by Harmony Hart
“Maybe not the ideal reaction to hope for,” I said. “I’ve had enough dead men for one week.” Besides, I only have eyes for Beau. Speaking of…
“Beau!” I turned in the direction of the shop and picked up my pace. “I almost forgot I was supposed to meet him back at the shop!”
“What time?” She asked.
“Noon,” I said. “And I didn’t think to ask anyone for the time.”
“That’s easy!” She pointed to the clock tower at the end of the street. “You have seven minutes. Plenty of time! Listen, I have to go meet a client, but I’ll drop in this afternoon to take a look at your apartment and go over some ideas. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a stylish, cozy space.”
“I’ll send an owl after my meeting at the Chief’s Office,” I said. “I don’t want you to have to wait around on me, especially after you spent your entire morning making me feel better.”
I didn’t share what I was really thinking: If my interview with Detective Otto didn’t go well, Destiny wouldn’t need to worry about Morty’s apartment, because the only place I’d have for her to decorate would by my prison cell.
10
I hustled back to the retail district, reaching the shop just as the clock struck twelve—and miraculously, my feet didn’t hurt a bit. I had to remember to thank David for the magic stilettos. I had just opened the door and set my familiar tote—and sleeping familiar— inside when a deep, rich voice growled my name.
“Gemma Bradbury?”
I turned around to see a towering hulk of a man with broad shoulders, massive biceps, a dark goatee, and flowing dark hair twisted into a haphazard bun at the back of his head. He was clad in tight black jeans and a sheer long-sleeved navy tee that showed off a handful of tribal tattoos scattered over his arms and revealed every single curve of his brawny chest. He fixed his crystal blue eyes on me and smiled, the kind of captivating, intoxicating smile that promises fulfillment of your every fantasy.
“Hi,” I squeaked. Now I understood what all the fuss was about.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying you are a sight to behold,” he said. “I’m Clarence Hakim. “He offered me his hand, which dwarfed mine as I accepted. Clasping my hand in both of his, he bowed, planting a soft kiss on the back of my fingertips. “I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances. How are you enjoying Salem so far?”
“Circumstances could be better,” I agreed. Hold it together, Gemma. He might be a murderer. “But Salem is lovely. Aside from… you know.”
“Yes, I can imagine your crossing over came as quite a shock. And to find Morty like that....” Clarence shook his head, his eyes filling with a gentle sadness. Okay, so maybe the sexiest, nicest murderer ever, but still possibly a murderer.
“Do you mind if I come inside?” He asked.
“Oh, um…” I cast an awkward glance at the shop door, which Clarence picked up on immediately. He raised his hands in apology.
“Forgive me. I wasn’t thinking. Of course you aren’t comfortable inviting a strange man into the place where you just found a dead body. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
“Thanks for understanding,” I said. “We could talk out here, though. I’m waiting for someone, but he’s seems to be running a bit late.”
“I assume you’ve heard about my disagreement with Morty,” he said.
“A bit, yes. I was actually planning to come talk to you about that. What were you arguing about?”
“Morty has been pressing me for a better deal on my magical herbs,” he said. “But my prices are already as low as they can go without cutting into my ability to pay the workers a living wage.” He shrugged. “Morty threatened me, saying he’d stop buying from me and bring his supply in from Avalon instead. Which would be fine for him. He could buy from any supplier he chose. But I’m under strict contract not to sell magical goods to anyone but Morty. And now, you, I suppose.”
“That must have made you really angry,” I said.
“It did,” he admitted. “And I’m not a man who angers easily. But I also don’t believe Morty would have followed through with his threats. The logistics of importing goods from Avalon alone are enough to drive a man mad.”
“I don’t know how I’d react if someone threatened to ruin my business,” I pressed.
“I know what you’re thinking. But I didn’t kill Mortimer Montcrief.”
“Where were you at the time of the murder?”
“I spent the afternoon at home, napping. We harvest our magical herbs beneath the light of the full moon, and I wanted to be well-rested.”
“Can anyone account for your whereabouts?”
“Any member of my household staff,” he said. “You’re welcome to speak to any of them.”
“How about someone who’s not on your payroll?”
“No. Just me and the staff.” Clarence gazed at me thoughtfully. “No wife or girlfriend. In case you were wondering.”
“Thanks for clearing that up,” I said with a small smile. “I want to believe you.” And I really, really did. The idea that a man as breathtakingly beautiful, and by all accounts, as kind, as Clarence Hakim could murder an old man just didn’t sit well with me. But that didn’t mean he was innocent. “What happens with your contract with Morty now that he’s dead?”
“You’d think it would be considered null and void,” he said. “But Coven contracts don’t work like that. They don’t expire on death. The rights outlined in the contract pass to the rightful heir—at the moment that’s you, but it may eventually be Mason—and the same guidelines stay in place unless new terms are negotiated.”
“I see.” If Clarence couldn’t guarantee he’d secured a contractual win after Morty’s death, what would be the point in killing him?
“I can see why my last encounter with Morty would cast suspicion on me,” he said, “But his death has created more complications for my business, not fewer. I’m now faced with mounting uncertainty over whether I’ll even be able to sell my crops to anyone. I can afford the legal fees to sort through all of this, but I can’t afford to waste time in doing so. Are you open to renegotiating my deal with Morty?”
“Yes,” I offered. “But I’ll need some time to study the business before I can make an educated decision. In the meantime, why don’t we assume that I can continue to buy from you as the same prices as before? If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Perhaps,” he began, taking my hands in his, as he inclined his head toward mine, “we can discuss it over dinner?” His pale blue eyes, accented by occasional flecks of gold that shined like the desert sun, fixed on mine, staring so intently I thought he might be peeking into my soul.
“Discuss what over dinner?” At the sounds of Beau’s voice, I snapped back to reality.
Clarence straightened, releasing my hands with a sultry smile. “Our relationship.”
“Oh?” Beau arched an eyebrow, smiling at me through slightly clenched teeth. “That was fast.” “Our business relationship,” I clarified. Beau’s jaw relaxed a bit, and he inched toward me.
“Sorry I’m late,” Beau said. “Minor magic emergency back at the College. Are you ready for lunch?” He held up a basket filled with a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and a selection of meat, cheese, and fruit.
“Sure,” I said. “Meet you inside?”
He frowned, glancing at Clarence and then back at me. Clarence seemed nonplussed, so I took a cue from the jinn and smiled calmly back at Beau, which only seemed to fluster him more. After a few moments of deliberation, he went inside.
“Apologies,” Clarence offered once Beau closed the door. “I didn’t realize you were involved.”
“I’m not,” I said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I mean, I’m his student. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“You strike me as a woman worth breaking a few rules over,” he said. “I accept the terms offered regarding the purchase of magical herbs from my plantation. But my dinner invitation
stands.”
“Can I think about it?”
“I certainly hope you will,” he said. He kissed my hand once more. As he withdrew his fingertips from mine, the lower half of his body was enveloped in a dark blue swirling mist—what I imagined was his true jinn form—and he vanished into the sky.
11
What was that all about?” Beau asked. He had spread our lunch out across a picnic blanket on top of the bed—the one clean place in the whole apartment—and we had just finished eating a mostly silent meal. I sat across from him, feeling mildly contrite about my attraction to Clarence, even though I knew I had nothing to feel guilty about.
Well, not much at least. Purposely stirring up a bit of jealousy in Beau may have given me a thrill, but it wasn’t the most mature way to behave.
“Clarence? He came by to talk about his contract with Morty,” I explained. Honesty worked just fine here. “I took the opportunity to chat with him about their argument, and ask him a few questions about where he was when Morty was killed.” I studied his reaction as I sipped from my wine glass.
Beau’s expression gave away nothing, much to my chagrin. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think he did it,” I said. “Because he’s too attractive to be a murderer?” Beau asked.
“What? No!” I said, my pitch going up an octave. Way to play it cool, Gemma. “He seemed like he was telling the truth about his disagreement with Morty, and he has an alibi. Of course, I haven’t had a chance to confirm it yet, but I believe him.”
Beau poured another glass of wine and sat back against the headboard, watching me. “So what now?”
“I still think Mason Montcrief is the most likely suspect,” I said. “I need to talk to him.”
“He’s been busy planning Morty’s funeral,” Beau said. “But I’ll ask him to come by tonight.”
“While you’re here, right?”
“Of course.” He eased himself off the bed and started gathering the remnants of our lunch. “I need to get back to class.” “Please,” I said. “Let me clean up. It’s the least I can do after you fed me.” “I won’t argue.”
“And Gemma?”
“Yeah?”
His gaze traveled the length of my body and came to rest on my mouth for a brief instant. Finally, he met my eyes. “You look spectacular.”
“Beau,” I warned. “You probably shouldn’t say things like that if…”
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let it go unsaid. Gil will stop by to escort you to the Chief’s office in a couple of hours. Keep the door locked until then?”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“See you this evening for your first lesson. I’ll bring dinner.”
“I’ll be here,” I said.
I followed him to the front door, where we ran into Clara. Beau made a few minutes of uncomfortable small talk with her, much of which involved her running her hand up and down the length of his arm while batting her eyelashes, as I glared at her from the doorway. Once he managed to extricate himself and disappeared down the street, I threw one last dirty look her way and slammed the door.
“Hey! Some of us are trying to get some shuteye!” Titus whined.
“You’ve been sleeping all day,” I said.
“There’s a reason they call them cat naps. Because cats are really good at them.”
“I can’t argue with you there,” I said. I took in the mess of receipts she had scattered across the room last night. “Go back to sleep. Don’t worry about this mess. I’ll clean it up.”
“Thanks,” she purred. Titus hopped up into the front window, circling in a particularly sunny spot, and curled up to slumber yet again.
“I was being sarcastic,” I mumbled out loud.
I set to work picking up the receipts, stashing them neatly in an envelope. I’d need to go through them later in the week, but for now, keeping them safe from another feline-fueled accident would be enough. As I was filing the receipts away, I noticed a curious note scribbled on the back of one: CC Notice 10/31.
I flipped the receipt over and studied the front: 332 — $0. I slipped a few more receipts out, noting that each one showed a three digit number and a dollar amount, then tucked them back into the envelope and hid it between two books on a shelf near the checkout counter. I wasn’t sure what they meant—if anything—but I certainly wasn’t in the mood to lose any potential evidence that might be able to exonerate me.
In the meantime, I had a lot to learn about running this shop. I pulled out a few of Morty’s ledgers, and, after locating a fountain pen, cracked them open and dove in, losing myself in the mindless task of organization until I heard Gil’s knock on the door.
By the time Beau showed up with dinner that night, I was famished.
My meeting with Detective Otto had been uneventful—mostly me recounting what I had already told him, and him giving me one hundred eye-roll-inducing reasons why I was the most likely suspect. I did share my initial suspicions about Clarence but also told him I didn’t think he was the killer. To his credit, the Detective said he had already confirmed Clarence’s alibi with several members of his household staff.
He also told me they’d determined there was no sign of forced entry at the shop, not aside from where Christopher Irons busted down the door to get to me when he heard me screaming. He was adamant that the door was solidly in place before he kicked it open, and had several witnesses who saw him go in just seconds before them—all of whom spotted me sprawled across Morty’s body.
That only left me, and Mason, who had a key to the shop. And while the Detective hadn’t spoken with Mason yet considering all that had to be done for his grandfather’s funeral, he had it on good authority than Mason was actually at the Bank of Salem around the time of Morty’s murder. In Detective Otto’s eyes, that only left… me. Which brought us back to square one.
Luckily, Gil was able to convince him to hold off on making any arrests until they had a few more days to investigate. After all, it wasn’t like I was a flight risk.
Destiny met me back at the shop, a cinnamon cappuccino in hand, to begin the process of redecorating. In just a few short hours, we had made plans to completely transform the upstairs apartment. Titus was already looking forward to basking in the glory of her new fireside cat bed. Destiny would be coming back in a couple of days to do the actual redecorating, and I couldn’t wait to show Beau our plans.
But first, we had a meal, and then a wand lesson, to get through. I left one last tenant ledger on the checkout counter and joined Beau on the tattered green shop sofa.
“I can’t believe you have Chinese food in Salem,” I mumbled through bites of chicken lo mein. “This is delicious.”
“If you look hard enough, we have nearly every cuisine you can think of.” He bit into an eggroll, chewing thoughtfully. “Assuming it was around at least seven years ago,” he added. “When people cross over, they usually search for ways to recreate what they miss most from home. For a lot of people, that translates to food.”
“Thanks again for bringing dinner,” I said. I filled him in on the day’s events—saving the upcoming apartment transformation as a surprise—and updated him on my progress with organizing the shop.
“I was able to move through the property management books pretty quickly,” I said. “I only have one tenant ledger left, but I can’t quite figure that one out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Despite his outwardly messy tendencies, Morty kept pretty detailed notes on all of his tenants. Except one. That ledger doesn’t have any entries. Ever.”
“Which tenant?”
“Cook’s Books.”
“Interesting. The bookstore has been in Clara’s family for decades. It doesn’t make sense that Morty wouldn’t have any records on it.”
“No sense at all. Maybe it’s a new ledger. I haven’t had a chance to go through those bookcases over there. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
“I’m confident you will.” He cuffed my chin with his thumb and winked at me. “Clever witch.”
“Save the compliments on my intelligence for after our lesson,” I said, shifting our focus to my studies.
“The first lesson you need to master is a simple immobilization spell,” Beau said. “For that, you’ll need a wand.” He produced a narrow black box and passed it to me. I unlatched it, removing the contents—a long, slender dowel of pale wood—and curled my lip at him.
“This is it? This is my magic wand? It looks like an oversized popsicle stick.”
Beau chuckled. “It’s not much to look at. I’d like to follow that up with an encouraging statement like, ‘But it does the job,’” he continued. “But the reality is the Coven-issued training wands are pretty worthless.”
“Then what’s the point in using them?” I asked.
“Safety, mainly. Preventing young witches from accessing the power enabled by a custom wand until they’ve proven they can control the most basic spells. At least that’s the Coven’s position. I have a different opinion on the matter, but that’s not important.”
“Okay. So what do I do with it?” I gripped the wand in my hand, swishing it around until Beau caught it between his fingers.
“A wand is not a toy. It is a conduit for magical energy. Please don’t go waving it around like that. You could hurt yourself.”
“You’re right.” I set the wand down in my lap. “I’m listening.”
“The first spell is a defensive spell that immobilizes a person or object. First, we’ll master an object. Then, an animal. And finally, another person,” he said. “As in most magic, intention is everything.” He drew his own wand and pointed it at the fireplace. “Inmotus.” All at once, the crackling flames froze in place.
I grabbed his arm, awe-struck. “That is so freaking cool! Show me again!”
He showed me twice more before asking, “Are you ready to try?”
I nodded eagerly, brandishing my wand. With a flick of my wrist, I snapped it toward the fire and repeated Beau’s incantation. “Inmotus!”
