a witch, his father is a sorcerer. His sister is a sorcerer. He was a witch... at least, we’re fairly certain based on his younger years and the powers that came in while he lived at home. But even from an early age, he always claimed to be different.”

  “What sort of different?”

  “I could never figure it out. He was a quiet little boy, but we thought that was just politeness. Or shyness. Or maybe he inherited his father’s quiet nature and not his mother’s loud one.” She paused for a smile tinged with remembrance. “He was such a sweet young boy. He did get a little more agitated as he grew older. He kept claiming that he was different, that he wasn’t like the rest of us.”

  “Did he ever clue you in on what he meant?”

  “No, not exactly. Every time we’d ask him about it, he shut up.” Angela rubbed her hands together, then placed them over the coffee cup to warm them with steam. “I suspect he mentioned it to someone once—I don’t know who, maybe another child at school?—and was made fun of for it. That’s the only reason I can think he’d be so quiet, so secretive about it, even from us. We loved him no matter what. We made sure that was known over and over again.”

  “I’m sure you did,” I said, noting Angela’s firm tone, the nervous fidgeting of her fingers. I sensed she felt a certain level of failure at the inability to break through to her son. “None of this is your fault. You did your best; that’s all you could do.”

  “I just keep thinking if we could’ve gotten him to open up...”

  “He wasn’t ready to talk,” I said. “You couldn’t have forced him.”

  “Maybe I could have, and then he wouldn’t be dead.”

  “He would have just resented you,” I said. “Believe me. I’m the same way. If there’s something I don’t want to talk about, my mother pressuring me to talk about it is the fastest way to get me to dig in my heels.”

  I must have said the wrong thing because at once, Angela straightened.

  “That’s exactly what I did. I pushed him away.” She looked dismayed all over again. “I told you that Mason got more and more angsty as he grew older. Well, on his thirteenth birthday, he decided he was never going to touch magic again.”

  “Just like that?”

  She snapped her fingers. “To my knowledge, he never touched magic again. At least, not under this roof. He lived here for two more years. When he was fifteen, he ran away from home.”

  “Ran away?”

  “Just disappeared,” Angela said. “It was the worst two weeks of my life. Well, until now. His father and I hunted all over the globe for him. Eventually, we tracked him down by his biggest weakness—he didn’t use magic. He needed to use public transportation and, even under an assumed name, we were able to find him in Texas.”

  “He made it two weeks without detection? Impressive,” I said. “Especially for a fifteen-year-old boy who wasn’t using magic, and was traveling for the first time to the mainland.”

  “We had taken him to the mainland once before,” Angela said. “A quick vacation for the kids. Mason was ten. I always wondered if that’s what spurred his interest in magic-free living.”

  “Seeing others do it successfully?”

  “Exactly,” she said. “When we came back from the trip, he seemed a little more at ease somehow. Went for days at a time seeing if he could live without magic. It seemed like a little game at first, but I truly think that was the gateway to his new lifestyle. He made the change when he was thirteen, like I said.”

  “What happened when you found him in Texas?”

  “We tried everything.” Angela pulled her coffee mug closer and stared deeply into it. Steam swirled up and over her face, and she merely blinked against it. “Begging, dragging, magic, non-paranormal methods, but he was just miserable. We actually brought him back. He ran away again. We caught him much faster the second time. He was miserable here.”

  “So,” I said, reading the torture on the mother’s face, “you made a deal.”

  “We put him in boarding school there. We figured he had the tools to survive if he’d run away twice and kept himself alive for almost a month on his own—with no resources,” she said. “We told him we’d continue paying for boarding school so long as he wrote us one letter a week and kept up his grades.”

  “He took you up on the offer.”

  “If for no other reason than as a way to get food and shelter,” Angela said dryly. “Employment is hard to come by in the states for someone underage. He knew that, and we warned him that if he got himself in trouble—with the law or otherwise—we’d be on him before he could blink. I would’ve dragged him back and chained him up myself if I had to, and he knew that. He was a good kid—he didn’t want to get in trouble.”

  “And it doesn’t seem like he did.” I glanced down at the sheets Primrose handed me that contained printouts of Mason’s records. “It looked like he lived a very normal, if non-magical, life. Graduated high school, got a degree, found a place. All things a mature young man would do.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “And he never once came back to The Isle. He wrote every week up until he died. I was just expecting a letter from him when we got the news.”

  “Angela, will we be able to see these letters?” I glanced at Primrose. “I understand they’re likely quite personal, and we’d be very respectful of that.”

  “Yes, of course. Whatever you need. I’d like them back when...er, if... you no longer need them.”

  “Absolutely,” I promised. “We’ll take good care of them and keep the contents as private as possible.”

  Angela stood. “There’s nothing all that personal. You know boys. Men, I should say. Mason talked about school, work, his dog—things like that. Mostly superficial updates, but he always seemed quite cheerful and pleased to be talking with us. I—” She stopped talking, pressed a hand to her chest. “Do you think there are clues in the letters? Should I have realized my son was in trouble?”

  “We’re not sure your son was in trouble at all,” I said. “We don’t know the reason for his murder yet.”

  “But people who aren’t in trouble don’t end up getting themselves killed, at least, not like that.” She flinched. “A Heartstopper Hex. That’s black magic, Detective. The Void, most likely.”

  I looked down, my fingers toying with the papers in front of me. “Try to keep an open mind; we most certainly are doing the same. By all rights, Mason seemed like a good guy. Private maybe, but there’s nothing wrong with that. We’re not assuming anything.”

  Angela nodded, her eyes tearing up. She quickly pushed in her chair and strode from the room. I went to exchange a quick look with Primrose, but she didn’t meet my gaze. Instead, she stared intently into her coffee and fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat.

  “This is hard,” she finally whispered. “Seeing the family. I—I haven’t had to do it yet.”

  “It’s all a part of the job,” I said, realizing the statement sounded more callous than I’d meant it to be. “It always sucks. It’s never easy. You just... try to
get used to it.”

  “I don’t think I want to get used to it,” Primrose said. “That sounds awful.”

  “Yeah, well...” I trailed off, giving a smile to Angela as she re-entered the kitchen with a tattered shoebox in her arms.

  “They’re all in there,” she said, thumping it on the table. She played with the lid for a few minutes, hesitated as if trying to say something, then gave it a brutal shove toward me. “Take it. I hope you can find something in it that I didn’t.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. White,” I said, gently shifting the box off to the side. “In these letters, did your son mention why he would be enrolling in Orientation?”

  Angela gave me a quizzical look. “Excuse me? Mason would never. He always mentioned how happy he was living a non-magical existence. In a way, I think he was always trying to get us to see his side—to see how amazing it was for him, as if we might have switched too.”

  “Did you ever consider switching?”

  “I’m a witch,” Angela said, her hand to her chest. “My husband is a sorcerer. It’s in our blood. No, even if we had wanted to join our son’s lifestyle, it wouldn’t have worked. It’s not for us. Our friends, family, history, careers—everything is here. We were much too old to start over.”

  “Did the Rangers tell you where Mason’s body was found?”

  She stilled at the word body, and I understood. She didn’t want to think of her son as a lifeless term... a tool used by the medical examiner to talk about a dead person on a table. I regretted my choice of words, but there was no real way around it.

  “Um,” she said, struggling to get the words out. “Yes, they did say, I recall. It was all such a rush though, I think they told me he was found on campus, but I didn’t think too much about it. I was too busy grieving my son.”

  “Completely understandable, Mrs. White,” I said. “But your son was found on campus—in his apartment. Or rather, dorm room. He lived in student housing, shared a room with a nice young woman.”

  “Were they—”

  “Just roommates. Randomly assigned,” I said. “Nothing more. She said that Mason kept to himself, that they’d both enrolled late for the term start, so they got pushed together as roommates. She didn’t mind, said he was quiet and rarely around.”

  “But he wasn’t—” Angela stopped. “He wouldn’t. That makes no sense. Why would he be enrolled in Orientation? Even if he had decided to live a magical existence again, we would have welcomed him back to The Isle with open arms. We told him that all the time.”

  “We’re wondering the same thing,” I said. “He didn’t need to go through Orientation to get a place in the Sixth Borough, either. He grew up in a magical family; he was good to go as far as the law is concerned.”

  “Are you sure he was... actually attending there?”

  “Positive,” I said. “We walked his class schedule. Officer Primrose spoke with his study group. He was passing all his assignments with flying colors, no surprise there.”

  “Even the practicals?”

  Mrs. White was a smart woman, I realized, and well versed with the magical society. She understood our confusion and knew the right questions to ask.

  “That’s the strange part,” I said. “He refused to do any actual spells during class. As I said, there were no Residuals whatsoever on his hands, which leads me to believe it’s as you say—your son hasn’t used magic since his thirteenth birthday.”

  Angela leaned her head forward, rested it in her hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what more to tell you—I’m just confused. I thought Mason’s letters were simple because that was the life he was leading. I never realized that he was hiding something from us.”

  “All grown adults keep things from their parents,” I said. “It’s not your fault. You’ve been very helpful. Did Mason converse with anyone else that you know of? Friends, family, etc.?”

  “Like I said, he didn’t have many friends or much of a personal life outside of his little bubble down in Texas.” Angela looked beyond the kitchen. “He was close with his sister when they were younger. You can speak with her. She still lives here. Evelyn is twenty-five, works on Main Street. She probably would have gotten her own place by now, but I think she always felt she had to make up for her brother’s leaving. And now...”

  “We’d like to talk to her,” I said. “And your husband, too, if that’s possible.”

  “Absolutely,” Mrs. White said. “I mean, er—they’re both still at work. You can wait here, or I can give you their addresses.”

  “I think we’d like to visit them at work if that’s okay,” I said. “We’re on a bit of a time crunch.”

  Angela glanced toward the door where our old magic carpet sat rolled up sadly by the door. “I understand. You can find Angela at the Magic Teapot. And my husband works at Spellcasting Sorcerers on the north end of The Isle. Up by Sea Salt, the restaurant—you can’t miss it.”

  We bid Angela goodbye, thanked her again. With a magic carpet in one hand and a shoebox full of letters in the other, Primrose and I set off once again in hopes that digging deeper would unlock the secrets of Marcus White’s very guarded life.

  Chapter 11

  The Magic Teapot was right around the corner on Main Street. It was a cute little hut tucked between a chocolatier and a novelty olive oil and balsamic vinegar shop that boasted free samples.

  Primrose veered a little too close to the shops next to our target, so I reached out and yanked her back.

  “Ask questions first, eat bread samples later,” I instructed her. “I can’t believe you came to The Isle and never visited Main Street.”

  “My parents are...” She cleared her throat as if trying to answer diplomatically. “My parents like a certain level of...”

  “They’re stuck up?”

  Primrose gave another throat clear. “You could say that. We kept to ourselves.”

  “That’s too bad. The Isle has a lot to offer. I suppose you’ll just have to come back sometime for fun. Do you have a significant other?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing of the sort,” Primrose said, coloring. “I’m not looking. I’m focused on my career.”

  “Good for you,” I said, turning up the walkway to the tea shop. “Get to know yourself. There’ll be time for the rest later.”

  The Magic Teapot was more literal than I’d expected and was shaped like its namesake. From the street, it looked quite realistic, albeit a billion times larger than a regular-sized teapot. Underneath it burned a very realistic flame that sent smoke whistling out of the spout every couple of seconds in a peaceful sort of shriek.

  Kids pointed, mothers stopped to watch for a moment before shuffling on without popping inside. If I had children, I wouldn’t take them inside a shop that was so inherently breakable either. Even the pathway to the door had been made from bits of broken china before being glazed over to prevent jagged edges.

  As we approached, I caught movement through the small window in the side of the extra-large teapot—a woman helping her customer at the register. I opened the door to the sound of a bell tinkling, and let myself inside followed closely by Primrose.

  “Give me some space, will you?” I asked as my elbow accidentally bumped her chest. “Everything’s fragile in here, and I’m not known for my dainty movements.”

  Primrose gave a snort but moved further away to examine a collection of tea-for-one sets. I focused on the selection of tea-flavored candies and wondered, if someone wanted to eat candy, why they’d go for something tea flavored and not just plain chocolate. Seemed like a waste of perfectly good calories to me.

  “Can I help you?” A tinkling bell signaled the exit of the sole remaining customer who’d been in the store. The shopkeeper arrived by our side with a smile. “If you have any questions, I’m Evelyn, and—”

  “Evelyn White?”

  “That’s right,” she said, tapping her nametag. “I’ve been working here since it was legal for me to get a job, so if you have any specific question
s, I should be able to get them answered for you.”

  “The shop is lovely,” Primrose said from across the room. “How much for this absolutely stunning piece of...” She trailed off at the look on my face. “Er, right. Never mind.”

  “Oh, that particular teapot is a favorite of mine. It’s on sale today for forty percent off with the purchase of any loose-leaf tea. And, I mean, how can you come into the Magic Teapot and not walk out with fresh tea? We’ve got this amazing new chocolate cake flavor which, I know sounds odd, but is quite amazing.”

  “Chocolate cake tea?” I asked despite myself. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

  Evelyn gave a huge smile. “Come on to the front. I’ll make a sample while you browse.”

  “Oh, that’s really not necessary. We’re actually just here—”

  “I’ve already got it brewing,” Evelyn said, sliding behind a desk adorned with tinsel and evergreen boughs. The scent of pine was strong in the store. Christmas lights blinked and flickered off the shiny china surfaces. “It’s no trouble. Have a look around while it steeps. It’ll just be a minute.”

  “Actually, we came here hoping to ask you a few questions. Unfortunately, it’s related to your brother, Mason White, and not the tea of the day.” I flipped out my badge. “I’m Detective DeMarco from the Sixth Borough, and this is Officer Primrose.”

  I watched carefully for a reaction and was rewarded with one. The buzzy, pleasant sales person evaporated from Evelyn. Her face turned an ashen sort of gray, her shoulders slumped. There was a tiredness on her face, and I recognized the familiar signs of sadness: puffy eyes, bags underneath, a bit bloodshot.

  “I figured you’d come asking questions,” she said, surprising me with her answer. “How’d you find me? My mother?”

  “You’re not exactly in hiding, are you?” I asked. “But yes, we visited your family home this morning and your mother directed us here. She was very cooperative, and we were hoping you wouldn’t mind if we asked you a few questions.”