by Raven Snow
"As you were the last one to see him alive, I'm going to need you to come down to the station for questioning."
I shot him a sharp glance. "Wyatt and Cooper were there too."
He smiled. "But they, unlike you, have alibis."
I cursed under my breath and let him haul me into his police cruiser. If he'd been up, Wyatt would've never stood for this, something both Kosher and I knew. But if I woke Wyatt up, the whole house would follow. And I didn't know if I could take the smug look on Charles' face without losing what was left of my sanity.
He sat me down in one of the interrogation rooms and then made me wait in there for the better part of the hour. The tactic was used to make criminals jumpy and ready to confess, but I was relatively calm. The room wasn't unfamiliar to me, and not just because Wyatt and I make out in it sometimes.
For a few minutes before Kosher came back in and took away my calm, I laid my head down on the cool metal of the table, wishing I had gotten more than a wink of sleep last night. And the night before that. And so on for the past week or so.
Beyond being tired, I was really starting to feel the wear on my body. My mind didn't think as fast, my movement slow and uncoordinated. It felt like I was swimming through a sea of gelatin, fighting against the squishy tide.
Kosher slammed his palm down on the table, and my head slapped up painfully. He'd also turned up the light in the room, and I blinked against the shine, wondering if my eyes were as bloodshot as they felt.
"You look like shit, Beck. Guilt over snapping and murdering a promising young man?"
"You are neither young nor promising, and I haven't killed you. Yet."
His smile was all friendliness. "Threatening a police officer?"
I put my head back down on the table. If he'd just brought me here to banter, I'd need a rain check.
"Hope's staying with me, you know." I opened a single eye to see how that sat. From the look on Kosher's face, I'd say not well.
"Her mother spoils her. She's going to grow up rotten." When he couldn't meet my eyes anymore, he looked away.
"She's already rotten," I agreed. "But she still doesn't like you. I wonder how long Vic will put up with that?”
He rose from his seat, slightly red in face. “We’re done here.” The door slammed shut after him. Apparently I’d hit a sore spot.
Checking the clock on the wall, I groaned. I was late for family football—a Bennett family tradition that sounded horrible. Still in my pajamas, I called Oliver to pick me up on his way to the field.
He was dressed in a crop top jersey and tight shorts. When he noticed me staring, he laughed and told me there was a matching outfit for me in the trunk.
“I don’t think that’s the impression I want to make.” Then again, neither were pajamas.
Oliver paid me no heed, humming merrily to himself. This was the only part of the wedding he was excited about: being tackled by sweaty men and women down into the mud. I just hoped he didn’t bring up the naked picture to Liam. Inter-family romance was the last thing I needed to deal with right then.
In the end, I went with the crop top and shorts Oliver had bought me. It was better than too big sweats that would fall down and Wyatt's old college shirt, which had strategic holes in it now. When we got to the field, the Bennett family was stretching and going at the first round of beer. I saw Aunt Jean crack her neck, and I swallowed audibly. If that woman tackled me, it was all over.
"Where were you?" Wyatt asked, snatching a beer from Hope's hands before she could dump it over Cooper's head.
"Jail."
"Ah, must be Tuesday."
To my surprise, Sam, Wyatt's dad, was there. That made two outings in as many days. I wondered if his butt could handle the time spent away from the couch. He was standing by his wife, who was wearing a black and white referee shirt. Looking exactly like Wyatt, his brothers, and Cooper, he ran his hand through his brown hair.
He nodded at me and quieted everyone down, before saying, "Alright. Wyatt and Harper are captains. Woman gets the first pick."
"Since when?" I whispered to Wyatt before we had to part.
"Bennett family tradition."
I took Cooper before Wyatt could, leaving him honor bound to choose a peeved looking Hope. Cooper hugged me in gratitude. I don't think he realized that she was now supposed to hurt him. It’d hit him later—literally.
Charles would've been the good choice, but I went with Liam instead. Wyatt picked Vic, a latecomer in spandex, and I picked Oliver. The last time we picked two, on Wyatt's turn, to even the fact that I went first. In a strange turn of events, Wyatt got Aunt Jean and his dad, leaving me with Tom and Charles. I shot him a look that promised retribution. He just smiled at me. Clearly, he was laboring under the delusion that sharing a team would make us best buddies.
Sam tossed me the ball, and I almost dropped it, earning me a glare from two of my team members. Two guesses who. Just before we were about to get into some kind of formation, Oliver pulled me to the side. I noticed now that there were circles under his eyes, but he looked triumphant.
"I meant to tell you on the car ride over but..."
"You were too excited?"
He shuddered. "Lord knows, I love a rough tumble. But I stayed up almost all night last night researching your new brother-in-laws."
I raised an eyebrow. "What you do to get off is your business, Oli."
He shook his head. "I thought we could quiz them today on their lives. If they get something wrong, we've got our changeling."
I could've kissed him, but my fiancé and his family were just a couple steps behind us.
"Can we play now?" Tom asked, his tone a little miffed.
Smiling widely at him, I showed him my teeth. "Yes. Let's play."
Before we split ways, Oliver said lowly to me, "Tom didn't go to college. Use that."
But quizzing them during the football game turned out to be more difficult than I originally thought. If I'd been laboring under the delusion that this would be a friendly, lazy football game, those delusions were soon shattered.
Two seconds in, someone yelled hut, and I took off with the ball, not completely sure I was headed in the right direction. Out of nowhere, my future father-in-law clothes-lined me, sending me crashing painfully into the mud.
Oliver didn't fare much better, taken down by Aunt Jean a second after me. She giggled down at him as he laid there panting, holding his poor abused ribs. "Oh, dear, I squished you a bit!"
"A bit," Oliver muttered under his breath to me as I helped him up. "That woman flattened me."
"Maybe you can fit into those hot pink skinny jeans now."
The next round, I didn't wait for someone to take me down. Wyatt started off with the ball, and he easily dodged Tom when he dove for him, sending his brother into the mud. Without regret or remorse, I tackled my fiancé to the ground, sitting on his chest and throwing the ball to Oliver to run down the field with.
Wyatt's grin was quick, but his fingers were quicker, finding all my tickle spots. I slapped his hands away and informed him that was cheating.
"And sitting on me isn't? Where's the ref?"
"Just giving Oliver a chance to score." I looked at him meaningfully. "Don't act like you're not loving it."
Just then, I heard Aunt Jean laugh and Oliver groan. Wincing, I figured he'd been tackled short of the goal. After that, Sam hauled me off of Wyatt by the scruff of the collar, giving us both stern looks.
"Don't let a woman distract you, son."
"Oh, don't listen to him, Wyatt," Nancy said from the sidelines. "That old geezer let me win at our wedding football match."
Wyatt's dad's eyes twinkled, and his grin made him look twenty years younger. "Well, you gave me a good reason."
When I returned to the huddle, I interrupted Charles from saying whatever football lingo he was spraying.
"That was pretty wild, right, Tom?" I said making eye contact and grinning. "Remind you of college, right?"
"Wouldn't know. Didn't go."
Oliver and I shared a look on annoyance and then got our butt back on the field to be abused by my new family.
The rest of the morning went like that. I'd ask Liam specifics about his band, getting a full, truthful, and enthusiastic answer. Then, I'd go get tackled by Aunt Jean. Charles and Tom both answered correctly about their childhoods and past girlfriends, as well. By the time the winner (Wyatt) was called, I was thoroughly frustrated and out of questions.
Not only was the day a wash for my investigations, my body felt like I'd been beaten. Every inch of me was covered in mud, and unlike the cake incident, it didn't smell good.
Cooper kicked the ground as we went back to the benches. "We lost."
Nodding, I said, "It's all your fault too."
He stuck his tongue out at me, and I piled some mud onto his head, much to his father's chagrin. Cooper's unruly hair was the bane of his existence.
Not two feet from us, Vic was still in the tackling spirit. She let out a ‘hooha!’ and threw herself onto Oliver, the mud splattering all over the two of them as he went down face first.
I barely suppressed my giggles, crouching down to Oliver's level. "Was it everything you thought it'd be?"
"I've never enjoyed having a woman on top of me less."
Chapter Eight
Wyatt and I, to avoid looking like we forgot a crucial piece of our family, went with a Nancy-baked pie to Gran’s house that afternoon. She hadn’t been invited to the football game because I feared the casualties would have been too great for the Bennett family.
Running up the hill, I carried the pie to her door and let Wyatt do the knocking. For some reason, probably the free lawn work he did for her, she liked him better. Though if I was being honest, she liked most people better than me—her own flesh and blood.
The door swung open when Wyatt hit it, slow and creaky like in a horror movie. I was ready to pack it in and eat the pie ourselves, but Wyatt stepped over the threshold, calling for my grandmother like only a southern gentleman could.
Looking back at the door, I hoped he hadn’t damaged it. Gran might like him, but she’d take her pound of flesh in the form of actual flesh. I was pretty sure that’s what she’d done with last year’s trick-or-treaters.
I didn’t see the talking book when I followed Wyatt in, though I did see a whole bunch of other books. Gran could’ve put the country library to shame with her collection, though it was very specialized. She only read books about magic.
Wyatt went to check the living room, while I went to the kitchen. Surprisingly enough, there was a cup of tea sitting there, still warm. Gran liked tea, but what was surprising is when I took a whiff and realized it was my favorite tea.
There was a note next to the teacup with a message scrawled in Gran’s beautiful, angry-looking penmanship. I took a big gulp before reading it, sensing I’d need the fortification.
Can’t come to the wedding, it said. The fae’s magic works strangely with mine.
It was short, sweet, and to the point. Trust my Gran to not waste any time in telling her granddaughter she was abandoning her.
I heard Wyatt’s footstep, and I hastily shoved the note in my back pocket. If he read the part about the fae, he’d know I was right, and I could rub it in his face. But after that initial pleasure, I’d have to tell him my suspicions—especially the part where I wasn’t sure his brothers were alive.
I couldn’t do that to him without proof.
"I think she's gone, Wyatt," I said quietly, realizing I'd just lost one of the few friendly faces I'd see at my wedding.
"Do you suspect foul play?"
Though I usually relished in it, I wished he'd stop being the detective for five minutes.
"Can we just go home? I'd really like to lie down now."
______
In the small hours of the morning, my phone woke me up with a long ring. Groaning, Wyatt rolled away from it, muttering something I couldn't make out. I answered the ringing with a snap, not even looking to see who it was first.
"I miss my baby."
"Vic, it's 3 AM. Miss your baby during daylight hours."
She sniffed. "That's not how it works."
Sighing, I shut myself in the bathroom, listening to Vic while I kept nodding off at odd moments. Then, she would blow her nose extra loud, and I'd snap back to attention, more tired than when I started.
"Should I kick him out, Harper?" she asked quietly. "What kind of mother am I if I put my happiness before Hope’s?"
"A human one," I told her. "Is he mean to her? Hit her maybe?"
"What? No! Peter doesn't like to let on, but I know he cares about her."
"That's how I read it. Look, you know I'd rather die than speak well of Kosher, but maybe he's what Hope needs right now. Not what she wants, maybe, but kids shouldn't always get what they want."
I talked Vic off the ledge of dragging Hope home by her ear and forcing her to like Kosher. I hung up shortly after that, letting my head fall back against the bathtub for a moment.
When I came out of the bathroom, Wyatt was still in bed, but the sun had risen. I lumbered down the stairs and started a pot of tea, walking right past Hope without even realizing it for a good five minutes. After the tea was brewed, I joined her at the kitchen table.
"Something on your mind?" I asked dryly.
If I was going to lose sleep for the mother, I may as well lose sleep for her brat too. Hope kicked the legs of the chair next to her, staring intensely into the bowl of cereal in front of her. While she obviously had something she needed to get off her chest, unlike her mother, she was being closed-mouthed.
I'd just about coaxed her into spilling the beans when the whole damn family came in, a nosy parade with cheer and pancakes. Hope clenched up tighter than Vic's girdle, and I knew I wouldn't get anything out of her here.
After getting in on some of that bacon action, I stood from the table, taking Hope with me. She didn't put up much of a fight, though she did kick my ankles and pinch my wrists. The bruises were ones of love.
She was at least a head shorter than Cooper, and I didn't trust her nearly as much, so she rode in the back, pouting all the way. I find I’m more careful with other people's kids who aren't biologically mine to maim. I used to feel that way about Cooper, too, but I'd realized that his father wouldn't protest to a few missing bits.
There wasn't technically a pawn shop in Waresville. The people here put up with magic and the supernatural, but they keep their white picket fence town intact on penalty of death. All the shops around here were magical or very white bread. A fact highlighted as we passed at least five stories dedicated solely to kitchenware.
We pulled up to a tiny little store hidden between two bigger ones on the main drag. The windows were blocked out, and it advertised a myriad of household products. There were no signs that said "consignment" or "pawn," and that was how they got the zoning board to look the other way.
"Is that dirt blocking the windows?" Hope asked, turning her nose up.
"It's a mixture of paint and dirt, I think."
I left her in the car without a backward glance, guessing correctly that she'd follow me. After a moment, I heard a huff of frustration behind me, and then I had a miniature shadow. I let my lips twitch, but otherwise showed no signs of smugness. The whole point of the trip wasn't to alienate the girl.
A homely-looking woman was working behind the counter in the pawn shop and had been there for the past twenty years. The dirt under her nails matched the windows, and even from the front door, she smelled strongly of some kind of ointment.
The shop itself looked like a resale shop on steroids. Nothing was organized, the shelves housing everything from Tupperware to diamond rings and costumes. Apart from the shelving, there were plastic boxes on the floor, filled with shoes, clothes, and miniature grills.
Beside me, Hope sneezed at the heavy layer of dust we disturbed by our presence. I walked right past the clutter, not in the mood t
o shuffle through the junk even if it would save me a pretty penny. In haggling, it's important not to let the seller know how much you want it.
But I didn't have the time or patience for that today.
"Morning, Frannie," I said, approaching the counter but careful not to touch it. I'd just showered, after all.
Frannie wheezed a welcome to me. To anyone else, she would've looked old, smelly, and vulnerable. But growing up outside of Waresville gave me certain insights, and I recognized the sharpness of her gaze. She may have been smelly, but this woman was a predator.
"I'm looking for some iron."
A greedy look passed over her face. "Well, we've got all kinds of--"
"Pure iron, Frannie. And I'll know if it’s not."
That was a bit of a fib. I wouldn't know about the purity of the iron until it didn't work on any of the brothers. At that point, though, I'd happily come back here and shove it where the sun didn't shine.
She shuffled into the back room, motioning for us to follow. It was even more crowded than the storefront, because there were no shelves, so everything littered the floor.
Stopping every few feet to touch something, Frannie ran her fingers over her treasures, her face reverent like she was looking at God. Wincing, I knew this was going to cost me more than just a pretty penny.
Hope tripped over an old keyboard, and I straightened her before she could sink to the bottom of the pile, never to be seen again. Frannie took us almost to the back of the room before stopping and reaching down beneath a couple trash bags filled with stuffed animals.
I didn't see anything, and I didn't know how Frannie could either, but a few seconds later, she came back with a very old-looking fire poker. It was the old part that was going to get my wallet.
"Eighteenth century," she said, smiling widely.
"Of course it is."
But I needed iron, and I needed it now, so I told Frannie to wrap it up for me. It wouldn't do for my brothers to see me walking down the lane with an iron stick. The price did make me wince, Hope whistling at the number on the cash register, but I didn't argue. At least I wouldn't have to put my car up as collateral.
