The Hex Files Box Set

by Gina LaManna

  Chapter 11

  Matthew and I left the bar before someone could throw us out. He’d obtained the bottle of Wolfram Whiskey from Liesel at Grey’s instruction, and then we’d moved at near-lightning pace down the dirt road and away from The Depth and the Howler.

  I considered all we’d learned and struggled to make sense of it. “Lorraine is hiding something.”

  “I don’t think she’s a murderer,” Matthew agreed, “but I think she saw something, and she’s not telling us.”

  “Do you think she’s afraid?”

  Matthew bit his lip in thought, the last remnants of his fangs poking through the sharp incisors as they slowly retracted completely. “It’s hard to say. I think either someone paid her to pass along a spiked beverage or she realized something had happened and was covering for someone.”

  “And if it was the latter, she’s worried about being implicated because she didn’t say anything when she noticed.” I sighed. “And if it’s the former, she’s guilty anyway. Though she did have one good point.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have got to control those fangs.” I glanced at Matthew, disarmed by the sight of the sharpness there. “It’s going to get you in trouble. You’re not supposed to use your affinities as a form of intimidation.”

  “I wasn’t intimidating anyone,” he said good-naturedly. “She asked for the facts, and I gave them to her. Like I told Grey—some things, natural things—can’t be helped.”

  My blood frothed under the surface in reaction to his fangs. My mind clicked mentally to the last night we’d spent together, the night we’d fallen apart as a couple. It was the first time he’d tasted me—my blood.

  I shuddered at the thought and pushed it away. No distractions.

  “Retract them,” I instructed, though that was as effectual as telling someone to hold in a sneeze. It just wasn’t possible.

  Matthew took pity on me and closed his mouth entirely, hiding the fangs from sight. Though he looked more than a little amused at my obvious reaction to them.

  With his senses, it was nearly impossible to hide my thoughts from him. My blush of remembrance was a dead giveaway of the pull I still felt toward him. He’d warned me a long time ago that he could be a form of addiction. There is a sort of magic, an ancient lore, that states once a person has been bitten, their reaction to vampires is heightened to new levels. I now knew this to be true.

  I feared it would never go away.

  “Did you know Lorraine and Grey were seeing each other?” I turned the conversation to another interesting subject—one that had seemed to set Matthew both at unease and at peace.

  “No, I didn’t,” he said. “I shouldn’t be surprised; they’re a good fit.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Matthew gave me some serious side-eye. “You were there. You felt the chemistry.”

  “They practically burned the place down.”

  “Do I sense jealousy?”

  I gave him a serious round of the stink eye. “Jealous? Of what—the bartender dating the wolf? No. Never.”

  We walked in silence, this time taking the path north of the pizza parlor. The dusty road was empty, a sleepy little path through neighborhoods neither rich nor poor, but filled with average families, well-worn herb gardens, and rusted cauldrons sitting on the curb with FREE signs spray painted on them.

  “Were we ever like that?” I asked quietly, unable to resist. “Like Grey and Lorraine. Where you could just feel the passion radiating out of them.”

  Matthew gave me a crooked look. “Were you there when I kissed you this morning?”

  I rolled my eyes. “That doesn’t count.”

  Matthew held out a hand—his palm pale in the sunlight. He pressed it toward me and waited until I, too, raised my palm. I moved it against his, mine flushed and warm while his remained smooth and stony.

  We didn’t touch. We merely held our hands inches apart, and the sheer proximity of it had my body on the verge of combustion. Combined with the glimpse of Matthew’s fangs, I was ready for him to forget all about his promise to leave me alone and demand he take me back. If he asked me to be his now, I’d be powerless to refuse.

  “That’s what I thought,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  He pulled his hand back and shook himself from the daze. I followed suit. If nothing else, Matthew was a vampire of his word, and he would leave me alone until I asked—demanded—more from him. I couldn’t do that yet. Not until the past was truly in the past.

  “Give me that,” I said, switching subjects. “The bottle of Wolfram.”

  Matthew was still flustered enough to hand the bottle over without argument. “What are you planning to do with it?”

  “Well, I know what you’re planning to do with it,” I said, uncapping the bottle and taking a quick whiff of the liquor inside. It smelled like burnt rubber. I wasn’t a fan of alcohol, though I could appreciate a fine wine or a well-crafted ale. To me, drinking Wolfram was as appealing as downing straight-up human gasoline. “You’re planning to send it to the lab.”

  “For testing,” Matthew said. “We’ll have the results back in a few weeks.”

  “Exactly.” Before he could argue, I raised the bottle to my lips and took a swig.

  Matthew’s eyes widened in horror, and despite his quick reflexes, even he couldn’t stop the liquid from sliding down my throat. He grabbed the bottle from my hands, capped it, and shot a hand to the front of my shirt.

  With a grasp stronger than a gargoyle’s, he bunched the fabric there and pulled me too him. “What the hell were you thinking? Not only is this evidence, but it’s potentially dangerous! Deadly!”

  If I hadn’t been so disgusted by the burning of werewolf whiskey in the back of my throat, I might have appreciated the hard length of Matthew’s body pressed against mine. I’d always admired the way I fit against him—my head to his shoulder, his chest to mine, my legs wound tightly around his...

  “That’s filthy,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve. I fought against Matthew’s grasp, and he let me go in a wave of surprise. “But there’s no foreign substances in the liquor. At least nothing I can taste, and nothing that’s been enchanted—Residuals are completely transparent save for a quick Vanilla Snifter spell for flavoring. Though frankly, it might taste better without that garbage.”

  “Danielle—” Matthew slipped, using my full name, and it took a long moment for him to recover. “That’s entirely unprofessional and completely dangerous.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I stomped forward, leaving him to catch up. “It’s also unprofessional to lock lips with your Special Consultant while on duty. And what about showing your fangs?”

  “You’re reckless. I will throw you off this case if I can’t trust you to make logical decisions.”

  “Look, Captain.” I spun to face Matthew. “We both knew there was nothing in that bottle. If it had been tampered with, the entire bar would’ve turned into the zombie apocalypse. The pixies in the lab would’ve taken weeks to tell you the same thing, so there—I did it for you. The whiskey is clean. That means, without a doubt, that someone slipped something into Joey’s drink. Either Lorraine drugged Joey, or she knows who did. My money’s on the second option.”

  Matthew paused in his fuming for long enough to consider my point. He probably realized that the harm in my calculated guess was already done and let it go. I’d come to a valid conclusion, and he knew we needed to keep moving.

  “I agree,” he said finally. “I’ll get a unit out to follow her tonight. We’ll see if she meets anyone; we must have spooked her. Hopefully into action.”

  “While we wait for her to crack, we have to get moving on the mayor,” I said. “The Residuals at the crime scene will already be weak. If we can’t get there before sunset, my abilities will be useless.”

  “I have an appointment with the mayor’s wife in an hour,” Matthew said. “Would you like to accompany me? If we can find
out where he went last night, follow his footsteps, we might catch wind of something.”

  I nodded. “If you have any extra men, get a unit on Lucas. He seemed too slick for me to write off—he’ll lawyer up, which makes him tough to reach. Same with Lorraine. The only person I actually believe right now is Joey, and he’s clueless.”

  “What about Grey?”

  “Grey?” The question surprised me, and I thought back to the werewolf. “What about him?”

  It’d take a dead woman to not appreciate the features of the man, the wolf—whatever he might be. He oozed raw sexuality, and though I wasn’t looking for anything in the way of romance, it would have been impossible for me not to notice the way he’d looked at Lorraine with complete devotion. I had wondered if I would ever find someone who looked at me in that way.

  One might argue I’d had it before.

  And then lost it.

  “Do you believe him?” Matthew asked, an edge to his voice. “He’s obviously close to Lorraine. He could have her covering for him. Maybe she saw him spike the drink, and—”

  “No,” I said flatly. “I don’t think so.”

  “And what makes you say that?”

  “He loves her—you can see it in his eyes. The infatuation, the care for her. He wouldn’t use her in that way.”

  “Love can make people blind.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” I turned to Matthew. “You asked for my opinion, and I gave it. Plus, he seemed surprised when she snapped for a lawyer.”

  Matthew nodded, looking annoyed even as he agreed. “Lorraine might be hiding something from him.”

  “Well,” I said darkly. “Let’s find out. In the meantime, we follow the mayor’s last steps.”

  Chapter 12

  The mayor’s home is on Summit Avenue—the oldest street in the borough. It cuts through a territory called Sorcerer’s Square that’s located northeast of the market and just far enough south of the casinos to be considered safe from goblins. The Golden District touches the northwest corner of the territory and the orcs and trolls are off to the east.

  Sorcerer’s Square is considered the most politically neutral place in the city. For ages, the sorcerer species has been the most neutral of all witches and wizards. They tend to be lonely creatures, lost in the magic within themselves.

  They don’t form packs by blood like the werewolves, nor are they inclined to fall for the tricks of the goblins. They keep a peaceful distance from the necromancers and respect, rather than abhor, the magic of the dead. They are the only ones who travel freely into the Otherlands, and even then, they go only when absolutely necessary and take nothing more than they offer.

  That was the reason the mayor’s mansion had been built inside the square. To sorcerers, politics were nothing more than a circus. Magic was their only ruler. The square was thought to be the safest place for the mayor to live, but even that hadn’t been enough to protect Lapel.

  “I’ll bet that nobody saw nuthin’ around here,” I told Matthew as we entered the district after a brief detour to grab a SandWitch from the hunched little lady on the edge of the marketplace. “Either the sorcerers are completely oblivious, or they don’t want to get wrapped up in the investigation.”

  “I don’t plan on asking around,” Matthew said in agreement. “That will waste time. But the mayor’s widow might have some thoughts. While we’re there, keep an eye on the Residuals for the staff. You never know.”

  I didn’t bother to nod my approval. For me, keeping an eye on the Residuals was like telling Matthew to listen carefully. It was as much a part of me as breathing or having a beating heart—there was no way to turn it off.

  “I only see the usual spells,” I muttered as we came up to the gate that would allow us entry into the mayor’s mansion. “It looks like we’ve got the antibody to Lock Lifters. We have Shifter Sensors and VamPirates.” I shot a look at him—the last was protection against vampires. Ironically, the only vampire in the borough was the one who kept peace in the community. “But your badge will get you past that.”

  Matthew nodded, his lips pursed. All law enforcement badges had a golden shimmer around them—permanent, ever-changing Residuals. The badges protected the officer when on duty from the most basic of spells. It wouldn’t prevent a full attack, but it’d blow right past a few cautionary VamPirate hexes.

  We reached the gate and Matthew flashed his badge at the peephole. Two wooden doors stood before us well over ten feet high. They were thick and strong, and were fastened onto huge metal poles.

  Beyond the doors stretched thick rows of enchanted hedges that glowed yellow with a Siren Spell to loudly alert guards of intruders. Within the hedges lived a set of Guarden Pixies—pixies who offered their services to live in gardens and hedges and lawns and chase off intruders.

  “I take it you see the Guardeners,” I mumbled to Matthew as the gates creaked open. “Over us we’ve got a Sky Spell that’ll keep out all minor flying creatures.”

  Matthew gave a quick nod as the small pixie behind the gates hovered at eye level. The Master Guardener, I presumed.

  “We have an appointment with Mrs. Lapel,” Matthew said somberly. “We are incredibly sorry for the loss of the mayor.”

  The pixie ignored the well wishes. His kind didn’t much care for emotions or loyalty, though they cared boatloads for money. So long as a pixie was getting paid to protect, that pixie gave their services without question. Should the money stop, they’d vanish.

  “You’re good,” the pixie said to Matthew. “But who’s the witch?”

  “She’s a Reserve,” Matthew said smoothly. “Special Consultant. We have pulled out all the stops on this case.”

  The pixie again ignored Matthew once he got the information he needed. He turned to squint at me. “A Reserve?”

  I was getting a little tired of this. One thing I hadn’t missed about retirement was explaining my peculiar talents to those who didn’t believe such a thing existed.

  “Yes,” I said with a sigh. “You’re going to want to refresh the Oak Scraper you have over there.” I nodded toward a tree positively tingling with green Residuals. “It’s burned out. The Sky Searcher? Yeah, that’s a load of crap.” I shrugged. “Your Sky Spell is okay, but...the Searcher won’t be able to pick out a flying elephant coming right at it.”

  The pixie flinched. “I’ll have you know—”

  “I know you think you’re wearing a Cloaker,” I said, noting the red fireworks bursting around the pixie’s head, “but it’s about as useful as closing your eyes and pretending people can’t see you. If you want the Cloaker to work properly, you can’t use the cheap silver. You’ve got to fork it over for the real stuff.”

  “I did!” The pixie recoiled at my honesty. “I paid top dollar for this Cloak!”

  “Where, the marketplace? The Void?” I asked with a snort. “Whoever sold you that was pulling the wool over your eyes. Now, may we pass?”

  He waved us in, disgruntled.

  “Just warms the heart when you do that,” Matthew said with a dry smile. “I’ve missed working with you.”

  “Oh, shut it, King,” I said, barely hiding a laugh. “I can see you bought a lavender Spell Splash and let me tell you—it’s not relaxing.”

  He stared at me.

  “Yeah, even magical perfumes have Residuals,” I said. “If you’re interested, your cologne is purple.”

  That silenced him, and we made it to the front gates without further interruption. I took advantage of the walk to study the beautiful landscaping around us, the fountains bursting with real, flying fish and the whispering hedges craning to catch a glimpse of the visitors. Flowers bloomed that must have been imported from exotic lands—The Isle, perhaps—and a small grove of citrus trees dripped with fruit and burst with tropical flavors.

  Matthew knocked, and we were greeted quickly by a butler dressed in the usual green jumpsuits worn by those who worked in the service industries. The demure creature, a possible hal
f elf, showed us to a living room and offered us lemon elixir or a Caffeine Cup.

  I took the caffeine, Matthew took the lemon, but I knew it was only out of politeness—he wouldn’t touch it. By the time our drinks arrived, the mayor’s wife could be heard down the hall, talking quietly with another woman. The two ladies stepped into the room seconds later, stopping their conversation at the sight of visitors.

  “Hello, ma’am.” Matthew stood and addressed the women with a bowed head. “I’m Captain King, and this is Detective Dani DeMarco. We are terribly sorry for the loss of your husband.”

  I followed suit, wishing my condolences on them in soft tones. I watched the ladies closely for their reactions; sometimes, the slightest hint of alarm at meeting with law enforcement could be telling. Then again, with Matthew being a vampire, half the time a person’s alarm came from mere proximity to him. And that, I could understand.

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Lapel stepped forward and shook each of our extended hands. “This is my sister, Lilian. I hope you don’t mind I’ve brought her to sit in with me—she’s been next to me since we heard the news. I don’t think I can bear to go through this alone.”

  “Of course,” Matthew said graciously. “We apologize for the intrusion during these difficult moments. But as you know, time is of the essence in our line of work. We want to find whoever did this to your husband and bring justice to them.”

  Mrs. Lapel gave a grateful sniff. “Thank you, thank you. I see Elvira brought you drinks?” When we both nodded, she wrung her hands together and glanced at her sister. “Then I suppose we can get started.”

  As Matthew launched into the questioning—covering all the basics from how long they’d been married (twenty-three years), to how long they’d lived here (six years), to the state of their marriage (very good)—I watched Mrs. Lapel for any sign of contradictory expressions to the words that came out of her mouth.