Outwit: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Enforcer of the East Book 1)

by Annabel Chase

“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” Lyle said. “Did he find them?”

  “I don’t know,” Cecily said. “We agreed we wouldn’t discuss it. I know he met with an intermediary at one point, but I don’t know what became of that meeting.”

  “Do you know the name of the intermediary?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Cecily replied. “Now I wish I had asked more questions.”

  “Would you mind if we searched Warren’s living quarters?” Callan asked.

  “If you think it might help,” Cecily said.

  “Certainly can’t hurt,” Callan replied.

  “He had the whole downstairs,” Lyle added. “He called it his Fortress of Solitude.” The older man chuckled. “He loved Superman as a boy.”

  Cecily smiled. “I swear that was half his attraction to Jennifer. She was a reporter for the school paper when they met. Now she’s the editor. His own Lois Lane.”

  “She does sound awesome,” I said. “It probably makes sense for us to speak with her, too. Does she live on campus?”

  “I’m not sure,” Cecily said, “but I bet you can find her at the newspaper office. That’s where Warren seemed to visit her most of the time.”

  Lyle headed toward a door between the entryway and the kitchen. “Here’s his entrance, though he tended to go in and out the downstairs door. It’s a walkout basement and there’s more privacy that way.”

  “He was always considerate of our bedtime,” Cecily said. “Didn’t want to disturb our sleep.”

  Lyle opened the door and switched on the light. “Do you need me to come down with you?”

  “No, we’ll be fine on our own, thanks,” Callan said. We started down the steps and I tried to push the images of Warren’s smiling face out of my mind. The death of a loved one was always difficult to bear, but someone with his whole life ahead of him…It was enough to send me into an existential crisis and there was absolutely no time for an emotional surge right now.

  The Fortress of Solitude ran the entire length and width of the house. It was an open plan space with a bedroom area at the far end and the living and dining area at our end. A small kitchen was off to the left.

  “How about I search this end and you search the bedroom area?” Callan asked.

  “You trust me to search for evidence on my own? I assumed you’d be checking my work over my shoulder.”

  Callan stopped to fiddle with the control knobs of the foosball table. “You seem pretty competent so far.”

  “Gee, thanks. I’m honored.”

  “Ever play foosball?” he asked.

  “No. Most of the games I played growing up were more interactive.”

  He shot the ball into the opponent’s goal and pumped his fist in the air. “This is interactive.”

  “Whatever you say.” I maneuvered my way around the foosball table and the sectional sofa to reach the bedroom area.

  His desk was a mess of loose papers and sticky notes. Oddly, there seemed to be a sense of organization within the chaos. I shifted a few papers aside and a photo of a young woman smiled back at me. She sat astride a statue of a lion outside a brick building, holding a red plastic cup aloft. She appeared to be having the time of her life. Terrene college seemed to be a far different experience from Spellslingers. If I tried to sit on Fred or George—the gargoyle statues outside our library—they’d probably bite my head off.

  “Hello, Jennifer,” I said to the photograph.

  I examined the papers to see whether there were references to Warren’s search for his biological parents or the trip to Allegheny. I found his resume, tickets to a concert, and a short story he’d apparently written about Superman. Fan fiction. I set the story aside and saw another photograph buried underneath. The young man staring back at me was Warren, but the young woman wasn’t Jennifer. Warren’s hair was slicked back and he wore a basic tuxedo. The young woman shimmered in silver sequins. They’d apparently attended a formal dance together. I smiled when I noticed she was about an inch shorter than Warren. I wondered whether Warren had chosen her as a date for that reason.

  “Find anything?” Callan called.

  I looked up to find him surrounded by sofa cushions. He looked like he was building a fort, although I assumed he was searching for hidden items. “Not yet. You?”

  “Nope. Still working, though.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” I meandered around the bedroom area, noting the stark difference between the closet and the desk. Warren’s closet was organized to the point of perfection. Every hanger was identical and shirts were hung in color order, followed by trousers. A black garment bag hung at the end of the row. Judging by the bag’s logo, his tuxedo was inside. All these clothes, never to be worn again. The thought pained me. I knew what it was like to clean out a closet. I didn’t envy his parents.

  I checked under the bed for secret boxes but only found dust bunnies. I peeked in the drawer of the bedside table and quickly shut it when I realized what was inside. Too personal. I’d let his father dispose of the contents.

  I glanced across the room to see Callan kneeling on the floor. “Are you okay?”

  “Checking for compartments under the floorboards,” he replied.

  “Oh. Should I be doing that?” Clearly, I wasn’t as savvy with hiding places since the idea hadn’t occurred to me.

  “Use magic. It’ll be faster.” He rose to his full height and dusted off his knees. “I should’ve thought to have you do a spell for the whole floor. Save my knees from cracking and popping.”

  “You hardly seem old enough for bad knees.” Even Kendall seemed too young.

  “They’re fine, but they get overused.” He shrugged. “Trials and tribulations of being a werewolf. Transformation wreaks havoc on the bones.”

  I pulled out my wand and focused my will. I wasn’t searching for a specific object, only a place where an object might be hidden. I chose a spell for unearthing secret chambers. Callan grinned when I told him.

  “Chamber of Secrets, huh?” he said.

  I frowned. “Why is that funny?”

  “Nothing, Ginny Weasley. Nothing at all.”

  Another Terrene reference I didn’t understand. I groaned and refocused on my spell. I cast it over the entire room, including the walls and ceiling.

  Nothing.

  “I guess what you see is what you get with Warren,” Callan mused.

  “I don’t know about that,” I said. “His Superman fan fiction was interesting. He told the story from Lex Luther’s point of view.”

  Callan broke into a wide smile. “Lex Luther, huh? So you do know a little pop culture.”

  “I know about Superman. My brother…” I trailed off. This wasn’t the time. “We should probably go. I bet his parents are hovering upstairs.” I didn’t blame them if they were. I’d be anxious for news, too.

  I gave the room a final sweep before heading upstairs behind Callan. When I reached the top of the staircase, the door was open. His parents lingered near the door, holding hands. Their lives would never be the same and they knew it.

  Good night, Warren. Sleep well.

  I switched off the light and closed the door behind me.

  Chapter Seven

  Callan entered the parking lot of a rundown bar and pulled into the nearest spot.

  “This is the Spot, huh?” I asked. I craned my neck for a sign. “Where does it say that?”

  “There.” He gestured to a small sign planted in the overgrown grass in front of the building. There were no words, only a black dot.

  “So it’s one of those mystery bars, I guess,” I said. “They don’t really want customers.”

  “Only paranormals can see the sign,” Callan explained, “or humans with the Sight.”

  Ah. Now I understood. “Still wouldn’t hurt to use actual letters.”

  He ignored my very practical suggestion. “Leave your weapons in the car. We can glamour the windows so no one can see inside.”

  I scrutinized the dilapid
ated building. “Are you sure we want to leave weapons behind? This seems like the type of place where a weapon might come in handy.”

  “It’s a rule,” Callan said.

  “Oh.” I left my sword on the backseat and placed my wand under my seat, but I kept the dagger in my boot. What Callan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  He cut the engine and faced me. “Word of warning before we go in. Don’t piss off the owner.”

  “Why? Afraid he’ll refuse you service next time you come in to get your drink on?”

  Callan unlocked the doors. “He’s a fallen angel named Angus. When he’s good, he’s good. When he’s pissed off…Well, let’s not do that.”

  I’d never met a fallen angel. “Cast out of paradise, huh? What’d he do?”

  “Got himself banished to Terrene is what he did,” Callan said. “Works out for me, though. He tends to be a decent source of intel most of the time.”

  “Then why weren’t you happy about coming here?” I asked.

  Callan’s nostrils flared. “The Spot can attract a rough crowd.”

  “Not too rough,” I said. “Otherwise Warren and his friends wouldn’t have come here. They were the misfits, remember?”

  “I remember.” He popped open his door. “Let me do the talking.” He slipped out the driver’s side.

  “Why? What could I possibly say that would be a problem?” I vacated the car and hurried after him.

  “I’m just taking precautions. I should also mention that Angus only has one eye and no wings, so try not to gawk.”

  “I would never gawk,” I said.

  “You gawked at Mona when you met her,” he pointed out.

  “She’s freakishly tall,” I shot back. “I didn’t know she was an Amazon.”

  We entered the bar and Callan swore under his breath.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “New bartender,” he said. “I hate breaking in new folks.”

  The clientele appeared surprisingly young. I’d envisioned a room full of geezers throwing darts and shooting pool, but there was a group of younger patrons dancing by the jukebox and another group engaged in a beer chugging competition. We drew a few curious looks as we sauntered up to the bar.

  The beefy weretiger behind the bar ambled over to wait on us. Beneath his plaid button-down shirt he wore a black T-shirt emblazoned with the image of an adorable white cat. “What can I get for you and the lovely lady?”

  “Whatever’s on tap for me and a cider for the lady,” Callan said.

  “I don’t need anything, thanks,” I said.

  Callan gave me a sharp look. Apparently, I needed to order a drink. Maybe that was part of the protocol.

  “I think your boyfriend wants you to have a cider,” the bartender said. He seemed mildly amused.

  “He’s not…” I faltered. We were role-playing. Naturally, I was his girlfriend. “A cider is fine, thanks. I like your top, by the way.”

  The bartender glanced down at the cat image and smiled. “Thanks. I have a whole collection of cat T-shirts. My favorite is one with a cat eating pizza and tacos with a rainbow behind it.”

  I leaned my elbows on the counter. “Sounds amazing. I have one with a cat disguised as a unicorn. It’s the cutest.”

  “I love unicorns,” the bartender said. “I have a couple unicorn T-shirts too. Very popular with the ladies.”

  “I bet. What’s your name?”

  “Alf,” the bartender replied.

  “Nice to meet you, Alf,” I said. “I’m Cerys and this is Callan.”

  “Let me get you those drinks. Don’t want anyone going thirsty on my watch.” Alf lumbered to the other side of the bar.

  Callan gaped at me. “Are you finished comparing notes on your wardrobe?”

  I flashed an innocent look. “What’s wrong with being nice?”

  “We’re not here to make friends.”

  “You told me not to piss off the angel. I would think being nice to his staff helps with that.”

  Callan grunted. “You have a lot to learn, Goldi…” He caught himself. “Cerys.”

  Alf returned with our drinks and set them on the bar. Callan handed him a folded bill.

  “You seem to cater to quite the underaged crowd here,” Callan said.

  Alf shrugged his broad shoulders. “I check their IDs.”

  “Not very closely,” Callan said.

  The bartender’s expression turned stony. “Who’re you? You don’t smell like ABC. They’re always human. You stink of wolf.”

  “Did you say stink?” Callan repeated. His whole body tensed.

  Uh oh.

  “Alf didn’t mean it as an insult, did you?” I looked at Alf expectantly.

  Alf’s expression softened. “It wasn’t meant as an insult, but I can see how it might have been taken that way. I apologize.”

  I took a sip of cider. I liked the taste, but it was heavier than I expected. No way would I finish it.

  Callan leaned forward, a menacing glint in his eye. “We’re not ABC. We’re here to see Angus. Tell him it’s Callan from the League.”

  Alf gave us the once-over before pressing a button under the counter. “Tell him yourself. He can see you now.”

  Callan glanced up at the camera embedded in the ceiling and winked. I hadn’t even noticed the camera before now. Some investigator I was.

  The red door at the back of the bar clicked open. “That’s our cue,” Callan said.

  I gave Alf a wave. “It was great meeting you.”

  “You, too,” Alf said. “Might I suggest a new boyfriend, though? I think this one’s defective.”

  A low growl escaped Callan, but he said nothing. We threaded our way through the bodies of drunken fools and I tried to keep elbows from knocking into me and spilling my cider. There were no guards. No bouncers. We slipped through the open doorway and the door closed behind us. Tiny lights appeared in the corridor to guide us. Fey lanterns. We reached a door at the end of the corridor painted a golden yellow.

  “Why use fey lanterns in Terrene?” I asked quietly.

  “Ambience,” Callan replied simply.

  “The soft glow reminds me of home,” a voice boomed. “Come in, Callan from the League. And bring your witch, though I doubt very much she’s your girlfriend. She’s far too attractive for you.”

  Angus’s office was designed to look like the hull of a ship, complete with portholes for windows. Between the room and his appearance, he seemed more like a pirate than a fallen angel. He was a broad man with a patch over one eye and dirty blond hair that he wore slicked back in a low ponytail. Someone had drawn a crude image of an eye on the patch. He looked like the kind of man that could fling you across the room under the guise of arm wrestling. Callan was right. I had no desire to piss him off.

  “Sit, my friends,” Angus said. “I’m always in the mood for decent company.”

  “You’re in good spirits,” Callan said.

  “Busy bar tonight.” Angus smiled, revealing a set of stained teeth. “Busy bar means a happy Angus. I’m saving up for a wing replacement procedure. Costs the earth, though.”

  My gaze became riveted to a glass enclosure on the desk. Energy pulsed around the case. Whatever was inside apparently warranted a protective ward.

  “We could use your help,” Callan said. “We’re trying to solve the murder of twelve people.”

  “Eleven,” I corrected him.

  Callan shot me a look of disapproval.

  “Which is it?” Angus asked.

  “A dozen,” Callan said. “My associate needs to brush up on her basic math skills.”

  I realized my mistake. If there was a slim chance Angus knew something or was involved, Callan didn’t want him to know that Ben had survived. It would only put him in more danger. No wonder he wanted to do the talking. I felt like an idiot.

  Angus whistled. “A dozen, eh? That’s a whole team.”

  “Of what?” I asked.

  Angus waved his hand airily. “Of
whatever organized games humans play. I don’t give them much attention. Too many balls involved, though I adore the violence. They should just dispense with the ball and beat on each other. Far more entertaining.”

  “I think that’s called boxing,” Callan offered.

  Angus leaned back and placed his feet on the edge of the desk. Unsurprisingly, they were enormous. “So how can I help you with this investigation?”

  “The victims were known to congregate here,” Callan said. “I’d like to know whether they all had the Sight.”

  “They were here, weren’t they?” Angus said. “That should answer your question.”

  “I’m not so certain,” Callan said. “They were part of the same fraternity. I wonder whether only one or two of the guys possessed the ability and brought the others here.”

  “For what purpose?” Angus asked.

  “A unique experience?” Callan proposed. “They were mostly underaged. Only a few were twenty-one and over.”

  Angus’s one good eye narrowed. “Are you accusing me of serving minors illegally?”

  “I’m not saying you knew about it,” Callan said. He didn’t flinch under the weight of Angus’s threatening glare. “I’m simply reporting a fact. I’m not here to bust you for serving minors, Angus. I told you I’m tracking a mass murderer. Priorities.”

  Angus appeared to relax. “Which night were they last here?”

  “Last Thursday,” Callan said.

  Angus stroked his square jaw. “Shayla was working that night. The young lads always stream in when she’s behind the bar.” He shifted his attention to me. “Succubus, you see. Always in demand.”

  “Is she around?” Callan asked.

  “She’s doing inventory downstairs tonight. I’ll call her up.” Angus opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a blunt silver object. He brought it to his mouth and blew. Although no sound came out, Callan winced. Angus seemed satisfied. He dropped the object back into the drawer and closed it.

  Did he just summon her with a dog whistle? I tried to maintain my composure and remind myself that Angus was very large and very much in charge.

  “You rang, boss?”

  I swiveled around to see a gorgeous brunette framed in the doorway. Her brown hair was braided down her back and her eyes were thick with makeup.