by Lily Webb
“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
“I have to say, the last thing I expected to find in my p-mail this morning was a message from you asking to meet. Now I know why,” Damon said. He sighed and shook his head. “Of course it’s about Brendan. It’s always been about him.”
“Why? Because he’s so extreme?” “Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” Damon said. “I never understood what that guy’s deal was; he just couldn’t seem to fit in, no matter how hard he tried.”
“Do you mean with the other members of the NWA or more broadly?”
“Both,” Damon said. “He seemed to make other people uncomfortable around him. It was almost like he enjoyed it or something.”
“Somehow I doubt he enjoyed it, but I take the point regardless,” I said.
“So what do you think happened to him?” Damon asked.
“I don’t have a clue, that’s why I’m asking you. I stopped by his house yesterday to talk with him, but when I got there, his front door was wide open and his things were all over the floor. There wasn’t any sign of him inside, so either someone attacked him or he ran for it,” I said, and the color drained from Damon’s face.
“Like I said, he was always a strange guy. Disappearing without notice is something he would do,” he said.
“Okay, but would he destroy his own house too? That doesn’t sound very logical to me, even for a strange guy,” I said.
“Nothing was logical about Brendan, that was his problem all along. He scared people, even the higher-ups in the organization. Who knows? Maybe someone he crossed got their revenge. I’m sure he had plenty of enemies,” Damon said.
“Anyone come to mind?”
“I know he absolutely hated the Crowe sisters, particularly Lydia,” Damon said, and if I hadn’t already been sitting, I might’ve fallen. “Why?”
“Probably for the same reasons the rest of us aren’t fond of her, but Brendan took his distaste to another level, like he did with everything,” Damon said.
“I know someone expelled him from the NWA,” I said. Damon stared at his fingers as he drummed them on my desk and shook his head.
“I don’t know that they expelled him so much as he quit,” Damon said. “Maybe ‘forced to leave’ is a more accurate way to put it. After some stuff he said and posted online got back to Rowley and the other board members, I think they got nervous about the damage he was doing to the organization’s reputation. I can’t say I blame them.”
“What sort of things did he share?”
“Crazy stuff, honestly. It started innocently enough — the usual ‘wands don’t kill people; witches kill people’ motto and things like that — but it escalated quickly from there.”
“Why?”
“I think Brendan was desperate for attention. When he first joined, he was the best kind of overachiever an organization like the NWA could’ve asked for. He said yes to everything, no matter how big or small. He wanted the recognition, the praise,” Damon said.
“But Lydia, her sisters, and their wand restriction bill threatened to take the one place he belonged away from him,” I said, filling in the blanks. Damon shrugged.
“Something like that, yeah. I mean, look, I know the NWA doesn’t have a great reputation among most of Moon Grove, and some might even say we’re extreme ourselves, but Brendan got to where what he wanted amounted to a violent overthrow. He wasn’t afraid to say so to anyone who would listen.”
Which was exactly why the NWA expelled him. From what I’d seen of their materials, the NWA wanted to present themselves as everyday citizens who shared a concern about wand rights. Brendan calling for open warfare against any who opposed them flew in the face of that image. So was the NWA involved in Brendan’s disappearance? It was entirely possible. “Where have you been the last few days? I haven’t seen or heard anything from you since the last time we talked,” I said.
“I’ve been on assignment. It’s a big project I’ve been working on for the last few weeks, something all-encompassing.”
Yeah, like making a colleague disappear and passing the guilt off on someone else — namely, me. Damon wasn’t fond of Brendan, but was that enough of a motive to kill? I couldn’t say. Damon’s commitment to the NWA was unquestionable, and though he felt Brendon was the problem, the more I listened to Damon and observed his behavior, the more I suspected he had something to do with Brendan’s disappearance. Why else would he share all this?
“I assume that means you can’t tell me anything about it? Obviously, I know what it means to keep a story close to the chest,” I said.
“Exactly,” he said, squirming in his chair, though I wasn’t sure whether that was because he felt uncomfortable with the line of questioning or because of something else.
“You mentioned that the higher ups at the NWA were concerned about the damage that Brendon may have been doing to the organization’s image. Do you think someone could’ve come after him for that?”
“Maybe, but I can’t think of anyone I know who’d want to silence him for expressing those kinds of views. Though none of them would ever admit it, there’s a large part of the membership whose beliefs aren’t far off from Brendan’s.”
Though the admission wasn’t a surprise, it brought me no comfort either.
“And how far up the chain would you say those beliefs go?” I asked, afraid to know the answer. I had had little direct exposure to the NWA, but based on my conversation with Rowley and the attack ads the group had running against me, it wouldn’t have shocked me to learn they went all the way to the president himself — or trickled down from him.
“I don’t know if I can answer that question accurately,” Damon said. “I’m just a photographer. They don’t really keep me in the loop, so to speak.”
“It sounds to me like you weren’t fond of Brendan at all. Was there anything else about him you thought was suspicious or unusual? Specifically, about Lydia?”
“Look, I’ll be honest. I could see Brendan murdering someone. I didn’t interact with him much, at first by accident and later by design, but from what I know of him, he was a little too eager for bloodshed,” Damon said.
“What did you see or hear that made you think so?”
“During a member meeting to discuss our direction not long before he left, Brendan said he didn’t think the organization was moving aggressively enough to accomplish its goals. He believed the only way we could win the fight for wand rights was to ‘blow up’ the Moon Grove Council and start all over again with warlocks in charge. I’m not sure whether he was exaggerating,” he said.
Every hair on my body stood straight. Brendan definitely sounded like an extremist to me, but how much of it was bluster?
“Was he close with anyone in the group who might’ve known him better or shared his views?” I asked.
“Not to my knowledge, no. Other than spouting his nonsense at meetings, Brendan mostly kept to himself,” Damon said. I didn’t like the sound of that.
But even if Brendan was responsible for Lydia’s murder, no one warlock could’ve accomplished it on their own. He would’ve needed help to get close enough to her — help that only an influential organization like the NWA could’ve provided. How else would the killer have gotten seated directly behind her?
It made perfect sense for the NWA to want to silence Lydia and her sisters. If Brendan hated Lydia as much as Damon wanted me to believe, he would’ve been their perfect hitman. Killing Lydia would remove the NWA’s biggest opposition, and blaming it on a rogue member as allegedly troubled as Brendan would keep the organization’s name clean.
The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like someone at the NWA saw an opportunity to kill two problems with one spell — but who?
“I knocked a membership coin out of the robes of the murderer during the attack. According to the number engraved on it, it belonged to Brendan, or so Rowley said,” I said.
Damon’s brows furrowed and he cleared his throat, which I took
as permission to keep going.
“And when I searched his house, I found a threatening handwritten letter tucked into your magazine. What’s it called? Magical Freedom in Peril or something like that?”
“That’s the one,” Damon said, his voice flat.
“So, though I know I’m not likely to get an honest answer from you on this question, due to the evidence I have to ask anyway: do you think someone at the NWA ordered Brendan to attack Lydia?”
Damon shook his head so hard I worried it might tumble off his shoulders and roll across my desk.
“No, not a chance. Most people don’t believe it, but for all their bluster and rhetoric, the NWA is unreasonably cautious as an operation. The higher-ups consider every move they make as if it might be their last.”
Then what did that say about their decision to run ads against me? Clearly, they thought they had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Maybe they were right to think so.
“No one in the higher echelons would ever have put the organization’s reputation and power on the line like that. Like I said, I don’t find it hard to believe that Brendan would go off in pursuit of some vigilante justice. But what I can tell you is that if he really is the one who attacked Lydia, he acted alone,” Damon said.
“But why would he want to do something like that? I can understand having a personal vendetta against someone who directly wronged you, but as far as I know, the only interaction Brendan had with Lydia was through the NWA.”
“I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t have a clue.”
“Who might? Is there anyone else at the NWA who might speak to me?”
“I shouldn’t have told you any of this,” Damon said and glanced over his shoulder toward the door.
“Why?”
“Because if anyone from the NWA found out I was here, I’d lose my job, no questions asked. Interviewing you at a press conference is one thing, but coming to your home? Unforgivable in their eyes,” Damon said.
“Wow, they hate me that much, huh?”
“They don’t hate you, no. They’re afraid of you,” Damon said, and I snorted.
“Afraid of me? Please.”
“I’m serious. Why do you think we’re running such aggressive ads against you? The leadership’s worst nightmare is you getting elected,” Damon said.
“Why? I don’t understand.”
“Cut the humble act, Zoe. You’re the most popular candidate Moon Grove has seen in generations. There’s no contest between you and the other two. Most people don’t even know their names, but everyone knows who you are,” Damon said.
If it’d come from anyone else, I would’ve rolled my eyes and written the words off as nothing more than flattery — but Damon Fade didn’t seem like the type to flatter anyone, least of all me.
“Everyone knows you’re working with the Crowes,” Damon said, his eyes flashing. I nodded. No sense in denying it.
“That’s true, but I’m confused. If I’m the biggest threat to the NWA, you know I‘m working with them on their wand reform bill, and you could lose your job for a meeting with me, why did you come?”
Damon threw his hands in the air and laughed. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing since I left the office.”
“There must be a reason.”
“I’ve already said too much.”
“I’m a journalist, remember? Anything you say here stays with me. I just want to find out what happened to Brendan and Lydia. Help me,” I said. A beat of silence passed between us while Damon looked at everything in the room except me.
“Like it or not, you’ve already cooperated with me on this. You have nothing more to lose now than you did then,” I said.
Damon leaned over the desk and beckoned me closer. “I haven’t agreed with the direction the NWA has been going in for quite some time now,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a hiss. Who was he afraid might hear? I decided not to ask. “That’s strictly off the record.”
I nodded. As unlikely a partnership as it was, I’d stumbled across the perfect informant inside the NWA. “We should work together to get to the bottom of everything,” I said. Damon’s eyes went wide. “No way. Anything more you want from me, you’d better get it now because this is the last time I’m meeting you privately, Zoe. I want no more involvement with this,” he said, his face as stern as stone.
“Understood.”
“Good. That said, I have to warn you, Zoe, you don’t really know what you’re up against,” Damon said. “I know you’ve had a lot of success over the last few months dealing with several powerful people, but this is different. The NWA is a whole other broom race.”
“I’m not afraid. Whoever is behind the attack on Lydia, whether it’s Brendan or someone else, they tried to make it look like I did it. I don’t know who to trust or what to believe, but regardless, I’ll turn over every relevant stone until I find the truth,” I said to convince myself as much as him.
“I know you will, and that’s why I’m warning you. I’m not trying to scare you, but I want you to understand you’re kicking a hornet’s nest,” Damon said. “I’ve seen this organization ruin people’s lives and careers for sport. You won’t be an exception.”
“Message received, loud and clear,” I said. “But I’m still not backing down.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Damon sighed. “All right, at least I tried to warn you. Talk with Rowley again. If anybody at the NWA would know what’s going on with Brendan, it’s him. Nothing happens if Rowley doesn’t sign off on it first.”
“So if anyone in the NWA put Brendan up to attacking Lydia, he would know?”
“Absolutely,” Damon said. From the moment I met him, I got the feeling Rowley was slimy, but I might’ve underestimated how underhanded he really was.
“Now you know what I meant when I said I wasn’t fond of the direction the organization has taken.”
“Then why don’t you leave?”
“Because no one leaves the NWA, even if they want to. It’s more than a group of like-minded friends.”
“It sounds more like a gang or a mob family,” I said.
“In a lot of ways, it is.”
So had Brendan run away to escape justice for a murder he’d committed — or had he tried to escape the people who’d ordered him to do it?
“Do you think someone killed Brendan? Or did he try to leave the gang?”
“You’ll have to ask Rowley. Anyway, I’ve said enough. I should get going.”
Though I was hesitant to let him go, and questions buzzed in my head like mosquitoes above still water, I had no choice. I’d already used up enough of his time, and he’d given me more than enough to chew on for the next few hours.
Without waiting for my approval, Damon pushed back from my desk and strolled toward the door. With his hand on the handle, he paused and looked over his shoulder.
“Good luck, Zoe. You’ll need it. And whatever you do, don’t tell a soul that any of this came from me,” Damon said and threw the door open.
Chapter Eleven
Later that afternoon, I strolled through the external trappings of the NWA headquarters on a mission. I didn’t have the time or luxury to stop and examine the ostentatious design.
The only thing I wanted was to get Rowley Darkmoore alone to ask him about Brendan.
As I thundered past the reception desk, the warlock who had taken me to Rowley the last time I was there flew around the corner to stop me before I reached the elevator — as if I could’ve used it without his help, anyway.
“Excuse me, Ms. Clarke, what are you doing?” the warlock demanded, one hand resting on his waist. His blue robes spilled down him like a waterfall, but his expression was pure fire.
“I need to speak to Mr. Darkmoore,” I said without explanation.
“You don’t have an appointment. You got lucky the last time you were here when he cleared his schedule to meet with you, but that was an extenuating circumstance,” the warlock said.
“Okay, then you can tell him that. Go ahead, pick up the phone and tell him I came to speak to him and you turned me away,” I said, gesturing at the desk behind him.
“I–I… That’s not a good idea,” the warlock said.
“I’m glad we agree,” I said, and offered him the most saccharine smile I could muster. His cheeks flared as if they were trying to land an airplane, and he deflated like a balloon.
“Can I ask what you want to talk to him about? He won’t be pleased about the disturbance, especially if it isn’t something important,” the warlock said.
“Yeah, I want to ask him about Brendan Norwood,” I said, and the warlock turned as taut as a rubber band, ready to snap at the slightest touch.
“Wait right there, please, I‘ll call him now,” the warlock said, and I followed him back to the desk to make sure he placed the call. As he smashed the series of numbers into the receiver, I scanned his robes for a name tag.
“Thanks for all your help, Duncan,” I said, but he ignored me as the phone rang. I took no small amount of pleasure in watching him squirm after the way he treated me the first time I visited. All his smugness had vanished, replaced with what I could only assume was outright fear.
Which made me wonder: why did every NWA member I spoke to get so nervous every time I asked about Brendan? If they had no involvement in his disappearance or Lydia’s death, there shouldn’t have been anything to be uncomfortable about.
Whether or not they were responsible, they weren’t an honest bunch.
“As expected, Mr. Darkmoore is very busy, but he’s agreed to see you,” Duncan said as he slammed the phone down on its hook.
“Thank you again for the help. I deeply appreciate it,” I said, and made my way toward the elevator without waiting for him. He scuttled after me like a dog chasing its tail and practically raced me to the elevator doors. The not-so-soothing sound of elevator music washed over us as the doors slid shut and Duncan cleared his throat.
“I hope you aren’t planning on making this a habit,” he spat as he jammed the button for Rowley’s office.
“No promises,” I said, and he glared at me. It took everything I had not to laugh. We rode in silence the rest of the way and when we reached the top floor, Duncan held the doors open for me but didn’t follow.