by Neha Yazmin
Yes, I had a feeling it would take time for the witch community to warm to the new governing body…
“Besides,” Simone goes on, “my parents don’t think Imogen was kidnapped.”
After several moments’ pondering, I inhale deeply and look Simone in the eye.
“We have to assume the worst here.” Unlike the police and Imogen’s parents who’re assuming the best, that Imogen’s just taken off to get some space. “And since Imogen’s boyfriend is the only shady character here, we have to assume he’s up to his neck in this. We have to go see him.”
“Finally!” Jax moans, rolling her eyes. “Can we go now? Midnight is only a few hours away…”
“Will he be home now?” I enquire; its 5pm. “I mean, doesn’t he work?”
“He’s a student,” Simone replies. “Well, he was one – he did his final exams the same time as Imogen did. Last month.”
“So, he’s 21?”
Hmm, I was picturing an older guy…
“He looks older, though,” Jax chips in.
Before I can ask Jax how she knows what this guy looks like at all, Simone says, “He acts like he’s older, too. Imogen used to say he’s really mature and cultured.”
She shrugs.
“Did they go to the same Uni?” I ask.
“No. They met at an exhibition. He was one of the models in the photographs on show. Apparently, he has a lot of photographer friends and models for them all the time…”
“Wait. Is this the guy in Imogen’s photos in her studio?”
Simone seems surprised by my question.
“Didn’t we tell you that already?” Jax looks sheepish.
So, the extremely handsome guy in the photos in Imogen’s studio is the prime suspect?
I should’ve guessed.
“Well, if he’s recently finished Uni, he probably isn’t working at the moment. Let’s go see if he’s home.”
We get to our feet.
“All of us?” Simone asks uncertainly.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, I do,” she says eagerly. “I was just expecting you to say that it’s not safe for us, and the only reason you’ll let Jax come with you is because of her gift.”
“It’s not safe,” I tell them both. “But I’ll be able to protect you.” My voice is almost smug. “Besides, he’s more likely to talk to me, if you’re with us, Simone.”
As Jax locks her front door behind us, I ask Simone what her sister’s boyfriend is called.
“Callum,” she answers. “Callum Dent.”
Chapter 5
CALLUM DENT LIVES IN A ONE-BEDROOM FLAT THAT’S LESS THAN A 5-MINUTE WALK FROM KING’S CROSS STATION.
Naturally, we take the train there.
I use a simple illusion spell to ensure that the ground floor security and reception staff won’t see us sneak past them and make our way up to the third floor to Callum’s apartment.
As I’m about to ring the doorbell, Jax puts a restraining hand on my shoulder.
Index finger pressed against her lips – the classic “shush” gesture – Jax puts her hand on the door handle, aiming to see its recent history.
Her shoulders sag in disappointment when she drops her hand.
She got zilch from the handle.
Superfluously, she whispers, “Imogen’s never touched this door. Or so it would seem.”
Whenever Imogen came here, she must’ve come with Callum – never by herself – and he must’ve opened the door for her.
Proper gentleman.
I press the doorbell. We can hear the jingling resonate through the flat.
That’s all we hear. No footsteps approaching the door. No TV. No music.
Just silence.
I ring the bell again, and again.
Finally, and just as Jax starts suggesting that I use an unlock spell to break in, we hear the words, “Coming, coming,” and the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the front door.
That same voice says, “Yes, what is it?” as the door is unlocked from the inside. The tone isn’t rude or hostile, just posh and curious.
Then the door opens, and Callum stands there, eyebrows arched at me.
I swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry, as my eyes take him in bit-by-bit.
Blonde hair down to his shoulders, clumped together here and there and slightly wavy.
High, beautifully sculpted, cheekbones.
Thin, straight nose.
Chiselled chin.
Full red lips and green eyes, the only things on his face that aren’t straight lines.
His eyes are big and round and framed with thick, long lashes.
God, his lower lashes are almost as long as the ones on top…
I know he’s just waiting for me to state my business, but it feels like his eyes – green like emeralds – are grinding a hole into me.
It’s rendered me speechless.
Even if I could speak, I don’t think I can remember what I want to say…
“Can I help you?” he asks and thankfully I’m startled out of my frozen state.
Startled because his voice, with no obstructing barrier in the way, seems to slice right through me.
It’s so smooth, so self-assured.
I drop my eyes from his face and regret it instantly.
He’s shirtless!
His toned muscles look hard, all dips and smooth lines, a complete cliché.
And completely hot.
At that unexpected admission, my gaze drops lower.
I cringe. I was better off staring dumbly at his face.
Now I see that he’s wearing a pair of black skinny jeans over his legs – surprisingly thin considering his upper body – and although the fly is done, the button of his jeans isn’t.
He must’ve thrown his trousers on, zipped it up and not bothered to button-up before rushing to open the door.
Whatever he was doing, he was doing it naked.
Maybe he has a girl in there…
For some reason, my heart gives a sad, disappointed squeeze at that.
Sad and disappointed for Imogen, right? Not for me.
Why should it bother me in the slightest if he has a girl in there?
Why indeed…
“Hi Callum,” Simone says from behind me.
Callum shifts his gaze to her, a small crease between his eyes, as though he hadn’t seen her or Jax yet.
“I’m Simone; Imogen’s sister.”
He nods, saying, “Simone, yes. What’s going on?” He looks from Jax to me. “Who are your friends?”
“This is Jax Gilmore,” Simone begins and my brain comes to life as I realise she’ll be introducing me next. “And that’s–”
“I’m Amber Adams,” I intercept.
I can feel Jax and Simone’s eyes on my back, and picture the confused looks on their faces.
“We were hoping to talk to you about Imogen. If you have a minute?” I add, gulping.
Looking me up-and-down, and then appraising Jax’s face, he nods.
“Of course.” He opens the door wide and steps aside. “Please, come in and make yourself comfortable,” he tells us, gesturing at the large sofas in the lounge that we’ve stepped into, “while I go and make myself more… presentable.”
He walks towards the other end of the room, where a small hallway leads to his bedroom, most likely.
“What was that about?” Jax hisses at me as she sets to work on touching everything she can get her hands on. Sofa, coffee table, the photographs on the wall. I know she’s referring to the surname I gave Callum.
“Later,” I whisper in her ear, a step behind her as she rushes to the kitchen and dining area at the other end of the open-plan lounge.
I make a mental note to tell her how Aiden and I have dropped the Atkins surname for security reasons. We can’t be associated with our old identities.
It’s mainly for me, though. Aiden doesn’t want me – a powerful witch – to be tracked
down so easily.
I can imagine what Jax’s response will be: “Well, you were really creative coming up with Adams.”
My father and grandfather were both called Adam – so both of them were Adams – and since we were discarding the name of our ancestors, we held on to what we could of our heritage.
And Adams became our new surname.
“So,” Callum says from the hallway and the two of us jump on the spot. “Any news on Imogen?”
Jax and I rush towards the sofas, where Simone’s sitting. We’re still on our feet when he enters the lounge, a baggy black shirt hanging loosely from his wide shoulders.
He doesn’t look suspicious that we haven’t been sitting and waiting patiently for him to return.
Which in itself is very suspicious.
It’s like he was expecting us to snoop around in his absence.
And why would an innocent man anticipate such a thing, unless he thought he was a suspect?
That leads to the question of why an innocent man would assume he’s under suspicion.
Then again, if he had anything to hide, he wouldn’t leave us alone, would he?
Oh, I don’t know.
“We haven’t heard from her,” Simone tells him quietly. “Has she been in touch with you?” Her query is innocent enough, hopeful even.
Yet, a cold mask seems to slip onto his face at her question.
His eyes darken. Like actually change from one shade of green to another.
As though I imagined it, as though it never actually happened, a second later, his face is relaxed, open, and his eyes are the same emerald ones like before.
He sits on the couch opposite ours, leans forward, arms on his lap, palms facing us.
It’s clear he’s trying to make us think he’s being honest when he says, “Sadly, no.”
“She didn’t call or text or e-mail?” Simone presses.
He shakes his head. “Sorry, Sim. I haven’t–”
“Don’t call me Sim,” she blurts out, almost rudely. “Only Imogen calls me that.”
“And you call her Im,” he says sympathetically. “I know; she told me. Sorry, I didn’t think it’d upset you.”
“S’okay,” Simone mumbles, eyes shiny.
“Is that all you wanted to ask? You could’ve just called – I gave your parents my number… I could’ve come to see you. You didn’t have to skip school and come–”
“I’m on study leave, so it’s no problem.” Simone sounds her normal quiet self again. “Actually, Amber’s trying to help us find Imogen and she has a few questions for you.”
He turns his keen gaze on me.
“Okay, fire away,” he says with a soft smile. His full lips twitch when he sees me swallow in response to his prompt of, “Amber?” His voice sounds like a song, a lullaby.
It reverberates through me, twisting my insides.
Oh, get a grip!
This is no time to go all weak-kneed and breathless.
It’s time to go into detective mode.
Chapter 6
HANDS SHAKING, I TAKE OUT A LITTLE NOTEBOOK AND PEN FROM MY BAG, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I’VE SEEN MOST DETECTIVES DO WHEN THEY TAKE STATEMENTS.
In films.
I’ve never actually met a policeman in my life.
I try not to look at Callum as I flip to an empty page of my book and jot down today’s date. The date I first saw him.
So silly…
“I’m sorry, I’m sure you’ve already answered these questions for the police,” I mumble as I force my eyes to look at him.
He’s staring intently at me, a slightly amused look on his face.
He knows, says my brain. He knows what he’s doing to me…
He can see my hand tremble above the notebook, my breath coming irregularly.
So can the girls…
They can see how nervous I am.
Luckily – or rather, hopefully – Simone and Jax will put it down to anxiety over speaking to a potential killer of witches.
No one knows that I’m nervous because I’m in the presence of the first guy I’ve ever been attracted to.
No one except maybe the guy himself.
Which is like the worst thing ever!
Callum’s mouth stretches into a grin now, almost as though he can hear my thoughts.
“Not at all,” he says in his posh English accent. “I’m happy to answer your questions.”
I gulp.
His tone is so presumptuous, his expression full of anticipation.
It makes me even more uneasy.
“When was the last time you saw Imogen?” My voice volume fluctuated embarrassingly throughout that sentence.
“Saturday night,” he tells me, straightening up in his seat. “We hung out here all evening before she decided to go home. That was around 9.30.
“I drove her to her parents’ house – we arrived at their doorstep around 10pm – and that was the last I saw or heard from her.”
His answer seems well-rehearsed but I think it’s because he went through this with the cops and I’m sure they pressed him for exact times and details, and so he’s saving me time by providing it all from the get-go.
“You didn’t call or text her on Sunday?” I ask as I jot down his answers in my book.
Just to keep up appearances.
I don’t think I’ll be forgetting this conversation for a long time…
Callum shakes his head no and says, “She said she’d be working in her studio all day, so I didn’t want to disturb her.”
I nod as Jax suddenly blurts out, “And what were you doing all Sunday?”
He turns to Jax as though he only just realised there were other people besides me and him in the room.
“I was home all day,” he tells her. Then to me: “Trying to catch up on all the sleep I didn’t get in the last three years. What with all the studying and partying and making the most of student life. You know how it is…”
He said the last part like he knew that I don’t know how it is.
I will know how it is, soon. Student life…
I just nod at him and scribble on the page.
“And on Monday and yesterday?” I probe. “She didn’t get in touch, or you her?”
“No,” he answers, voice soft. “That’s not the kind of relationship we have…”
“What kind of relationship do you have?” asks Jax.
Thank god she said that.
I didn’t ask that question because I wasn’t confident I’d be able to keep my voice from trembling if I did.
And yet, Callum looks only at me as he replies to Jax’s query.
“Imogen isn’t the clingy type,” he tells me, almost sounding proud. “And neither am I. We don’t live in each other’s pockets or keep tabs on each other all the time.
“We trust each other and we’re secure in our relationship. She texts me if she wants to meet up and I do the same with her. Sometimes, Imogen just turns up on my doorstep if she wants to see me…”
I’d been trying to ignore it from the moment he touched on the kind of relationship he has – not had, has – with Imogen, but I can’t refrain from acknowledging that he’s talking about his girlfriend in the present tense.
Like he doesn’t think anything bad has happened to her.
Which is a good thing – maybe he really had nothing to do with her disappearance? – but also a bad thing – if he’s innocent then we have no other leads to explore…
“So, there was nothing strange about not hearing from Imogen for a couple of days in a row?” I murmur, eyes on the notebook.
“No. It was only when the police came around yesterday that I realised she was…”
I lift my head to look at him – his voice had sounded rather worried and sad as he trailed off – but he’s staring out the windows now.
Thinking of Imogen?
“Callum,” I say to drag his attention back to me.
I feel a thrill at saying his name out loud and I swear he
feels it too – a thrill at hearing me say his name – because his head whips around to me so fast it’s almost a blur.
But of course I imagined that – just like I imagined the green of his eyes growing darker earlier.
Humans can’t move that fast.
Their eyes don’t change colour.
And Callum Dent is very much human.
I can tell from the slight reddening of his cheeks, the vein twitching at his temple. His breath catching in his throat as our eyes meet and fix and bore into each other’s…
I suck in a breath and forget how to loose it.
My, those emerald-green eyes are so deep and eternal, so bright and penetrating…
They’re looking right into me, into my soul.
“Amber…”
It was just a whisper, but my heart thumped so hard at the way he said my name.
Like I was someone very familiar to him.
Close to him.
Important.
My lips part slightly and air rushes out.
I was holding my breath from the moment our eyes locked, remember?
Now, I start breathing erratically, my eyes still holding Callum’s gaze.
Or is he holding mine?
“Amber!”
The spell breaks.
I turn to my left to Jax, the wrecker of the moment I’d shared with Callum.
Yes, she’s livid.
And has every right to be.
She brought me here so we could interrogate and investigate Callum, not for me to swoon over him.
And so blatantly.
I don’t dare turn to my other side to face Simone.
She’s probably twice as irritated with me…
God, what’s wrong with me?
I mouth the word sorry to the white-haired witch and turn to face Callum.
“I just have a few more questions…”
He nods for me to go ahead.
The expression on his face is unreadable now.
It’s almost blank.
Good.
That helps me force my questions out of my mouth.
They come out in a rush, nonetheless.
“Did you notice anything different or strange about Imogen in the last few weeks? Anything out of character or amiss? Did she mention anyone new in her life? Anyone bothering her, following her, or even someone she was getting closer to? Anything at all?”
