Deadly Spells

by Jaye Wells

  My brow rose. “Harry Bane?” Harry wasn’t technically an albino, but like a lot of blood magic wizards he had the pale coloring of someone who spent most of his life trolling through dark tunnels. “What makes you think he’s behind it?”

  “Please,” Puck said, “ever since he took over his daddy’s coven he’s been struggling to stay on top. Killing the head of the Votaries would earn him cred with the Sangs.” He spit on the floor to indicate what he thought of the rival coven. Several of his flunkies grunted their approval.

  I crossed my arms and leaned back against the bar. “Maybe,” I said, “but there’s been upheaval in your camp ever since Abe went to Crowley. How do we know one of your own guys didn’t off Charm for the same reason?”

  Puck looked me in the eye. “You might have found it easy to betray this coven, bitch, but some of us know the importance of loyalty. No one would dare, because they’d have to answer to me.”

  I let the insult slide off my back. It was an old song that had lost its meaning for me. “Anyway,” I said, “didn’t you hear? Someone jumped Harry Bane yesterday.”

  Puck didn’t bother covering his smile. “Serves him right.”

  Morales smiled tightly in response. “I guess that’s a matter of opinion seeing how we believe Harry was framed for Charm’s murder.”

  The words hung in the air like the dying notes of a song. Puck’s left eye twitched. Morales and I just watched him.

  Finally, he crossed his arms. “You got proof?” His tone was uncharacteristically serious.

  The corner of my mouth lifted. “We’re working on that right now.” My gaze flicked toward his arms. “Nice tattoos by the way.”

  His eyes narrowed in confusion, but he recovered quickly. He shot a look at my left arm, where my Ouroboros tattoo was peeking out from beneath my cuff.

  “You, too.”

  “I’ve been meaning to have it removed. That’s the thing about tattoos, people make assumptions about you.”

  “In your case, they assume you’re a traitor.”

  The tension in the air crackled against my skin. I probably could have taken Puck in right then for questioning, but arresting the apparent new leader of the coven in front of his crew was an invitation for homicide. Plus, something in my gut told me that even if Puck was really involved in Charm’s death, he wasn’t the kingpin. If we wanted Pantera Souza, we needed Puck to lead us to him.

  Finally, I removed a card from my pocket and handed it to him. “If you think of anything that might help us, call me.”

  Puck slowly tore the card into pieces. Several of his cronies chuckled. “We don’t help traitors.”

  “Suit yourself,” I said. “But let me make one thing clear.” I looked out over the assembled crowd to make sure I had their attention. “Your cousin,” I said, referring to Volos, “has the entire BPD on alert for a coven war. They’ll come down hard on anyone caught even looking at a rival coven the wrong way.” I looked at Puck again. “If I hear about any of your guys making any more moves against Harry Bane or his crew, we will be back with warrants and lots of guys with big guns.”

  Puck laughed. “You do that.”

  “I mean it, Puck. No war.”

  He leaned forward and snapped his teeth at my face.

  “Easy,” Morales growled.

  Ignoring my partner, Puck whispered, “That’s the tricky thing about a war, Detective.” He held up a finger like a gun and pulled the invisible trigger. “Lots of stray bullets and collateral damage. Never know who will get caught in the crossfire.”

  I grabbed his finger and twisted it until he fell to his knees on the ground. The crowd moved forward, but Morales drew his gun to halt their advance. The blonde stood to the side, glaring bullets at me.

  I leaned down and looked into the pained eyes of the cocky asshole who’d just threatened me. “Your mouth is declaring wars your ass can’t win.” His finger cracked under the pressure. He didn’t yell out in pain, but his jaw tightened and his eyes watered. “I might not be a member of this coven anymore, but I learned everything I know from a ruthless son of a bitch named Abraxas Prospero. If you come after me, I will end you.”

  With that, I released his broken finger. “Let’s go,” I said to Morales and marched away without another glance.

  It wasn’t until we were both outside and the door slammed behind us that Morales finally spoke. “So that went well.”

  Adrenaline buzzed through my veins like lightning. “Shut the fuck up, Morales.”

  He grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop. “Hey! I’m on your side, remember?”

  I jerked my arm away but fought to put a muzzle on my emotions. “I—fuck.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I lost my cool in there. Sorry.”

  “Relax,” he said. “I get it. Just next time you decide to go She-Hulk you might give me a warning or something.”

  I pressed my lips together. “She-Hulk?”

  He shot me a cocky grin. “Honestly, it was kind of hot.”

  “You’re an idiot.” I couldn’t suppress my smile, though.

  “Yeah, well, I’m a hungry idiot.” He put an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the car. “Let’s go get that burger you owe me before we regroup at the gym.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Spinelli’s was an institution in Babylon’s Little Italy. Situated in the Mundane part of town, it harked back to the city’s old days when, instead of potion covens, Mundane mob families ran the city’s dark underbelly. I’d picked the spot because its location meant I wouldn’t risk running into any cops I knew—especially the one who had told me going on this date was a bad idea.

  I’d arrived early—just as I would for any other high-stakes op. I’d chosen my uniform carefully. Instead of the little black dresses a lot of women wore by default for a date, I’d gone with skinny jeans with dark-brown boots. On top I wore a silky blouse and blazer. It was the kind of outfit that said I’d made some effort but not too much. Plus the blazer hid my gun rig. Maybe most women didn’t show up for a date packing heat, but most women also didn’t have roving gangs of wizards out for their blood.

  And if things went well, maybe I’d let Mr. Hart take a peek at my piece.

  The bartender set the glass of wine on the bar in front of me. I wrapped a hand around the stem like it was a lifeline. I briefly considered calling Pen for a quick pep talk, but I refused to give in to the nervousness. I was a cop who faced down potion junkies. I could handle a high school science teacher.

  As I swallowed some liquid courage, I let my mind wander back over the rest of my day.

  After Morales and I had our little chat with Puck, we’d returned to the gym. The good news was Mez was able to connect the potion used to kill Charm to a rare rain-forest frog that secreted a neurotoxin capable of paralyzing a human. That news certainly went a long way to connect Pantera Souza to the crime. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find the shaman. We’d spent the rest of our day calling my informants and Morales’s MEA contacts to see if anyone had a lead on his whereabouts only to come up with a big fat goose egg.

  I sighed and raised my hand to ask the bartender for something stronger, but right then the door to the restaurant opened and Mr. Hart breezed in. It was a chilly night and the wind had had its way with his hair. The mussed look made him seem younger. He handed his overcoat to the hostess, which gave me a view of his typical uniform of faded jeans, T-shirt, and tweed blazer.

  I took a big gulp of my wine and kept my gaze glued on the TV over the bar. Making him come to me was a power play that would have made Pen shake her head, but old habits I’d learned as a kid about the importance of establishing a pecking order had never really gone away.

  “Kate?”

  I turned and smiled confidently, but the wineglass felt slippery in my palm. I set it down carefully before rising to give him a hug. He smelled of cold air and a tad too much cologne. But our quick embrace revealed long, lean muscles underneath his hipster academic facade.

 
“Did you find the place okay?” I knew he’d only been in Babylon about a year.

  He nodded and motioned to the bartender. “I live near here, actually.”

  I acted surprised, but I knew exactly where he lived. While I hadn’t gone so far as to use police resources to check his record, I had done an Internet search. He lived in what locals called Snob Hill. The neighborhood used to be called NOLI—North of Little Italy—but the name changed after some enterprising real estate types started buying houses and flipping them for enormous profits. A lot of seniors had had to surrender their paid-off homes after the tax rates for the neighborhood skyrocketed. Which made it super easy for young professionals to swoop in and get the old bungalows for a song.

  Of course, I didn’t comment on any of that. Just because Hart lived there didn’t mean he’d screwed some old woman out of her family home. However, I was curious how he managed the high rents of the area on a private school teacher’s salary. The Internet search hadn’t netted me much more than an address and a link to the Meadowlake site, which had a brief, polite bio. I also hadn’t been able to find him on any of the typical social media sites.

  While I reviewed the meager mental dossier I’d built, he chatted with the bartender about the restaurant’s selection of import beer. He finally settled on a Belgian white ale. I tried not to judge him for it. Most of the men I knew wouldn’t be caught dead drinking a beer with a monk on the label.

  “So,” he said finally.

  “So.” A forced smile. Oh God. This was torture. “Where did you live before you moved to Babylon?”

  “I grew up in New York,” he said. “Brooklyn.”

  “Were you a teacher there, too?”

  He shook his head. “Went to university in Boston. Majored in biochemistry.”

  My eyes widened. “Wow.”

  “It sounds a lot more impressive than it was. I spent most of my time in labs watching mold grow.” He shrugged. “I worked for a lab after school but quit after a couple of years and got my teaching degree.”

  My cop instincts told me there was more to the story than he was telling me. But instead of deciding Morales was right about Hart having a shady past, I brushed it off. People didn’t share their entire life stories on a first date, after all.

  “I taught at a private school in Boston for a bit, but then I went back home for some family obligations.”

  I took a sip of my wine and processed that. “Any brothers or sisters?”

  “Nope,” he said with an easy smile. “Just me. Anyway, I got tired of New York and looked for teaching jobs in other cities. I got lucky when the position opened at Meadowlake. It’s got a great reputation.”

  “Cool,” I said. “So you’re liking it?”

  “Totally, the kids are great.” He smiled, flashing a dimple. “Parents, too.”

  “And what drew you to starting DUDE?”

  He paused and held up his hands, laughing. “Are you interrogating me, Detective?”

  I cringed. “Sorry, force of habit.”

  He took a sip of his beer, watching me over the rim. “How about a little role reversal?”

  “Bring it on,” I said with a bravado I didn’t feel. There were a lot of parts of my past I’d have to gloss over, too. I took a gulp of wine and signaled to the bartender for another.

  He laid a hand on my arm. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”

  I blew out a breath. “Sorry, I—uh—I guess I’m kind of nervous.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “Join the club. Do you have any idea how intimidating you are?”

  I barked out a surprise laugh. “Please.”

  “I’m serious,” he said. “You’re streetwise and tough, not to mention gorgeous. I was shocked as hell when you agreed to go out with me.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because you lead this exciting life and I’m just this normal, boring teacher. Figured you’d go for a tough guy like that partner of yours.”

  I cleared my throat and ignored his mention of Morales. “First of all, being a cop isn’t exactly as exciting as the movies make it. And second, did it occur to you that after dealing with junkies and criminals all day, I’d crave interacting with a normal human being?” I looked him up and down over the rim of my glass. “Especially a cute one?”

  He sat up straighter and groaned. “Cute? Like a puppy?”

  I laughed. “I happen to like puppies.” They were so much easier to master than the alpha dogs I usually hung around.

  He took a drink of his beer, as if considering whether he should be offended or let it slide. I placed my left hand on his arm. He glanced down to where the sleeve of my jacket had slid back to reveal my tattoo.

  “What’s that?”

  Well, shit, I thought. I’d wanted him distracted, but not if it meant talking about my past. “A teenage indiscretion.” It wasn’t a total lie. Getting myself marked as a made member of the Votary Coven hadn’t been one of my smartest ideas, although at the time I’d been damned proud—and so had Uncle Abe. We’re gonna rule the world, Kate Girl.

  I shook off the memory and started to pull the sleeve back down over the tattoo coiled around my wrist.

  “Hold on.” His voice was as soft as his uncallused hand as he took my wrist and pushed the sleeve back. His fingers traced the delicate skin of my inner wrist where the crowned snake swallowed its own tail. “What’s this symbol?”

  I swallowed the lump of anxiety in my throat. “It’s called the Ouroboros. It symbolizes infinity and the cycle of creation that always follows destruction.” I’d certainly felt immortal back then, hadn’t I? So full of confidence in my budding cooking skills. So sure my place in the coven was secured. So stupid to believe nothing would ever change.

  “That’s a heavy symbol for a teenage girl,” he murmured.

  My smile was self-effacing. “I wasn’t much into faeries or rainbows back then.” Just potions and profit.

  He leaned in over my wrist, which he clasped between his fingers in a grip that was firm but not threatening. “I have a tattoo, too.”

  “Get it anywhere interesting?”

  “This little tattoo shop in Hoboken.” He winked to tell me he’d purposefully misinterpreted my question. “On my biceps.”

  “So? What is it?” I took another sip of wine, enjoying myself now that we weren’t discussing my past anymore.

  He leaned in as if preparing to share a secret. “A phoenix rising from flames.” He touched his right arm.

  “Why a phoenix?” It wasn’t an idle question. Phoenixes had a long symbolic history—especially in alchemy. Brad Hart was a Righty, but you never knew with some people. Especially since he had a background in biochemistry.

  “I got it right after I was released from rehab.” He let that sentence hang in the air between us like a dare.

  “What sort of rehab?” I asked it in a casual tone, but it wasn’t a casual question.

  “Potions. That’s why I quit the lab. Too much easy access.”

  I blinked, putting things together. “That’s why you started DUDE.”

  A flicker of relief passed over his face, as if he’d been expecting me to walk out of the bar and never speak to him again. “I’ve seen the effects of addiction on young people firsthand. I was lucky enough to turn my life around, but several of my friends from those days weren’t so lucky.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say so I just nodded. I had a ton of questions, but they weren’t the kind a woman asked her date. Instead, they were the kind a cop asked a perp.

  He pulled back and dropped my hand with an uncomfortable laugh. “I didn’t mean to dump that on you tonight.”

  “No,” I said, “it’s cool. I guess—I mean, who am I to judge?”

  He nodded. “Right—you grew up in a coven.” When I cringed, he forged ahead. “I mean you turned your life around, too. We have that in common.”

  I paused and thought it over. “I guess that’s true.”

  “I have so much ad
miration for people like you who put themselves on the line to get potions off the streets. I’d love to hear more about your work.”

  The awkwardness was still there. I couldn’t put my finger on it, exactly. He was right. We both helped in the effort to prevent people from getting addicted to potions. But the fact he was a former freaker and I was a woman capable of cooking the magic he used to crave was complicated. Still, he looked so open and genuinely curious to learn more about me that I let it slide for now. We were just having a drink, not discussing marriage for Christ’s sake. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, for starters, how did you decide to become a cop? That couldn’t have been easy given your background.”

  I played with the stem of my glass. How much was I ready to divulge to him? I glanced over, and he made an encouraging gesture with his hand. “Oddly enough, it started because I joined Arcane Anonymous.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You belong to AA?”

  “I used to.” About five months earlier I’d walked away, but I definitely didn’t want to get into the whys with him. “I was never addicted to using potions, but my best friend thought joining would help me keep my vow never to cook again.” I took another sip of wine as an excuse to collect my thoughts. “After I joined I met all these people who’d been damaged by addiction, and I was just overcome with guilt because I knew my family had contributed to the problem. Anyway, I was talking to the leader of the group one night about it and he suggested that giving back would help alleviate the guilt.”

  Hart nodded. I guess if anyone could understand that it was him.

  “He probably meant I should volunteer at a mission or something when he suggested it. But about a week later, I saw an article in the paper about how the police were under fire due to the magic-related violence in the Cauldron and how they were having trouble recruiting new officers as a result.” I laughed at my younger self. “And I thought, well, hell, with what I know about the Cauldron’s covens, I could help. The next day I signed up to take some criminal justice classes at night school. It took me three years to get my degree, and another six months at the academy and probationary patrol before I finally got sworn in.”