Bound by Sorcery: A New Adult Urban Fantasy (The Half-Goddess Chronicles Book 1)

by Antara Mann

  Christina looked for it on her mobile phone. Daniel Stone had sent it to her a few months ago in a message, she said, about the time the party in question was being held. After a few minutes of searching, she decided she must have deleted it. “You have no idea how overloaded my mail is. I have to clean it out occasionally. I’m sorry,” she said and smiled apologetically.

  “Is this by chance Daniel’s colleague who’s also a member of the Hollow Skull?” Carlos showed her a new picture, which I realized must be of the deputy CEO, Mr. Larson. That was a good question.

  “I’m not sure. I saw him only once, but I think it is him,” Christina said.

  It was becoming clear why the deputy CEO was hiding information from us. I’d probably be nervous to tell the cops I was a member of an occult club, too, especially during the investigation of a ritualistic murder like this.

  “Miss Ricoletti, other than the Hollow Skull, did your boyfriend meet with other people with similar occult interests?” I asked.

  “You’re taking Daniel’s penchant for the occult very seriously, I see.”

  “Yes, ma’am. There are elements of his murder with possible ritualistic overtones,” Carlos replied. Brendan and I looked at him — he seemed to have a tendency to blurt out whatever came to his mind, which wasn’t good. Especially when we had to keep our world's existence a secret.

  “That is,” Brendan interrupted, “we are not certain what the exact nature of your boyfriend's murder was, but we cannot exclude any theories, however bizarre they may — ”

  Christina Ricoletti cut him off. “Now that’s a surprise! If Danny were killed in some bizarre occult ritual… wow!” She chuckled. “Who would have thought Daniel’s magical mumbo-jumbo would have killed him?” She looked at Carlos, curiosity evident on her face. “Do you think the things Daniel believed in are true? I mean, does magic really exist?”

  I held my breath — I had no idea what Carlos would answer her, but under no circumstances should he tell people about the existence of our world, or even about magic. If one believed that magic was real, then the next step could be the realization that mythical creatures from fairy tales and legends might also be real. And that's what the Magic Council did not want to happen, at any cost. Every investigator signed a confidentiality contract and the Council was very strict in enforcing it. Otherwise, heads rolled.

  “I don’t believe in anything, Miss Ricoletti, unless I see it with my own eyes.” Carlos said in a cool tone. He silently nodded at the werewolf, indicating that he had the situation under control.

  Christina was visibly disappointed by his response. She leaned back on the sofa and sipped at her cocktail for comfort. “For a moment I thought Daniel’s murder might have had a supernatural character,” she said sincerely. I could see where she was coming from — if my own life were so empty and devoid of adventures, my only interests being in clothes, shopping, gossip, and cocktails, I would be thrilled by the potential of a supernatural murder, too. Sorry, Christina — this was secret information.

  “Let’s get back to Mr. Stone’s friends; other than his colleague, Mr. Larson, can you think of other people in his circles or acquaintances who have shown interest in the occult and magic?” asked Brendan.

  “I would have to give that some serious thought. I have recently been quite busy with the preparation for the forthcoming review of H&M and wasn’t paying much attention to what Daniel was saying. Not that he often said much — he was a rather solitary man.” She squinted, as if straining her memory. Suddenly she got up and went to the other end of the living room, where there was a desk and a shelf with magazines and books. Christina selected a thick notebook and carried it back to the sofa.

  “Let's see what I recorded in my diary. I write everything down; I have such a poor memory.” she said, sitting down next to Brendan. She flipped through several pages in silence, then said, “Ah, here I have recorded that Daniel mentioned something to me about a special wizard, a sorcerer?” She chuckled, adding, “I have no idea what this means. Is it something like an evil wizard?” She looked at us, apparently expecting confirmation or some explanation, but no one responded. She returned her eyes to the diary and continued, “That was September nineteenth. And a few days later, on September twenty-third, Daniel brought home some books about magic.”

  I glanced at the shifters. We had gone through all the victim’s belongings, but didn’t see any books about sorcery or magic. Perhaps someone had taken them before us.

  “What were the books, and where did he keep them?” Brendan asked her.

  “Honestly, I don’t know which books they were. As I already told you, that’s not really my thing. But he kept all his books in his library.”

  If she wasn’t lying, then there was a possibility that the murderer had taken them.

  “Miss Ricoletti, we’ll need to review your diary. I’m afraid it is evidence, and we need to examine it,” Brendan said.

  "Of course, detective. For you, anything," she said suggestively. She flipped through a few more pages before handing it over, then exclaimed, “Ah! Here I mentioned where Daniel had been hanging around lately.” She pointed at a passage as she passed the notebook to Brendan.

  “The Hellfire Club,” read Brendan, and his eyes met mine.

  “What else can you tell us about this sorcerer — a name, anything?” I asked. We would read every note she had written, but I wanted to take the opportunity to test her. If she was playing games with us, she might slip up.

  Christina leaned against Brendan as he flipped through a few more pages, then she looked up at me. “No, I’m afraid that's all I’ve written down. As I said, spells and that sort of mumbo-jumbo have never interested me. At least, not until now.” She gave Brendan a sultry look. “But whoever this sorcerer was, obviously his skills didn’t protect Daniel. What a pity.”

  She was speaking of her boyfriend’s death as if an acquaintance had died, or a pet. No — most people would grieve their pet’s death more than that. I noticed Brendan and Carlos exchange a quick glance. Christina caught it, too.

  “What?” she asked. “Don’t you — Oh!” Her eyes widened as realization dawned on her pretty face. “You think that sorcerer actually killed Danny?”

  “As I said, we can’t exclude any possibility, ma’am,” Brendan told her. “By the way, we need to know where you were yesterday between ten and eleven o’clock at night.”

  “Are you asking out of a personal interest, sergeant?” Christina said, smiling flirtatiously. I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time today. This woman was unbelievable.

  “Miss Ricoletti, we are investigating your boyfriend’s murder,” Brendan reminded her.

  “Oh, fine. I just wanted to put you at ease a little. I don’t know why everyone gets so tense when a murder is involved,” Christina said and sighed. “I was in Hotel San Antonio in Milan, sleeping soundly in my bed.”

  “Can anyone confirm it?” Brendan asked her.

  “Yes. My close friend and colleague Svetla was with me — she’s a well-known Ukrainian model. We always share a hotel room.” Christina smiled suggestively at Brendan, who was visibly startled.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Thank you, Miss Ricoletti.” He stood up and we followed his example and said our goodbyes, leaving her with her fabulous modeling life.

  Outside, I turned to the shifters. “Well, what do you think, guys? I think she was telling the truth. If she was lying, she deserves an Oscar.”

  “Yeah, without a doubt, she told the truth,” Carlos confirmed.

  I looked at Brendan, who he looked somewhat concerned. Though I was still angry at him, the worried expression on his face melted away some of my bitterness toward him.

  “What is it, Brendan? Wondering how to ask Miss Ricoletti out for dinner or how to get invited to one of those swinger parties?” I teased him.

  He stopped in his tracks on the street and fixed me with a stern, penetrating gaze. “I know that place, the Hellfire Club. It’s a wel
l-known supernatural hotspot here. Non-magical creatures aren't allowed in. And since our victim was human, that means he must have known some influential supernatural who helped him gain access.”

  “The sorcerer!” I exclaimed.

  Chapter 4

  “It sounds like the victim was a big shot — or at least whoever gave him access to the Hellfire Club must have thought so.”

  Brendan shrugged. “It looks that way. By the way, Alex, the next time you step on my feet while I’m questioning a witness, I will dismiss you from the case. Am I clear?”

  I lowered my gaze to the sidewalk and remained silent. More cheerfully, Brendan said, “Okay, I’m glad we cleared that issue up. Now, we have a few pieces of key information: the Hellfire Club; the deputy CEO, Mr. Larson; and the mansion in Staten Island. I suggest we leave the club for the evening — it’s closed now anyway, and will be nearly empty until well after dark. I want to go back to UCB and talk with Larson again. I think we all agree he’s holding something back, and now it seems likely that it was connected with the victim.”

  “If I was a member of an occult club and participated in their sex parties, I wouldn’t want to disclose it to the cops, either,” I said.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Brendan said.

  “What is the Hellfire Club like?” Carlos asked the werewolf. “Have you been there?”

  “Yes, I have. It’s a meeting place for all sorts of demons, shadow-casters, dark wizards, sorcerers — pretty much all users of dark magic. True, most of them are low-level so they’re probably not a threat, but nonetheless there are a lot of them.”

  “And what were you doing there?” I asked.

  Brendan smiled. “When you work as the Magic Council’s investigator in NYC, you have to explore every avenue. Since I was transferred here, I’ve been there half a dozen times, either for information or on a lead, following a suspect.”

  “It seems I’m behind the times. Once a country girl, always a country girl,” I said.

  “Not true — I didn’t know about the Hellfire Club either, until I came here,” Brendan replied. “Besides, I’m a country boy myself.”

  “So you think that in order for Daniel Stone to be allowed into the club, he had to have been a supernatural or to have known an influential one?” Carlos asked.

  “Exactly. The Magic Council won’t like this at all,” Brendan noted.

  “I didn’t feel any magic in the victim. Maybe this sorcerer Christina mentioned is our guy, and got Stone inside.” Carlos mused.

  ‘Yes, I believe so too,” Brendan said grimly, and rubbed his forehead. “I’m starving — it’s already past one o’clock. Let’s go get a nice lunch somewhere, and I’ll call a few people to track down the owner of the mansion in Staten Island, in case Mr. Larson doesn’t loosen his tongue.”

  We had been walking as we talked, and Brendan stopped in front of a late-model BMW.

  I exclaimed, “The Council sure doesn’t pinch pennies on their investigators’ cars.”

  “Obviously,” Carlos said with envy in his voice. “In Brazil, I’m driving a second-hand Ford.”

  Brendan shrugged as he started the car. “I can’t help that.” Carlos tried to offer me the front passenger’s seat, but I insisted on sitting in the back — I didn’t want to be too close to the werewolf. We had barely fastened our seatbelts when Brendan gunned the engine, the tires squealing on the asphalt.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, clutching at the door handle.

  “The Lucky Leprechaun,” Brendan replied.

  ***

  The Lucky Leprechaun was located on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, and served as both a restaurant and a meeting point for the local supernatural community. Well, for the middle-class supernatural community, that is. Just as with humans, our world was also divided along economic lines: The wealthier magical beings hung out in their own fancy, expensive places, and the middle-class had their own too. When we entered, I was engulfed by the savory aromas of Irish stew and corned beef, mingling with a whiff of sweet desserts. Magic of all tastes and colors swirled in the air, further whetting my appetite, and my stomach started to rumble. This seemed like a good place to eat.

  We settled in at a larger table and I looked around, examining the restaurant’s customers. All were mystical beings, of course. A few of them didn’t appear human: At one of the tables near the bar I saw two hooded figures with tentacles jutting out from under their cloaks. Near them a centaur was pacing nervously from foot to foot near a table, and he looked around often, glancing at the front door, apparently waiting for someone. Two witches were seated at the table next to ours. One was quite attractive and eye-catching; she wore black clothes and a black pointed hat with a sparkling purple band, and heavy makeup – her eyes were ringed entirely in black and she had thick black lashes; even her lipstick was black. I could feel her magic, but it wasn’t strong — light and hissing, like a potion simmering in a cauldron on low heat. I’d noticed this before: Some supernaturals whose magic wasn’t very strong tried to compensate with a strong first impression. I thought it was rather silly: This trick might work on weaker supernaturals, but any supernatural who was powerful enough — such as me, Brendan, or Carlos — wouldn’t pay attention to mere physical appearance, but would rely on his or her sense of magic. The other witch, who was casually dressed as an average human, had much more powerful magic.

  The waitress came over to take our orders; my magic sense told me she was a hearth witch. She greeted Brendan by name and they chatted amiably. She asked if he wanted his usual and he confirmed — steak and French fries, as well as a cup of magic lemonade. It was clear that he came here often. She looked at Carlos and me, ready to write our orders down.

  “Um, I’m a vegetarian. I see a few meatless dishes listed in the menu, but do you offer anything else?” Carlos asked her. I almost choked — a vegetarian tiger shifter?! Well, the world had definitely gone bonkers.

  The girl thought for a moment, then said, “I’m afraid we don’t have anything additional. You can choose French fries, potato soup, cream soup, the risotto with vegetables, and pizza Margherita.”

  “Pizza Margherita — that sounds delicious. One for me.”

  “Let’s make it two,” I said.

  The girl jotted it down on her notepad and looked expectantly at us.

  “And to drink — Brendan, what did you order? Some kind of magic tonic?” Carlos asked.

  “Yes.” Brendan tossed him the menu.

  “Our magic lemonade has a light, refreshing magic that will infuse a very pleasant energy into your body. Something like a light potion. There are different flavors. You can choose from the list,” the waitress added.

  Carlos and I looked over it and the waitress said, “I'll come back in a minute, when you’re ready.”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Brendan check out her ass as she walked away.

  How could he be so irritating? Anger boiled inside of me. I focused on the menu to distract myself.

  “Wow, look at this!” I exclaimed. “They offer magic milkshakes and smoothies, and magic raw bars.” I felt overwhelmed by the variety of the restaurant’s offerings. While Carlos and I looked over the menu, Brendan was talking on his phone. I listened to him carefully. By his informal tone, he seemed to know the other party well. He asked them to find information about the Hollow Skull Society and the address for the house in Staten Island. When the waitress came again, Carlos ordered a Guinness beer with magic flavor, and I ordered a strawberry magic smoothie.

  “Well, who did you tell to find out about the Hollow Skull thing?” I asked the werewolf from behind my magic smoothie. It was a delicious drink, with a distinctive magic aftertaste. Sizzling fireworks fluttered on my tongue — a very pleasant experience.

  “Corrie. She is with the Council, and also in the NYPD. She often helps me gather information for cases.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” Carlos interjected. “A curious combination. I’ve never tasted a
nything like this. In Brazil and Spain there are a few magic bars and restaurants exclusively for supernaturals, but unfortunately they don’t offer drinks with any magic in them. They are just meeting places for our community,” he mused.

  “I get the feeling you're liking the supernatural pulse of NYC,” I said, and chuckled.

  “It’s a bit too soon to judge, but so far I do like it here quite a lot,” he admitted.

  The waitress soon brought our meals and we all fell on them greedily. The pizza Margherita I’d ordered was hot, thin, and crispy — delicious. The werewolf definitely had good taste in restaurants.

  We were finishing up when Brendan’s mobile rang. “Hello,” he said, tossing the last of his fries into his mouth. He had long since devoured the steak. Like most other shifters — Carlos being an exception to the rule — Brendan loved meat, especially steak. “Yes, Corrie, I’m listening.” He paused, his attention fully focused on the phone conversation. He even stopped chewing. “Really? This is interesting. Elliott Rumford, right?” Brendan wrote down the name on the napkin before him. “Yeah, thanks, Corrie. Once again, I owe you one. Pardon? Well, so far everything’s going fine. Yes, yes, I know. See ya later. Bye.”

  He hung up and said, “The Hollow Skull society’s headmaster is a man named Elliott Rumford.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Great. And how did your assistant find this information? Care to share?” I asked and sipped the last of my smoothie. I had a sinking feeling that Brendan had turned his affections to that Corrie girl after he transferred to New York. He smirked smugly and my gut wrenched. Why did his smile make me so irritated?

  “A while ago, we captured a succubus who was charged with draining the sexual energy of a victim in Manhattan. The charges were dropped because she had an iron-clad alibi: At the time of the assault she had been working at a swingers’ party in Staten Island for one Mr. Elliott Rumford. She claimed he was the master of an occult society, the Hollow Skull.”