by Gina LaManna
“I’m not comfortable saying just yet,” I said. “We believe the eyewitness is reliable at the moment, but I want to get the fingerprint results back before we say for certain.”
“Oh. Um, okay.” Primrose looked between us. “What if there isn’t a match? I mean, how do you know the guy our witness saw has his fingerprints in the system?”
“If it’s the guy our witness thinks he saw,” I said with a grim smile. “The prints will be there. I’ll make sure of it.”
Primrose gave another jerky nod. “Until the results come back, what would you like me to do?”
“It’s getting into evening,” I said with a glance at the clock. “You’ve had a long day, you look frozen solid, and there’s a dog probably peeing in my office. Take the night off, Primrose.”
“Are you sure? I can run home and drop off Woofie, then come back for a few hours or—”
“I’m sure,” I said. “We’ve been working you to the bone this week. Get some rest. Let’s start fresh tomorrow.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But I do know one thing. I need to get a look at that door in the White’s house. One way or another, those Residuals spooked Mason White, and I want to know why.”
Chapter 17
After sending Primrose home, I went to my office to finish up a few reports before taking a trip to the library. I didn’t particularly expect to find much in the campus archives, but I’d decided to hunt through old files for pings on the White family name. Maybe Mason’s past linked deeper to all of this than any of us had anticipated.
I dropped my updates off at Chief Newton’s office on my way out the door. He wasn’t thrilled with the lack of physical evidence so far, but I gave him enough tantalizing theories to pacify him for the night. Promising to keep him posted by the minute, I took off and headed for the library.
I arrived sometime around eight p.m., careful to dodge the front desk and any peeping eyes from Andrea or Clyde. I made it, escaping into the upper echelons of the library’s top floor where the archives were housed.
Without a great place to start, I opted to begin my search in the years leading up to Mason’s birth. If he’d grown up staring at the door, that meant whatever the Whites were hiding had been there since before Mason had arrived on the scene.
As I thumbed through pages and pages of articles, searching for any mention of the White family, of some big event on The Isle, of anything that triggered my attention at all, I suddenly had an idea.
Closing the book I was perusing, I stood and made my way to one of the small study rooms at the end of the hall. I slipped inside and dialed The Isle dispatch, asking to be transferred to the Magic Teapot. It was late, but if I remembered correctly, some of Main Street’s business hours were in the evenings, especially during the holiday season.
“The Magic Teapot, this is Evelyn,” came the woman’s voice. “How may I assist you?”
“Hey, Evelyn, this is Detective DeMarco,” I said. “I’m really sorry to bother you at work, but I have a quick question for you.”
“Have you found my brother’s murderer?”
“I think we’re getting close,” I said. “Your help here would be greatly appreciated.”
“Anything.”
“You mentioned that in your house, there was a door your brother used to stare at,” I said. “I’m wondering if whoever was after your brother was really after something your family is guarding. Something locked away, something valuable, something behind that door.”
“You want to get past the door?” Evelyn sounded skeptical. “Good luck; I can’t help you there. My mother would fight her own family off before she let anyone inside there.”
“Exactly my point,” I said. “Do you remember how long it’s been there? I figure whatever is there was already in place before you were born—would you agree?”
“Oh, for sure,” she said. “If my mom’s to be believed, it’s been there for a very long time. Like, a hundred years or more. Way before me or Mason.”
I ran a hand over my forehead. “You’re saying that the White family has lived in that house for generations?”
“Yep,” she said. “Though the name hasn’t always been White. See, the residence is passed down through the female side of the family. I mean, I figure it’ll be mine someday. It’s half the reason I’m sticking around home. Family obligations and whatnot.”
“Will they tell you what’s in there someday?”
“I imagine so,” she said. “That would be weird, otherwise. Don’t you think? Living in your own house with the door locked all the time, never knowing what’s in your spare room? I mean, I do that now, but I don’t have a choice.”
My brain was churning. “Interesting. Very helpful. Do you think your mom knows what’s inside?”
“I always assumed she did. How could she feel so strongly about keeping a secret... if she didn’t know the actual secret?” Evelyn wondered aloud. “But now that you mention it, I suppose she’s never directly said any such thing.”
“Thank you, Evelyn, this has been really helpful.”
“Really? I don’t feel like it. I mean, I don’t actually know anything.”
“Your mother’s maiden name, and her mother’s before that,” I said. “Do you know them by chance?”
“The Gardens and the Kleinbachs,” she said. “I think the one before that was Grant. I only know that because we have a plaque in the house that lists the family tree. If I go home and find out it’s different, I can let you know.”
“That would be perfect,” I said. “If you think of anything else relevant to what your parents might be keeping in that room, please let me know. I hate to ask you for information on your own family, but I truly believe it could help us find your brother’s murderer. Otherwise I wouldn’t be pressing so hard.”
“I know,” she whispered. “We always knew it was trouble. Even I did, and I couldn’t see what he did.”
“You mean Mason?” I asked. “Listen, Evelyn, you should know that your brother was living a good life when he died. He had a dog, and a girlfriend, and by all accounts, he seemed happy. I don’t think he was in trouble. I think someone was after him, and I’m not even sure he knew why.”
“He had a dog?”
My ears perked up. “He sure did. In fact, we picked up the puppy from his apartment in Texas. If you’d like to see him, I can bring him by.”
“Would you?”
“Sure thing,” I said. “Just as soon as I can get over there. I’m head over heels in this case, but I’ll make it happen.”
“We always wanted a dog,” she said, sounding wistful. “I’m glad he made that happen. And, Detective, thank you.”
We ended the Comm, and I slipped out of the study and found none other than Professor Bleeker lingering at the end of the hall. She did a double take as she caught my eye.
“Hello, Detective,” she said. “What brings you to our library?”
“It’s open to the public, isn’t it?” I shrugged. “It’s a nice, quiet place to think.”
Professor Bleeker shifted on her high heels and pushed one blond strand back from her face. “Absolutely. Glad you’re enjoying it. I’d love to chat longer, but I’m actually meeting someone here, so I should be going.”
“Have a nice night,” I said, scooting out of her way and letting her pass.
She walked further down the hall where private meeting rooms lined either side of the corridor. She let herself into one, pausing to glance back at me as she did. I awkwardly caught her gaze before turning away and finding my way back to the archives.
I buzzed with the information Evelyn had given me, along with the jolt of surprise from finding Professor Bleeker at the library. It wasn’t exactly unusual to see a professor on campus where she worked, but if I were a teacher, I wasn’t sure I’d want to be hanging out where my students did. That was a little too buddy-buddy for me.
Then again, I wasn’t a professor because
I lacked interpersonal skills, among other things, so maybe I’d read it all wrong. I peeped over my shoulder but didn’t see anyone heading down the hallway to meet the professor.
Maybe she’d lied to me, or maybe the person was already there. Either way, it had me wondering about class schedules. Why had Mason insisted on taking one of Bleeker’s courses when it hadn’t been on the standard path? What had intrigued him about it?
I let thoughts of Bleeker mull on the backburner as I shifted down to the historical archives, keeping the hallway in my vision the whole time. With a sudden hunch, I racked my brain for the year of the first Hex Files council—the one that had formed after Matthew had killed the vampire threatening to take over the borough—and dug through those as well.
After selecting a few books covering the time periods I was interested in, I headed back to the table and shifted my seat so that any movement down the hall would catch my eye. I began flipping through the pages and using Scanner Spells under my breath to help catch key words.
The words Hex Files appeared to have been stricken completely from the archives. I wasn’t surprised, seeing as the council wouldn’t have wanted to make it public knowledge that there was a prophecy that could potentially allow a user to take over Wicked, but still, I might have expected some mentions of upset in the borough, of disaster striking, of dark times, but there was nothing.
I ran a search for the names of the women in Evelyn White’s family line and came up with a few articles—mostly wedding announcements and obituaries, and a few random articles about store openings or quotes from a local paper. Certainly nothing that lent any suspicion their way.
Sometime later—an hour, I realized with surprise—I heard a door to the hallway click open. I glanced up and saw Bleeker emerge from her private meeting room. She didn’t glance toward me, instead pointing her feet in the opposite direction and scurrying out of the room.
I waited a solid ten minutes to make sure she was gone. Indeed, this level of the library was silent as a tomb and devoid of movement except for any that I made. My breath was the only sound besides the subtle white noise of the heaters clicking on and off behind me.
I stood, having reached a dead end with my books, and took a stroll down the hallway. Nobody had left after Bleeker, I was positive of it. And nobody had left before. It’d been me and Bleeker alone up here for the last hour. Hadn’t it?
I reached the conference room she’d recently vacated, confirmed by the presence of her Spell Splash Residuals brushed against the conference room table. They were fading fast, but there was no doubt this was the room Bleeker had occupied.
However, it was empty. No other Residuals clung to any surface. I backed away slowly, feeling suddenly like I was being watched. I returned to my books just as my Comm buzzed.
Because I was alone on this level of the library, I answered it at the table, keeping my voice low out of habit. “Detective DeMarco.”
“This is Evelyn,” a gaspy voice said. “I forgot a name. Margot Pulley. I’m pretty sure she was the first woman to own the house. Then she got married to a man named Garfield Kinkle.”
“And that would be in the late eighteen hundreds?” I ventured a guess.
“Somewhere around there,” she said, her voice low. “I’ve got to go. I’m home, and...”
“Right. Thanks. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
I sat down before the book I’d been thumbing through and ran another Searcher Spell. A few hits returned, just like the other names. But this time, one of them looked more promising than the rest.
MARGOT PULLEY DISAPPEARS IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT
I began to read the article, slowly at first, gaining speed as I delved deeper into the text. Around halfway through the page, my eyes felt tired, heavy. I blinked once, and then twice, a long, slow blink that felt like my eyelids were molasses.
I finally managed to pull my eyes open and squinted closer at the page. I continued to read, skimming rapidly as the drowsiness returned, harsher than ever. It felt like an hourglass was dripping sand into my eyes, blotting my vision, making my throat scratch, my eyes itch.
That’s when I saw it. The bright green glimmer, just a little too bright to be innocent, coming from the book to my right. Struggling for air, I lifted a hand to the book, feeling like I was moving a boulder. Rasping with what little breath I had, I pulled the book open and found the page where the spell had been planted.
A Strangler Spell.
The page was slathered in Residuals. Unfortunately, it was much too late for me to do anything about them. My head sank lower to the page, my breathing grew shallow. And knowing that this could very well be the last time I closed my eyes, I let go and slipped into darkness.
Chapter 18
“Thatta girl,” a calm voice murmured in my ear. “Damn, that’s going to leave a bruise. Poor thing.”
I blinked my eyes open and found a familiar face staring back at me. “Grey?”
“Shh,” he said, his eyes flicking around. “Don’t talk—I’m sure your throat hurts.”
It more than hurt. It burned like acid. Even saying his name felt like talons scratching against the inside of my throat. I reached out with my hands, grateful they didn’t feel like boulders anymore, and gingerly touched the outside of my neck.
I opened my mouth to speak but Grey beat me to the punch and shook his head.
“You want to know what happened?” he asked. “I’m wondering the same thing. I came here thinking I’d bring you dinner, and—”
“Yeah, right—” I rasped, causing Grey’s eyes to flash with frustration. I choked out a laugh. “Dinner?”
“I’ve been looking for you, heard you were in the library. I was willing to bet you hadn’t had dinner,” Grey said, not quite glancing into my eyes and therefore giving away a partial lie. “I came in and found you passed out.”
“Strangler,” I mouthed.
“No kidding,” Grey said, his eyes flicking angrily toward my neck.
I must have looked confused because he glanced around, found a shiny notebook someone had left on a table nearby, and held it up so I could see my reflection in it. Sure enough, there were bruises in a ring around my neck like an ugly piece of jewelry.
I shuddered, pushed the notebook away. “How’d you get me out of it?”
Grey looked a bit sheepish. I followed his gaze over to the book where the Strangler Spell had been placed and found claw marks ripping through the manuscript.
“I think I’ll have to pay for that one,” he said with a glimmer of a smile. Then a shadow washed over his face as he studied me. “But it’s worth every penny to have you safe. I had to transform—thank God nobody else was around—in order to sniff out the spell. I had no clue what was happening at first—I thought you were sleeping until I heard you struggling to breathe.”
“My dinner?”
Grey pulled out a To-Go box stamped with the name of a great little Italian deli from the marketplace on the front. He popped off the top to reveal a heaping bowl of angel hair noodles in pesto and three fat meatballs on top.
“You didn’t believe me?” Grey raised an eyebrow.
I shrugged. “You have an uncanny way of sensing when I’m in danger. You and Matthew both.”
“Oh?” Grey glanced around, over-emphasizing his movements. “Where is Matthew?”
“Shut up,” I said, gradually gaining more strength to my words. Though more likely than not, it was sheer adrenaline and frustration helping me recover, and not the healing of my wounds. “He’s working, you know that. It’s not his fault he has to be out of town.”
“Mmm,” Grey murmured. “Yet you’re offended when I check in on you as a friend?”
“I’m not offended,” I said. “I just don’t like being lied to. But thank you,” I grunted. “I didn’t need your help, but...”
“Sure.”
“I said thank-you,” I snipped. “Fine. Maybe I did need your help. I’m sorry. I get cranky from near deat
h experiences.”
“You’ve had enough of them that I think you’d be used to it by now.” Grey grinned and pushed the spaghetti toward me. “Are you sure you’re not just hungry?”
Suddenly, I was ravenous. It hurt to swallow, but somehow, having not eaten since lunch and then almost dying took a lot out of me. I forked a careful bite of noodle onto my utensil and was grateful for the oily pesto. I winced as it slid down my throat, but my belly gurgled with satisfaction.
“This is good.”
“I know it is,” Grey said. “One of the best Italian places in the borough. Besides DeMarco’s Pizza, of course.”
I snorted a laugh, then winced because that hurt, too. “Thank you.”
“Who did this to you?”
I focused on another forkful of food as a distraction. I probably should have asked that question immediately, but I hadn’t because I’d been distracted by the arrival of Grey. So instead, that question had hung in the back of my head, shrouded by a murky cloth, a thought I didn’t truly want to consider. I didn’t want to think there was someone in the world who wanted me dead bad enough to actually kill me.
“I’m not sure,” I said, then sat up straighter and forced down the second swallow. “There was only one other person I saw upstairs tonight. A woman by the name of Professor Bleeker.”
“You know her personally?” Grey perked up at the mention. “I’d call that coincidental at best.”
“I don’t know her, at least not very well. I met her once this week in conjunction with the case.” When Grey just stared blankly at me, I continued. “The murder of Mason White—the student here whose backpack you found in The Depth.”
Grey nodded. “And you don’t think she was responsible for this attack?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “She left ten minutes ago. I watched her leave, though I suppose I could have been fooled. Sort of stupid if it was her, though—I mean, I saw her here. It was just me and her. Not very subtle.”
“Maybe she didn’t need to be,” Grey said. “If you’d ended up dead, nobody else would have known she’d been here.”
