by Tina Gower
Michelle spots me, zeros in on me like I’m a puppy that’s just peed on her carpet. “I assume this is your doing?” She gestures to the teen.
“Er, well. I can explain—”
The teen interrupts us, holding out his hand. “One hour’s up and I got palm reading in ten minutes. Money.”
I glare in Ali’s general direction, but as usual she’s nowhere to be seen. I paw through my laptop bag for my wallet and slide out some cash. The kid snatches it and lumbers off before Michelle unleashes her reprimand. Coward.
I gather all my strength. Yes, I will fall on this sword. An actuary is only as good as her word. Responsibility is valued. I should never have let Ali sway me. “Michelle—”
“It’s Ms. Kitman.”
I take a deep breath, start over. “Ms. Kitman. I know you expected us to personally collect the samples, but—”
She breaks into a huge grin and pats me hard on the back. “I did, but this is wonderful. Excellent forethought!”
“—I’m sorry.” My brain catches up to her words. “Wait, what?”
“This way you can collect samples and get a head start on the interviews. Get a feel for the school. Sniff out the culprits.” Her voice goes low and she leans close to me. “Now, I’ve got a hunch that our blood fever issue has been building for some time. A little talk with the head mistress confirms it. They’ve had some concerns. I’m going to follow up on a few threads and we can regroup later today.” She hands me her business card. “Text me at this number if you need to get a hold of me sooner. Otherwise we’ll meet here at five. Sound good?”
I nod.
“Great.” She hands me over a list of faculty. “After the samples, we need you in the field. See what you can get on these teachers. I’m thinking one of them has been experimenting with some bad magic.”
More than you know. My gut twists again. I should really tell her everything. How deep this case actually goes. That she’s placing herself in danger the closer she gets to solving it.
“Or at the very least,” she continues, “one of these teachers has been training a student. Blood magic isn’t exactly textbook. It’s a dark art passed down through a bastardized belief. It’s complete heresy.” She delivers each word as though she’s educating me on the world of witchcraft.
“Actually, I do know a bit about the art. Not blood magic—but witchcraft, spell casting, magic—Ali, my cousin, is a witch and druid, and we went to a public school with a lot of children of witches. A lot of my friends were—”
“Oh, thank gods! Then I don’t have to give you a crash course. That will speed this along. Okay.” She pulls out a notebook, licks her finger, and flips several pages. “So I’ve got fifty down that I solve this by three p.m. today. What do you wager?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“A bet, Ms. Hale, to make things interesting. I need the competition for motivation.” She inhales long and hard. “I almost forgot how great this feels.”
She thinks she’s going to solve this case? Before me? Little does she know I’ve got a head start. “A hundred.”
She writes it down. “All right, a hundred that I solve it before…?”
“No. A hundred that I solve it before the end of the day. Let’s say eight p.m.”
She straightens, and her notebook slowly lowers to her waist. “Why, honey, we are going to get along fine. Just fine.”
Chapter 11
Ali, her hands filled with La Fey ketchup packets, and I round the corner just outside of the school grounds. We’re greeted by a werewolf lurking by Ali’s car.
Becker’s fists are shoved so far down into his pockets his arms are locked straight. His hat is shoved low, to cover his eyes. The ends of his copper hair curl over his hat, signaling he’s in need of a cut. His facial hair is in need of a shave—but that’s just normal midday growth for Becker. If he had fur over the rest of his body, it would be hackled, judging from the way his back curves and his shoulders are lifted nearly to his ears.
Ali holds up her phone and shakes it in his line of vision, but smartly remains several feet away from him. “Lipski is taking over from here. It’s all been arranged.”
“Change of plans.” His voice is raspy and deeper than usual. His car is parked behind Ali’s.
Ali looks from me to him, gaging me to see if she should question this. Don’t know why she’s looking to me for guidance. I don’t have a clue.
“All right,” she says and saunters straight-legged to the trunk of her car. She flips her apron over her head and deposits her ketchup prizes into the front pockets, then ties it in the back. “Well, I picked up your mail this morning.” She scoops up a pile of mail: an envelope that looks like a bill, postcard junk mail advertising jinn wish cruises, and a large manila envelope. She drops it into the open window of Becker’s front seat.
I look at the clock: it’s barely eleven. I arch an eyebrow at Becker in suspicion. “How long have you been here?”
He won’t look at me. Instead he glances at Ali. “Don’t you have to work?”
Ali looks from me to him and snorts. “Oh yeah. I gotta go. You kids should talk.” She slides into her car and drives off way too fast.
I point an accusing finger at him. “You were here the whole time.”
“As soon as you left. I called a cab and got my car back.” He shakes his head, mumbling something that sounded like “couldn’t sleep.”
“You should have slept a little longer. You were in rough shape last night and you’re not—” I don’t have any idea how to explain what the pack thing is. Charged? Like a battery? “You’re still recovering from overextending yourself.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to stay behind knowing you were here and in direct danger.”
“A text would have been nice. A text with a message letting me know you were coming? A lot less creepy.”
He shrugs like he’ll consider it.
I sigh. “It was fine. You could have done a lot more good by getting better. Then you’d be able to think more clearly.”
“And let you come here alone?”
“I wasn’t alone. I was with Ali.”
“She left you alone.”
“She had me in her sights the whole time I was with Michelle. Wait, you were on the campus?”
“No, I stayed away. I’m not dense. I know my presence wouldn’t help.”
“But how did you know she wasn’t right by my side the entire time?”
He blew out a breath and I follow his gaze into the open window of his car where there’s a pair of binoculars in the front seat.
I press my fingernails into my palm. Gods, let me have patience with this wolf. “Becker, you said it yourself, you can’t work nights and investigate during the day with me. I know this death threat is going to put you at odds with your wolf instincts. I know you’ll feel a little protective. But—”
His eyes flash. He grits his teeth, biting off a curse. “A little protective? What I feel is absolute rage. I’m not that guy. I’m not obsessive. I’m not a creep. I hate that I’m becoming one.” He’s shaking. “And I’m scared to death that I won’t be here when you need me most.”
I don’t have a clue what to do. I fly over to him, hugging him tight. He doesn’t hold me back. We must be quite a sight out in the open, playing out our drama this way.
“You’re not a creep. I shouldn’t have used those words.”
“Don’t. That is the exact word you should have used.” He tugs his fists out of his pockets and lays his palms on my cheeks. He touches his forehead to mine. “I’m not angry at you. I’m mad at myself. It’s really important that you don’t apologize. Don’t make my behavior into something you think you can control if you follow some unspoken rules.”
I push away from his chest, enough to see into his eyes. “But it’s different. We’re in a relationship.” I swallow because I don’t know if I’m adding feelings he might not have yet. Although I want to believe it’s as simple as protecting t
he person he loves vs unhealthy obsession, I can’t assume that is the case. Not if it means I’m turning away from aspects of Becker I don’t want to accept. Denial could lead to us forming a dysfunctional relationship.
I’d done that with Kyle. I allowed myself to fit into the small space he allowed because I knew part of him hoped he and his wife would make amends. Then when he wanted more, I didn’t have the energy to give it to him, thinking I was his second choice. So when his wife did eventually come around, he jumped at the chance. I’d played that push-pull game. I wouldn’t be tricked into playing it again or some updated version of it.
“I don’t know.” Becker shakes his head. He does seem truly baffled, but under it, he doesn’t accept our relationship as an excuse. “I really don’t know. I should…” He blows out a defeated breath. “I’ll ask Dalia.”
I nod. We don’t speak for a long while. I don’t know what it means. If Becker can’t get it under control, what happens? How can I not take it personally? Like I could have done something different to prevent it?
I finally build up the courage to break the silence. “Did you get an appointment to see Talia Lee?”
“Not until later today.”
“Did you eat?”
“I’m still nauseous.”
I give him a look.
“I brought some crackers.” He motions to the console where there is indeed a sleeve of unopened saltines.
“Let’s get some soup to go with those crackers and see if we can’t interview Anastis Maka.”
He latches on to the change of subject a little too quickly for me to accept this will be the last time we deal with this issue.
Anastis’s palm reading shop sits between a questionable apothecary dealer and a holistic witchery in the corner of a quad area. A park rests in the center with a number of joggers and pets of all kinds: cats, dogs, lizards, owls, falcons, rats. There’s a fair amount of foot traffic, too, with the lunch crowd meandering from shops and offices. Anastis’s shop sign hangs with a number of others inside the front lobby. We climb the stairs, discovering her suite is on the top floor, and once we reach the top there’s a sign indicating a reading is in progress, but should be finishing in the next ten minutes.
Becker slides down the wall and sets his brown sack from the soup cart between his feet. He slides open the carton, sniffs.
I sit against the wall opposite of him. “If it had magic in it, wouldn’t you have smelled it while they were serving it?”
He shrugs. “Well, yeah, but you can never be too careful in this part of town.”
He pulls out a Swiss army knife and twists out a travel spoon. Only Becker would carry his own silverware to avoid taking the take-out plastic. We passed three carts before he found one that served their soup in a compostable container.
I set my own sack next to my hip and rest my elbows on my knees. “So what do we have on this one?” I point with my chin to Anastis’s door.
“Ran her priors. She’s got a few practicing without a license. Outdated health department checks. Seems she’s a bit of a loner. Guy I hired to follow her said she goes between here and home.”
“Right. But none of the witches we’ve been looking at have had any suspicious activity. And it’s only been a day.”
“One of them will slip up, or we’ll find something.” He sips from his spoon between words. “We’ve got them under a microscope and they’re bound to show their weakness eventually.”
“Or we reveal ours.”
He gives me a sharp look over the rim of his container. He puts his container aside as if he’s not hungry anymore and scrubs his palms over his face.
My stomach growls, so I get started on my own soup, feeling guilty about the plastic spoon. “I like your travel ware. Think I could find one to put on my key ring?”
“My what?” He glances down at the spoon in his Swiss army knife. “Oh, yeah. I have an extra one at the pack house.” He waves his spoon at me, a pleased look on his face. “You can have it.”
“My, my, Officer Becker, are you flirting with me over camping gear?”
The corners of his mouth twitch up. “I don’t think I know how to flirt.”
I smile to myself as I scoop up my next spoonful. “That I believe.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something more, some apology, but he clamps his jaw shut and quirks his ear to the door. “It sounds like they’re finishing up in there.”
“Did you hear anything interesting? Is her client going to have a long life? Win the lottery?”
“Nah, she soundproofed the room. I can hear muffled voices at best.”
“Smart or very paranoid.”
Becker cleans up the soup containers and bags from the hallway. “Likely a bit of both.”
The door swings open and a woman just a foot short of the top of the doorframe leans out, eyes squinted, but clear. Her dirty blonde hair is twisted into tight messy curls. No signs of redness or sores around her mouth. Damn. Ali may be right. We might have several witches working together and that’s how they’re able to avoid the side effects of blood magic for so long.
“Officer Becker?”
Ian slides out his badge and holds it out in one smooth move. “Officer Ian Becker with APPD. I’m obligated to tell you—”
“You’re a werewolf, blah, blah, blah,” she finishes for him, jerking her head from side to side and rolling her eyes. “Can’t sneak up on a seer. Why do you think I soundproofed my office?” She glances at me. “Who are you?”
I stick out my hand. “Kate Hale. Investigative Actuary.” I nearly state my department, but stop myself before that little embarrassment. I’d hate to have her check up on my credentials and find out I’m suspended. That might cause an issue, as it’s not really best practices to investigate your own death notes.
“Kate Hale, huh?” She quirks an eyebrow and points her thumb at Ian. “Him I saw in a vision. You? Nothing.” She analyzes me a little too closely.
“Decided to join my associate at the last minute.”
Her lip twitches, not at all convinced. “Yeah. Right.”
My phone rings. “Please excuse me.”
It’s Lipski. “Is Beck with you?”
“Yeah,” Becker answers for me.
“I did the full run on Emmanuel Brazil and Becky Williams. Turns out she married his brother. She’s legally Dorcus Williams, but she uses Becky Brazil on everything. Her husband Edu has all the bank accounts, house loan, everything is in his name. That’s how she’s been able to disappear off our radar.”
Wait, what? Dorcus is Becky’s real name? No wonder she hid it. For a Western witch to have a non-pagan religious-based name as well as one so unfortunate…
Interesting that Emmanuel didn’t mention the marriage to his brother when Ali and I were questioning him. Sore subject? Hiding something? Becker has the same thought. He nods to me that we’ll be following up on that information.
“That it?” Becker asks.
“Yeah.” Lipski ends the call.
I make a quick text to Ali: Dorcus Williams—Becky’s real name and slide my phone into my pocket. Before these two, I actually had conversations with the people who called me. Now I’m merely another vessel Hank can use to get ahold of Becker.
Anastis lets out a long breath. “Well, now that you have that all settled, why don’t you make this quick. I’ve got another appointment calling in the next fifteen minutes.”
We walk inside Anastis’s office, which is mostly bare except for one wall that has a tapestry of astrology symbols around the outside and the outline of a human figure in the center with each chakra colored and labeled. There’s a large screen computer set up on the floor; in front of that is a magenta velvet blanket with gold trim and lots of pillows. Candles are set up around the edge of the blanket, swirls of smoke dancing from the wick as though she’s recently blown them out. She has a stack of encyclopedias and spell books with a web cam on top.
The absence of a client
leaving the room at our arrival means she must have been conducting a session over the internet. There’s an odd scent in the air, sweet at first, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste on the sides of my tongue, causing me to salivate.
Becker’s nostrils flare. He makes a face like he’s sucked a lime. “Liar’s root.”
Anastis lowers herself to her blanket and sits back on her elbows, stacking her feet and wagging them. “You have your tricks. I have mine.”
Becker glares. “You got something to hide?”
“Nope. Just wanted to point out that wolves aren’t welcome here.”
Becker’s fists tighten; he takes a deep breath. I move to get closer to him, sliding my hand along his arm. He relaxes.
Anastis sits up slightly. “Now this is interesting. Ali Hale’s cousin with a wolf. I bet she just loves that.”
I ignore the comment. Yes, Ali is well known in the witch community, but mostly as an outsider in some ways. Her mother’s illness is seen as a sign of weakness along her genetic line. Her choice to use baking as a magic outlet leads a lot of other witches to assume she doesn’t have much talent. But Ali likes being underestimated. She’s an extremely powerful and knowledgeable witch and her druid ancestry pushes her to the upper levels of magic ability. She just doesn’t show it off.
Becker pulls out the pamphlet wrapped in a plastic bag we got from Julia from his coat and tosses it by her side. The one with the wyrd symbol scratched over the contact names. “You recognize this symbol?”
Her eyes lower to the pamphlet, and she studies it for a minute. “It’s a wyrd symbol. Couple embellishes on the lines, but any witch worth the salt she magics with would know that sign.”
“Right.” I kneel down to her level. “But do you know of any groups going by that name?”
She shrugs. “Depends.”
Becker crosses his arms, keeping his distance. “Depends on what?”
She rubs her fingers together. “Depends on the number of Hamiltons. Preferably Franklins, but since you’re government workers I’ll go easy.”
I scoop up the pamphlet. “Not gonna happen. We already know there’s a group going by that name and they’re associated with the Norns in some way.”
