Deadly Spells

by Jaye Wells

  I took off my coat and stashed it at my desk. “What have I missed?”

  “Well,” Gardner began with a sigh, “I called Eldritch to discuss the case.”

  “And?”

  “He’s not budging. According to him there’s not enough evidence to treat this as anything but a murder. Unless something new comes to light that indicates a larger coven conspiracy involving dirty potions, we don’t have any jurisdiction.”

  I sighed. “So we have to wait until the coven war starts?”

  Gardner crossed her arms. “Not at all. I said we don’t have cause to take over the murder investigation. We can still start beating the bushes to see if anything shakes loose on the coven side of things.”

  I frowned. “Sir, it’s going to take a miracle to keep that from Eldritch and Duffy.”

  “Duffy will be busy with the witness and waiting on the forensics to come back. Until he’s got something concrete he won’t be able to move on a warrant to search Harry Bane’s residence.”

  “Right,” Morales said. “But we can just stop by for a visit—see if he’s acting strange.”

  “Harry always acts strange,” I said, “but it’s probably not a bad idea.”

  “I’m thrilled you approve,” Gardner said in an arid tone. Clearly she wasn’t loving me pushing back on going behind Eldritch’s back on this, but she wasn’t the one who’d be out of a job if he found out what we were doing. Still, my gut was also telling me that we’d be called on to help with the case eventually, anyway. Better to risk pissing off Eldritch than to fall behind and have to play catch-up once the shit hit the fan.

  Right then Shadi Pruitt joined us at Morales’s desk. She wore jeans, a flannel shirt, and tennis shoes. Her black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. She tipped her chin at me in greeting before addressing Gardner. “You want me to head out, sir?”

  Gardner nodded. “Shadi’s going to set up surveillance near the crime scene. See if there’s any suspicious activity—coven members coming by, the like.”

  Shadi preferred to work cases alone, which meant she got a lot of the surveillance duty. That worked out great for me because that was my least favorite part of the job.

  Morales glanced at his watch. “It’s a little early in the day for Harry to be awake. Maybe we should swing by and see if Aphrodite Johnson has heard any rumors about who killed Charm.”

  At his mention of the time, something clicked in my head. “Oh shit,” I said. “What time is it?”

  “Just after ten. Why?”

  “We have to speak to Danny’s class today.”

  Morales muttered a curse.

  “Reschedule it,” Gardner said.

  “We’ve already had to reschedule it twice,” I reminded her. “The club usually meets after school, but they rearranged the schedule to accommodate our request that it be earlier in the day. If we cancel now they won’t invite us back, which wouldn’t reflect very well on the MEA.” I didn’t mention that Danny would stop speaking to me if I disappointed him. Again.

  “I don’t know,” she hedged.

  “It’ll only take an hour, tops,” I rushed to say. “We can go see Aphrodite, do the school thing, and then swing by Harry’s after lunch.”

  “All right.” She sighed.

  “Thanks, sir.”

  She nodded curtly. “Mez is at the BPD labs to see if he can sweet-talk any hints out of your friend Val about the physical evidence. He can fill you in on what he’s found when you meet up at the school. We all set?”

  Nods all around.

  “Keep your heads down so we don’t raise any alarm with the BPD. You find anything, you call me immediately.”

  As we moved toward the stairs to head out, I exchanged a look with Morales. “Eldritch will know what we’re up to before nightfall,” I muttered so as not to be heard by the boss.

  He shook his head. “Have a little faith, Cupcake.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “If things go our way, we’ll have the perps arrested by then anyway. Then no one will give two shits about us overstepping.”

  As we emerged into the frigid morning, I shot him a look. I wished I could share his faith, but when cases involved the covens, things usually got messier before they got easier.

  Chapter Seven

  Morales parked at the curb outside the office building that served as headquarters for the Mystical Coven of the Sacred Orgasm, aka the O’s. The building itself was nothing special—five floors of brick and a rotating door with a discreet brass plaque announcing the establishment as THE TEMPLE OF COSMIC LOVE.

  Inside, though, the place was little more than a fancy brothel where orgasms were considered mystical rites and sex potions could be purchased for exorbitant tithes to the coven’s Hierophant, Aphrodite Johnson.

  The O’s were a special case among the Cauldron’s three main dirty magic covens because they’d gotten themselves registered as a religious order with the government. That meant they didn’t pay taxes, and they got away with a lot of bullshit by claiming their crimes were religious expression.

  Morales walked around the car and met me on the sidewalk. “I still can’t get used to the idea that Aphrodite’s one of our snitches now.”

  After Mayor Owens was killed, Aphrodite had been arrested for the murder. But it turned out Dionysus, aka the Babylon Bomber, had framed the Hierophant. However, once Dionysus was dead and Aphrodite had been cleared of the murder, s/he’d made a deal with the powers that be to act as an informant in exchange for us ignoring the fact s/he’d interfered with our investigation.

  “No shit,” I said. “Let’s hope s/he’s got something useful to tell us.” The combination pronoun I’d used for the Hierophant was a necessity because of Aphrodite’s being a sacred hermaphrodite. S/he was literally half male and half female. Sometimes the masculine right side was in charge and sometimes the feminine left side took over, but until you knew which gender you were dealing with it was safest to use the combo. Among other things, Aphrodite was notoriously easy to offend, and since the hermaphrodite’s favorite pastime was revenge, it paid to be careful.

  When we walked into the lobby, the Hierophant’s bodyguard nodded, as if he’d been expecting us. “S/he’s not here.”

  I leaned on the tall counter separating the desk from the lobby. “Do me a solid, Gregor, and tell her it’s us. I’d hate to have to create a scene.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. Gregor was about as wide as I was tall. He was bald with a pronounced forehead and crooked nose that made his head look like a meaty fist. His expression told me he wasn’t impressed by my threat. “The Hierophant is not here,” he repeated with exaggerated patience. “S/he loaded all the girls on a bus this morning and headed out of town.”

  My stomach dipped with disappointment. In addition to wanting to question the Hierophant about Charm’s murder, I’d also been hoping to speak to her privately. Several months earlier s/he’d hinted s/he knew something about how my mother died. Back then, s/he’d refused to tell me what s/he knew, but I was hoping to convince Aphrodite to reconsider that position. Charm’s death had dredged up lots of old ghosts, and knowing someone had information I didn’t about her death was like an itch in the back of my throat. But Aphrodite wasn’t there, so I pushed down my frustration and focused on getting answers. “Why did she skip town?”

  “I reckon the reason you’re here has something to do with the decision.”

  “Charm’s death? Why?”

  Gregor sighed like a martyr. “Suppose s/he didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”

  I couldn’t help but think that if the Hierophant believed it was too dangerous to stick around, my hunch had been right. The covens were going to explode into violence if we didn’t find Charm’s killer ASAP.

  “Where did they go?” Morales asked.

  “Went to visit Aphrodite’s cousin Fontina Douglas.”

  I blinked. “Who is that?”

  “Hierophant of a coven down in Atlanta.”

  I sighed.
“Any chance you could give us Aphrodite’s cell number?”

  “Aphrodite don’t believe in cell phones. Says the waves block kundalini energy or some shit.”

  “We could call Fontina,” I said.

  Gregor looked me in the eye and lied. “Don’t have the number.”

  I pursed my lips and shot him a don’t-bullshit-a-bullshitter glare. Most likely, Aphrodite had left instructions to keep her real location a secret. Probably she wasn’t even in Atlanta, but holed up in some safe house.

  “Did Aphrodite know who was behind Charm’s death?” Morales asked.

  Gregor smiled at us with a hint of pity. “I’m just the help.”

  Time to try another tactic. “Why didn’t you go with her to Atlanta?” From what I’d seen Gregor was never far from his boss’s side.

  “I volunteered to stay back and make sure the temple’s safe if the covens go to war.”

  “Gregor, I know your loyalty is to Aphrodite,” I said. “But it seems we all want the same thing.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “To prevent a coven war,” I said slowly. “If you tell us what you know, we might be able to do that.”

  He laughed. The sound was rusty and grating, as if his throat wasn’t used to making the sound. “You got bigger problems than you think. The least of which is believing we’re on the same team.” He chuckled again and shook his head. “You know the way out.”

  We got back in the SUV and Morales started the engine, but he didn’t pull away from the curb. “That was a waste of fucking time.”

  I rubbed my hand over my face. “Not entirely.”

  “How you figure?”

  “It’s meaningful that Aphrodite skipped town and took all her girls,” I said. “We might be able to use that later to convince Eldritch of the threat.”

  “What was the deal with his reaction to you mentioning a coven war?” Morales said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

  I shook my head and sighed. “Maybe he was fucking with us.”

  “Or he doesn’t believe we could stop a war.”

  “Possibly. I mean, arresting Charm’s murderer won’t make the Votaries suddenly feel justice has been served.”

  Morales ran a hand through his hair, leaving the dark-brown locks spiky. “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong. What if there’s something else going on?”

  “Like what?”

  He dropped the car into Drive and pulled away from the curb. “Fuck if I know.”

  I put on my seat belt. “We got some time to kill before the school thing. Should we swing by Harry’s now?”

  Morales shook his head. “There’s not enough time to go all the way to the junkyard and then get back across town. Get in touch with Mez and see if he can meet us a few minutes early to go over what he got at the lab.”

  I nodded and pulled out my phone to text the wizard. “Let’s hope his morning’s been more productive than ours.”

  Chapter Eight

  By the time we made it through the Bessemer Bridge traffic and all the way to Danny’s school, we were only about fifteen minutes early.

  We decided to wait for Mez in the lot so we could talk about his findings before heading in. Right after Morales parked the car, my cell phone rang. I glanced at the number and frowned because the caller ID said it was Grace Cho calling. “Prospero.”

  “Detective, Grace Cho—Channel Seven Action News,” she said, as if the channel was part of her proper name. “We met this morning.”

  “Yes, hi,” I said without much enthusiasm.

  “I have a proposition for you. Since I’m already doing a story on the city’s first Adept mayor, I thought it would be a great follow-up piece to do a story on you, too.”

  “I can’t imagine why you’d think that was a good idea.”

  Morales shot me an amused glance even though he didn’t know who I was speaking to. Cho, however, ignored my sarcasm. “As an old friend of the mayor’s and a high-profile Adept in your own right, you’d make a perfect subject for a story.”

  “I’m gonna stop you right there,” I said. “I’m way too busy chasing criminals to sit down for an interview.”

  “That’s the beauty of this, Detective. You don’t have to sit down with me at all. I’ll just shadow you for a couple of days.”

  “So not gonna happen.” I laughed. “Even if I wanted to do it, there’s no way the MEA would approve it.”

  “I guarantee I could convince them.”

  I shook my head at the woman’s balls. “I said I’m not interested. Good-bye.” With that, I disconnected. As I did, I realized how much I missed the old phones where you could really hang up on someone instead of tapping a screen to end an unwanted call.

  “Who was that?” Morales asked.

  “Reporter wants to interview me.” I shook my head. “Long story.” I was saved from having to elaborate as Mez’s potion-powered sports car hovered into the lot. He steered the vehicle into a spot near ours; a loud hiss sounded as it lowered to the ground.

  We got out and met him at his back bumper. “You made good time,” I said. He’d been at the BPD lab building, which was a good ten minutes farther from the school than the temple we’d come from.

  “That’s the beauty of being able to use the PPV lane.” Mez grinned and patted the side panel of his pride and joy. The special lanes on the freeway for potion-powered vehicles had been controversial but necessary, since unlike regular vehicles they had a special mode that allowed them to hover over the road.

  “I’m telling you guys,” Mez continued. “You gotta get rid of that dinosaur gas guzzler you two ride around in.” He looked at me. “And that disgrace of a Jeep.”

  “Hey!” I protested. “Sybil’s family.” Buying my own wheels had been of one of my first acts of independence after I’d left the coven. Sure, she broke down a lot, but her dents and scratches gave her character.

  “How about you, Morales? Chicks dig sports cars.”

  Morales crossed his arms. “I prefer to keep my tires on the road as God intended.”

  Mez shrugged. “Suit yourself, Luddite.”

  “How’d it go with Val?” I asked.

  Mischief lit up the wizard’s eyes. The midday sun sparked off the charms in his dreads. That day, he’d used a potion to change his hair’s color from its natural dark brown to a mix of auburn and black that coordinated with the embroidery on his vintage silk vest. “She still won’t go on a date with me.”

  I shot him a cut-the-shit look. After the way our morning had gone, I wasn’t in the mood for banter.

  “Oh! You meant the case,” he said. “According to the ME, there weren’t any additional wounds besides the sites where the limbs had been severed. The cause of death is being ruled Arcane.”

  “The potion burn on the forehead?” Morales asked.

  Mez nodded. “They’ve run occult tests on the body, and Val claims she’s never seen a potion like this one in the Cauldron before.”

  I perked up. “Really? What was in it?”

  “She needs to run some additional labs, but her initial ones revealed some sort of paralytic toxin.”

  “Meaning?” Morales asked.

  “Meaning the potion paralyzed the vic to the point of his lungs and other body systems shutting down.”

  “Did Franklin determine when the dismemberment happened?” I asked even though I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answer.

  Mez looked at me with a sympathetic expression. “They did it after he was dead.”

  I expelled a relieved breath. “That’s good.” The possibility that he’d been alive during the torture had been eating at me ever since we’d left the crime scene. During my nightmares the night before, there had been a really vivid episode where Charm screamed for me to help him as Uncle Abe sawed at his arm. Maybe this new information would prevent that horror show from being a repeat performance.

  Morales patted me on the shoulder. I shot him a quick but unconvincing smile.
<
br />   “Val’s going to run those other tests to try to track down the source of the toxin,” Mez continued. “Maybe that’ll help us narrow down the type of magic used, at least.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “We really need something to break soon. Otherwise it’s going to get harder to justify sneaking around.”

  Morales shot me a look I couldn’t decipher. But before I could question him, the sound of a bell ringing signaled it was time to head into the school.

  “All right.” I blew out a breath. “Time to go mortify the kid.”

  Facing down criminals with potion guns was downright relaxing compared with standing in front of a classroom of bored teenagers. Especially when one of those teens was your own little brother, who didn’t look bored at all. Instead, with his crossed arms and warning scowl, he looked downright hostile.

  “And that is how we file the paperwork for a search warrant,” I concluded. “Any other questions?”

  At the back of the classroom, Mr. Hart, the teacher who sponsored Don’t Use Dirty Elixirs, or DUDE, gave me a thumbs-up. That day he wore his uniform of tweed blazer, indie band concert T-shirt, worn jeans, and Converse sneakers. He was cute in a hipster sort of way.

  When we’d arrived, Mr. Hart had greeted each of us warmly, but I was the only one he’d hugged. At the time, I’d caught Morale’s posture stiffening, like a pack animal sniffing a competitor, but I’d written it off. Still, ever since that moment Morales had been suspiciously sullen.

  Beside me, Morales pointedly cleared his throat, and I realized I’d been smiling at the teacher. I shook myself and schooled my features. “Any other questions?”

  “How big is your gun?” A girl from the front row batted her doe eyes at Morales. Several feminine giggles greeted this question.