Beguiled

by Darynda Jones

  I looked to my right. The barest hint of light emanated from that direction. I’d made the trip to the entrance of the cave when I had to escape Percy one night. Hidden by vegetation, the opening sat not ten feet from the water. It had a locked metal gate to prevent trespassers, but the hinges had been cut at some point, and the gate sat askew. Anyone could’ve entered. Because it had been night when I found it, I couldn’t tell how recent it had been cut. Not that I could in the light of day either, but it was worth a shot.

  Thankfully, I’d donned hiking boots and a sweatshirt that read In a world full of princesses, be a witch before embarking on my venture. The sweatshirt was hot in the attic, but I was terribly grateful for the protection against the elements down here.

  I followed the standing water, steering clear of any small openings, and kept to the main Batcave until I came to the round gate. The few times I had to brace a hand against a wall for balance, the moisture seeping from the walls caused little rivulets to run up my arm. Like before, the metal grate was covered in bushes and vines, hidden from the outside world, but it did seem like the vegetation had been cleared on one side at some point. Just enough to wrench the gate open.

  The portal wasn’t tall enough to stand upright when going through it, perhaps more of a drain than an access point, but the gate was old and rusted. I turned on my flashlight and leaned in to inspect the hinges. If only I knew what I was doing. What I was looking for. The only way… I stopped. The metal had been cut by something very sharp or very hot, and while the hinges were covered in rust, the metal where the cut had been made was not. A bit of vegetation had regrown over the cut hinges, and they were dirty, but the metal that had been cut through had no rust.

  I fished out my phone and focused to take a picture when a male voice asked, “What are you doing?”

  I jumped and knocked my phone against the grating. It flew out of my hands, only to be caught a microsecond before it hit the water. I pressed a hand over my heart and turned toward the intruder. “Damn it, Roane.”

  He wore an unrepentant grin that weakened my knees as he examined my most prized possession. Which, surprisingly, was not my sanity. “You’re taking pictures of this because?”

  “I’m trying to see how long ago this metal was cut.”

  “Ah.” He stepped close to take a look, close enough for me to breathe in the sandalwood soap he used.

  I tried to back up. To give him room. But there was nowhere to go.

  “No rust along the cut lines. Looks like it’s been cut sometime in the last few months.”

  “Exactly.” I leaned closer and ran my fingers over the jagged metal. “Maybe, like, six, six and a half months ago?”

  He straightened then lifted up the bottom of my sweatshirt and pushed the phone into my pocket. “You think whoever poisoned your grandmother gained access to the house through the caves and the passageways.”

  “Yes, I do. And if that’s the case, it could’ve been anyone. Witch. Warlock. Hunter. Mundane. I need to check out the secret openings on the first floor. Do you know where they come out? Which rooms?”

  “I don’t. I’ve only ever gone to the attic and a couple other rooms on the second floor.”

  “Like mine,” I said, remembering the first time I caught him working under the sink in my bathroom. The shelves had been pushed aside. That was my first discovery of the secret passages. And they’d used them to keep an eye on me when I’d been in a state of suspended animation for six months. It was the only way they could get close to me, as Percy would let no one enter.

  “Like yours,” he agreed, stepping closer.

  “Are you picking anything up?”

  “Besides you?”

  A titillating pleasure raced over my skin. “I meant, an intruder of some kind. Someone who could’ve snuck in and spiked the flour with nitroglycerine, perhaps?”

  “Ah.” He looked around. “No, I’m not. If someone did come this way, they didn’t do it recently.”

  “You can tell that even with the salt?”

  “It’s more difficult, of course, but not impossible.” He knelt down for a better view through the grating. “The ground hasn’t been disturbed either. No one has come through here for a while.”

  Disappointment washed over me. I really thought I was onto something. “Then how, Roane? How is someone getting inside?”

  He rose to his full height of towering with a side of sensual. “I’m not convinced your grandmother’s death has anything to do with the more recent events.”

  “The chief is doubting it, too. But why?”

  “The person who poisoned Ruthie did it slowly over time before giving her a lethal dose. It was subtle and unmitigated cowardice. Not the actions of someone who would try to blow up the house or poison an entire group of people.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “I guess.”

  “And their motives were different.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, the chill getting to me. “How so?”

  “Think about it. Think about the possible motives. Let’s say whoever poisoned her did it to draw you out. Why do that and then try to kill you before getting to your powers? If it is a hunter doing a warlock’s bidding, they would never kill you first. They’d abduct you and take you somewhere safe to perform the ceremony.”

  “Okay. Good point.”

  “So what are the other motives? To become the doyenne? There are any number of people in line for that.”

  “Right. And Serinda is next. She doesn’t even want the position.”

  “They’d potentially have to kill several people to get the crown, but why not just start a new coven? Why kill to become the leader of hers? There are no financial incentives. Nothing to gain besides the notoriety.”

  “Okay, so not a witch.”

  “And revenge is a no-go. Ruthie hadn’t made anyone angry. She hadn’t been getting any threatening calls or letters.”

  “True. That leaves the house.”

  “And the money,” he corrected, lifting his T-shirt over his head. “The oldest motive in the book.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to focus on the conversation while ogling him. There was something magical about a shirtless man in a kilt. Especially one covered in tattoos with messy hair and days-old scruff.

  He stepped over to me and tugged at my sweatshirt. “Off.”

  I looked around. “Here?”

  A single dimple appeared as he repeated, “Off.”

  Eyeing him warily, I lifted the sweatshirt over my head.

  He took it and handed me his tee.

  “I think you’re getting the better end of the deal here.”

  When he only gestured for me to put on his tee, I pulled it over my head, thankful I’d worn a pretty bra. He lifted the sweatshirt over my head and helped me put my arms in. After tugging it down over my hips, he asked, “Better?”

  The warmth of his T-shirt embraced me. I hugged it to me. “Aren’t you cold?”

  Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

  “No.”

  Score!

  “Where’s your coat?” he asked.

  “I didn’t think about it until I got to the Batcave, and I was not about to take all those stairs back up any more than I had to.”

  He chuckled, a rich, deep sound so intoxicating I got a buzz just hearing it.

  “So… um… where were we?”

  “The money.”

  “Right. Yes. But she left it all to me.”

  “Which leads us back to the fact that there were a handful of people who knew about you. You were named in the will, after all.”

  “And even if they didn’t, she lived frivolously. Very few people knew she even had money. Which leads us back to the house. And here we go again, chasing our tails.”

  “Is that a wolf reference?”

  “No,” I said, trying not to smile.

  “Good, because the only tail I want to chase is yours.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, sud
denly winded. “Well, in case you’re wondering, you’re the only person I want chasing my tail.”

  He turned and looked out the gate again. “Good.”

  I hugged his shirt tighter. “Maybe whoever did it had no clue I existed and thought they’d be able to get the house when she died, but why? I mean, Percy is amazing and I’d kill for him, but why would anyone else?”

  His mouth hardened as he did a strangely alluring version of the deadpan. “I can’t imagine who would want a house full of mystical energy.”

  My shoulder sagged. “So, you do think it was a witch?”

  “I do think it’s a possibility we can’t ignore.”

  “But you also think that the person who killed her and the person trying to kill us now are two different people.”

  “Again, I think it’s possible.”

  I turned and waded through a puddle so he wouldn’t see the frustration welling in my eyes. “We’re going in circles. Not getting anywhere. Speaking of which, when did you get back?” Did he hear the creature almost knock the house down?

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “How did you know I was down here?”

  “You’re about as quiet as a church moose.”

  I snorted. “Thanks? So, then, did you hear the bangs?”

  He tilted his head. “Apparently not. What bangs?”

  “The creature in the attic. It’s a long story. So, the hunter?”

  His jaw muscle jumped in frustration. “I lost him. I keep losing him. He’s using magics to cover his trail. He has to be, and I’m worried I’m only leading him closer and closer to the thing he wants most.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think he was just scoping out the town. Maybe he knew there was a charmling in town, but not who you were or where to find you. The more I track him, the more he can zero in on not only my location, but yours as well.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Now he’ll be like a dog with a bone. I should have just left it alone. Either way, I need to pull back while I figure out my next move. But first, I need to weld the hinges back and put new locks on this. And just in case, I’ll put a sensor on it to alert me if anyone opens it.”

  “Good idea. I could’ve taken care of the hinges, but it’s iron. I can’t do anything with iron.”

  “I know.” He took my hand and started back toward the passage, his wide shoulders almost brushing both sides of the Batcave at times when it narrowed. “Why do you think I ordered a set of iron handcuffs?”

  I almost stumbled with his confession and couldn’t decide if he was serious or not. We took the stairs up past the basement level and stopped off for him to get another shirt. Damn it. I’d been wondering where the panels on that level opened up to, and now I knew. One opened up to his apartment and one to Gigi’s. I waited just inside his apartment. The panel opened up to his bedroom, and that realization sent my mind reeling with possibilities.

  He opened his closet, and it occurred to me I was still wearing his shirt. “Oh my God, you can have yours back.” I lifted my sweatshirt over my head and then his tee. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  A wicked grin stole across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe of his closet, enjoying the show.

  I was doing something quite similar. His biceps thickened when he crossed his arms. His shoulders flexed. His pecs bunched. I cleared my throat, then walked over to hand him the shirt. Just as he was about to take it, I pulled it back. “Maybe I should wash it first.”

  He grabbed it out of my hands like I’d offended him. “Don’t you dare.” He pulled it on. “Your scent is… soothing.”

  I ducked my head to hide a smile and pulled on the sweatshirt. “So, all this time, you’ve never gone to the cave?”

  “Nope. The stairs didn’t go down that far.”

  I looked at him in surprise. Gigi had told me the exact same thing. The secret passageway stairs ended at the basement. Until I went down them. She’d suggested that I’d somehow made them appear, but the stairs had to have been there. They were just like the rest of the passageway. Were they hidden? If so, how? And why? Gigi had lived in the house her entire life. It would take some serious magics to block them.

  But maybe the culprit didn’t need to block the stairs. Maybe he only needed to block Gigi’s memory of the stairs. To hide his way in and out of Percy.

  The first scenario put a serious dent in my theory about how someone got inside the house six months ago and poisoned Gigi. The second supported it.

  I needed to know everything about witchcraft, black magic, and everything in between ASAP. Mostly, was it possible for someone to alter another person’s memory? A witch’s? Apparently, I’d altered the minds of every mundane in Salem when I’d called upon an ancient Mesopotamian charmling to help me imprison Bead-uh, the creature in the attic. But only mundane. Gigi and Serinda both eluded the memory shift. Clearly, to alter the mind of a powerful witch was another level of magic.

  “Ready?” Roane asked, waiting patiently.

  I snapped back to the present. “Yes.”

  We went up the stairs to the first floor, and once again I had to hold my breath to keep from huffing and puffing. I needed to get in a couple more cardio sessions a week. Which would bring me up to two.

  The staircases were narrow and claustrophobic, but the passages afforded us a little more elbow room as we sought out the access points. The maze of corridors was straight out of a horror movie. Or a gothic romance. Depending on one’s mood. Watching Roane lead the way, I was leaning toward romance.

  The first door we found opened a built-in bookcase in the drawing room. “This is all very Sherlockian,” I said, both impressed and horrified. “Do you realize anyone could watch us at any time and we wouldn’t know?”

  “I’d know.”

  “Well, those of us without super hearing, then.”

  He winked at me and closed the case. We found the next secret panel quickly. It opened into the great room via an access panel that slid to the side.

  “I get so turned around,” I said, trying to get my bearings. “I thought we were near the back of the house.”

  “We’re getting warmer.”

  We made our way through the rest of the passage and eventually came to a dead end. “No,” I said, turning a full circle. “There has to be more. Only two doors on this entire floor?”

  “Look.” Roane pointed to a section of the horizontal shiplap that sat between two vertical boards about three feet apart.

  We walked back to it. “Is this another one?” The other access panels were a solid piece of wood. Easy to spot. If this was one, it blended in well.

  He tested it. “I can’t tell.” He pushed again, and it creaked open, but not into a room. Into yet another passageway only a few feet in length.

  The shiplap in this section seemed much older. Spiderwebs hung down like curtains, and one section had been braced with a two-by-four, creating a diagonal barrier.

  We ducked under it to get the last panel.

  I swatted a spiderweb out of my face. “This whole secret passageway thing just veered into horror-movie territory.”

  Roane tossed a grin over his shoulder, his olive eyes shimmering in the beam of my flashlight. He tested the panel and tried to slide it to the side. It didn’t budge. Then he pushed. Still nothing.

  As he tried to get the panel open, something washed over me. Like a rubber band snapping into place. It was just a feeling, but I instantly thought of Joaquin Ferebee from the café. His odd behavior. He was livid when I’d questioned him, but when he brushed past me, when my skin made contact with his, I felt a sadness. A bottomless well of despair. It had been weighing on me all afternoon, but it vanished. In its place was something even darker. Something even more desperate.

  He’d made a decision. About what, I couldn’t say, but I got the feeling it was not a positive thing.

  I shook out of the thought and shined my flashlight o
n the panel, trying to help Roane find a latch of some kind. The wooden panel was marred, like something had tried to pry it open with a crowbar.

  “Roane,” I said, astonished.

  “I see it.” He said the words through gritted teeth. “Those marks aren’t that old. This has to be how they gained access.”

  My pulse sped up. “We shouldn’t touch it. There could be prints.”

  He lifted off his T-shirt again and used it while he tried to wrench open the door.

  I dropped the light and saw quarter-circle scrapes along the wood floor. “Wait. It looks like it opens into the passage.” If it did, it would be the only one like that we’d found. All the other doors opened into the rooms, not out of them.

  He nodded and felt for a latch along the frame, careful not to actually rub the frame. He stilled when we heard a soft click, gestured me to his other side, and pulled.

  An entire column of shelves in the pantry swung open into the passageway. The pantry where Gigi kept her soup mix.

  Ten

  Wanted: Someone to feed me Doritos

  so my fingers don’t get orange.

  No weirdos.

  —Help wanted ad

  My gasp echoed around us. “Roane, that’s it!” I pressed a hand to my mouth. “Percy can’t come into the passageways. And the intruder didn’t have to enter the house to poison her. The shelves open into the passage. Into the salt barrier.”

  “How the fuck did I not know this was here?” He jerked his shirt back on so hard, a seam ripped along his rib cage.

  “Roane, this isn’t your fault.”

  “The fuck it isn’t.”

  I took out my phone. “We have to call the chief. Get a forensics team in here.”

  “What will he say? Nobody knows she was poisoned.”