by Gina LaManna
“Renola was worried about Bleeker’s safety,” I said impatiently. “It was a smart move on her part. What’d you find?”
“We didn’t find any entries on the night that Mason White was killed,” Primrose said. “So as far as we know, she doesn’t have an alibi for that time. Then, we checked her alibi for last night like you said. Were you at the library when you were attacked?”
I swallowed, realizing I shouldn’t have tried to hide my attack from Primrose, especially as there was a bruise the size of Italy across my neck. “Yes. A Strangler hit me. Someone had planted it in one of the books I was looking at.”
“Guess who had a meeting scheduled at the library at the same time?” Primrose said. “Bleeker.”
“I know,” I said. “I saw her there. I’m sorry, Primrose. I didn’t want to bring you into it.”
There was a long silence. “You already knew. And suspected her.”
“Some,” I admitted. “But there was no proof. I couldn’t go swaying your opinion based on nothing but a theory.”
Another long silence followed.
“I’m really sorry,” I said again. “I should have trusted you. It’s just... there have been some personal aspects that have been uprooted as things have unraveled. And it’s hard to know when to bring you in and when to leave you out of my private issues.”
“I understand,” Primrose said briskly, though she clearly wasn’t happy about it. “Did you see Professor Harrison there?”
“Where?”
“At the library,” Primrose prompted. “That’s who she was meeting.”
“I assumed the meeting was a farce. Nobody ever showed up to meet with her. She sat in the conference room alone for a while and then left. I checked—nobody else was there.”
“Well, according to her diary, it was Harrison who set up the meeting.”
I digested this. “Maybe she was covering her ass. Maybe there never was any meeting.”
“Maybe,” Primrose said. “But I don’t think the story ends where you think it does. We began cross-referencing teacher and student records. You know, those were our only two real leads. They were the only reason it made sense for Mason to enroll in Orientation—to get close to one or the other. Sure, it might have been the class content, but that information was nothing he couldn’t find somewhere else.”
“You uncovered something?”
“I think so,” she said. “There are a subset of Orientation students that seem to have been dropping out lately. Renola and I ran the numbers. Orientation completion rates used to be almost one hundred percent, barring medical leave or something unforeseen and drastic. Recently, completion rates have dropped as low as eighty percent overall.”
“Is something—or someone—causing them to drop out?” I wondered aloud.
“That’s what I wondered,” Primrose said. “Lo and behold, we found a pattern in the students who dropped out.”
“Which is?”
“All of them scheduled office hours with Professor Harrison repeatedly. In fact, most of the students who dropped out visited with him two to three times a week, and all of them joined the history club. Even weirder, not one of the students who participated regularly in Harrison’s history club finished school.”
A chill ran down my spine. “That’s quite strange, considering usually the students who care enough to join extra curriculars care enough to finish the program. Any obvious reason why they dropped out? Low grades, poor class participation, disciplinary troubles?”
“Nothing. The students were all across the board in terms of attributes. From high achievers and middling students to the bottom of the barrel sorts. All species. None of that seemed to make a difference. The only thing tying them together was Professor Harrison. Some of the students didn’t even have Bleeker as a teacher. And guess what else?”
“Do I want to know?”
“Bleeker’s been teaching for ages. Harrison arrived two years ago. Guess when the graduation rate fell? If you’re going to say two years ago, you’d be correct.”
“Shit. We’ve got the wrong person.”
“There’s one more thing,” she said. “I ran those students’ names through the criminal databases. Over half of them have a criminal record since dropping out. Most of their crimes are pretty minimal, B&E mostly, some minor theft—but it’s too high of a correlation to ignore.”
“Bleeker’s in trouble,” I said, rising to my feet. “We’ve got to find her. Good work, Officer. Same to Renola. Dig up everything you can on Harrison—he’s framing her. He’ll kill her if he finds out we’re onto them, so be discreet. Call me the second you have something. I want to know where he lives, what he eats, any vacation homes or second residences—any trips he’s taken recently. He’s holding her somewhere, and we need a lead as to where.”
“Yes, sir,” Primrose said. “What about you, Detective?”
“I’ve got one more visit to make before I return to the precinct.”
“You’re not going to confront him alone, are you?” Primrose’s voice tightened. “With all due respect, Detective, I think that’s a very bad idea.”
“I’m just going to keep an eye on him. I won’t make the arrest until we have Bleeker and backup. Let’s wrap this up so we can get on with the holidays, yeah? Christmas Eve starts in a few hours, and I want Harrison in prison while I’m home with my family sipping on some eggnog.”
“Yes, sir.”
We disconnected. I gave one last cursory glance over the desk, knowing both Renola and Harrison had been over it. It was unlikely I’d find anything the others had missed.
I straightened, wondering how Harrison had stumbled across The Hex Files, and more interestingly, how Mason had figured it out. Had Harrison attacked the White family in their own home? And if all the evidence was pointing me in the direction I suspected, could Harrison be using his Orientation classes as recruiting grounds for a small army?
“Very good,” a voice said behind me. “I thought you might never catch on.”
I hadn’t heard the door open. I’d been lost in thought, rummaging through the drawers and trying to file away the new information I’d gained from Primrose.
I spun around and found Harrison standing in the doorway. He was somewhere in his mid-thirties with sandy brown hair and an athletic, though not intimidating, build. He had a round face, slightly reddened cheeks, and cunningly intelligent green eyes.
“Working in homicide, I see a lot of crappy things,” I told Harrison, my hand shaking as I reached to depress my Comm. Harrison’s eyes followed me, so I abandoned the task and let my hand drift toward my Stunner instead. “But this is a new low. Using a classroom to recruit innocent students to be part of your plan to what—take over Wicked? What was your plan?”
“You should know better than most,” Harrison said. “However, while I’d love to sit and chat with you, we don’t have time to waste. So, I’m going to correct you on one little thing before we go on.”
“What’s that?”
“None of those students I recruited—not one—were destined for anything but a life of crime. I didn’t touch the righteous ones, the ones like yourself who can’t understand the flexible line between good and evil, the ones who see things in black and white and can’t fathom a single shade of gray.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “I think I’ve learned a bit about shades of gray on this case. Thanks to you. Speaking of—”
I cut myself off and muttered a Tearjerker—a curse we weren’t technically allowed to use on the job—but what could I say? Harrison had inspired me with his shades of gray speech. I released black spiderwebs of smoke from my fingers and arched them across the room toward Harrison, hoping to catch him off-guard.
Unfortunately, I’d underestimated the professor’s reflexes. He pulled out the same Deflector Charm I’d used yesterday against the protected door in the Whites’ home. The Tearjerker shot back at me, tendrils of black streaking for my face, grasping at my arms.
I just barely hit the floor and dove under the desk in time for the brunt of the spell to bounce off metal. I took a shallow breath, blinked away the sting in my eyes.
“We can do this the hard way or the easy way,” Harrison said. “But there’s only going to be one ending.”
“What’s your end game, Harrison? We’re already onto you. My colleagues have your name.”
“Frankly, I’m disappointed it took so long for you to turn your attention to me. As if Bleeker—or worse, your brother—could have pulled off what I have over these last few years.”
“What’s that?” I called, depressing my Comm to Primrose. When she answered, I spoke louder over her voice hoping she was sharp enough to understand what was happening. “What have you accomplished, Harrison? So you managed to convince a couple of kids to follow you in your quest? You’re not exactly preying on the powerful. What is it that you’re after?”
“I know you’re not stupid, DeMarco. You know what this is about.”
“Seems like you’re trying to amass an army of low-achieving students, but I’m not sure what that’s going to get you. According to the files, not a whole lot. Petty theft? B&E? Not exactly the resume of great leaders.”
Primrose had fallen silent on the other end of the Comm. I could only imagine she was getting Renola or someone else to listen. Hopefully they had hit record; if I could get a full confession out of Harrison before things went south, we’d be in good shape once we hauled him into the precinct. With Primrose aware of the situation, it’d be minutes before we had other officers on the scene.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one thinking of timing. When Harrison spoke again, he was on the other side of the desk. I kept the Comm button depressed but eased myself further underneath the desk, holding the words to the Deflector on my lips.
“Let’s move, DeMarco,” he said, his voice a slither. Any hint of the charming professor was long gone, replaced by the man’s true colors. “You’ve got two options: Slip on some cuffs and come with me, or Bleeker dies. This isn’t happening any other way.”
“Let Bleeker go, and I’ll come with you,” I said. “How do I know I can trust you to let her go once I’ve got your magic proof cuffs on?”
“You don’t,” he said. “That’s the advantage I win for outsmarting you, Detective. Cuffs or not? Make your decision now. If you kill me, if I don’t make it back, my little army—as you so fondly called them—knows to get rid of any loose ends. Bleeker’s a loose end, and I know those kids won’t mind taking their time with their least favorite professor.”
I’d stalled for as long as possible. I could see Residuals trembling around Harrison’s figure. In one of his pockets, I could see a lump that probably signified a vial. A spell or potion. Judging by the black sparkles clinging heavily to the fabric of his clothes around the cannister, it had come from The Void.
The presence of dark Residuals sent a shiver down my spine. With a spell that size, he could probably take down half of campus with the blink of an eye. He’d prepared for this moment, and something told me he didn’t mind going down in the fight. I’d have to tread carefully to make sure that wouldn’t happen—because he wouldn’t die without taking me along for the ride.
“Give me the cuffs,” I called. “Swear to me you’ll let Bleeker go.”
Harrison tossed the cuffs over the desk, and the black metal landed on the chair. I closed my eyes, expelled a breath. While slipping into magic proof bracelets was the last thing I wanted to do, I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t cooperate, he’d blow us both up. He was heavily armed, and if I so much as breathed for help, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull out his stash and use it.
Grabbing the cuffs, I slipped my hands into them and tightened them appropriately. Then I held my hands above my head and moved slowly out from underneath the desk.
“Good, but not quite good enough.” Harrison’s greedy eyes went toward my wrists. He gave them each an extra tug until it was painfully tight against my wrists. “There we go, Detective. Now, drape Bleeker’s shawl over your hands. We’re going to march right out of here.”
Harrison fetched a navy-blue shawl from the back of the desk chair and draped it over my cuffs, but not before he unhooked my Comm and let it fall to the floor. Then he gave it a stomp for good measure, completing his little routine with a smug smile.
“Move it. Back entrance. Through the chapel, side door.”
I shuffled before him, doing my best to look miserable. It wasn’t lost on Harrison. He reached up and slapped me on the back of the head with enough force to send me stumbling forward.
“You give away our little arrangement, and this whole quadrant is dead,” he said. “I know you can see the Residuals on me, and I haven’t even taken half the artillery out of its packaging. You don’t want to test me.”
I straightened, adjusted my exterior attitude enough to pass Harrison’s examination, and then led the way out through the side of the chapel. As I did, I caught sight of an officer or two moving quickly toward the Admissions Office from the other end of campus.
A faint flicker of hope rose in my stomach. Primrose had alerted the right people. Not for the first time in the last few days, I was grateful for the rookie. If I made it out of this alive, I’d owe her a really, really good letter of recommendation.
Harrison noticed them too and turned sharply toward me. “Here we are.”
He made an abrupt, ninety degree turn straight into what appeared to be the side of the building. What I hadn’t realized initially was that behind a massive display of overgrown ivy was the outline of a door. Not a soul would know this was here unless they knew exactly where to look. If Harrison had disguised it himself, he’d done a bang-up job.
Quietly, I slipped the shawl off my wrists, let it fall to the ground. It was the only cookie crumb I could afford to leave behind, and fortunately, Harrison was too busy shoving me forward and grunting in annoyance at my stumbling to notice the lack of clothing item over my fists. With a clank, he closed and sealed the door behind us.
“Inside we march, DeMarco,” he said. “If you think your friends can find you where we’re going, think again.”
Chapter 26
We wound down and around for twenty minutes by my best estimate. It wasn’t long enough to make it off the Campus of Magic properties, yet I couldn’t quite place our exact location. We were obviously in some secret tunnel that would lead off campus property. But we didn’t make it that far.
“In here.” Harrison gave me a shove forward and grinned when I stumbled and fell to my knees.
“You can crawl the rest of the way. It’s just around the corner.”
I’d never give him the satisfaction. I stood, still painfully bound by the cuffs. My wrists had wrenched when I’d landed against them on the floor. I kept my mouth shut, bit my lip until the sting subsided.
No sooner had I gotten to my feet did Harrison raise his leg, bent at the knee. I felt the impact before his foot hit my back. My neck jerked forward, and this time I couldn’t catch myself before I hit the musty cement floor. The very room smelled like despair and mold and stale air. The stench of hopelessness was strong.
My head cracked against the ground, but thankfully, I didn’t lose consciousness. I raised myself to my knees and paused there. A wave of dizziness caused me to wobble and steady myself against a damp wall as water slithered down the side from God only knew where.
I’d been in worse predicaments, I reminded myself as a headache bloomed. At least Primrose knew I was in trouble. She had Harrison’s name. It was only a matter of time before word got to Matthew and Grey. Once they were on the case, their supernatural ability to track via scent would lead them here.
If only I could hold out long enough for help to arrive...
“So, you know about the files?”
“Aha.” Harrison looked at me, renewed interest in his eyes. “I knew you weren’t as stupid as you were letting on. How’d you figure out Mason’s
death was connected to them?”
“Look, buddy, I know you’re not letting me out of here alive. I’ll only talk if you reciprocate. It’s the least you can do.”
Harrison didn’t look as if he agreed, but after a second of thought, he gave a shrug as if it didn’t matter either way. “You’ve obviously figured most of it out already.”
“How’d Mason White come after you?” I asked. “By all accounts, he’d sworn off magic.”
“True, but he had a gift you’re very familiar with. One he couldn’t turn off,” Harrison said. “You know, I’ve always loved history.”
I waited, sensing this change of subject was leading toward a story that Harrison needed to tell. His little pack of students were great to boss around like minions, but he needed to share his bigger tale, get a pat on the back from someone he deemed an intellectual equal. For better or worse, I was that person.
“I loved history. Adored it. The stories, the myths, the hints at these huge, life-changing prophecies. Then I got to wondering—what if some of these prophecies weren’t myths? What if they were real?”
“You dug through history, found a reference to The Hex Files.”
“It wasn’t easy. Everything’s been wiped from textbooks, history books, you name it. But you find the right person—and there are people still alive who remember it—they’ll talk for a price.”
“I don’t think you came up with any of that on your own,” I said. “The Hex Files are too well hidden for a simple history professor to uncover. Someone held your hand, led you to the files.”
“What are you talking about?” Harrison rounded on me. “Of course I found them myself.”
“You’re not working with someone else? Someone who might call themselves The Master?” I suggested. “I know you’re not the real mastermind behind this whole thing, Harrison. You’re a college history professor with a small army of dropouts getting caught for B&E. Don’t tell me you came up with this whole plan alone.”
“Shut up!” His rage was accompanied with a slap to the face that sent my head rocketing back into the stone wall.
