Mist, Murder & Magic

by Dionnara Dawson

  ‘Something about the manager going missing, these two, and I think there’s a young couple upstairs. Do you wanna go talk to them? They might’ve heard or seen something about our victims here. Room 12, I think,’ Jones said. He was now setting out the numbers to mark each set of blood splatters. He was already up to six.

  ‘Sure,’ Sam nodded, grateful for something to do. He set his own gear down and started up the stairs. If it really was a vampire attack—and it sure seemed that way, or else they wouldn’t be here—why pick a place almost empty of people? He got to the room and knocked on the door. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Police department.’ That’s how they introduced themselves when talking with witnesses. He couldn’t very well say, Hi, I’m part of a secret government organisation tasked with keeping magic a secret, mind if I come in?

  A young man answered the door, no older than seventeen. He looked at Sam uncertainly. ‘Hi?’

  ‘Hi, sir. I’m with the state Police Department. There’s been a double-homicide downstairs, I’m afraid. It occurred sometime late last night. Do you mind if I come in to ask you a few questions?’

  The teenager blushed tomato-red. Sam knew he had that effect on people, even those who were completely innocent got shifty around ‘cops’. But the teenager stepped back to let him in and glanced behind him.

  ‘It’s a cop,’ he said to a young woman, about the same age as the boy, with dark hair.

  ‘Hello, ma’am,’ Sam said. ‘I was just saying that there’s been a—’

  ‘I heard you,’ she said. ‘Was it those drug dealers?’

  ‘We don’t know for certain that they were drug dealers, but the two men downstairs, tattoos, leather jackets, is that who you mean?’ Sam took out a notebook and pen.

  The young woman nodded. ‘Yeah, I think they were the only other people here.’

  Sam nodded. ‘They were, other than you two. What are your names, please?’ His pen hovered over the paper.

  They both paused. ‘Why do you need our names?’ the female asked. ‘We haven’t done anything.’

  Sam sighed. This was usually the way. ‘Yes, ma’am, but I have to establish any possible witnesses. You understand.’

  The blond boy nudged her, and she whipped her head at him angrily. Sam thought he saw the flash of a white bandage on her neck under a hastily tied decorative scarf. ‘Just tell him, Lex, he’s a cop.’

  The woman, Lex, glared daggers at him for a moment. ‘My name is Alexa Graham. This is James Wilson. What do you need from us?’ She was firm. He knew they were probably here skipping school, or didn’t have family to look after them or something, but he also sensed that the girl was a little too aggravated that he was here. She was up to something. Maybe she had bought something from the victims.

  Sam scribbled down their names. ‘Did you hear or see anything unusual last night? Did either of you speak to the victims?’

  They didn’t look at each other, they just shook their heads.

  ‘I see. And where were you two last night?’ Sam prodded.

  ‘We were here,’ Alexa said.

  ‘In this room, the whole night?’ Sam asked, scribbling.

  ‘Yes,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Well, then. If you happen to remember anything out of the ordinary, please call.’ He handed them his business card with his cell number on it and a fake government seal. What was he going to do, use the real one?

  They nodded quickly, wanting him to leave. ‘Oh, one more thing. Did either of you see the hotel manager last night?’

  ‘No,’ they said simultaneously.

  ‘Uh-huh. Thank you for your time.’ Sam left.

  There was something weird going on there. His kind of weird.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Hella

  Hella peered outside and squinted into the sunlight. It felt odd to be planning nefarious activities during the day, as if they were asking to be caught. Hella suspected that was part of the reason no one had really known that angels were burned by sunlight: you just didn’t expect bad things to happen in the light of day. It made sense for the bad things to happen at night-time, under the cover of darkness. But they couldn’t waste a whole day just waiting for it to be dark. By 5pm tomorrow, the council would drag Harrow upstairs, and hand down his punishment, because of her.

  Because she had brought him back from the dead. Oh, how she wished she had read that warning in Remy’s spellbook before that battle. Necromancy: any witch worth their salt knows not to attempt it. Why had Remy been such a crummy guardian to never have even mentioned it?

  Hella sighed. It didn’t really matter. Even if she had read the warning, she would have done it anyway. She would have brought Harrow back. She needed him. Maybe that was selfish, she wasn’t sure. It seemed selfish, but she couldn’t help it. It was Harrow. Hella lowered her gaze as the others readied themselves. It was about 9am on a cool Sunday morning. They had a day and half to get Harrow’s soul back from Valhalla before the trial, to prove that he’d had no idea what he was doing—or couldn’t exactly control it—when he’d wrapped his hands around Hella’s throat, squeezing the life out of her. When he’d frozen her blood. Had nearly killed her, and Tessa and (not that Hella really minded, though as it turned out, he did have a family) had killed Dimitri from The Force. But it wasn’t his fault.

  For the first time, it made Hella feel better that Piper was armed to the teeth with athames and potions. Net had strapped on a blade and tucked it into his belt, hidden by his coat. Tommy stubbornly refused a weapon (that appeared to be a warlock-pride thing), but Hella had added a few new pieces to her arsenal from the store’s stock. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to use them. She could hope all she liked about no one getting hurt, but at the end of the day, Harrow would be the one hurt if they didn’t do this. And she couldn’t live with that. She wondered how he must be suffering, alone, in his cell. She wondered how he was feeling, and guessed on angry. What did it feel like, she wondered, not to have a soul? Piper had called him ‘evil’ several times now, but Hella couldn’t believe that. Harrow had admitted to her that he couldn’t really explain it himself, just that he felt different.

  ‘We’ll be back,’ Hella promised Salem, who meowed. Hella liked to think he’d said good luck.

  They all walked out of the store together, Net turning the sign as he left, locking up after them. Considering what was going on, Hella thought that was surprisingly responsible. Maybe he cared about the store? Hella wondered if she would ever spend time in the store again, just working: restocking shelves, serving customers, reading the books. It seemed like an idea from another world. Tommy glanced at her.

  ‘Are you worried about him?’ Tommy asked, obviously talking about Harrow.

  They all started toward Warlock House. Idle chat before breaking into a supernatural cell seemed surreal. Hella nodded, not trusting herself to unravel that thread right now. They had to be alert, focused.

  ‘I am too,’ Tommy said. ‘We’ll get him. The Binding Spell and the astralling should work. We just have to get to his cell unnoticed.’

  Hella nodded, running his words through her mind. We just have to get to him, she thought. A part of her worried that Harrow would be too afraid of her after she had tried to heal him—and nearly killed him—or too angry with her to go along with the plan. But she couldn’t put much thought into that. They had a plan, and there was no changing it now.

  As they approached the building, they split up: Piper and Net took the front, and Tommy and Hella waited around the corner: the less of them involved with incapacitating the guards, the better. And, the less trouble Tommy would get in later. Hopefully. There was a quiet shatter of glass as Piper threw the potion vial at the Sensus guards, then Net whistled, and Hella and Tommy followed. Piper and Net each dragged an unconscious guard inside, through the double doors, and dumped them in a nearby closet.

  ‘Are they okay?’ Tommy asked, his eyes narrowed at Piper. Whatever amends she had m
ade for teasing him in the backroom of the store, claiming to be testing Hella’s loyalty, he still didn’t trust her. Piper shushed him, not earning herself any points. Hella glanced around, but found no one else in the foyer. Quickly, they all began to descend the stairs to the basement.

  Hella’s stomach clenched in anticipation. Almost there. Then her eyes widened when she saw him climbing the stairs. It was Harrow, swinging a frozen stick. It dripped with silver blood. He smiled at her.

  ‘Well, now it’s a party,’ he said. ‘By the by, is there anyone else up there I have to kill to get out of here? Or is it just you guys?’ He winked at Hella.

  He started whistling as he swung the frozen stick at Piper.

  Piper ducked, kicking out at him. Harrow stumbled, the smile sliding off his face.

  ‘Witch,’ he growled, swinging again.

  Net tried to sneak around Harrow, but the Nympha caught him and forced a bubble of water over his head. Net immediately squirmed, clawing at the water to no avail.

  ‘Harrow! Stop it. We’re here to help you.’ Hella moved to stand in front of Tommy. ‘Harrow, we have a plan to get your soul back.’ There was relief in her voice. Finally, she thought, a way to fix this. She looked into Harrow’s eyes, and was unnerved to see that they were black again.

  He paused and looked her up and down. ‘If you’re here to help me, what’s with all the weapons?’ He glanced from Hella, to Piper then to Net. ‘You’re all armed.’

  ‘For the guards,’ Piper said, a white lie.

  But Harrow tutted and shook his head. ‘No, Goody-Two-Shoes over here never would have brought you if he thought you’d be killing guards.’ Harrow nodded at Tommy. Unfortunately, he was dead-right.

  ‘Harrow,’ Hella said, hoping that they weren’t all about to be discovered here on the steps by guards or someone else in the House. ‘We need to go somewhere, now. I have to astral us, we have to do a spell—’ She broke off. Her eyes landed on the silver blood, this time registering it. ‘Harrow. Whose blood is that?’

  Harrow grinned. ‘I had a visitor. I believe you sent her.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Tommy said. He whisked past Harrow, despite the others’ protests, down the steps. ‘It’s Amara!’ he called, his voice echoing.

  ‘You hurt her?’ Hella said. Anger boiled within her. She stepped down to Harrow, face to face, on the same step. She looked into his black void-like eyes. ‘You don’t have a soul, so you don’t have a conscience at all.’ Without looking at the others, she said, ‘Get him back to his cell. We’ll finish this.’

  Before she had even finished speaking, Piper threw an athame that whistled past Hella and struck Harrow in the shoulder; it was a reflection of how their first meeting had gone, with Piper’s athame instead of Hella’s. Harrow’s glare made Hella flinch. He looked positively murderous, whereas before there had been a snark to him that reminded her of her old Harrow. This one, she did not know. That kind of made all the difference. She didn’t feel quite so bad about sticking her own athame into his leg. He cried out—and it echoed—and tried to swing his frozen torch stick at her, but lacked the strength. Soul or no soul, she could see, he still bled the same. Her heart skipped a beat at the dark-blue blood pouring from both wounds. The bubble of water that had been drowning Net dissipated as Harrow’s strength faded. She knocked the stick out of his hands, and the icy sheen covering the wood smashed as it hit the stairs.

  ‘We have to take him downstairs,’ Hella said, trying to keep her voice low. The fact that no one else had come across them yet was a miracle. She took Harrow’s arm and wrapped it around her shoulders as he limped. He began cursing at her colourfully, even swiping out at her with his claws, until, from behind them, Tommy thwacked him over the head.

  ‘Stop that,’ Tommy ordered. She had never known Tommy to hit, but she appreciated the help. Harrow was not happy about it. Piper led them downstairs while Net coughed up water and staggered behind them.

  ‘Is Amara okay?’ Hella asked Tommy.

  ‘It would be great if the only healer in town wasn’t always getting injured, but she’ll be okay. Maybe you could heal her?’ Tommy asked. ‘She’s passed out, but she’s got a bump on her head. And some cuts.’ Tommy glowered at Harrow. ‘I can’t believe you did that to her.’

  ‘Believe it, boy-o.’ Harrow still had the gall to smirk up at him.

  Tommy thwacked him again, and it made Hella picture them as brothers. It was a nice thought, given the circumstances. They followed the silver trail of blood back to Harrow’s cell. Piper got there first. ‘One guard down,’ she called to the others.

  Tommy grabbed Harrow’s dark hair in a fistful. ‘Did you kill someone?’ His voice was low.

  Hella blinked up at him in surprise. Of course it would be the unjust death of one of his own that would provoke such a response. Tommy was not an angry or violent person.

  Harrow squirmed. ‘I didn’t stop to check. I was just on my way out,’ he said, as if he had planned to go to the grocery store rather than break out of a secure cell and committing murder again.

  They all entered his cell. ‘You know, I was planning to leave, if you don’t mind,’ Harrow sneered.

  Tommy released him. ‘We do mind. Get in the cell.’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ Harrow said, as if that mattered.

  Tommy lowered his gaze to be level with Harrow’s. If Tommy was unnerved by Harrow’s black eyes, he didn’t show it. ‘Get in. Now,’ he said. To Hella’s surprise, he complied.

  ‘Is he okay?’ Hella glanced at the guard on the floor.

  Piper shook her head. ‘No. He’s dead.’

  Tommy’s green gaze rounded on Harrow. ‘I know you don’t have a soul and all, but you did that willingly, I swear, you—’

  ‘We don’t have time for this,’ Hella snapped. ‘This is why we’re here. To get his soul back so that this doesn’t happen.’ She spared a longer look at the guard. His death was on her, too. Hella wondered if he had a family, a spouse, children. She was sure he had people who would miss him.

  They managed to get Harrow onto the bed. Piper pulled her athame out of his shoulder and he yelped. He looked from Hella to Piper and expelled a breath. ‘Like mother like daughter. Ouch.’

  Hella removed her own athame with a twist of guilt in her gut. It’s not like she’d wanted to stab him. ‘Link us,’ she said to Piper.

  ‘What’s happening, now?’ Harrow asked, mildly interested as he bled out on the thin mattress.

  ‘We’re astral projecting to Valhalla, you and I. And we’re going to link to Piper and Tommy so I don’t burn out. We have until tomorrow to fix this, Harrow, or you’ll be put in the Imperium Ceremony,’ Hella said seriously.

  Harrow blinked, and his eyes were slit-blue. He shimmered. ‘Valhalla?’ He laughed. ‘That’s your plan? That’s a whole other place. Do you know how long it would take to find my soul there, as if it’s just going to be drifting around, waiting for us? Why don’t you just let me go? Be much easier.’

  ‘Because of him,’ Tommy said, pointing at the guard. ‘You’re a murderer, Harrow. If we let you leave, who else would you kill?’

  Harrow shrugged playfully. ‘Whomever I like?’ He suggested.

  ‘That’s why,’ Hella said. She held out her hand to Piper, who stabbed her with the point of a new athame, drawing blood, then did the same to herself. Hella’s magic flared, her hands lit with purple fire. Piper dropped her blood into Hella’s flames, and Hella mirrored the action to Piper.

  Tommy seemed to take pity on Harrow and retrieved the key to unlock his plastic manacles. When Net’s eyebrows rose, Tommy said, ‘He’ll be unconscious here once they’ve astralled. He doesn’t need them on. Besides, he’ll need his hands for the spell.’

  ‘Spell?’ Harrow asked. Everyone ignored him. Harrow’s wrists were wringed raw, lined in dark-blue blood. Though Hella knew he would hate to admit it (soul or no), she knew Harrow was grateful for being freed—even if they were ba
ck in his cell for now. Hella eyed Harrow’s wounds, then glanced up at Net. ‘Can I heal him before we go?’

  ‘Quickly,’ Piper answered.

  Harrow shrank away from her, but Tommy put a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll get it right.’

  Hella healed him. The two athame wounds closed up without so much as a bolt or jolt of too much magic. Harrow exhaled in relief.

  Net held open Remy’s spellbook to the page of The Binding Spell and began chanting. In another life, Hella thought, he would be a good witch. Were there really no male witches? His tongue wrapped easily around the complicated Latin spell. Hella reached out and held Harrow’s hand, then nodded at him to do the same to Piper. Piper held onto Tommy’s hand, who then held Hella’s other hand. The four of them were in a circle, Net in the centre.

  Hella’s guts churned with fear and anticipation: she worried about Amara, somewhere on the stairs, passed out. She worried about the poor dead guard, and if someone might find him. She worried about whether she could astral project herself as well as Harrow—she had never brought another person with her before. If her hands were free, it would seem like a good time to start the nervous habit of biting her nails. Tension built up in her chest and she tried to breathe around it, doing her best to keep her powers in check. She didn’t want to accidently lash out again. That would really throw a spanner in the works. As an entirely separate and seemingly senseless thought, Hella was very aware that she was holding Harrow’s hand: touching his soft skin, that connection she had so deeply missed. Net finished chanting, and Hella realised that they could let go of each other’s hands now. But she didn’t want to.

  She looked down to see a golden chain clasped between the four of them, glowing in the darkness of the cell. ‘Huh,’ she said, rather stupidly. ‘Does that mean it worked?’ The spellbook hadn’t specifically mentioned that would happen. Hella hoped there wouldn’t be any other surprises.