“She had crazy hair, and she was wearing rags as a dress. Plus she was ranting, probably talking to the voices in her head.” Fatima pushed her glasses up her nose. “Did she say I hit her? I swear I didn’t. I was only there on that street because Mr. Greyson called me to come check on Doodles. The poor little guy was having a meltdown. He was barking at shadows and chasing his tail. I gave him a mild sedative, and he settled down. Then, when I was leaving, I hit the wrong button to adjust the seat, and it went down instead of up. I could barely see over the steering wheel, and then that crazy woman jumped out of nowhere, like she was trying to throw herself at my car.”
I pressed my lips together and bit my tongue. I hadn’t come out of nowhere, and I hadn’t thrown myself at the car. Also, homeless lady? Dressed in rags? Really? My hair had a certain wildness to it before brushing, but come on!
Bentley nodded. “I see. Is it possible the dog, the one that belonged to Mr. Greyson, was barking at this woman? The homeless lady?”
I gave Bentley’s foot a subtle kick. Did he not realize the homeless lady was me?
“Maybe Doodles was upset about the lady,” Fatima said. “Arden thought it might have been a neighbor’s cat sneaking in through the doggie door to steal Doodles’ kibble. Both of them thought it was a cat.”
“Both of them?” Bentley asked. “What do you mean by ‘both of them?’ Was Mr. Greyson’s nephew, Ishmael, present?”
Fatima’s cheeks reddened. “No.” She answered in a near-whisper. “I meant both Mr. Greyson and Doodles.”
Bentley raised an eyebrow. “Do you speak dog?”
Fatima let out a high-pitched peal of laughter. “No, of course not, but sometimes it seems that way.” She looked down and adjusted her blue scrubs. “It might not have been a cat that was bothering Doodles. It could have been anything. A raccoon, or squirrels, or even a bird. I’ve heard there’s a big raven that lives on that street.”
Bentley said, “So, you were called by Mr. Arden Greyson to check on his dog. And you didn’t see anything unusual until you were leaving, at which point you saw an erratic woman dressed in rags running across the street.”
Fatima asked nervously, “Did she say I hit her?”
Bentley took out his notepad, licked his finger, and turned through the pages slowly.
“I didn’t hit her,” Fatima said. She turned to me and repeated, “I didn’t hit her.”
“That’s not actually what brings me here today,” Bentley said, his voice low and hypnotically calm. “There was another incident this morning. A separate one. I wonder if you could close your eyes for a moment and try to recall if you saw anything unusual on Beacon Street. Perhaps when you were returning to your aunt’s vehicle?” He fixed her with his steely gaze. “Close your eyes, take a deep breath, travel back to this morning in your mind, and tell me what you saw.”
She looked at me as though seeking a second opinion. I gave her an encouraging smile. Sure. I would vouch for Bentley.
Fatima drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, exactly as he’d suggested. “I’m there now,” she said. “I’m noticing that all the lawns are brown, because of the hot weather.” She coughed once. “And it’s smoky. The air quality won’t be good today.”
“Is the door to Ishmael Greyson’s apartment open or closed?”
“Closed,” she said without hesitation.
“Do you hear any people?”
She frowned. “I hear rustling. Something’s behind me.”
“What’s behind you?”
“I... I can’t see it. When I turn my head to look, it’s gone, behind the bushes.” Her eyes suddenly flew open. “That’s why I was driving so fast when I pulled away. I can’t believe I forgot until now. I was scared of the thing in the shadows.”
“Some sort of animal?”
She leaned forward and whispered, “Do you believe in demons?”
Bentley replied, “Do you?”
Her eyes widened behind the thick lenses. “Of course not. It was probably just a stray cat.” She stared up at him steadily. “But isn’t it funny how your mind can play tricks on you?”
Bentley pressed on. “This thing in the bushes, did it move on four feet or two?”
“Two,” she said without hesitation. The she pulled back and wrinkled her nose. “Which means it probably wasn’t a cat, after all.”
“Not a cat,” he said, making a note in his little book.
Bentley thanked Fatima for her insight, and handed her a card. “Call me if you remember anything else.”
She asked sweetly, “What happened, anyway?”
“A homicide,” he said off-handedly. “A grisly, senseless act of violence.”
Her jaw dropped.
He observed her for a moment, then said, “Miss Nix, please keep that information under your hat until such time as the details are officially released.”
Her eyes glistened, and soon tears were streaming down both cheeks. Her lower lip trembled as she asked, “Wh-wh-who? Who was killed?”
“I believe you already know.”
She turned her teary gaze on me, then Bentley, then me again. Her voice a hoarse whisper, she asked, “Ishmael? Is that why you asked if his door was open?”
Bentley made a gesture, as though tipping an invisible hat. “Ma’am, that information hasn’t yet been released. I’m not at liberty to say.” Then he turned and strode toward the front door. He pushed open the door without a backward glance and left. The door closed behind him, and somewhere deep in the vet clinic a chime sounded.
I stood at the counter, dumbfounded. Fatima continued crying. My heart broke for her. Bentley had practically destroyed the young woman, who’d been nothing but sweet and kind and compassionate to me, my family members, and my pets.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to her soothingly. “Detective Bentley is one of the best. He’s going to find whoever did that, and keep us safe.”
She sniffed and got control of her breathing. “Zara,” she said softly. “I want to show you something.”
I nodded toward the door. “I should get going.”
She held both of her small hands up in front of her face. A rainbow of light arced between her palms.
“Oh,” I said. “Oh!” And then, because nothing more clever came to mind, I said it a third time. “Oh!”
Fatima Nix was a witch.
Hoarsely, she said, “I didn’t see anything in the bushes, but I felt it.” The rainbow sputtered out like a guttering candle. “Something horrible and nasty and evil. Do you know about that sort of thing?”
“Horrible and nasty and evil? You’ll have to be more specific. Did it have wings? Glowing eyes?”
“It was angry,” she said. “That’s all I know. So angry.”
“Okay. I’ll pass that along to the detective.” I held my own hands up, palms a few inches apart. “What about the, uh, rainbow thing? Should we meet again and talk about that?”
She shook her head. “Don’t tell anyone I told you.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “Did you show me that because you know something about me?”
She clamped her lips shut and kept them that way. Her eyes, however, said yes. Yes, she’d known about me for ages, possibly even before I knew about me. Being a witch, that was.
I thanked her for her help and headed for the door.
Chapter 15
When I got to Bentley’s car, the engine was running and the air conditioning was on. I leaned toward the vents and let the cool air dry the sweat on my temples.
After a strangely quiet moment, Bentley said, “Young Fatima Nix must have told you something. Something big.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Your face.”
I rolled my eyes and continued using the vents while I lifted the hair at the back of my neck. I’d only had a few minutes on the way back to the car to think about the news I’d just learned. I had barely processed it, let alone come to a decision about whether or not to tell Ben
tley. Did he have any right to know the young veterinary assistant was a witch? She had a valid reason for being at the scene of the crime, and likely was off the suspect list. Her powers weren’t necessarily any of his business.
But, on the other hand, if he knew about her abilities, he could be an ally. He might even protect her from those who sought to abuse her and her powers. Fatima had figured out we were partners. Had she shown me her magic with the expectation I would tell him?
Bentley continued with his line of interrogation. “Specifically, it was the mouth part of your face,” he said. “By which I mean you got into the car and didn’t say anything for a full thirty seconds. I counted.”
For the second time that morning, I thought about how nice it would be to blast his butt with the butt-chomping spell.
He continued to stare at me expectantly.
I adjusted the cooling vents and asked, “What happens to any confidential information I give you? Does it go into a big database that everyone at the DWM has access to?”
Bentley pointed to his own temple, which, unlike mine, wasn’t glistening with sweat. “The information goes up here, and then it only goes into reports if it’s relevant to the case. What were you two talking about in there?”
I could tell him part of the truth. “Fatima swears something was watching her when she went to her car this morning.”
“I know that. I was there when she told us.”
“She wanted me to know it was something evil and angry. She didn’t see it, but she felt it.”
“And?” He raised an eyebrow.
I didn’t want to tell him Fatima was a witch. I’d only had the information myself for less than five minutes. It was way too soon to consider breaking the young witch’s confidence.
And yet, Fatima must have expected I would tell the detective about her rainbow demonstration. She wasn’t the brightest girl, but she must have figured out we were working together on the case.
Bentley shifted impatiently in the driver’s seat, making the leather squeak. “Did she admit to being a witch?”
Reluctantly, I nodded, even though I didn’t like his choice of verb. She hadn’t admitted anything. Did he go around admitting to being a detective? No. It wasn’t fair that being a witch came with so much baggage. Thousands of years of persecution will do that for a group of people.
The steely-eyed detective didn’t smile, but the crow’s feet around his eyes disappeared. He looked like a person who’d just placed five difficult jigsaw puzzle pieces in a row. He was pleased at the results of his observational skills combined with a dose of good luck.
“Are you happy now?” I asked, my voice tinged with the same defeated bitterness that every person uttering that phrase uses. Are you happy now? Now that you’ve gotten your way while everything I hold dear has been compromised?
The pleasure spread across Bentley’s face, pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Since it runs in families, there’s a good chance my hunch about her aunt, Maisy, is correct. Both of the Nix women must be witches.” He reached into his jacket pocket, but then seemed to change his mind, resting his hands instead on the steering wheel. “How exactly did she tell you?”
“She actually showed me. Like this.” I raised my hands, palms facing each other, leaving a four-inch gap. I didn’t have the foggiest idea how to make a rainbow, so I substituted, pulsing a flash of blue plasma between my hands. It blinked brighter than I expected. The air crackled. The interior of the vehicle dramatically pressurized and then released, as though we’d been plunged underwater and then popped. The blue plasma went supernova, blindingly bright.
Bentley, who’d been leaning forward to see what I was doing, yelped and pulled away so quickly he banged the back of his head on the driver’s side window. By the sound of the impact, it would leave a bump.
“Oops,” I said, blinking away the dark spots in my eyes. “That’s not such a smart thing to do in confined spaces.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “You think?”
“Fatima did a different spell. It was a pretty rainbow, and it didn’t have the same bite as my defensive magic.” I reached a hand toward him. “Want me to heal that bump on your noggin? It’ll only take a minute.”
He pulled back from my hand, repeating the bump. “Don’t you dare touch my noggin, thank you.” He rubbed his head again. “I take full responsibility for myself,” he said. “I should have known better than to lean in. Those magical guns of yours are always loaded.”
I clasped my hands together tightly. “You would have liked the rainbow,” I said.
“I’m not so sure I would.”
“I’d sure like to know how that rainbow spell of hers works. I can’t imagine what good it would do a witch, but it was very pretty.”
“Perhaps you two could team up and shoot rainbows at this evil, angry thing that chops off heads. Why does that make me think of a Saturday morning cartoon?”
“Don’t tease,” I said.
He sighed and rubbed his head some more. “Maybe I’m onto something. Weaponized rainbows might be exactly what’s needed.”
“We could try that on our monster, but first we need to locate it.” I fastened my seatbelt. “Where are we off to next? An interview with Arden Greyson? To confirm Fatima’s story and find out what he knows?”
“I believe Mr. Greyson is still at the station, where they brought him from the marina.”
“Great. Let’s get him while he’s fresh.”
He gave me a wary look. “That’s not the best idea.”
“I promise I won’t zap you again. I won’t zap anyone.”
“Zara, it’s one thing for me to bring you with me in the field, but there are a lot of people at the station who’d be suspicious if I showed up with my own personal... librarian in tow.”
“Every detective should be so lucky as to have a personal librarian.”
“I’ll drop you off at your house. That is, unless you’d prefer to be dropped off somewhere else.”
“You’re done with me already? I’ve outed two witches for you today. I’ve betrayed my own kind, and my only reward is that I’m being dumped?”
“You aren’t being dumped.”
“But you’re dropping me off the case. With not even a thank-you.”
“You did get a coffee,” he deadpanned, pointing to the takeout cup in the center console.
I gave him my fiercest librarian glare. The one reserved for the naughtiest patrons who smuggled in food and ate it while using the computers to access porn.
Bentley ate up my fierce look without even flinching. He waved at the vet clinic bag on my lap. “Also, you picked up some cat food. Now you can cross that particular errand off your to-do list.”
“Bentley, your sense of humor is so dry it’s amazing I’m not completely dehydrated from sitting in this car with you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Not many people appreciate it.”
He shoulder-checked, then pulled the car out onto the street. At the intersection, he turned in the direction of my neighborhood. He really was taking me home.
“I do appreciate your help on the case,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll thank you again with a nice dinner once the case is solved.”
“Assuming you can solve it without me.”
“You may be a powerful witch, but I assure you, I’m not some bumbling fool.”
“No comment,” I said.
We drove in silence until I broke it. “Whether you take me with you or not, I’m still on this case. I’m your only contact with the ghost.”
“I know.” He kept one hand on the steering wheel while he reached up with the other one and thumbed something under his shirt collar.
A few minutes later, he reached up and touched the lump again.
As much as I wanted to give him the silent treatment curiosity got the better of me. “Bentley, are you wearing some sort of talisman?”
�
�What? No!” He adjusted his shoulders and posture, then touched the thing at his throat a third time.
“What are you wearing under there? Is it a locket?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Now I needed to know. “Come on, Bentley. What have you got? A St. Christopher medallion? A lucky rabbit’s paw?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Then why do you keep touching it?”
He sighed. Then he propped one elbow on the steering wheel and used both hands to unbutton his shirt collar.
“You tell me what you see,” he said, angling his upper body so I could see what hung at his throat.
A flash of sunshine glinting off a passing car blinded me temporarily. I blinked the bright spots from my eyes and focused on Bentley’s neck. The first thing I saw was a few strands of chest hair, and a few square inches of Bentley that I hadn’t seen before. I felt a twinge of guilt for badgering him into revealing himself to me, but not so much that I turned away.
He wore a thick gold chain, and hanging on the chain was something long and narrow. It looked like nothing. Nothing at all. I blinked. And then it was something. A bullet.
A bullet?
“You tell me what you see,” he repeated.
“You’re wearing a bullet around your neck,” I said. “That can’t be safe. Is it a rimfire bullet?”
“It’s not what it appears to be,” he said in a calm, soothing tone. “There’s no gunpowder, I assure you.”
“So, it’s an artistic replica sort of thing?”
“You could say that.” He held the steering wheel with his elbow again as he did up his collar.
“But why? Why are you wearing a fake bullet?”
He patted the lump under his shirt. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but I’m going to need it some day.”
“Okay.” I rested my head back on the headrest of the passenger seat. “That’s cute that you’re superstitious. It gives you another dimension.”
“What about you? Do you wear any talismans?”
“Not really.” I touched the groove at my throat, imagining what it might feel like to have a round of ammunition there, even if it was a replica.
Wardens of Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 1) Page 11
