by Ann Denton
“Not following, Ly-ly.”
“You might not just be looking for a murderer. You might be looking for a magic thief.”
Chapter 8
Bennett drops me at my apartment so that I can speed clean.
“Three hours. Then I’m gonna hold a meeting on these murders so we can figure out what the heck is going on. I want you back there taking notes for me.”
He partially shifts, giving himself long black wings. With a nod in my direction, he takes off.
I stare at the stairs. I should have had him carry me up. But that seemed too romantic. And, sweet as he is, romance is not what I need from Bennett right now.
I crack my neck like they do just before a badass movie montage. I’m gonna clean like a frickin’ machine. I grab onto the railing so I can drag myself up the stairs.
“Lyon!” Mrs. Snow and Tabby dart out of Sarah’s first floor apartment and charge at me.
Sarah bunches up her skirts as she follows me up the stairs in her heels. She’s always in heels. Tabby, on the other hand, tromps next to me in her black, grandmother-patented orthotics and mint green golf dress.
“I heard about Luke,” Tabby shakes her head so hard her bottle-cap thick glasses almost fall off. Her white curls bounce around like preschoolers.
Hearing his name is like a bolt shot through my chest. I don’t respond.
“Well, I for one, don’t believe it,” Sarah chatters beside me as I pull myself up the steps.
Tabby sniffs. “What happened to your leg?” She’s a cat shifter, so I totally can’t blame her for licking her lips when she eyes my chicken leg. Unlike Flowers’ tiger shape, I’m pretty sure I can take on a little tabby cat. Particularly one who’s on her eighth life.
I tell the women all about my mishaps as they help me straighten and dust my apartment. Then I hop in the shower while Sarah insists she make tea.
When I come out, dressed normally for the first time that night, the biddies are giddy. Which is never a good sign.
“We’ve got it, sugar!” Sarah calls. “We’ll figure it all out once and for all!”
“Yes, well, we are practically detectives after that last murder,” Tabby nods and takes a sip of her tea.
If by practically detectives she means she attacked the victim a few minutes before his death, then sure.
Sarah nods, in complete agreement with Tabby. “I mean, I did save that girl’s life. So, my quick-thinking skills are really top notch right now.”
My stomach sinks. I have a feeling I’m about to hear a hair-brained scheme. Is this what it feels like when Flowers listens to me?
“I’ll shift!” Tabby announces, as if that’s the greatest and most clever thing in the world.
I sit and take a teacup. “Okay…”
“She can wear that hair clip spy camera doo-hickey you’ve got. She’ll be able to follow Luke, lickety split!” Sarah snaps her fingers.
“Why?”
“Well, to see if he’s going around poisoning people or part of the Crypts or whatnot,” Sarah waves her hand. Like it’s obvious. And I’m silly. And criminals in a town of magical creatures don’t set No Follow spells whenever they’re up to nefarious activity.
All in all, I don’t see how this could end badly. I don’t see how anything could come of it at all. Other than endless footage of feet from a camera strapped to a cat. But I have to ask, “Why don’t you just use the crystal ball?”
They both stare at me. Blink. Stare more.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Tabby asks.
But the question has sparked something in me. The crystal ball. It’s perfect for wild goose chases. “Wait. Hold on. I have an idea.”
Both women stare at me expectantly.
I look at Sarah. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get the camera set up for Tabby if you will watch a nurse in the crystal ball for me. Her name’s Nancy.”
Sarah’s eyes light up. “Is she a suspect?”
“Maybe. But this is totally secret. Under wraps. You can’t tell anyone—especially not Bennett or Flowers.” I cringe. Should I even be doing this? Crap. Maybe I should take it back.
But Sarah claps.
And I can’t find it in me to take it back. Dammit, Fox. Sometimes you need to keep your mouth shut.
Too late.
Tabby and Sarah go downstairs to set up the crystal ball. Tabby swears she can get it working so that all Sarah has to do is watch it like a television.
Meanwhile, I dig through the massive amounts of random crap I chucked into my bedroom during the ‘cleaning’ process and find that spy cam and a choker necklace that can double as a collar.
When Sarah appears on my stoop holding an orange cat with a chunk missing from one ear, I attach the necklace and camera.
Tabby scratches at the necklace.
“Don’t or you’ll dislodge the camera,” I say.
She stops.
I look them each in the eye, “Now, both of you, be careful. Remember. These are reconnaissance missions. Nothing more.”
They salute me like soldiers.
That does not make me feel good. I should not be in charge of anyone, ever. I can’t even keep my own leg human.
I open my mouth to stop them but my phone buzzes in my pocket.
A text lets me know that my mother’s coming.
Just crossed. At the Portalport check point right now.
When I look up, Sarah and Tabby have disappeared, psyched to ‘investigate.’ Well, I guess what’s done is done.
I sink into my second-hand purple velvet couch to wait for my family.
I stare at the claw foot that protrudes from the yoga pants I managed to squeeze on. How the hell am I gonna explain that to my mother?
To my utter shock, my foot flickers before my eyes.
The chicken leg disappears, and my regular foot takes its place. Relief surges through me. I don’t question how it happened. I don’t care. I’m just freakin’ glad it did. One less thing on the list of ‘things to hide from Mom.’
I pull open my pants to check that the feathers on my thigh are gone too.
That’s when my mother and sister appear.
“Checking your underwear for bugs?” Rain asks. My perfect, silver-haired sister grins. Her diamond-embedded dimples gleam. Her wings sparkle in the moonlight.
“Oh, Rain, please,” My mother rolls her eyes and laughs. She steps into the living room.
Her skirt is made of petals and sweeps her slippered feet. My mother usually wears gowns that sweep her feet. Stuff that would make me trip. Because, why walk when you can fly?
Her wings are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. They have little sparkling paisley designs in them. They’re iridescent, with a tinge of gold on the tips. When she was two-hundred, she was a wing model for a bit. I heard about those days a lot when I was growing up. Back when I used to try to pretend I wasn’t her wingless kid. That I was some poor human princess, kidnapped by fairies, waiting for a handsome knight to rescue me.
Those days are long gone. I’ve stopped denying she’s my mother. Heck, we have the same blue eyes. But that’s all we have in common.
Mom’s obsessed with two things: the fae wars and being a proper fairy. She’s worked her way up a bit at the flower palace over the centuries, using her power to add a bite to weapons and revive downed soldiers.
She demonstrates that power by lighting up my room with a floating circle of lightning. It feeds itself. Circling again and again.
“That’s better. It was a little dim in here.”
The lightning crackles. I see a black scorch mark appear on my ceiling. Static electricity builds up in the air and my hair starts to float.
“Really, mom? How about just asking me to turn on more lights?”
“Why run up your bills when I can make light myself?” she pretends she’s practical, and not a show off.
I humph and lick my hands to try to smooth my hair back down.
Rain stalks through my apartmen
t. “I thought you’d have new photos up.”
Normally, I do. I love photography and generally swap out my photos every few months. “Training’s been kicking my rear.”
“Too bad,” Rain sighs. “It’s hard when you can’t do the one thing you’re good at.”
I drop my hands, giving up on my hair. I clench my fists. No need to bring up the fact that I’m good at my new job. That I might have just made an important connection in a case a couple hours ago.
My tongue disagrees with me. “Well, I’m actually kinda rockin’ this new—”
Rain doesn’t listen to my answer. She strides closer. “Here, let me fix your hair for you, poor thing.”
A second later, I’m drenched. Then I’m suddenly so dehydrated I feel like I’ve crossed the Sahara.
“Too much,” I wheeze, my tongue scraping the roof of my mouth like sandpaper.
“And there,” Rain puts some water back, just enough that my hair feels slightly damp. It’s definitely no longer floating.
My body is all out of whack, like it went from zero to sixty and back in two seconds. I breathe hard. “Why did you do that? I was fine.”
Rain rolls her eyes, “You looked like an actual lion.”
“Better than looking like a bucktard.”
“Lyon! Language!” Mom snaps. Rain’s near mummification of me isn’t mentioned. Oh, no. It’s my volatile and acidic comeback. Bucktard is so offensive. Up there with motherless goat.
I lock eyes with my mother.
The guilt spell slaps me across the cheek, followed up by a politeness charm. She must have that sucker hidden in her pocket or something. Note to self: go through her bags later and throw out any charms.
“Do you want to sit?” I ask, because that’s the hostessy thing to do. And politeness charms force you to say hostessy things.
“Why yes, thank you,” Mom sweeps to the couch.
“Any time, Bech,” I flutter my eyelashes at her.
Her face darkens. “I’ve asked you not to call me that.” Bechette is a proper French name. And Mom hates when I shorten it. It sounds too much like bitch, the way I pronounce it, anyway.
I match her steely glare. “And I’ve asked you not to use magic to force me to be a little puppet.”
Rain interjects, “I love the holidays!” She’s trying to diffuse the tension. Like always.
I turn my glare to her but she just peers around the room. “I brought a few decorations.” She opens her clutch purse and starts pulling out strings of twinkling black lights, giant doilies in the shape of spiderwebs, acorn wreaths … they all float to a different spot in the room.
“Can I try the hanging charm this year?” I ask, wondering if I might be able to operate the little stone my sister uses to float things to their places. I mean, they did draw magic from me at the hospital. And I have been able to lose things. So maybe—
“You know what happened last time,” Mom says when Rain goes to hand me the stone. “I’d prefer the skulls not break through your windows again. That was rather expensive to fix.”
I grit my teeth and sit down in a chair to watch Rain float up sugar skulls of different creatures the fae have defeated in their constant wars. A giant troll skull rests on my mantle, over my unused fireplace. Goblin skulls create a table centerpiece. Demon skulls stack around each door frame to create a crypt-like feel. Rain makes sure the one topping the door to my bedroom has flashing red eyes.
“Cute.”
She laughs. “You can help me with the candy.” She pulls bag upon bag of candy out of her purse and piles them on the coffee table. Then she grabs long tube-like vases. We fill the vases and set them around the room and carry some to the porch.
“I think you may have gotten too much this year,” I say as we take yet another set of vases outside.
“I think you underestimate how much Jackson can eat,” Rain replies. “And when he’s near a ley line, watch out. His magic needs constant replenishment. He’s so full of magic, it just rolls off him. Then he’s starving.”
Jackson must be the boyfriend. I don’t ask, half because she wants me to and half because then she’ll ask me about my romantic life—which is beyond a disaster. It’s a black hole.
“When is the first dinner supposed to be?” I change the subject.
“In a few hours.”
“Shoot. I have a meeting at work.” Yes. I’ll miss it. Thank you, Bennett.
Every year, Mom drags us to the ley line for a series of family meals. Every year, she insists that we sit and hold hands on the ley line, all because some stupid ancient fae decided that Hallow’s Eve and the thinning of The Veil are a time of renewal. And that family should renew their power together to strengthen it. Blah blah blah.
I’ve never once felt a spark of power sitting on that ley line. And believe me, we’ve tried. When I was a kid, Mom would make us sit there for hours, in the biting cold, trying to force me to somehow become more powerful. Never got to go door to door to get renewal candy like a normal fae kid.
“I know you hate the dinners, but you have to come. Mom will have a fit.”
“There’s a huge case I’m helping on. Can’t tonight.”
Rain touches my shoulder. “I know you think it’s useless. A waste of time. But it’s not for all of us.”
I look her in the eyes. “You seriously get an actual power boost during this?”
She shrugs. “There’s always so many leeches at the ley line that it’s hard to tell.” By leeches she means less powerful fae, goblins, wizards. Anyone who gets near a super-powered fae during the holidays can get a boost off any excess magic they have. Anyone but me, I guess. Because I’ve never felt a damn thing.
We go back inside.
“Mom, Ly can’t come to dinner. She has a work thing,” Rain tattles.
My mother stands. Guilt swirls in my stomach like a tornado. Shit. This is the worst she’s ever used it on me.
“I’m sure that’s just a misunderstanding. Lyon, you told your office you have family in town, right?”
I sink to my knees. The guilt is seriously that bad. Like a physical ache.
“It’s a murder case. I can’t—”
“You can and you will,” she orders. “Call your boss, Arnold or whatever.”
“I work for Bennett now.”
“Bennett French?” Rain asks.
My mother’s eyes widen, even more furious. “You would leave your family to go to that idiot darkheart who dumped you?”
“He’s not an idiot. He’s my boss.”
“He’s an idiot. You will quit that job. I cannot even believe—” Her lightning circle crackles. A bolt of lightning shoots out and hits one of the sugar skulls. It explodes.
At that moment, a tall male fae appears in the doorway, carrying two suitcases. He’s a stereotypically handsome fairy—big cheekbones and pointed ears and all that.
And while he’s not my type, I’m super happy to see him.
Rain hurries over to him. “Ly-ly, this is Jackson Rock, my boyfriend.” Her wings flutter. His flutter back in a fae sign of endearment.
To Jackson’s credit, he nods my way as he scoops up a chocolate set of wands from a vase and pops them into his mouth. He doesn’t ask why I’m struggling up from my knees or why my mother has turned away for a moment to compose herself.
“Nice to meet you. Good luck with the crazy,” I jerk my chin in Rain’s direction and she narrows her eyes at me.
But Jackson seems like a good sport. He just laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ve got her wrapped around my finger. Where do you want your bags, dearest?”
He hefts the suitcases higher and follows a giggling Rain toward the bedroom doors.
My mother turns to me, clasping her hands. She hates fighting in front of others. “Do you think we should offer your company coffee? Tea?” she reminds me of my shortcomings in that polite but cutting way only mothers can.
“Of course.” I head toward the kitchen. I’m going to have to sneak out
to make it to that meeting. I might need to call Sarah and ask her to come up with a distraction strike. I’ve just picked up my cell to dial when Mom appears behind me, clearly anticipating my plan. She snatches the phone.
“How is your friend, what was her name?”
“Juniper,” I grit my teeth. JR’s been my best friend for two years. Think my mother could learn her name? I don’t want to talk about JR. Not when she’s ticked at me.
I turn away to grab the teapot from a cabinet when I see Rain has popped into the bathroom and Jackson’s opening my door. Not the guest bedroom.
“Whoa!” I drop the kettle on the counter and march toward them. “Sorry. Wrong roo—”
My absolute worst nightmare occurs.
Is it the pile of shit falling out of my room? Nope.
Is it the dirty underwear from said pile landing on Jackson’s foot? Nope. (Though that does frickin’ happen.)
It’s worse.
Jackson takes a disbelieving step into my room. (I’m sure he’s never seen a slob before. He’s probably surrounded by fae with enough magic to snap their fingers and clean up in a jiff.)
My worst nightmare occurs when he turns and spots the open white box on my dresser, right next to the bedroom door. It sits, waiting for me to take it down to the station for our meeting. Because Flowers forgot to grab it when he was here. Because I was too dumb to throw it away last night.
He reaches his hand toward the cookie box.
I feel like I’m in one of those movies where they slow down the film speed to make it more dramatic. Only, it’s my body that’s too slow.
“NOOOOOO! Don’t eat that!” I scream. I launch into one of those ballerina split jumps as I try to cross the living room in a single bound.
“Lyon!” My mother’s arm clotheslines me. Somehow, she flew ahead of me to stop me. WTF? Why?
I hit the rug. My head feels like a cracked egg. I’m dazed. But I force myself to stagger to my feet.
Mom’s face looms over me. “Lyon Fox, have you gone insane? Attacking a guest?”
I ignore her. “Do not eat—”
It’s too late. I see Jackson’s face start to contort. The tip of his nose grows so bulbous it hangs over his lip. His face wrinkles like a prune. A wart pops up on his cheek. A black hair pops out of the wart. Crap. This is new. This did not happen to Danny.
