by Amy Boyles
He stifled a grin.
“This isn’t funny.”
“It is, because boy, you are so sexy when you get angry.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I tamped down my hormones because they were threatening to take control of the situation by kissing Roman something fierce. “That’s not the point. Tell me.”
Roman rocked back on his heels. He folded his chiseled arms. “That place is full of criminals, but it’s on neutral ground, meaning no one works crime in the town it’s located in. They also picked a nonmagical town full of mostly nonmagical beings because that way they wouldn’t be recognized. What they failed to do in their research was realize that I’m here. But it doesn’t matter. In this town I’m untouchable.”
“As long as they keep their word. But what if they move the location to another town and decide to exact revenge on you for putting them in jail?”
He shook his head. “They won’t. It’s some sort of weird criminal code. They know I’m here, so I won’t be touched as long as I don’t touch them.”
“But they’re criminals,” I said, trying to explain some sense to him. “They are bad, bad people lacking a moral compass. I know. I’ve met lots of criminals even though I didn’t want to.”
He chuckled. “I know it’s weird, but that’s how it is.” He wrapped an arm around me. “Come on. Let’s find out what killed Lucinda.”
I clutched Roman’s shirt. “She was having an argument with someone. I didn’t see who. Did any of the rest of the group leave the building? Anyone you saw?”
“I got into a conversation with that same group that surrounded us when we entered.”
“Baldy and Scar Face?” I said.
He barked a laugh. “Yeah. Them. They wanted to buy me a drink.”
“That’s a reversal.”
“I didn’t take it. I went to the bathroom instead. When I finished up there, I came back out, heard the scream and ran outside.”
I gnawed the inside of my cheek. “So you don’t know if anyone was gone.”
“They were all inside.”
I frowned. “Everyone?”
His dark gaze bored into me. “Everyone. But that doesn’t mean anything, Dylan. We’re talking about magic. Any one person in that hall could’ve killed Lucinda and then used magic to come back inside. Any of them.”
I twisted my fingers. “So they’re all suspects?”
Roman nodded. “Every single one.”
“It was an electrocution spell,” Pearbottom announced a few minutes later.
“Electrocution?” I said.
Pearbottom nodded. “Exactly right.”
Roman snapped his fingers. “Which means that the energy had to be pulled from somewhere bigger than just the air around the witch.”
I smoothed the deep wrinkle forming between my eyes. “What do you mean? All magic is pulled from somewhere.”
When I first started learning magic, I was taught that it’s physics based—magic can neither be created or destroyed. To use the innate power dwelling within me, I yank energy from the world and transform it into something I can wield. That’s magic theory in a nutshell.
“What I mean,” Roman explained, “is that in order to use the electrocution spell, a witch would pull energy from a specific place. Maybe a house, a line, a building. It has to be pulled out of somewhere, charged to the witch and then forced out.”
“So where did this particular witch pull the power from?” I said.
Pearbottom glanced at the buildings around us. “That’s what we need to discover. I’ll search the buildings. Ask folks if their lights blinked.” He twirled his finger. “Men, gather up.”
The witch police circled Pearbottom as he barked orders. Roman and I shuffled off to the side.
“Well, it looks like there isn’t anything for us to do,” I said.
Roman leaned against my car. “Maybe. Maybe not.” His hawk gaze landed on Pearbottom. Within seconds the men had dispersed, scattering across the parking lot.
“Looks like they’ve got their orders.”
Roman pushed off the vehicle. “And I’ve got my own hunches.”
“What kind of hunch?” I said.
A thin smile drifted onto his lips. “Someone either intended to kill Lucinda tonight or it happened accidentally. At this point there’s a fifty-fifty chance on both sides. We don’t know yet, but my guess is that the killer had that idea from the get-go.”
He walked silently among the cars, his gaze flickering to the ground. He knelt and peeked under a truck.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for what Pearbottom isn’t.”
“What’s that?” I said.
Roman didn’t answer. He crept on, circling back near to where I’d discovered Lucinda’s body.
“I’m looking for the first option. The one which means the killer had every intention of murdering our victim tonight.”
“A victim, who I might add was up to some creepy-looking witchcraft.”
“Roger that,” Roman said. “And that’s probably connected somehow to her murder, but the first thing I want to know is the answer to my question. And there it is.”
Roman rose and strode long-legged to an empty part of the lot.
Debris littered the ground. Mostly papers, beer cans, cigarettes. But sitting squat in the center was a black rectangle about the size of a man’s boot.
“What’s that?” I said.
“That,” Roman said, squatting in front of the thing, “is the power source the witch used to kill Lucinda.”
I peered closer and realized it was a charred battery, the kind used in a kid’s electric car. “How can you be so sure?”
Roman picked up the block and blew on the side. Black dust drifted off, revealing the name Witch Power.
“Witch Power? What’s that?”
“It’s the name of a battery supply store in Huntsville. They sell batteries specifically geared for witches. They sell regular batteries too, but the secret stuff is in the back.”
“Witch batteries?” I said, unsure of any of this.
Roman’s lips quirked into a smile. “Yep. And we’re going on a road trip to visit the owner first thing tomorrow.”
THIRTEEN
Reid knocked on my door first thing the next morning. She wore a tattered bathrobe she’d had since she turned sixteen and her comfy slippers with puppy dog faces on the toes. Dark circles cupped her eyes.
I pulled her inside. “Are you okay?”
She sniffled and pulled her bathrobe tighter. “I just wanted to make sure you needed me at the store today.”
“Yes, Roman and I are headed up to Huntsville. Listen, are you okay?”
I reached for her. She pulled away. “I’m fine. Just waiting for details on Lucinda’s funeral.”
“Are you going?”
“Of course I’m going,” she snapped. “Lucinda was my friend.”
“Okay, sorry.”
Her gaze scoured over me. “Anyway. That’s all I wanted.”
She turned and left. Apparently nothing I’d told her mattered. Not that Lucinda was dealing with bad things or that Jeremy might be involved.
Uh. Clearly I wasn’t going to be able to reach Reid on my own. This would call for family power. I’d have to talk to Grandma and see what we could do for Reid.
Hopefully something, because if her attitude didn’t disappear, it would shatter our relationship.
And that’s the last thing I wanted to happen.
“Who was that?” Roman said, sidling up and kissing the nape of my neck.
I grabbed his arm tightly. “No one. Come on. Let’s go.”
We arrived at Batteries ’R’ Us right when they opened. The store was located in a cookie-cutter strip mall. I mean, you couldn’t get more vanilla than this place. A take-out pizza place butted against one side of the store, and on the other sat a nail salon.
Like I said, cookie cutter.
The owner was whist
ling when we entered. I didn’t see him, but I heard “Zippity Do Dah” coming from the back.
“Hey, folks, I’ll be right with y’all, just unpacking some stuff.”
“We’re in no hurry,” Roman said casually.
When the owner came around, he wasn’t what I’d expected. He was pudgy, nearing middle age. In fact, he reminded me of a dad who spent most Saturdays at his kid’s baseball games.
If witches played baseball. Because after all, he was a witch.
He had thinning dark hair, bright blue eyes and wore khakis with a green shirt tucked in.
“What can I help you folks with?” he said in an overly jovial manner. Like, who could get excited about batteries?
Roman lifted the plastic bag holding the fried hunk of metal. “We want to ask you some questions about this.”
The man’s eyes widened. He stuck out a hand. “I’m James Watts.”
“Roman Bane and this is my wife, Dylan.”
James took a step back. “The Roman Bane?”
Roman’s gaze shifted nervously to me. “Um…”
James’s hand started shaking. His voice raised three octaves. “You’re Roman Bane, the man who single-handedly discovered the homegrown witch terrorist group The Outs and took them down. You also hunted and captured the sorcerer Telly Shavalas, who wanted to make everyone as bald as he was. And let’s not forget one of your most famous cases, the time when you tracked the evil water witch Priscilla Wetnose after she’d come ashore, and stopped her plans to turn south Florida into a giant underwater theme park.”
I stared at Roman. Did this man have the right Roman Bane? This was my husband. He wasn’t a famous witch policeman who’d tracked all these dangerous criminals.
James nodded enthusiastically. “So yeah, I know who you are, and I’m happy to serve however I can. Let me guess, there’s a dangerous witch on the loose. One who wants to open a portal to the spirit world by using batteries?”
Roman coughed into his hand. “Listen, I just need to know who last bought one of these.”
James straightened to attention. “Sure, sure. Come on. Let’s go in back and we’ll take a look.”
I shot Roman a wide-eyed look of amazement that he expertly ignored. Instead he quietly followed James through a beaded doorway into another room.
A room of magic.
Now I’d spent time at Castle Witch and had seen some cool things, but this room was obviously magical and clearly off-limits to anyone who wasn’t a witch.
A bright yellow neon sign buzzed on the wall. In bold letters it read WITCH POWER. Electricity snapped and hummed in the room. The place had batteries, but there was a lot more to it than that. There were vials filled with different colored liquids—green, blue and pink, ready for the purchasing, along with lots of palm-sized silver globes.
“What is all this?” I said in awe.
James extended his hands. “This is where witches come when they need to refuel, recharge. We sell energy to those who have a harder time pulling it from the world, or who simply don’t want to use their own powers. Batteries for any witch at any time”—James flashed a salesman’s grin—“that’s our motto here. No battery is too big, no witch is too small.”
I fingered one of the silver orbs. “Is this legal?”
James cleared his throat. “There are limits on the amount of power that can be pumped into a battery and how many a witch can purchase at any one time. Some of the younger witches use them when finals come around. You know, they’re draining themselves of energy and might need a little pick-me-up before their next exam.”
Roman dropped the battery on a counter. “I need to know who purchased this.”
James’s fingers flexed. “The chance to help the Roman Bane in a case is unprecedented. I can’t wait to tell people you were here.” His gaze shifted to me, and he spoke as if sharing a secret. “You’re probably used to all the celebrity surrounding your husband—”
“Not really,” I muttered.
“But everyone knows Roman Bane hardly ever enters a magical store. If he does, look out! Trouble’s brewing somewhere.”
Roman’s jaw twitched. “The battery.”
James poked the air. “The battery! Yes! Now let me see.” He tapped a tablet that was secured to a frame. The screen came to life. He dragged the battery to him. “What’s the serial number on this? Most of it’s here, anyway.” He punched in the numbers. “This may take a few minutes as it searches. Sometimes there are a lot of records to go through.” He leaned back. “So the Roman Bane—I heard you finally put the witch in jail who murdered Queen Catherine.”
Roman’s jaw clenched. Queen Catherine had been Roman’s mother. Twenty years ago several witches had broken into the Witch Castle, murdered Catherine and Roman’s sisters. His father, Boo Bane, fled and had been missing up until about a year ago, when we discovered him near the castle.
“Yes, the murder was finally solved,” Roman said. I rubbed his arm. The whole situation still brought him great pain.
James’s eyes flared. “Bingo! We’ve got a match.”
My heart lurched. A name. A match. Great! This was awesome!
James scribbled something on a piece of paper and slipped it over to Roman.
“The guy was in here a few weeks ago. I remember him. He was the thin, nervous type. Not many witches like that.” James laughed. “But I guess witches come in all types just like anybody else. Anyway. That’s the name. Is there anything else I can do you for?”
Roman shook his head. “Thanks. That’s all we need.”
James escorted us to the front. He shook Roman’s hand. “Listen, if there’s anything you need, just let me know. It’s an honor being able to serve you.”
I rolled my eyes. Sheesh. Everyone was acting like Roman was some sort of witch god. He didn’t even have powers, for goodness’ sake.
“Thank you,” Roman said.
I gave a little wave, and we left. Frustration was building inside me. I was beginning to feel like I didn’t know my husband. That the rest of the world knew him better than me. I was the one married to him, for Pete’s sake.
“Who are you?” I said with more bite than I intended.
He opened my car door. “What are you talking about?”
I threw my arms up. “What am I talking about? Last night we walked into a den of thieves who all recognized you. Today we walk into a battery store—a battery store, Roman—and the guy practically falls to the ground and worships all your past deeds. Past deeds that I know nothing about, I might add. I’m left standing in the corner like a stupid wife who doesn’t have a clue about her own husband.”
“Darlin’ it’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s a big deal to me.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. He studied me as if trying to figure out if I was serious or not. “When I hunted for witches, a few of my more successful catches got out. Made some witch newspapers. It gave me a reputation.”
“I’d say,” I spat. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because up until this week I was working for the police, remember? I wasn’t working in the witch world. And even if I had told you, you wouldn’t have listened. Wouldn’t have believed it when I said some people might recognize me. I have a bit of a reputation. It wouldn’t have meant anything until you were in the thick of it. Like I said, you wouldn’t have listened.”
I crossed my arms. “Would too.”
He shook his head. “Even if you had, you wouldn’t have understood the depth of it until we encountered folks like the ones from last night or James.”
“Are you saying I’m not smart?”
“Dylan,” he said in warning, “don’t twist my words because your feelings are hurt and you think I kept something from you. You knew I used to hunt witches.”
“I knew that, but you failed to announce your celebrity status with it.”
“It’s not something I think about. My reputation precedes me, okay? That’s one reason why I d
idn’t want to go into the PI business. Witches know me. They know me and some of them fear me.”
“Why?” I said sharply. “Because when big, bad Roman Bane shows up, that spells trouble?”
“Yes,” he said in a blistering tone, “it usually does.”
The impact of his words quieted me. Part of me didn’t understand why I was getting all worked up. Roman had always been his own person. He was smart, capable, great at reeling in my crazy side. Why did his popularity bother me so much? Was it that I hadn’t expected it, or was it something simpler?
Was I jealous?
No. No way. There was no way I wanted to walk into a room and strike fear in people. The best I wanted to do was enter and have no one notice me. All that attention would make me nervous.
But Roman handled it like a pro. I would’ve been a fish out of water gasping for air. Roman let it slide off him like warm butter off a biscuit.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just didn’t expect it. I didn’t think when we got into this that you’d be so well-known.”
Darkness flashed in his eyes. “It’s not always welcome. I walk into a room and folks scatter. That’s what happens. It’s not good to be feared.”
I squeezed his arm. “I don’t think it’s that. You’re respected, by criminals and witches alike. I just—it took me by surprise. It’s an aspect of your life I didn’t expect.”
He pulled me to his chest. I curled my fingers in his shirt as I inhaled the man scent that billowed off him and trickled up my nose. Roman’s smell was literally the most soothing smell. If I could bottle the stuff and sprinkle it on my pillow at night, I would be happy.
I suppose I was happy regardless.
When he released me, I settled into the bucket seat. I wiped away a small tear that threatened to smear my mascara, the jerk. “Now. Tell me the name on that slip of paper James gave you.”
Roman smiled like a cat that had caught its prey. He fished the torn sheet from his pocket and handed it to me.
I unfolded it and read. A breath hitched in the back of my throat. “He’s kidding.”
Roman shook his head. “Nope. Looks like your very own Flynn Stone purchased that particular battery about two weeks ago. Time to track him down and ask him a few questions.”
