Beguiled

by Darynda Jones

I walked over to him. “I didn’t know he' left.”

  “The wolves lost his scent. I thought—I’d hoped—he left town.”

  “Maybe it’s not the same one. This one had white hair and black eyes.”

  “They all have white hair and black eyes.”

  “Oh. Right. I knew that.”

  “We need to keep an eye on him. And you,” he said, stepping closer, “stay the fuck put.”

  Unfortunately, I didn’t like being ordered around. I raised my chin a visible notch. “Or?”

  He bit down, then leaned closer. “You said forever.”

  “What?”

  “Last night. This morning. Whenever. You said you wanted me forever.”

  I slipped a hand inside his jacket and slid it along his ribs.

  His muscles contracted in response.

  “I do. That will never change.”

  “Yeah, well, I want you forever, too.” He buried his face in my hair. When I wrapped an arm around his neck, his mouth found my ear, and he whispered, “Not a day. Not a week. Not a month. Forever.” He nipped my earlobe, sending a wave of pleasure spiraling straight to my core, then he turned and left.

  “Defiance?” Gigi’s voice was soft with worry. “Is everything okay?”

  “No.” I sat down at the table. “Look, I get it. Warlocks, bad. Hunters, possibly worse. But Annette and I are true charmlings, Gigi. We’re more powerful than any warlock. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  She stirred her coffee, more out of habit than necessity since she took it black. “I have to tell you, Defiance, all warlocks I’ve met are ruthless, cold-hearted bastards. Other than your great-great-aunt Petunia. She was just… misguided. But I fear hunters ten times over.”

  “Why?”

  “They have no conscience. They’re robots. And they’re powerful. I’m not sure they’re even human anymore. And if there is one in town, you can bet your bottom dollar he’s after a witch. Possibly even a charmling.”

  “We need intel,” Annette said. “We’re blind. We need to know what he’s up to.”

  The chief shrugged. “That would be nice. So far, my men have yet to keep him in their sights.”

  Surprised, I said, “I didn’t know you had men on him.”

  “They’ve tried, but he seems to vanish into thin air every time they get close.”

  “Yeah, I got his disappearing act as well.”

  “Can I do anything?” Mr. Shoemaker asked.

  I considered being an asshole and telling him to get a petition going stat, but I liked the guy. He reminded me of the sweet uncle I never had. “Probably not,” I said, drumming my fingers on the table, “but there’s something I can do.”

  “What?” Gigi asked.

  I smiled and looked up, the spell I’d need materializing in my mind’s eye in glorious Technicolor.

  Eighteen

  I live by trial and error,

  but mostly error.

  A shit ton of error.

  —Meme

  I stood at the door in the attic, an illumination spell lighting the paint-chipped shiplap around us. It was quiet now. No knocking. No scratching. Just the soft breaths of the being on the other side of the door, as though he’d been waiting for me. For this moment.

  For some reason, I’d been drawn to him the last couple of days. I’d come to think of the rooms in the attic as prison cells. If so, what was he in prison for? As far as I knew, only this room was occupied. But I didn’t really know about the others. I’d never gotten that far.

  Perhaps my prying that first visit, my peering into the universe beyond the door, woke the creature up. Or perhaps he was the only one imprisoned here, and I’d created this prison when I was little just for him. Either way, he was here for a reason, and it was high time I found out what that reason was.

  I’d asked everyone to leave the house just in case. Mr. Shoemaker had to get home and the chief had to go back to work, but Gigi and Annette swore they wouldn’t leave if I paid them to. I tried anyway. A thousand bucks each. It didn’t work.

  Thus, they both stood behind me, huddled together, their eyes wide with curiosity and fear. Served them right. I had no idea what to expect. The creature was volatile and angry, and they wanted to watch me try to bring him to heel.

  I turned back to them. “Last chance. If this creature kills you both, it’ll be your own fault.”

  They nodded and huddled closer.

  “We’ve never been able to open the doors,” Gigi said.

  “Yeah, well, I apparently created the place with the help of one of my charmling ancestors. I guess if anyone can open it…”

  I did mention that I’d found the door unlocked yesterday. Gigi was beside herself. And not with joy.

  Swallowing hard, I took a cautious step closer and put my hand on the antique doorknob. It turned with a soft squeak and a click. “Shit,” I whispered.

  “Shit indeed,” Gigi echoed.

  I looked over my shoulder. “You guys sure?”

  Their nods were not particularly enthusiastic, but they were there.

  I pulled, and the door opened to an empty room with a cathedral ceiling. No vast universe. No creature. Though the darkened corners seemed pretty sketchy. And very horror-movie-ish.

  Gigi and Annette came up behind me for a look.

  Annette reacted first with an unimpressed “Hmm.”

  But when I went to step inside, both women grabbed hold of me and pulled me back.

  “Are you crazy?” Annette asked as I slapped her hands away.

  “Defiance,” Gigi said in her grandmother voice, “I’m not sure you should go in there.”

  “Do you want to go?”

  She lifted her elegant chin. “I’d rather eat broken glass.”

  “Well, then. I’ve read enough of the texts and journals you gave me to know how this part is done. I just need to find the little devil.”

  I turned back to the room, closed my eyes, and looked beyond the obvious. Beyond the façade.

  There.

  I found him hiding in one of the farther corners of the universe. I reached out and dragged him closer. I was surprised by him. I didn’t feel hatred or anger or violence. I felt fear and the tiniest amount of reverence. It had me wondering why I’d put him here in the first place.

  Bedoliel. I’d told Gigi his name was Bead-uh, but that was clearly short for his real name: Bedoliel.

  I knelt down at the threshold between this world and the other—the other being one of billions beyond our physical realm—and held out my hands. The creature, no more than a swirl of black smoke, a scattered mass of energy, didn’t fight. He simply accepted, his lonely, fractured mind stressed and apprehensive. I’d had no idea I would be gone so long. He’d basically been in solitary confinement for more than forty years, and the fragile state of his psyche showed it.

  Once I hauled him closer, I drew the spell, then concentrated his energy in my hands, one on bottom, one on top. In the blink of an eye, I considered his form. What would best suit my needs. All forms had advantages and disadvantages. A bird could see a lot from overhead but could also be attacked by a predator. A mouse could get into tiny spaces but wouldn’t be able to cover much ground. A dog could cover a lot of ground but would be too noticeable hanging out on the streets. So, at the risk of being cliché, a cat it was.

  I bound the spell to his molecules, light filtering in a thousand different directions, and molded him to suit my needs. And then he was in my arms. Massive and fluffy and black. He closed his olive eyes—the same color as Roane’s—and pushed his head against the underside of my chin, where he purred as though we’d been best friends for years. I lifted him up and turned toward my partners in magic.

  “Okay,” I said, explaining what I’d learned, “his name is Bedoliel, but that’s a mouthful. So how about… Olly?” I asked him.

  He purred again and raised up in my arms to smell my mouth, his paws perched on my cheeks, his whiskers tickling my lips.

&nbs
p; “He’s like a real cat,” Annette said, going in to pet him. Olly let her, though he didn’t seem to enjoy it, and he swatted at her when she got too close to his ears.

  “He is, isn’t he?” That fact surprised no one more than me. How did he know what a cat would do? How it would act? Its behaviors and mannerisms? It was fascinating.

  Gigi came in to pet him as well. He seemed to enjoy her touch, then I remembered I’d created her out of a mouse. I could only hope that wouldn’t become an issue. She rubbed his ears, and he purred louder.

  “Really?” Annette asked, totally offended.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this.” Gigi cupped his fluffy head and went in for a kunik, rubbing her nose against his. He ate it up.

  “I thought familiars were common in the witch world?” I asked, running my hand over his black coat. He was long-haired, but not a real cat. Surely he wouldn’t shed.

  “They are. Animals that have been trained with magics. Not creatures created from the pure energy of an unknown being.”

  “See?” I said, bouncing him in my arms. “You’re special. Now, find the hunter.”

  He rose up again, put a paw on my mouth, and locked his gaze with mine. In that moment, I saw myself through his eyes. My hair needed a good brushing. Otherwise, I wasn’t any worse for wear. But it was the colors that blew me away. Colors I’d never seen before. Shades of blue I never dreamed existed as he dove into my psyche through the varying hues of my irises.

  After he searched my mind like I’d searched his, he found the hunter. He purred again, jumped out of my arms, and took off down the stairs.

  “Can he get out?” Annette asked.

  “I have a feeling he can. And now,” I said, quite proud of myself, “we have a spy.”

  There was just one little problem. One wrench in my plan prickling the back of my neck. I was wrong. The attic wasn’t a prison. It was a safe house. And I’d just sent the creature out into the world I’d been protecting him from.

  After texting Roane a dozen times, I could wait no longer. Annette was trying to get a location on Joaquin Ferebee and preparing for the séance at the same time. We were apparently having it in the dining room, and when I left, she was trying to convince Percy to do something viny to impress the masses.

  At least she hadn’t tried to poison us all today. Baby steps.

  But I wanted to go to the county clerk’s office. Or the property assessor’s. Or a tax assessor. Some kind of assessor. Anyone who could answer a few questions for me. I would just have to risk it, no matter what Roane said. I couldn’t stay cooped up all day when I had a murder to solve.

  Besides, I had a bodyguard. Olly and I had a psychic connection, for lack of a better term. I could see everything he saw when I wanted to. And he could pop into my mind when he needed to, like when he wanted to chase a mouse instead of look for the hunter and I had to tell him no. I found it amazing that he’d taken on all the characteristics of the form I’d chosen for him.

  I entered his mind and watched as he scanned the promenade where I’d last seen the hunter. Nothing, so I called him back to escort me to the clerk’s office. While he scouted ahead, I drove to city hall. I would catch glimpses of the city through his eyes. People’s feet as they walked. Bushes and fences and other animals who didn’t quite know what to make of Olly. He did have to dodge a little girl dead set on bringing a cat home, but he was fast. Like lightning when he sprinted. A black blur racing across the road.

  And he didn’t get winded. He didn’t tire. He was pure energy, but even energies had to be replenished. I wondered what fuel he would need to sustain himself, praying it wasn’t mice.

  I parked and walked up Washington to Salem City Hall, a beautiful Greek Revival cinder block. Olly stood guard as I went inside. So far so good. No hunter. While I could’ve just called, I needed a little more info than what they might be willing to give over the phone and knew the best way to get it would be to go in person.

  After roaming the bright halls, I found the property assessor’s office and spotted a brunette not much older than me behind a dark-wood reception desk.

  Her heels clicked as she walked over. “How can I help you?”

  “Hi. I have a strange question about my grandmother’s property. So, she died recently—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. And, well, the executor of her estate found me. My grandmother had left me everything in her will, but I was wondering, what if she hadn’t?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Well, if my grandmother hadn’t made a will and no one knew I even existed—I was adopted when I was three—and she had no descendants, what would happen to the property?”

  “If she had passed away intestate, meaning with no will, and she had no spouse or descendants, then intestacy law most often ensures the property be distributed to the closest living relatives. That would be based on what is called the Table of Consanguinity.”

  I opened the Notes app on my phone and jotted a few things down, mostly because she was using words I’d never heard before in my life. “And if there are none? No living relatives?”

  “But there are,” she said, indicating me with a sweep of her hand.

  “Right, but—”

  “I guess if you didn’t exist, and the state couldn’t find a single living relative, then the property could escheat back to the state.”

  “Got it. Essheet.” The app did not like that word so, clearly, I spelled it wrong. “Do people come in here to ask about properties? Like who owns what?”

  “All the time. Mostly developers. Why do you ask?”

  “So you have a record of who has inquired about which property?”

  “Not as a general rule. Most of them are just fishing to see if a property is owned by an individual or a company.”

  “But you’re here most days, right?”

  Her brows slid together. “I am.”

  “Could you tell me if anyone has inquired about my grandmother’s house in the last few months?”

  “I’m not sure I can just—”

  “I know. It’s asking a lot”—I looked at the nameplate on the reception counter—“Beverly, but it’s very important. You can call Houston Metcalf if that would help. The chief of police? We’ve only recently realized my grandmother died under suspicious circumstances.”

  “Oh, goodness. Well, all I can do is try, but we get a lot of people in here.”

  “No, I get it. It’s 33 Chestnut? My grandmother was Ruthie Goode.”

  “Oh, yes. The Goode house.”

  “Yes.”

  She drew in a dreamy breath. “That place is lovely. It’s so hauntingly beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I knew I liked Beverly. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “But as to whether anyone has inquired… let me think.” She tapped a pen on the counter. “Wait, I do believe there was a man in here a few months ago.”

  My hopes soared.

  She went to her desk and started rifling through her message book. “I had a number. I was supposed to look something up for him, I just can’t remember what.”

  So someone was in. If she could just remember who or what he looked like. I waited in anticipation as she flipped through page after page. “Right, here it is.” She came back with the book and pointed to the message.

  I leaned over it and squinted. Really hard. The tearaway sheet was blank, the line she pointed to empty. “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, hello,” she said, shaking her head. “Didn’t see you there. What can I help you with?”

  Was she kidding me? This again? I sighed the sigh of a devastating defeat. So close yet so far. One thing was certainly made clear: the murderer had been after Percy. No doubt in my mind.

  “I just had a question.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  I tapped on my notes. “How do you spell consanguinity?”

  After some confusion, Beverly resigned herself to the fact that I was at the pr
operty assessor’s office to learn how to spell a word I would likely never use again.

  In the meantime, Olly found the hunter. The image filled my vision as he peered through a set of white blinds into a hotel room as the hunter got dressed. He shrugged into a white button-down, ran his fingers through wet shoulder-length hair that was almost as white as the shirt, and then lifted a black duster off the bed.

  My pulse went into overdrive as I made a hasty escape. When the hunter opened the door, I told Olly to hide and follow him from a safe distance, though I had no idea what a safe distance from a hunter would be.

  The hunter walked to the Ugly Mug Diner, a local favorite.

  I fired off a text to Roane, realizing he must be in wolf form not to have answered me. Either that or he really was mad about breakfast. Surely not. No one could stay mad long when breakfast burritos were involved. He was probably tracking the hunter as well, but in wolf form, how much could he do in the city in broad daylight?

  Olly heard the squeak of a mouse, his hearing possibly as good as Roane’s, and I had to insist he ignore his baser instincts and focus on the task at hand. Honestly, he wasn’t even a real cat. How did he even have baser instincts?

  I considered what I knew thus far as I hurried to the Bug, which wasn’t much. The hunter’s bed had been mussed, so they did sleep. He walked into a restaurant, so they did eat. I knew more about hunters now than I had a few minutes ago, but my database was still fairly worthless.

  No time like the present to find out more, however. Where was a wolf when I needed one? I texted Roane one more time with my plan so he couldn’t get mad at me for not informing him beforehand, then I drove to the Gulu-Gulu Café.

  I sat in the Bug as Olly watched him eat. He got all kinds of strange looks from the other customers. This coming from a town that had at least three vampires running around at any given moment. Some people were simply curious, some were full of disdain, and a few were downright wanton.

  The hunter didn’t seem to notice any of them. He paid for his meal and got up. A nervous energy rushed along my nerves.

  I couldn’t wait for Roane. Olly stayed on his heels, quickly jumping out of sight if the hunter happened to turn around, but I needed a plan, and quick, because he was coming straight at me. He slowed his step and glanced to the side, as though checking his six through his periphery. His gait was casual, but his steps were purposeful. He turned a corner, and when Olly caught up, he was gone. Again.