by Lily Cahill
Vincent let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll get you back soon, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Blayze said. He hung up before Vincent could figure anything out and change his mind.
He looked at Ramona, grinning widely. “You know, I think we may get to meet the elusive Miss Joy Valdez after all.”
Chapter Six
Ramona
THE DRIVE TO PHILADELPHIA WAS mostly quiet, but comfortable. Blayze flipped through a few channels, pausing on the latest Adele song.
Who could resist singing along to Adele?
Ramona joined in on the chorus. She liked the way Blayze turned to look at her, mouth agape, as if she’d just done something astounding.
“I don’t understand you at all,” he said, laughing. “You can do that. You should be performing to sold-out stadiums, and instead you solve crimes in Bumfuck Nowhere, Pennsylvania.”
“Singing was Daniel’s dream for me. Or for us, I guess. He could play any sort of instrument—put it in front of him, and he’d figure it out in a few minutes. There was some talk that a record exec was scouting our shows, but Daniel died before anything came to fruition.” She shrugged but didn’t take her eyes off the road. “I put those dreams away. I didn’t want it without him, you know? It was always his great dream.”
Blayze frowned. She couldn’t see it, but she somehow knew he was doing it, anyway. She ignored what that could possibly mean because she wasn’t quite ready to think about that.
“But if you want to sing, you should.”
“I don’t know if I want to,” she answered. She wasn’t sure she had ever really desired the spotlight like Daniel had, but he’d wanted it so much. It had always seemed obvious—it was his dream, and she could help him achieve it. Why wouldn’t she sing for him? It wasn’t as if she didn’t love singing.
Her answer didn’t seem to appease Blayze. He was being quiet in the way that very much implied he had a lot more to say.
“Seriously, Blayze, drop it. I am happy doing what I do. I do not require any sort of fame, I promise you.”
“You say that now,” Blayze said. “But coming from the only person in this car who has been both not-famous and famous, I have to say, being famous is pretty fucking cool.”
“No regrets about coming into the spotlight, then?”
He shook his head so vehemently that she didn’t even have to look away from the road in front of them to see it.
“None at all. I know it’s not for everyone, and blah blah blah the dangers of fame, it’s a double-edged sword, whatever. All I know is that for a while when we were growing up, Damien would work three jobs so that the rest of us could go to school and, like, eat. And now people want to pay me just for being myself and nothing more. Does it make me shallow to enjoy a little bit of ease in my life?”
She’d never thought of it that way. Blayze was so breezy and carefree at all times that it was easy, sometimes, to forget that he had really suffered. He’d barely survived the massacre that not only killed all of his kind, but also his parents. He’d spent years living in hiding, fearing for his life.
Although she wasn’t sure how to say it to him, she suspected that there was more to him than he was often willing to show others. But if it helped him to be a little flippant sometimes, a little immature—well, it was hard for her to begrudge him.
“Well, I guess I can see that,” she admitted. “I just don’t think that I could do it. Or, if I could, I don’t think it would make me happy or fulfilled. I know you don’t exactly understand, but I really do love my job. It’s nice to help people.”
Blayze covered her hand where it sat on the gear shift and lingered there. She didn’t make him move it.
Should she make him? Did she want him to hold her hand?
“I don’t know. I liked the other night, when we questioned Zeke. It was fun.”
She smiled to herself. “It’s not supposed to be fun, Blayze.”
“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t try to pretend you didn’t love making wimpy Zeke Maxwell uncomfortable. A little bit, at least. The dude sells drugs, it’s not like he’s some paragon of virtue.”
“Why do you only call me Jones?” she asked, changing the subject, mostly because he was getting a little too close to being correct.
He didn’t only call her Jones. She was acutely aware that he had called her Ramona, once, the night they’d slept together. She’d liked the sound of it on his tongue.
Blayze laced his fingers with hers, and her heartbeat kicked up. She couldn’t pretend it was accidental. This was intentional hand-holding. She was intentionally holding his hand. Or letting him hold hers, at least. She wasn’t sure there was much different, really. It all amounted to the same thing.
A burst of adrenaline went through her and she drew back her hand, put it on the steering wheel. Blayze said nothing.
“I don’t know. It suits you,” he said. He didn’t explain any more. Even though she wasn’t done talking, she had a feeling the conversation was over.
The rehab center was on the outskirts of Philly, attached to a hospital. Ramona parked her car, and the pair of them got out. They were both actively not talking about what had happened when he’d tried to hold her hand.
It’s for the best, she told herself. Think of Daniel.
And she did, but now she wondered if maybe Blayze was right, and if a lifetime alone was what Daniel would have wanted for her…
It wasn’t something she had time to think about. They walked in through the front doors, and the nurse at the desk looked up. She smiled at them by rote, but after a moment, her jaw fell open.
“Oh my God,” she said, her voice surprisingly high-pitched. “Are you seriously Blayze Dragomir? Oh my God!”
The change in Blayze was instantaneous: he went from the unsure guy trying to hold her hand to the recent reality celebrity du jour. The smile on his face was big and false, full of teeth, and he stood taller, attracting the eyes of every nearby nurse.
Ramona glared at the girl, but it went entirely unheeded. Who did this red-headed, skinny bimbo think she was?
“It’s nice to meet you…” His eyes trailed down to the nurse’s nametag. “Annette.”
Even though she knew she had no right to, Ramona was analyzing Blayze’s every move. Had his eyes just lingered on that girl’s chest, or was it her imagination? Was he going to flirt with this nurse right in front of her, after trying to hold her hand? Maybe she should have just let him, damn it all.
But that was ridiculous. She shouldn’t have to feel pressured into a relationship if that wasn’t what she really wanted. Although now, Ramona wasn’t so sure.
“This is going to sound ridiculous,” Annette the nurse said, fishing around the pocket of her scrubs and pulling out her phone. “But could I get a selfie? Otherwise no one will believe me, I swear.”
“Sure thing.”
Annette stood up and walked around the desk. She held up her phone at a flattering angle and pursed her lips as she leaned in closer to Blayze. He smiled wide, and she hit the button once, twice, and then, right before the third time, she turned and placed a smacking kiss on Blayze’s cheek.
“Whoa there!” He rubbed at the spot, laughing. “Don’t get frisky on me.”
Terrible red-headed Annette, who Ramona hated very much at the moment, giggled. She popped out her hips and leaned against the desk. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help it!”
Ramona cleared her throat, and the two of them looked at her.
God, now she looked jealous, which she definitely was not. She just wanted to punch this girl straight in the face for completely unrelated, valid reasons.
“We’re here to pick up a patient being discharged today,” she said, keeping her tone light and easy, even if she wanted to yell and scream at Nurse Annette to get away from him.
“Right, of course!”
In Annette’s favor, she immediately fell back into a more professional role. She went back around the desk and typed a few
things on her computer, then picked up a phone. Ramona couldn’t make out her murmurs, but a moment later Joy Valdez walked out from the back.
If Ramona hadn’t seen Joy’s face a million times, she wouldn’t have recognized the girl.
She looked completely different. A month in rehab had given her a curvier, heavier body. She looked more like Felicity, now, than she ever had before. Even her face seemed a little rounder.
Her tan complexion was sallow, her hair limp around her face. Ramona had only ever seen two kinds of pictures of Joy Valdez: ones where she looked immaculate, like she could be the queen of any sorority in the country—or of every sorority in the country. The other kind all came from when she’d leave the clubs at 4 AM, with broken heels and her eye makeup running, making her look like a raccoon.
Now, she just looked like a girl. Not some heiress to a line of royalty, or some famous party girl. She looked tired and a little sad, but there was something there—a kind of toughness in the hard set of her shoulders that implied that she’d survived far more than anyone else could imagine.
Joy had her bag in her hand, and a sweater thrown over her arm. She frowned when she saw Blazye and Ramona.
“Lis told me that the cute one was picking me up,” she said, obviously confused.
The offended look on Blayze’s face made Ramona want to high-five Joy.
“And here I am. Ask and you shall receive.”
“Not you! The other one? Vincent, I think his name is?”
Blayze balked, and Ramona had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.
“You think Vin is the cute one?”
This conversation was only going to end in tragedy if she let it go on, Ramona could tell. She needed to put a stop to it (even if she privately agreed with Blayze on this one—sure Vincent was cute, but Blayze had the most striking blue eyes, and his blond hair was always messy like he’d just gotten out of bed, and—she was getting distracted).
She cut in front of Blayze and held out her hand. “Hi, Joy. Arryn ran into some car trouble, and Vincent went to go help him out of that jam. He sent us here, instead.”
Joy still looked wary, but she shook Ramona’s hand. “Okay, I guess. Thanks for picking me up.”
Annette bustled in between all of them and swept Joy up in a tight squeeze. To Ramona’s surprise, Joy hugged the nurse back just as tightly.
“You can call us any time you need us, okay?” Annette pulled back, hands on Joy’s upper arms. “Seriously. Day or night. There’s always someone here, and we will figure out what’s happening. You have the name of an NA group, a sponsor?”
Joy rolled her eyes, but the gesture was more good-natured than impatient. “Yes, mother. I think I’ll be able to survive this. You don’t have to worry so much.”
“Wrong. It’s, like, literally in my job description.”
The two women pulled apart, and Joy hefted her bag further up her shoulder. She turned to Blayze and Ramona, nodding decisively. “Let’s go then, yeah?”
Blayze was driving, which had seemed like a good idea when Ramona had offered him the keys. Unfortunately, he drove much like the way he lived his life: recklessly.
As they barely made it through the third yellow light in a row, Ramona tightened her grip on the material of her seat.
She’d thought that having a woman to woman chat with might be helpful for Joy. A little bit of girl talk, to help her relax. But Joy was stiff and uncomfortable, and Blayze was driving like he lived in Mad Max, and Ramona didn’t know what to do.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, just to fill the dead air between her and Joy.
Suspicion loomed large on Joy’s face. “Are you a reporter? When I spoke to Lis on the phone, she swore to me that no one knew where I was and that this wouldn’t be turned into some kind of news story.”
Damn. She hadn’t even been able to pass for Blayze’s girlfriend?
“I’m not a reporter. I’m a private detective, and I was hired by your family to look into what happened to you.”
Joy moved around in her seat uncomfortably. “The police said it was an accident.”
“Do you think it was?”
“I don’t know.” Frowning out the window, Joy sighed. “I mean…honestly? Probably not. Drugs get cut with poisons and shit, yeah, but not with, like, ancient poisons created by evil warlocks in the past. You know?”
“I do. And that’s why your family hired me, to thoroughly cover all the bases and make sure you are safe.”
Up front, Blayze cleared his throat. Ramona looked up at him, but his eyes were on the road, his hands at ten and two. He didn’t say anything more, so she let it go.
“Does all of that sound okay to you?” She weighed her next words carefully. “If this is something that makes you upset or uncomfortable, you don’t have to talk to me. You can have a chat with Vincent, or Felicity, or whoever makes you feel safe. I would not want to interfere in any way with your progress.”
There was a long pause as Joy chewed her lip, obviously considering. “I can tap out at any time if you ask something that I don’t want to answer.”
With anyone else, Ramona might have considered that a question, but not with Joy Valdez. She said the sentence like an order she expected to be obeyed. Ramona chafed a bit at being bossed around, but she wasn’t stupid enough to argue with the heir to the Valdez family.
“That’s absolutely fine,” Ramona agreed.
The highway flew by them, light poles appearing and disappearing, casting shadows as the sun went down and the moon began to rise.
Haltingly, Joy began to talk. “I…I don’t know how to describe what happened, really. Everything was normal. We went to the Tania’s parents’ store and hung out for a while. I got my sister some potions ingredients, and we scored some PD from Zeke. Then we went back to Tania’s place and started watching this weird movie on HBO, only I totally forgot to bring Felicity her ingredients, so they all went bad in like, no time whatsoever. It was super annoying. Have you ever smelled potions ingredients?”
Ramona smiled. “Can’t say I have, outside of an already finished potion.”
“Well, be thankful you don’t have a witch as a sister because I swear they all smell like death. And I mean, I know you have to store them properly right away or whatever, but I swear these went bad in like no time at all. I was so pissed—that stuff isn’t cheap! I had to throw them out at Tania’s and she was so annoyed at the smell she made me take out her garbage.”
“And then…?” They were getting off track.
“Right. No one else was over, so it was just us. We were drinking a little, and she turned on some music…”
“What time was all this happening?”
“I don’t know. Not that late. Maybe around 10 at night? We cut the PD, I snorted some, and then…nothing. I woke up in the hospital a few days later.” She shrugged. “Then I was home for a little bit, and then I was in rehab. Now I’m out.”
Ramona nodded. “Anyone you can think of who might have a grudge against you or your family?”
“Please. How about, most of the magical world?” Joy laughed, but it was a mirthless thing. “I know the Valdez name isn’t exactly popular right now, and I get why.”
From up front, Blayze cut in. “What about your friend Tania? Could she have done it?”
Joy wrinkled her nose. “Absolutely not.”
“I know she’s your friend, but she also definitely had access to your things and could have easily tampered with your drugs.” Ramona didn’t want to say that, she knew it could alienate Joy, but it had to be said. Blayze was right: Tania had access and opportunity. She was a suspect.
“It’s impossible. Tania was in rehab the past few weeks, too. Her parents sent her to a different one than me, so she’s not going to be home for a few weeks, but still.”
“You’re still in touch with her?” Blayze’s voice was incredulous.
Joy looked guilty. “A little bit. Facebook, mostly, whenever I had c
omputer privileges. I know we’re supposed to stay away from each other because her parents hate me or whatever, but we’re friends. Trust me, I know the difference between real friends and people who want something from me. I’ve had plenty of practice dealing with those kinds of people, and Tania isn’t like that. She’s the best friend I made in Augustus.”
Ramona still had her doubts, but Joy’s insistence was convincing. She knew Tania better than anyone, after all. Ramona didn’t delete Tania Maxwell from the suspect list, but she mentally moved the pixie closer to the bottom.
“I’m just saying, everyone knows my reputation. If she wanted to kill me, she could have just left me to die and everyone would have assumed it was an overdose.” Such bitter words, and Joy barely seemed phased.
“Anyone else? Maybe Zeke’s dealer would have a grudge, or something?”
“Who, Billy? Or Bullet, I think is his street name. That’s dumb, though, so I call him Billy. I’ve met Billy before. He used to come into the Witch’s Brew all the time. He’s a scumbag, but he’s not a murderer. If he was planning to become one, it wouldn’t be because of me. I’m some chick who likes his drugs, and it’s not like he’s in a profession with much respect for the law. He probably has illegal contacts coming out of his pores.”
Billy. Billy. Finally, a clue that was actually helpful!
“Do you know Billy’s last name?”
“Lasseter, I think? I can’t remember.”
“That’s really helpful, Joy. Thank you.” Ramona reached into her pocket and found one of her business cards and a pen. She scrawled her personal cell number on the blank side and held it out to Joy, who wrapped tentative fingers around it.
“What’s this for?”
Ramona shrugged. “You remember something else and you want to talk about it. Or you’re bored and you need some company. What you’ve told me has been really helpful, and I would love to hear more about it at some point when you’re feeling better.”
Joy shoved the card into her pocket, and leaned back into her seat. “Can I sleep now?”
“Sure,” Blayze said, eyes in the rearview mirror.
