Mags & Nats 3-Book Box Set

by Stephanie Fazio

  As we walked back to Kaira’s house, we both tried to make sense of what we’d learned.

  “What I don’t get is why someone would go to all the trouble of making himself look like you,” Kaira said. “I mean, why not just wear a ski mask?”

  “Unless the killer really was an Illusionist,” I pointed out.

  Kaira shook her head. “First off, I can’t imagine there’s another unMarked Animate Illusionist who is powerful enough to pull off that complete of a transformation. Second off, like Michael said, there’s no reason a Mag would do something like this. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  None of it made sense. I had been over and over every piece of the puzzle, and nothing was lining up. My analytical brain was screaming in protest.

  Kaira chewed on her lip. “And what about that thing Grandma Tashi said about it not being personal? It certainly looked personal.”

  “Maybe Penelope was drugged,” I suggested. “A hallucinogen maybe, or something to make her think the guy was me?”

  The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The murderer could have fooled the witnesses from afar with some makeup, a wig, and the right clothes. But maybe there had been a different kind of magic at work to make Penelope believe the man who approached her really was me.

  The detective who interrogated me hadn’t said anything about drugs, but he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with information.

  “Any mid-level Alchemist could make something like that,” Kaira said, nodding. “And the Alchemist who made the potion might not have been the one to give it to Penelope. Maybe a Nat bought the stuff and then—”

  “Hey,” I said, stopping on the sidewalk as a thought occurred to me. “That guy who called in the murder before it happened—”

  “Bobby Axelrod,” Kaira supplied.

  “Didn’t you say he was an Alchemist?”

  Kaira’s mouth formed an O of surprise. And then, a slow smile spread across her face. “You think he made the potion that killed Penelope?”

  “Or maybe it was Jonas Meddlesworth, and this Axelrod guy somehow found out about it. Either way, it seems like a pretty big coincidence that two Alchemists are now involved in all of this.”

  “It’s certainly more than we had a little while ago,” Kaira agreed, her eyes bright with excitement.

  “Can Smith get access to Penelope’s toxicology report?”

  Kaira pulled her phone out and texted with one hand while she used the other to balance the tray of food.

  I felt the first spark of hope since my arrest. An Alchemist’s drug would explain at least why Penelope thought I was her killer, even if it didn’t explain who had administered the drug or why he would have wanted to frame me. Still, it was a start.

  CHAPTER 14

  When we got back, everyone was in the living room. Smith had a live feed projected on the blank wall. It showed the interior of what I assumed was Jonas Meddlesworth’s bedroom. I had never seen the inside of Jonas’ house, but I recognized his wife. She was sitting with two detectives, shivering under a blanket wrapped over her shoulders. The white carpet next to the bed was covered in blood.

  Those horrible words, “Die, Mags,” were written in blood on the wall.

  “Hey, congrats on getting framed for another murder,” Yutika said without looking up from the sketch pad she was drawing on.

  “You’ve been a busy little bee,” A.J. confirmed. “Buzzing here, killing Mags there—”

  Kaira shut him up by dropping the pan of lasagna into his hands. A.J. oofed, exclaimed something about Ma’s cooking, and skipped off to the kitchen.

  “Well, at least we know for sure Graysen isn’t the killer, since he was definitely at Ma’s when this one happened,” Bri said.

  “There was never any question about that,” Kaira replied, a warning in her voice.

  Bri’s grin faltered. “I was just saying—”

  Her words trailed off and were replaced by Smith’s muttering. He was sitting on the couch with his eyes closed.

  “Who’s he talking to?” I asked, sitting down next to Yutika and glancing at her drawing. It was of a hundred-dollar bill.

  “Video camera drone,” she said without looking up from her sketch pad.

  Smith continued his quiet mumbling. “A little to the left. Back an inch. No, get back behind that tree! You want to give yourself away?”

  “That camera’s got great resolution,” I said, impressed. There wasn’t even a hint of graininess.

  “Yeah, Smith and I make a pretty good team.”

  At the puzzled look I gave her, Yutika glanced up from her drawing. “He tells me exactly what he wants, and then I draw it. I keep trying to convince him to sell some of the cool stuff we’ve come up with, but then he gets going about the Alliance using it to spy on citizens…so I’m stuck doing this.”

  I looked down at her sketch pad, where the drawing of the hundred-dollar bill was no longer a drawing, but an actual one hundred-dollar bill.

  “That’s incredible,” I said, admiring the crisp bill.

  “I know.” Yutika grinned as she started on another one.

  I watched as a few strokes of her pen produced Benjamin Franklin’s likeness. A few more, and the United States Federal Reserve System seal appeared.

  I turned my attention to Smith. “Any chance that video has audio capabilities?”

  Smith scoffed, and without opening his eyes, said, “The Nat wants to hear what’s going on.”

  A few seconds later, a set of speakers in the corner of the living room crackled to life. Cops’ voices and movements came through the speakers and coincided with the images projected on the wall. The audio narrowed, and the conversation between Mrs. Meddlesworth and the detectives came into focus.

  “Ma’am, did your husband have any enemies who might have wanted to harm him?” one of the detectives asked.

  “No,” she sniffled. “My husband was a model citizen. Everyone adored him!”

  I exchanged a look with Kaira. I hadn’t been a fan of my dad’s boss before the scumbag hit on my girlfriend. The man might not deserve to be murdered, but that didn’t mean I could bring myself to mourn the guy.

  “Was it that Graysen Galder?”

  I jerked my attention at the wall, where Mrs. Meddlesworth was staring at the detective. “Did that Magic-hater murder my husband, too?”

  “We believe so, Ma’am,” one of the detectives replied.

  “I just don’t understand why he hasn’t already been executed. How do you people just let someone as dangerous as him escape?” She sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. “If you people were more competent, my husband might still be alive.”

  Kaira came and stood beside me, her shoulder just touching my arm. It wasn’t something any of the others would notice, and it said everything I needed to hear. I was grateful.

  “Smith, what do we know?” Kaira asked.

  The Techie opened his eyes, and the feed immediately cut off.

  “No DNA evidence at the scene. Mag cops believe it was a single intruder. No one seen coming or going from the residence. Graysen’s their only suspect, but only because they don’t have any other ideas.” He rattled off the facts of the case, all of which were infuriatingly useless.

  “Oh, and Meddlesworth quit his job at the Alliance six months ago, but he was still getting an income of fifty-thousand a month from an untraceable offshore account.”

  Everyone stared at Smith.

  “Fifty-thousand a month?” I repeated.

  “You could have led with that little tidbit,” A.J. muttered.

  “Do you think he was involved with drugs?” Bri asked.

  “It would make sense why he was making so much money without any record of a job,” Michael said.

  “And don’t forget about Bobby Axelrod,” Kaira said. “What are the odds that one Alchemist calls in about Penelope’s murder and goes missing, and then another Alchemist shows up dead with the same calling card as Penelope’s murderer?�
��

  It was obvious there was some kind of a connection, I just couldn’t figure out what it might be. What did two Alchemists most likely involved in some kind of illegal drug work have to do with Penelope? And why did they choose me to frame for the murder?

  “Were you able to get Penelope’s toxicology report?” Kaira asked Smith.

  Smith waved his hand, and images of enlarged documents filled the blank wall. My heart raced as I stepped forward to study them.

  It took about five seconds for all of my hopes to fall. My only theory about how the killer might have tricked Penelope crumbled into dust.

  There was no trace of drugs or anything unusual. She didn’t even have any alcohol in her system.

  I sank down on the couch.

  “It was a good theory,” Smith said with a shrug.

  “Maybe Axelrod’s wife will tell us something useful tonight,” Bri said, giving my arm a sympathetic pat.

  Over a quick meal of Ma’s lasagna, Kaira and I told the others what Grandma Tashi had said. No one else had any ideas about what might have led Penelope to believe I was her killer. We all agreed that we’d know more after tonight. I hoped our optimism wasn’t all for nothing. I didn’t think I could handle any more dead ends.

  “Okay, cats and kittens.” A.J. clapped his hands, and the lasagna trays re-wrapped themselves and put themselves in the fridge. “Time to get club ready.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  “Here we go,” Michael muttered.

  “I’m gonna need some eyeliner from you.” A.J. pointed at Bri, who grinned and nodded at him. “And you.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Michael. “I want you in those fancy pants I gave you for Christmas. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about them.”

  Michael scowled. “I don’t wear fancy pants.”

  “No, that’s right, I forgot. Because you’re boring.” A.J. rolled his eyes up at the ceiling and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, lucky for you, I have someone new to play dress-up with.”

  “He’s talking about you,” Yutika told me.

  Two shopping bags zoomed across the room. One of them would have hit Michael in the head if he hadn’t ducked. They came to rest on the floor next to my chair.

  “I picked up some clothes for you,” A.J. told me. “Suits, casuals, jammies…I wasn’t sure if you were a boxers or briefs kind of guy, so I got some of each….”

  “Thank you,” I said. “But I don’t have any money. When I was arrested—”

  A.J. waved a hand, and the hundred-dollar bills Yutika had stacked on the coffee table rose into the air and did a little dance.

  “Oh, right.” I grinned. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” A.J. glared at Michael and Smith. “Some people don’t appreciate men’s fashion.” He straightened his turquoise bowtie. “I have higher expectations for you, Nat.”

  I was suddenly concerned about A.J.’s idea of fashion, but I decided not to say anything. I’d wear a paper bag to this night club if it would help get me answers.

  The Six scattered to their own rooms to get changed. I stayed downstairs, the mammoth toxicology report blown up on the wall like it was mocking me, while I unwrapped the first set of clothes I found in the bag.

  They weren’t as bad as I was expecting. The pants and shirt were more fitted than the clothes I usually wore, and the colors were brighter, but at least there were no bow ties or polka dots. It was certainly better than wearing the suit I’d been arrested in.

  Michael and Smith were the first ones back downstairs. As far as I could tell, neither of them looked any different from when they’d gone up.

  “A.J.’s going to be pissed,” I commented, coaxing a smile out of the big guy.

  Yutika came down next, and I noticed the way her glance went right to Michael. I wondered if the feeling was mutual. My answer came when Yutika bent down to pick up a few of the bills from the coffee table, and I saw Michael check her out.

  My stomach did its own little flip when Kaira came down the stairs. She wore skin-tight black pants, black heels that got her almost to my height, and an orange top that bared her stomach. I turned away, even though all I wanted to do was devour her with my eyes.

  “Looking good, Girlfriend!” A.J. told her.

  Understatement of the century, I thought.

  Bri and A.J. were the most dressed up of the bunch. A.J. was in a pastel-purple suit with a yellow shirt and black bow tie. His shoes were purple; too. I didn’t even know they made purple dress shoes.

  Bri was wearing a white dress and had curled her blonde hair. With her red lipstick and pearls, she looked like she belonged on one of those rounded bridges under a tree covered with Spanish moss. All that was missing from her southern belle routine was the accent.

  I didn’t notice much else after that. I was too busy sneaking glances at Kaira out of the corner of my eye as she moved around the room.

  “I’m a genius,” A.J. said as he scrutinized my outfit. “That shirt totally brings out the Turks and Caicos of your eyes that I bet all the Nats go loco over.”

  I couldn’t help myself. My gaze flicked to Kaira. She was studiously examining one of Yutika’s hundred-dollar bills on the coffee table and didn’t look up.

  Smith handed all of us tiny Bluetooth earpieces that were almost impossible to see unless someone was right on top of us. Apparently, Smith always stayed in the van when the Six were on a job so he could do his Techie thing. The others did the more hands-on work of ferrying their client out from wherever they were trying to escape. The Six seemed to take all of our preparations in stride, but I had the surreal feeling I was playing James Bond or something. I had to stop myself from requesting that my martini come shaken, not stirred.

  When we filed out of the house and into the garage, the white van the Six had used to break me out of jail was gone. It had been replaced with a blue one of a different make and model. I didn’t remember the license plate on the other van, but I guessed this one was different.

  I turned to Yutika. “Your work?”

  “You know it.”

  I shook my head in amazement. “I’m glad you guys are on my side.”

  I was rewarded with a smile from Kaira.

  Michael drove, which made for a decidedly smoother ride than when Yutika had been behind the wheel. He parked in a handicapped spot right on Commonwealth Ave. Yutika did a quick sketch on her note pad. I watched as the drawing became a real handicapped tag, which Yutika passed up to Michael to hang from the rearview mirror.

  “We’re all going to hell,” I muttered.

  The others grinned and shrugged, looking less than apologetic as everyone except Smith piled out of the van.

  When I caught sight of my reflection in a dark window, I startled before remembering I was now a Hispanic man with tattoos and a shaved head. It wasn’t a bad look on me, all things considered. At least Kaira hadn’t turned me into a girl, which she’d done on a few occasions. That had really been trippy.

  I followed the others down a side-street and tried to be cool as I stepped into my first Magic club. It wasn’t exactly against the rules for Naturals to go into Magic clubs or vice versa, but there was a tacit understanding that bars and clubs weren’t usually places for mixed company. There was so much justifiable unease when it came to the third law, that places involving alcohol and scantily-dressed patrons catered to Naturals or Magics…not both.

  My illusion wouldn’t keep Magics from recognizing I wasn’t one of them if they bothered to look, but the Six had assured me no one would pay enough attention to me to realize I was a Nat.

  As soon as I stepped inside, it was immediately obvious that this was like no club I’d ever been to.

  The dancers on top of the bar were Contortionists, literally becoming boneless as they twisted into positions that would be impossible for anyone with a skeleton. Drinks zoomed across the room and delivered themselves.

  There was a band, but no musicians. The electric guitar, cello, and keyboard
were playing themselves. I knew there must be a group of Magics somewhere who were controlling the instruments, but I couldn’t see them through the crowd.

  The club was packed. If Bri hadn’t gone first, using her titanium body to cut a path for the rest of us, we never would have made it to the bar.

  Smith’s voice crackled across my earpiece. I tried to be subtle as I pressed the earpiece farther into my ear. It was so loud in here, I barely heard when Smith asked, “Any sight of her? Nancy Axelrod, age forty-four. Alchemist, Level 2. Height: five feet six inches—”

  “I see her,” Kaira said through my earpiece. “Far left of the bar.”

  “She won’t hear me over all this noise,” Michael’s deep voice replied.

  “She doesn’t look like she’s in the mood to chat without Michael’s persuasion,” Yutika observed.

  As I looked at the bartender, I realized Yutika was right. Nancy Axelrod was nervous. Her eyes kept shifting around as she worked. She spilled a drink she was handing over the bar because her hands were shaking.

  “Everyone spread out and keep an eye on her,” Kaira’s voice said into my earpiece. “We’ll get her on her way out of the club.”

  I knew it was the right play, but it didn’t make the situation any less infuriating. I needed answers.

  “What do we do in the meantime?” I asked, trying not to let my frustration come across in my voice.

  “This is a party, Boyfriend. Enjoy yourself,” A.J. told me.

  Right.

  “Michael and I will stay close in case she decides to leave early,” Kaira said. “The rest of you, hang out near the exits in case she tries to bolt. And turn off your mike when you don’t need it so we don’t get so much backfeed.”

  I turned off my microphone and let the crowd push me away from the center of the dance floor. I found myself near the back entrance of the club with Yutika. It was quieter and less crowded back here, and it gave us a view of the bar, as well as the club’s front door.

  “I forgot it was you for a second,” Yutika giggled, giving my arm a friendly punch. “You look super bad-ass with that illusion.”

  “Oh, right.” I glanced at my unfamiliar reflection in the mirror on the back wall. “I don’t think Kaira’s ever given me the same face twice. It’s going to give me an identity crisis one of these days.”