“Beats me. They were a whole new thing, whatever they were. There’s nothing about them in any of my books.”
I reached into the dollhouse and rearranged the furniture.
Bentley poked at the rooms and scratched off some beads of glue with his thumbnail.
We were at a dead end.
“I could try some other spells on Krinkle,” I said.
Bentley considered my offer, then said, “Even if we could get access, she’s an elderly woman. Those spells of yours do a number on people. Even the bluffing one. We don’t want Krinkle’s heart to give out while she’s under a spell.”
“Fine. No magic. I suggest we get a couple of phone books and beat it out of her, old school–style.”
Bentley blinked at me, then got to his feet. “I’ll drive you home,” he said.
“Don’t tell me we’ve already reached the point where you kick me off the case. I was joking about the phone books. Mostly.”
“I’ll drive you home anyway.”
“Seriously?”
“You saw how difficult it was for me to get you access here,” he said. “These DWM people, they don’t trust witches.”
He reached for my hand and helped me up from my position. I’d been sitting cross-legged on the attic floor just long enough to be wobbly when I stood. I held his hand a moment longer than needed.
“No offense, but I’ll probably be better off without you holding me back,” Bentley said.
I pulled my hand from his. “Holding you back? How could I possibly be offended by something like that?”
“You know what I mean. It’s the shifters. They only trust their own kind. They barely tolerate me.”
“In that case, I’ll go away on my own and leave you to it.” I dusted attic grime off the back of my jeans. “No need to drive me home. I can walk.”
“Are you sure? We’re all the way across town.”
“It’s a beautiful day to walk,” I said. “Walking clears the mind. Plus, I’ll cover a lot of new terrain, and without you around asking me dumb questions about spellwork, I can focus on sensing the location spell, if it starts working.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“You can’t argue with me.” I leaned forward and dotted the dimple on his chin with the tip of my finger. His chin felt as stubbly as it looked.
He caught my hand in his. “What are you doing?”
I yanked my hand away. “It wasn’t magic. I swear.”
“But you touched me.”
I rolled my eyes. “So? It didn’t mean anything.”
He caught my hand again, and brought my finger to his chin. He touched the small depression in his chin once more with my fingertip. We locked gazes.
Were we having a moment?
I leaned forward, distributing my weight into my toes. Just in case.
Then he abruptly dropped my hand.
“Lund,” he said, looking over my shoulder.
Dr. Lund, the coroner, was there. He’d come up the attic stairs quietly. Lund said, “Sorry to interrupt whatever’s going on up here.”
In unison, Bentley and I said, “Nothing’s going on.”
I added, “I was just leaving.”
I squeezed past Lund and down the narrow stairs without looking back.
Chapter 21
The walk home did help clear my head... but only of thoughts about the missing persons case. Then my head was free to focus on a certain undead detective, and what it might feel like to have his lips on me. Or his teeth.
Zara tries to be a good witch. Zara doesn’t get lost in her head thinking about kissing and nothing else for two miles of walking, plus an extra mile to backtrack because she missed the turn for her own street.
Except I did.
At least it had been a pleasant walk. Thinking about kissing while walking on a summer day is pleasant, no matter what else is happening in your life.
The only thing that broke up my daydreaming was encountering a man walking his dog and his rooster.
“They’re best friends,” the man explained. “I can’t take one out without the other.”
The dog was large and black, like Corvin, but walked slowly due to old age and had a white muzzle. The rooster stared at me like he knew something, but that’s roosters for you.
I wished them a great day and carried on.
Unfortunately, the object-location spell didn’t kick in, nor did I come up with any new ideas for locating Corvin and the Tate woman.
Once I was back at my house, I was restless in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. Maybe ever.
I felt inspired to do something wild and crazy. Laundry. And other house chores, too tedious to detail, but one task involved the manual application of furniture wax to wooden furniture. The wax really brought out the wyvern and cat scratches.
By four o’clock, my furniture was so shiny it hurt the eyes, and I still hadn’t heard anything positive about the case. Bentley asked me to stop messaging him.
I paced the house, removing all the light bulbs from the ceiling fixtures, giving them a good washing, and then replacing them all. With the bulbs free of dust, the house was approximately one percent brighter. The gleam on my newly-waxed furniture was almost painful.
And still there was no break in the case.
Finally, I was so starved for a morsel of positivity that I caved in to Boa’s demands and gave her a small plate of sliced deli ham.
The fluffy white furball dug into the ham like it was her job, her passion, and her duty to her country.
When she was finished eating the ham and licking the plate, she climbed onto my lap and showed me her appreciation by massaging my thighs with her paws while gazing up at me with adoration. I had never felt so adored, not even when holding Zoey as a newborn. It was close, but Boa, with her feathery-white whiskers, was the new master of gaze-delivered adoration.
The cat’s gratitude lasted exactly thirty-five minutes. Then she jumped off my lap and padded off to the kitchen to howl in front of the refrigerator door for—you guessed it—more ham.
Ribbons flew into the living room and landed on the recliner across from me.
“You’ve done it now, Zed,” he said.
“I did. I broke the rules. I gave Boa deli ham.”
The wyvern shook his seahorse-shaped head.
Boa howled from the kitchen.
“I am filled with regret,” I admitted to the wyvern. “But she did give me a very nice lap massage, and she temporarily took my mind off my worries. Cats can be quite soothing. They’re beneficial for mental health. People with cats have lower blood pressure. Did you know that?”
Another blood-curdling howl for more ham came from the kitchen.
Ribbons looked upward, squinting his beady eyes, and asked, “Is it brighter in here?”
“I washed all the light bulbs.”
“I don’t like it.”
I tossed a throw pillow at him. “Everyone’s a critic.”
*
The front door opened, and my daughter called out loudly, “Hi, honey! I’m home!”
“I’m right here,” I said, looking up from my book. “You don’t have to yell.” I set the book next to me on the couch. “And since when am I honey?”
“Since I just worked my first full shift at my first real job.” She joined me in the living room, moved the book to the gleaming coffee table, and flopped on the sofa with her head in my lap. “Any news about the brat?”
I raised an eyebrow at her use of the term brat. She couldn’t fool me. I knew she’d been worrying about Corvin all day, which was what I’d been doing, too, except for the time when I’d been thinking about kissing a certain silver-eyed detective.
“No news,” I said. “He’s still missing.”
“He’s going to be in so much trouble for making us worry.” She rolled on the couch, her head still in my lap. “That creepy little big-eyed brat! Or should I say pest, as in short for pestilence, which is what he is.”
She took a raspy breath and blinked back tears. “He’s really tough, Mom. Wherever he is, I know he’s going to be okay. Physically, anyway. Emotionally...”
“He’s not like other kids,” I finished. “Chet always told me that, but I had no idea. Hellhounds aren’t even from this world. I’ve been reading up, and they’re only found in other worlds. That means he must have escaped from somewhere else.”
“You mean Hell.”
“The books don’t come right out and say Hell, but it’s implied.” I shook my head. “Every parent suspects their kids are from Hell, but Corvin actually is.”
“Every parent?” She lifted her chin and look up at me, her head still on my lap.
“Not me, of course.”
“But genies are demons from another world, too. And since I’m half genie, I have as much in common with Corvin as I do with you and Auntie Z. I’m just like him. I’m technically Hellspawn.”
A chill set into my bones. Corvin and Zoey did have that in common. What if someone or something was collecting the local Hellspawn? Was Zoey next on a list? She could be. And I’d let her out of my sight for the entire day. Zara tries to be a good mother, but Zara can’t anticipate everything.
“Zoey, until we get Corvin back, I want you to be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Extra careful. Especially around people we don’t know.” I gathered her loose hair into a ponytail at the top of her head and gave it a playful tug. “Speaking of which, how was work today? How do you like working for a living?”
She scrunched her face, compressing her thoughts for a moment, then said, “After subtracting breaks, I only worked for seven-point-five hours, but it was the longest seven-point-five hours of my life.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Did you know that the general public is disgusting? I had to clean floors and the undersides of benches, and did you know that the general public leaves gum on everything?”
“I work at a library. I know all about that.”
She sighed. “I thought you were exaggerating. Now I know better.” She gestured with her hands emphatically. “Gum. Stuck to the bottom of everything. I cleaned one bench, and when I came back to it an hour later, do you know what I found?”
“More gum.”
“More gum!” More hand gestures. “If Corvin wasn’t missing right now, I’d swear he was following me around all day, sticking gum under things to drive me crazy.”
My skin prickled. “What makes you think someone was following you? Did you see anyone lurking around, watching you?”
“It was just a joke, Mom.”
We sat in silence for a while, me pulling her hair into a ponytail and tickling her face with the end.
Suddenly, she sat upright. “Oh! I forgot to tell you something. The lady who went missing is the daughter of the museum’s head of security, Mr. Williams. You’d think he would take the day off, but he was there today. I heard from the head of maintenance that everyone in management asked him to take a leave, but he insisted on being there today. And he’ll be there tomorrow, too. They’re running a security drill on the Egyptian exhibit.”
“Williams,” I said. “Does he have long, black hair?”
“That’s him. And he wears black from head to toe.”
“Louis Williams.” I frowned. “Zoey, he’s a person of interest in the case. There are two connections, which makes him look suspicious. He’s the missing woman’s father, and he’s also a friend of Mrs. Krinkle’s. So far, Bentley thinks the coincidence can be explained by logic. He regularly spent time with Mrs. Krinkle, driving her to meetings at the community center, so she might have been tuned in to his energy and his family’s. Her friendship with him might be why she built the model to try to prevent the kidnapping, but...”
“But what?” Zoey asked.
But nothing, I thought. Louis Williams working at the museum where my daughter had just gotten a job didn’t connect him to the case in a third way. It only connected him to my family. To me. And yet, hearing his name from my daughter’s lips filled me with dread.
“You need to steer clear of Louis Williams,” I said.
“It’s a small town,” Zoey said. “Just because he works at the museum doesn’t mean I can’t go work there tomorrow.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t work there.”
“But you were going to.”
She was right. I’d been considering it. “How about I pay you to do some chores around the house? Maybe you ought to avoid the museum and that man’s whole family until this thing settles.”
She gave me a wide-eyed look. “I ought to avoid the museum? I ought to? You sound exactly like Auntie Z.”
I clutched my chest. “Ouch. You really know how to hurt me.”
She looked down at her hands and picked at her nails. “How about instead of being a terrible new employee and not showing up for my second shift tomorrow, I go there as planned, and ask around about the Williams family? I can report back to you. Think of me as your secret undercover agent.”
“I’d rather you didn’t get involved.”
She sighed and said, robotically, “I promise I’ll be extra careful, Auntie Z—I mean Mom.”
“Extra-extra careful,” I said. “Also, I’ll be with you the whole time. I’ll use a glamour to disguise myself! People won’t find it odd if a leafy bush is following you around, would they?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go to my job at the library, and scrape gum off benches there.” I waved a hand. “Not really. We make the pages do that.”
“Lucky you.”
“It’s like Frank says. Those advanced degrees really pay off sometimes.”
We sat in silence for a moment, then Zoey said, “He’s going to be in so much trouble when I see him again.”
“I know. I’m worried, too. And that poor woman.”
“And her kids.”
“And her husband.”
She looked at me. “I don’t know what I would do if you disappeared.”
“You’d be okay, until the fridge ran out of leftovers. Then, I don’t know.”
Her eyes glistened. She threw herself into my arms. “Don’t go anywhere,” she sobbed into my shoulder.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured her.
Chapter 22
MONDAY MORNING
I hated waking up to no news on the missing persons case.
But, on the positive side, no news could be good news. At least I had not woken up to a ghost, or to an excited wyvern plus a scared cat reporting the appearance of a ghost in my house. That meant Veronica Tate and Corvin Moore were still alive. Probably.
What if they weren’t? What if something awful had happened to them?
Then leave this place. Move away, I thought. Or at least it seemed to have been my thought. Weirdly, I’d heard it inside my head in a voice that wasn’t quite my own.
I looked around my bedroom. “Ribbons?”
There was no response. The wyvern didn’t do mornings; he would be asleep for several hours yet.
I wrote off the voice as perfectly understandable paranoia, got out of bed, and cast my usual spell on the closet.
“Work today,” I said conversationally. “At the library, as usual for a Monday. But of course I’ll be happy to duck out to help Bentley if he needs me. And now that Kathy knows about everything, I won’t even have to make up some silly excuse.”
The closet shuffled. I rubbed my hands, hoping for a gray wool suit or something equally conservative. Being a librarian was my career and my calling, and it was fulfilling and enjoyable work, but I didn’t want to be stuck at the library if I could be helping Bentley.
Or kissing him, said the voice in my head. Mystery solved. It was definitely my voice. It only sounded different
because it was creepily fixated on a man who had been, until quite recently, so boring that I’d been trying to set him up with my aunt. What had changed?
Besides the fact he had supernatural powers.
And that he was my sworn protector.
And that he’d heroically saved my life, along with the lives of several of my friends.
Besides all that.
I scratched my head. I couldn’t put my finger on why my feelings for him had changed so much.
The sea of colorful clothes before me divided, and out came one of my least conservative outfits. It was a frilly peasant blouse that could be worn on or off the shoulder, and an equally frilly skirt.
“I take it I’ll be working a full shift at the library today?”
My closet’s response was to send a pair of lace-up boots skipping out.
I dressed in the feminine ensemble, and admired myself in the full-length mirror. I looked like someone heading to a photo shoot for a romance novel cover. How appropriate. It was the perfect outfit to wear while spending eighty-five percent of my mental resources daydreaming about kissing a dreamy detective.
I reached into the skirt pockets to find they weren’t empty. One pocket had a tiny bottle of something in it. A magic potion? I took it out and read the label. It was not a potion. Just a bottle of flexible glue, from the hobby store.
“Where did you come from?” I asked.
The glue didn’t answer.
I turned to the closet. “This is the same bottle of glue I took out of my jeans pocket yesterday before I did laundry, isn’t it?” The closet didn’t need to answer. I knew, without checking the ledge by the washing machine, that it was the same bottle. It must have flown upstairs and climbed into my skirt pocket, at my magical house’s behest.
“Fine,” I said to my closet. “I trust you.” I slipped the glue back into my pocket, confident it would come in handy later. Perhaps I would need it to repair a very important library book, or to glue a rubber spider to the inside of Frank’s snack-time container.
I would almost certainly do both of those things.
*
“Nice try,” Frank said, plucking the rubber spider from the lid of his snack container.
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