“Thank you for taking the long elevator ride down here,” said the lizard-headed beast with an outstretched lion’s paw.
Bentley offered his own hand with almost no hesitation.
As human hand touched iguammit paw, the air shimmered in a heat wave pattern. Powerful change magic passed through me in a hot burst, throwing off my balance the way a mild earthquake might. The chimera transformed. Bentley had begun shaking hands with a lion’s paw, but now he was shaking hands with another human. A man. Also wearing a business suit.
Steve was dark-skinned, average height, with a slim build. He looked about thirty. His hair was black and tightly coiled to his head. He had an amiable, round face, with a cleft chin, clean shaven. Sliding down his short nose was a pair of round tortoiseshell glasses. The mottled brown and gold glasses emphasized his big, expressive brown eyes. He wore a stylish suit jacket over a tan-colored safari-style shirt with two buttons undone. No tie. The jacket and trousers were playfully mismatched in a youthful, fashion-forward way. Both garments were cut in a slimmer, more contemporary style than Bentley’s conservative suit, yet not as feminine as my own gray suit. He looked exactly like the sort of sharp young man you’d trust with your legal documents, your taxes, your banking, or even your daughter. His posh, vaguely French accent certainly added to his charm.
The man continued his conversation with Bentley as though he hadn’t just shifted form. “I deeply regret that we are not meeting under better circumstances.” Steve’s deep, rich voice as a human was exactly the same as it had been as an iguammit.
Bentley tilted his head back and offered the man a grim look. “Being a detective, these are the type of circumstances under which I meet most new people.”
Steve nodded and shot me a shy look. He had the thickest eyelashes I’d ever seen. He said to Bentley, “I recognize your redheaded partner, yet we haven’t been formally introduced.”
Bentley opened his mouth to introduce me, but I beat him to it.
“Zara Riddle,” I said, offering my hand. He shook it. I was mildly disappointed his hand didn’t turn into a paw and then back again for me.
He gripped my hand like a man with no intention of releasing it. “You’re a natural redhead,” he said.
“Down to the last freckle,” I replied.
“I do love the color red.”
“That’s right,” I said. I knew that about his kind. “And you love red candy, too, right?”
He finally released my hand and gave me a coy look, batting his thick eyelashes behind the tortoiseshell-framed lenses. “Who told you?”
Nobody had told me. I’d read that particular fact in the book I called the DWM Monster Manual. Iguammits such as Steve were prone to periods of intense concentration during which they often forgot to eat. When famished, they would eat almost anything, but they loved red-colored candy the most. At the mention of red candy, something had started bubbling up in my memory. The glass jars of red candy at Carrot the tattoo artist’s studio.
Two pieces of a puzzle snapped together. Carrot had red candy, and her boyfriend Sefu was sometimes called Steve. He was a potential suspect. And he was standing in front of me.
Steve seemed to catch something in my expression. “Have I offended you, Ms. Riddle? I do apologize if I’ve been rude in any way. It’s been a very long day.”
“You’re Sefu,” I said tentatively.
“I am. Most people call me Steve.” He shuffled from one foot to the other, glancing down.
“You’re a lawyer here, and you’re also the person Carrot Greyson is dating?”
“Of course.” He hunched his shoulders under his stylish suit jacket. “Am I to assume, by your question, that you were not made aware of that fact before now?”
“So it would seem.”
Bentley broke in, “I apologize, Mr. Adebayo. I should have told Zara on the way over.”
“No need to apologize.” Sefu Adebayo, also known as Steve the Iguammit or Steve the Lawyer, fidgeted with his tan shirt where a tie might have been. “We are all on the same team. We can grieve for the loss of our late friend, Ishmael, another time. Right now, it’s important we put all your resources toward catching whoever did that unspeakable deed.”
He met my gaze with shining eyes.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.
He jerked his head downward. “Thank you, but I must admit that Ishmael and I weren’t very close,” Steve said. “My heart is breaking right now for his sister, of whom I’m very fond.”
Of whom I’m very fond. For a young-looking guy, Steve had an old-fashioned way of speaking. Did the style came from his education? Or was he older than he appeared? Like maybe a century or two older?
Bentley cut in. “When we spoke on the phone earlier today, you said that Miss Carrot Greyson is unaware of the supernatural. Is that true, or were you reluctant to discuss such things over an unsecured line?”
Steve rubbed the base of his nose. “Carrot doesn’t know what I am, and I’d prefer that she doesn’t find out. Eventually, perhaps after we’re married, I’ll break the news. I’ll start, of course, by revealing her own powers as a rune mage.”
In unison, both Bentley and I said, “Rune mage?”
“Yes.” Steve took off his glasses and began cleaning them with a square of blue cloth he took from his jacket pocket. “I believe Carrot has the ability to forge psychic connections with other beings, using symbols.” His speech took on an instructive tone, aided by the professor-like cleaning of the glasses. “In the old days, the ancients drew runes upon their skin using charred wood and dark berries. They conducted rituals around fires and waterfalls, attempting to communicate with the spirit world or distant villages.”
“Before the days of phones and telegrams,” I said.
Steve shot me a pleased look. “Before language, even.”
“You got me,” I said. “I can’t even imagine a time before language.”
Bentley snorted.
Steve continued. “Carrot hasn’t been indoctrinated with the ancient knowledge by a mentor, and yet, the magic has found a way to her. Without knowing it, Carrot has been channeling rune magic through the tattoos on her body.”
Bentley asked, “How is it that she’s unaware of this? A person should be able to tell if they’re under the influence of magic.”
Not necessarily, I thought. Bentley had no idea he’d been under a certain black-haired upgraded-zombie’s spell.
“Carrot is not surprised by coincidences because she believes in superstition and magic the way many people do,” Steve explained. “As a vague force that can be influenced by prayer or,” he wrinkled his nose, “positive thinking.”
Bentley asked, “Can she use this rune mage tattoo power to control people? To make others do her bidding?”
Steve paused before answering, “Anything is possible. She has been a suspect in a homicide case before. I was first alerted to her magical abilities when she awoke from a dream, ran to her car, and drove to a crime site.” He smiled at the memory. “That case has since been closed. It was officially determined she was merely a witness to events. An innocent bystander, who was only involved because of a few foolish choices she made in her love life.”
“Yup,” I said. “I know that tune. Love makes you stupid.”
Steve sighed and got a wistful look. “It certainly does.”
Bentley cleared his throat. “No, it doesn’t. The opposite is true. Love—actual love, not infatuation or lust—clarifies everything.”
Steve and I both turned to the detective for further explanation. He offered none.
After it was clear Bentley didn’t have more to say about love and its ability to make people the opposite of stupid, Steve continued talking about Carrot.
“It is really quite wondrous how intuitive Carrot is,” Steve said. “Recently, she has been talking about getting another tattoo. Either a lion or an iguana.” He raised his eyebrows emphatically. “Her idea entirely.”
“A lion or an iguana,” Bentley mused. “Sounds like your tattooed girlfriend knows more about you than she’s letting on.” He gave Steve a playful, brotherly punch on the shoulder.
Steve winced. His human form was apparently not very rugged.
“She knows without knowing,” Steve said.
Bentley raised his eyebrows. “It could be the power of love that’s allowing her to see the truth.”
Steve held his cleaned glasses up to the cafeteria’s bright windows and inspected them as he spoke. “But even if one sees the truth, how can one be certain it’s not another wishful illusion? Surely you are both familiar with the expression we see what we wish to see.”
Bentley followed the man’s gaze past the eyeglasses to the bright windows.
“You mean like that pretty view,” Bentley said. “We see what we wish to see. If we believe hard enough, the illusion becomes the truth.”
I followed his gaze. Beyond the cafeteria’s huge window panes there was what appeared to be a sunny courtyard. The courtyard had been lovingly landscaped with a variety of shrubs and bright flowers that bobbed in a light breeze. Except there were no flowers, and it wasn’t a courtyard. It couldn’t have been. We were at least ten stories—maybe twenty—below ground. They might have been able to grow plants, but they didn’t have sunshine.
“Exactly,” Steve said. “The view is a courtyard if you believe it is.”
“What are those glass panels made of, anyway?” Bentley asked. “Television screens? A projection of some kind?”
Steve smiled, looking like a professor who was pleased by a student’s astute questions. “It’s not exactly my department, but I can tell you that it’s hybrid technology. Magic and science.”
I asked him, “Is that what Codex the Talking Elevator is made of? Magic and science?”
Steve’s smile fell off his face immediately. “Codex is not my favorite innovation. The architects don’t even know why they’re making her. They simply are.” He waved at the windows. “At least this window technology has an obvious end use. It offers a pretty view, and helps prevent Seasonal Affective Disorder. That’s all. It’s not going to one day...” He trailed off, shuddering.
Bentley shot me an uneasy look.
I gave him a that’s-what-you-get look right back.
We’d come here for information, and we were getting plenty of it. Not necessarily the information we’d come for, but I was thrilled to learn more about both rune mages and the inner workings of the DWM.
Steve shook his head as though waking himself from a daydream. “We... are... standing in the cafeteria,” he said uncertainly. He looked past us, in the direction of the refrigeration units. “We should get something from foodservices.” He glanced upward briefly. “It will look suspicious on the surveillance feed if we stand here talking and don’t partake of the amenities.”
I swung my arms enthusiastically. “Hot diggity dog. We wouldn’t want a security team to swarm in here and shoot us for looking suspicious. I guess we’d better get some cheesecake!”
Chapter 21
The three of us poured cups of hot coffee from the self-serve kiosk, then selected cold treats from the cooler.
Steve stared at the cold meatball sub, but didn’t grab it.
“That sub looks good,” I commented.
“Yes, but my girlfriend is vegetarian,” Steve said. “She doesn’t like kissing me if I have meat breath.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good boyfriend.”
He gave me a wry smile. “A good boyfriend who’ll be enjoying a kale salad.”
I selected the cherry cheesecake, of course. I’d inherited a craving from a spirit, and while the spirit had been returned to its body, the craving had never left. I’d been thinking about cherry cheesecake ever since, and while I’d had it a few times, I hadn’t been able to get the DWM cafeteria’s version until now.
We sat at a table near the fake windows and dug in.
The cheesecake was exactly as delicious as I remembered, thanks to my borrowed memories. Pretty soon my wedge was gone, like magic.
Bentley had gotten the cheesecake as well, but he wasn’t that hungry. He took only one bite, then poked it a few times while we talked to Steve about Ishmael.
When Bentley wasn’t looking, I took his plate and ate his as well. The second slice was even better than the first, thanks to it being stolen.
I ate and listened while Bentley questioned Steve about Ishmael’s work schedule, his relationship with his colleagues, and his relationships outside of work. Steve painted a picture of a young man who was pretty typical for a twenty-six-year-old. He had rubbed a few people the wrong way, particularly those further up the chain of command, because he didn’t take well to direction. He was also a braggart who let everyone around him know about the most minor of achievements.
“Who brags about emptying their email inbox?” Steve asked rhetorically. “Some days he couldn’t let an hour go by without letting people in the adjacent cubicles know he had successfully removed a sliver from his finger, or shot three crumpled pieces of paper in a row into the recycling basket across the room.”
“That would be irritating,” Bentley said. “But it’s not behavior worthy of a beheading.”
“Not in this country,” Steve agreed.
Bentley tapped his notepad. “Thank you for your insight. And now it has come to the part of the interview where I must ask about your own whereabouts last night.”
“That’s easy.” Steve took off his glasses and began cleaning them a second time. “I’m Carrot’s alibi, and she is mine. I was at her apartment above the tattoo studio all night.”
“How convenient,” Bentley said.
Steve’s hands paused mid-glasses-rub. “Oh? What might you mean by that?”
“With the two of you being each other’s alibis, you might also be each other’s accomplices. Kill him together, collect the inheritance.”
“I see.” The cleaning of the glasses resumed. “But surely you saw the state of his apartment. He spent all his savings on vacations and those ridiculous safaris. I suspect I’ll have to pitch in from my own funds to pay for his funeral costs.” He placed his glasses on his nose and pushed them up delicately. “Which I will do, of course. Anything for Carrot.” He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Any idea when Dr. Lund will be finished with the body? I’d like to get to the cremation arrangements sooner rather than later.” He looked from Bentley to me and added, “For Carrot’s sake.”
Right, I thought, suspicion bells ringing. To give the victim’s sister closure, not to destroy physical evidence. Righty-ho.
The iguammit shifter’s enthusiasm over cremation arrangements had suddenly roused my suspicions. On the true crime shows, the family member who was the most interested in getting the body cremated was always the killer, or protecting the killer. Was Steve protecting his girlfriend? Anything for Carrot, he’d said. Anything?
The two men returned to their discussion of the victim and the arrangements for his remains. Bentley stated that he remained hopeful for a swift resolution to the case so that everyone could have their closure.
I kept a close eye on Steve’s face, watching for signs of deception. If he’d been a regular human, not a supernatural creature, I might have tried one of my spells on him. The bluffing spell, while technically not a lie detector, was a great one for getting people to open up. However, Aunt Zinnia had beaten a bit of good sense into me. I wouldn’t risk casting magic. I could handle an angry Bentley, but I wasn’t so sure about an iguammit.
My gaze drifted from Steve’s face to the giant windows. The image of the sunny courtyard was perfect. No pixellation or flaws in color. And yet, what lay on the other side of the windows was no courtyard. It was probably just more offices.
My gaze remained on the fake courtyard, and a tickle of anxiety crept up my spine. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that someone or something was watching us from the other side. I felt
like a caught critter in a glass box.
Codex is always watching, I thought. The absurdity almost made me laugh. I was worried about a computer! Just when you think you’ve seen all the weird stuff at the DWM, they pull a new, weirder rabbit out of their hat.
* * *
I was enjoying my third slice of cherry cheesecake when the interview finished up. Steve Adebayo received a message on his phone, and mentioned he was needed back in the legal department for something unrelated to the Greyson case.
“Please call if you think of anything,” Bentley said, handing over a business card.
“Certainly.” Steve stood, rolled his shoulders back, and coolly buttoned his body-hugging jacket. “I’ll walk you to the nearest exit.”
“No need.” Bentley got to his feet and did the same shoulder-rolling and jacket-buttoning. “We’ll be stopping by the morgue to see Dr. Lund with a possible murder weapon.”
“It’s our hot Saturday-night date,” I interjected. I got to my feet, rolled back my shoulders, and then not-so-coolly flicked the cheesecake crust crumbs off my suit jacket.
Steve’s eyes flashed with interest behind his round glasses. “A possible murder weapon? Do you have it with you?”
Bentley nodded to his suitcase, which had been sitting innocuously on the chair next to him the whole time. “Would you like to see it?”
Steve half-clapped and half-tented his hands together like a schoolboy supervillain. “Might I?”
Bentley glanced over at me as though seeking permission.
“He might as well have a look,” I said. “Maybe he’ll recognize it.”
A frown flashed across Bentley’s face, ever so briefly. I had the impression I’d given the incorrect answer, failing a test I didn’t know I was taking.
The detective turned toward the suitcase, picked it up robotically, and held it over the cafeteria table without setting it down. “Zara, you’ve gotten crumbs everywhere,” he said.
“Some of those crumbs were there when we sat down, I swear.” I cast a simple spell to tidy away the crumbs. The air gave none of its usual resistance. The spell was a dud. The crumbs remained untouched.
Wisteria Witches Mysteries Box Set 3 Page 47
