by Cate Lawley
He took the sponge from me and quickly washed the handful of dishes in the sink. “I asked if you were worried about your friend. But I think the answer is pretty clear.”
“Ah. Yes. Very.” I rested a hip against the counter and thought back to that first time I met Marge. “She’s not exactly a friend. I’ve only met her once before, and it’s not like we had a deep conversation even then.”
Ben chuckled. “I’m guessing that might be difficult.”
Smiling back at him, I said, “Talking to her is a lot like charades.” The first time Marge and I met, she’d flashed those cute lashes at me. Marge was such a flirt. “I met her when I was sixteen. She’d just been cut loose very suddenly from her Djinn partner.”
“You told me about them. The partnership allows the Djinn to communicate directly with the animal, and vice versa.”
“Yeah. Marge’s Djinn died suddenly. I’m not sure of the particulars. I was only sixteen at the time and had recently discovered magic. I’d been set up with Camille as my mentor only a few days before. It was an exciting time in my life.”
“Wow. I bet it was, but also difficult. Your whole world was changing.”
I shook my head. “Not really. It hadn’t exactly sunk in. I was excited, but I didn’t really get it. Magic, I mean.” I blew out a sharp puff of breath. “But Marge arriving on my doorstep brought it all into focus. Meeting Marge was the moment that the idea of magic crystalized into a wonderful and terrifying reality.”
“And you’re sure that you’re not confusing some of the feelings you have for magic with what you feel for Marge?” Ben picked up the bottle of Patrón. He lifted it questioningly, but when I shook my head, he stored it on top of the fridge.
“I get it.” Twining my fingers with his, I said, “You think I’m sentimental about Marge because it was a special moment in my life, and I’m sure that’s partially true. That doesn’t change the fact that she seemed kind back then, still did today, and that Camille only had good things to say about her.”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “When you spoke earlier?”
“She didn’t say a word against Marge. She only said she’d been accused of frying Alistair.”
“Gotcha.” A small wrinkle appeared between his eyes.
“What?” I knew that look. He had a question. He was curious by nature but didn’t like to pry when it came to magic. He acted like it was this deeply personal thing, which I guess it was. “You have a question?”
“Yeah. Why you? When you were sixteen, I mean. Why your house? How was it, all those years ago, that Marge landed on your doorstep?”
I chuckled. “Well, I believe it had something to do with my newly acquired magic and maidenly virtue.”
“Like a unicorn? She was drawn to the nearest magical virgin?” Ben snickered. “That’s not why she’s here now.”
“Right, Captain Obvious. I’m guessing she remembered me from the last time she was in trouble. I think she was here to ask for help.”
“If you think so, you’re probably right. I trust your gut.” Glancing at the table, where we’d left the interview list, he said, “But no interviewing tonight. We should probably get as much information about the people on your suspect list as possible, rather than going off half-cocked and—”
“We?” That was the second time this evening that he’d made it crystal clear I wasn’t doing this alone.
“Um, yeah. Of course, ‘we.’ The funeral home is closed tomorrow, and I’ve already got someone to cover the phones and walk-ins on Tuesday, so we have two days to get to the bottom of this.”
Two days. Vampires were slick on a good day. Yank them into a murder investigation, and they were bound to be impossibly slippery.
Actually, with all of Alistair’s age and experience, I was surprised someone had gotten the drop on him. Especially someone like Marge. She didn’t strike me as quite that conniving.
Someone, however, had been exactly that conniving. The question was: who?
“Two whole days to solve an impossibly difficult murder mystery, huh?” But then a huge grin spread across my face. “Wait, you have someone scheduled to cover for you on Tuesday?”
“Yep. Since you were taking off to move, I figured the least I could do was keep you company while you unpacked boxes and reorganized your bookshelf five times.”
Riiight. I didn’t think so. I knew exactly what he had on the brain. “You big perv. You were planning on spending all day Tuesday getting in my pants.”
With a patently false look of innocence, he said, “I was planning to help you unpack.” When I gave him a skeptical look, he said, “Okay, unpack and christen all of the apartment’s flat surfaces. But can you blame me?”
I couldn’t. That sounded infinitely preferable to visiting creepy, bloodsucking murder suspects. And the fact that he was still willing to take time off to help me, even though it would put him hip-deep in the muck of Austin’s enhanced community, reminded me why I’d fallen for him in the first place.
That was hug-worthy.
Leaning back, so he could look me in the eyes, Ben said, “I hate to ask, but…any chance you’ve been keeping up with your witch homework?”
Right. He would bring that up now. “Yes.” Which was true, because what did “keeping up with” really mean? It was a subjective standard.
His forehead creased, but he didn’t say anything. Wise man.
I caved and said, “Mostly.”
“You’ve mostly been studying? What happened to becoming the best witch you could be? Your words, not mine.”
With a solid push against his chest, I replied, “Moving, Ben, that’s what happened. Moving, studying, and working two jobs.”
But he wasn’t wrong. I had said that. After practically having my rear handed to me during an investigation involving my ex-boyfriend Alex and a shady golem, I’d decided I’d rather be the one doing the butt-kicking. So I’d started to take my studies more seriously and had been working toward butt-kicking witch status…until life had intervened.
He stroked my cheek and very quietly said, “Maybe we shouldn’t tangle with a bunch of vampires on our own. We can always call—”
“No.” My response was a reflex. He wanted to call Alex, because Alex was a powerful wizard, handy in a fight, and always had my back. But Alex was my ex.
Ben crossed his arms.
With a squinty-eyed look, I said, “Couldn’t you be normal and be jealous of my incredibly hot ex?”
A smile twitched at the corners of his lips, but he kept a straight face. “Should I be jealous?”
I rolled my eyes. Alex and I were friendly…-ish. But that guy was a train wreck as a boyfriend. Any squishy, girlfriend-like feelings I had for him were long gone, and Ben knew it. What he might not know is that I’d never loved Alex the way I loved him. Ben was the One. I knew it almost as soon as I’d met him. But it still annoyed me to rely on my ex. “I just hate asking for Alex’s help.”
“How about Camille? You can ask your mentor for help, right?” When I nodded—because he was right; we needed help—he said, “Then call her, and see if we can swing by this evening. Get her to look at your list, and maybe she can send us in the right direction. And maybe you’ll sleep better knowing more about what you’re facing tomorrow.”
“Good plan. And you never know, she may convince me that Marge doesn’t need help.”
“One can hope. If I can avoid knocking on the door of a bunch of fanged fiends who want to suck my blood, that would be stellar.”
He was joking with the bloodsucking comment, but only a little. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t do that. In the light of day. With me along.
Pretty sure.
4
Camille lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood in south Austin. Every lawn was brilliantly green and every hedge trimmed just so. The yards looked bright and tidy, even at night.
“It never ceases to amaze me,” I said as we passed another minivan, “that Camille manages to blend into
the ’burbs.”
“It’s south Austin. There’s a hippie vibe in this area and she owns a crystal shop, so it’s not too far a stretch.” Ben pulled into her driveway and put the car in park. “Besides, there’s no reason for them to suspect she’s a witch. It’s not like she dances naked in the yard under a full moon.”
“That you know of,” I mumbled, then opened the car door and hopped out before he could ask too many questions.
He placed his hand on my lower back as we walked to Camille’s front door together. After he knocked, he leaned close and whispered in my ear, “I heard that.”
Whatever. Not like I joined her. That was Camille’s thing. I wasn’t into baring my lady bits to the night air… unless Ben was involved and we had some privacy, then I might reconsider.
The door swung open about a foot.
Ben nudged it with two fingers, and as it opened, we both looked down the hallway. Camille was noticeably absent, but Twinkles, Camille’s maniacal cat, sprawled lengthwise across the entryway to block access to the house.
As I inspected him, he grinned, flashing the tips of his fangs.
“You didn’t do that. Did you?” I eyed him suspiciously. I’d had a look inside Twinkles’ head not too long ago, and I knew what a selfish fluffball he was. Twinkles did only exactly those things that made Twinkles happy and no more.
“We’re not about to find Camille in the kitchen with a handful of Twinkles-sized bites taken out of her, are we?” Ben was looking at Twinkles with as much distrust as me. I was pretty sure he was kidding.
The cat’s eyes practically sparkled with glee. Okay, maybe they didn’t. But I’d swear he seemed amused.
“Camille!” I called. “Holler if you’re alive.”
“Back here, darling.” Her voice drifted into the hallway from the far reaches of the house. “I’m practicing my blind telekinesis.”
Pointing a finger at Twinkles, I said, “Move it, buddy, or I’m stepping on you. I know exactly what’s behind your cute, fluffy façade.”
Twinkles narrowed his gorgeous green eyes and glared at me. Two, three, four seconds passed…then he leisurely rose, stretched, and sauntered down the hall.
As his fluffy bottom wandered away in no particular hurry, Camille appeared with a martini glass in hand. “What’s keeping you?” Then her gaze dropped to Twinkles. “Naughty kitty. Have you been tormenting the guests?”
Contrary to her words, her tone was affectionate, and she reached down to scratch him under the chin.
“That cat is evil incarnate.” I motioned for the martini. “Ben’s driving. Hand over the martini.”
“It’s an apple martini, and this one’s mine. I have yours in the kitchen, but you should apologize to Twinkles before you drink my delicious drinks.”
Ben and I trailed behind as Camille led the way into her kitchen. The last time I’d been here, we’d cooked up a decoy body. That had been a useful skill to learn, but it also made me look at her kitchen table in a new and less favorable light.
Ben must have been having similar thoughts, because his gaze slid across the table, stuttered to a stop on the oven, and was followed by a look of mild panic. “You, uh, did some kind of magical cleansing in here after you cooked up that corpse, right?”
Camille smiled and nodded. “If that makes you feel better, Bennett, then I certainly did.” She followed that obvious lie with a hearty sip of her martini.
Yuck. I didn’t want to be thinking about faux corpses. It might be like baking bread, but it was still disgusting. “Where’s that drink you promised me?”
Camille retrieved it from the counter, but then the evil woman held my precious beverage hostage. “So, about Twinkles… You’re still pet-sitting for me over Christmas?”
Since I’d completely forgotten about that particular promise, she caught me off guard. “Ah. Yes. Where are you going?”
“I still haven’t decided. But I’m overdue a vacation, so I’m leaving even if I have to camp on the side of the road. You know the Christmas shopping season is mad, so I’ll need a break by the time we’ve powered through.” She raised her eyebrows as she sipped her drink.
Ben pulled my suspect list from his back pocket, reminding me that we were here for a favor. Thank goodness for Camille and her generous nature. She was an amazing mentor. I snatched the list from Ben’s fingers. Camille would help us just because she wanted to help me.
Most witches had a distinctly mercenary streak, but not Camille. She was incredibly generous, with me and her clients. And she was a total dark horse, which I adored. She wasn’t fully appreciated in the witching community, since her particular brand of witchcraft—heavy on preparation and light on brute strength—wasn’t as appreciated by the current regime. I smelled a hint of change in the wind, but it was a few years coming.
“Of course I’m still watching Twinkles.” I leaned down to pet him, but he squeezed his eyes in what I was sure was a threat. After being inside that jerk’s head, I wouldn’t put anything past him. I casually withdrew my hand. Lifting the list, I said, “So, have you had enough booze to talk about vampires?”
She wrinkled her nose. “There isn’t enough liquor to make that a pleasant experience. Just hand it over.”
With a bland look, Camille perused the list of suspect-witness names I’d compiled. “Not bad. Except…” She grabbed one of the pens stashed in a jar next to her phone. After a few seconds of scribbling, she handed it back to me along with the pen. “Let’s have a seat at the kitchen table, and I’ll bring you as up to date as I can. Granted, they’re not exactly my crowd. Consider what I’m going to tell you preliminary information.”
Thank goodness for small favors. I doubted I’d still be mentoring with her if her social circle was filled with vamps.
She joined Ben and me after pulling a pitcher of premixed apple martini and a soda from the fridge. She handed Ben the soda and placed the pitcher equidistant between us. “I thought we might need additional refreshments.”
Uh-oh.
I took my first look at her notes. She’d whittled away my list of twelve names to nine. Two had stars next to them. “What are the stars?”
“Those are the vampires least likely to have been involved. Both of them have worked more closely with Cornelius over the last decade. Some vamps might like to play a long game, but that would be excessive.”
Cornelius inspired mixed feelings. On the one hand, I wouldn’t mind working for him when my apprenticeship ended. Basically, once I was a real witch.
Unlike Camille, I didn’t have a huge stash of cash in my bank account. She might not be mercenary, but she was still a witch. She had mad bargaining skills, was business-savvy, and knew how to turn her talents into profit.
I, on the other hand, was broke. Between my lack of savings and my massive student loans, gainful employment with an organization that paid top dollar for my magical skills should rank high on my goal list—my long-term goal list.
I’d avoided work there thus far, because I felt like so much of what happened in the Society was beyond my skill level, and I didn’t mean magically.
The Society for the Study of Paranormal and Occult Phenomena might sound like a club for a bunch of ghost-hunting loons, but it was really a cover for the local enhanced community’s governing body. The well-funded governing body that employed witches to perform all variety of tasks necessary for the functioning of a secret society. But the Society and I weren’t always on the same page morally, ethically, and philosophically.
“You have that look,” Ben said.
“What look?”
Camille chuckled. “The deer-in-headlights look you get every time Cornelius’s name comes up. Stop worrying. There’s time enough to decide whether you want to tie your wagon to the Society.”
“Or not,” I said.
“That’s right. There are other ways for witches to make a good income. Look at Bernard and CeeCee and their thrift store venture.” She finished her drink and poured another.
“Or you could use your degree.”
“Work in the mundane world?” My dismayed tone said it all. I hadn’t meant to sound so crass. I was dating a man with no magic, after all. A great guy, who I couldn’t imagine being made better by anything, and that included having magic. “Sorry, Ben.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Ben lifted his soda can and waited for me to clink my martini glass against it. “Of all people, you know I get it. You should do exactly what you want to do. You deserve that freedom.”
We didn’t talk about it much, but I knew that Ben didn’t feel he had a choice when it came to his work at the funeral home. He was good at it, but it wasn’t something he loved. I wasn’t sure where his passion lay, only that he had a desire to do something else.
Kowalski Funeral Home had been in his family for generations, and he was the last Kowalski. Talk about feeling trapped by your job. Ben felt dutybound to ensure the business’s continued success after his parents’ retirement. Although given the lack of cash reserves when they’d left and the current state of the books, maybe continued existence was more accurate.
“At least all this running around with the crazy magical crowd is good for the business.” I gave him a falsely cheery smile.
“True. And enhanced business only seems to be increasing. Good job, honey.” He toasted me again.
“That’s right! You’ve got the contract for enhanced body disposal in the Greater Austin area.” Camille shook her head. “I’m not sure how I could forget that. Good for you. It’s also an excellent lead into the vamp community.”
“Is there a body?” When she’d mentioned “fried,” I’d assumed to ash.
“Oh, yes! Charred, but still body-shaped. Or so the grapevine says.”
“Ugh.” My stomach did a little flip. “That is so gross.”
“You put makeup on dead people, and you think that’s gross?” Camille asked.
“Oh, she thinks doing makeup for the deceased is disgusting, too.” Ben grinned at me.
