Always the boyfriend.
The autopsy file lay on the table, still devoid of real information. It lacked the lab results—the pieces of evidence that could possibly fill in the blanks. Though this time Jack knew they would offer nothing.
Annie, do I really want you to fill in the blanks?
Magic might explain what happened to Amelie, but that left Jack with a problem: how to explain to the rest of the world how the princess died.
Maybe the vampire unit takes care of that.
Jack worked quickly, laying out the physical evidence collected at the crime scene: lingerie, high-heeled slippers, bottles, tubes, and her purse. No biologicals existed.
And that’s why I called Annie, he reminded himself while staring at the lack of evidence.
But allowing the Wizard Guard access to the morgue, to the body, to the evidence, could cost him his job. This is the right thing, he tried to convince himself, but the knot in his stomach grew tighter and heavier.
The industrial-sized clock by the door slowly ticked away the time, and anxiety overwhelmed Jack more than it had in any other case he ever investigated. His nerves only heightened when the door clicked open and Annie and her team entered the morgue.
Annie brought her partner, a younger man introduced as Cham Chamsky. A tall man with curly hair and freckles, Cham strode confidently into the unfamiliar morgue, reassuring Jack that Annie’s team would be up for the task. Seconds later, however, Jack second-guessed calling her; the second team made him uneasy immediately.
John Gibbs and Spencer Ray at first glance seemed oddly mismatched. Gibbs appeared an unconventional police officer. He resisted eye contact and stood along the back wall, not particularly interested in engaging with the evidence or with them. His tight leather pants and matching vest made him look more like a motorcycle gang member than an officer of the law.
Gibbs’s partner looked even more bizarre, as though he had flown off the pages of a glossy magazine, impeccably dressed in fresh jeans and a pressed collared shirt, his hair swept back and highlighted. He smiled as they were introduced, his teeth white and straight, and—unlike Gibbs—insisted that Jack call him by his first name, Spencer. Jack instantly thought Spencer couldn’t possibly be an officer but had to be a model, and he wondered how this pair worked together.
After introductions, Jack led them to the tables.
“We have until morning to get you out of here and finish with the crime scene, so I’m going to get started,” Jack said and showed them the crime scene photos.
The guards passed the pictures around; each took their turn studying the scene and the victim. Amelie lay sideways across the bed, her eyes open wide.
“No defensive wounds,” Gibbs pointed out as he examined the semi-naked body of the victim. Her hands had fallen on her face as if she were trying to protect herself.
“A nonmagical attacks with a weapon, a gun, or a tool. You’d have defensive wounds with her hands up.” Annie showed her arms up as if she were being attacked. “I get the sense it was over quickly.”
“That would mean a quick strike, probably here.” Cham pointed to Amelie’s chest and her arms, the most likely place for a killing spell.
“Why there?” Jack asked.
“The killing curse is aimed at the chest. Large, easy target. Her arms, if they’re up, probably received the jinx as well. We’ll check both.” Cham replied.
Pictures from the crime scene illustrated a room that lacked evidence of a fight or disagreement. Only one item was moved, a painting on the wall above the bed.
“There was no physical evidence?” Spencer asked.
“No hair or epithelials. Nothing on her body,” Jack confirmed.
“What floor is the room on?” Gibbs asked.
“The room is on the tenth floor. There are only two entrances: the front door and the door to the patio. Two guards stood at each entrance,” Jack answered. He pulled the pictures to show to the Wizard Guards.
The scene from the bathroom drew Amelie’s life into focus. She had clearly been a high-maintenance woman, which was reflected in her extremely expensive tastes. Cut glass bottles held rare lotions, creams, and perfume. A few other bottles, though, didn’t appear to belong in her collection.
“Find something?” Jack asked.
“Traditional potion bottles, here and here. Where are they?” Gibbs asked.
Jack headed for the evidence table, pulling out the vials. He recognized them now that Gibbs had pointed them out; they were nearly identical to what Annie had used for the holy water. The investigators had collected three of them; each was four inches high and sealed with wax.
Gibbs examined them through the plastic and said, “These haven’t been opened yet.”
“What are they?” Jack asked.
Ignoring him, Gibbs ran his crystal across the vials. It lit up a bright pink.
“Traditional potion bottles with some sort of magical potion inside. I’ll create fake bottles for you to keep in your evidence box.” Gibbs offered an unnerving smile as he made his way to the table at the far end of the room. Jack’s jaws clenched tightly as he watched the Wizard Guard tamper with the evidence.
“You okay, Jack?” Annie asked.
“Not sure what I signed up for. That’s… that can get me fired.” Jack pointed to Gibbs, who had just finished recreating the first of the three bottles.
“I get that this is hard for you, but the entire case if truly magical, it’s gonna have to be faked. We can’t have people knowing about magic. You know that, right?”
Jack looked at Annie for the first time. She looked different today: her close-fitting clothes, her shoes, her hair, her manicured nails, even a touch of makeup. He sighed. “Yes. I understand that. But it’s tampering with evidence. We have a chain to follow and this is so… highly illegal.”
For the time being, Jack decided to ignore the work that Gibbs was doing, so he pulled out the case file. After clearing his throat and playing with his tie, he handed the file to Annie. “Just a few notes and I’ll set you loose. No blood and no hair anywhere. Not in the bedroom, bathroom, or living room. The door lock wasn’t tampered with, and the key card was found on the floor by the door.” Distracted by Gibbs’s replacement of the third bottle, Jack paused. His palms sweated profusely. Their tactics and procedures weren’t sitting well with him. “Two sets of fingerprints—hers and though we have no proof, we assume the second set belongs to the boyfriend—found in places you’d expect: the bathtub, kitchen, bedroom dresser, and so on. No evidence on her at all. Nothing under her nails, no traces of transfer. The scene was clean, which is why I brought you in.”
“Who’s the boyfriend? Have you interviewed him yet?” Cham asked.
Jack shuffled through Amelie’s life in pictures, looking for the boyfriend. When he found one, he smacked it against the table. “His name is Jordan Wellington. No one’s seen him since they returned from the bar around 3 a.m. the morning she died. It’s as if he vanished in thin air.”
Gibbs pocketed the real potion bottles for later examination and replaced them with the manufactured bottles before joining the group.
“From the items left in the suite, we figured the boyfriend was involved somehow and ran,” Jack continued. “No one in her entourage knew much about him at all. The handler didn’t think much of Jordan and let me know as much.”
“He could be magical,” Annie said, thinking out loud.
“Have you looked for him?” Spencer asked.
“Well, that’s another one of those bizarre things. He’s off the grid. No credit cards, no ATM withdrawals, and he’s not in any of our databases. Which, for a thirty-year-old, seems a little odd. We’ve sent agents to his parents, his apartment, and his known hangouts. He’s gone. He’s either responsible for her murder or knows what happened to her. We just need to find him.”
“Most wizards and witches have all the things mortals have, like credit cards. Most of us are on the grid, as you say, so yeah—eve
n if magical, that’s a little weird,” Annie said, examining the picture of Jordan Wellington.
His thin lips and long, narrow nose had the air of an aristocrat, though the earring in his left ear and the small scar on his right cheek created the opposite effect. His chocolate brown eyes betrayed his attempts at looking tough; they were soulful and pained as they stared into the camera.
Jack watched as Annie scrutinized the photograph with narrowed eyes and a deepening frown. Then, at last, she passed the picture to Spencer and said, “Look at his ring. He’s your age. Do you recognize him?”
The boyfriend’s a wizard. Annie knows it. Acid churned in Jack’s stomach.
“Let’s see.”
Spencer scrutinized the picture and glanced at his own ring. He shook his head and said, “I don’t recognize him, but Windmere was a big school.”
“Anything else about him?” Annie asked Jack.
“We haven’t been able to find much. According to her staff, they weren’t together that long. I get the sense his family is wealthy, based on the clothing left behind, although Amelie could have purchased it for him. It’s still there if you need to see it.”
The wizards passed through the rest of the pictures quickly, but they didn’t glean much from the images.
Jack waited patiently before finally asking, “Any other questions, concerns, thoughts?”
“Just that we need to see the body. Since the vials contain magic, we’re probably in the right place,” Cham said.
Jack choked back the bile as he walked to the cooler where the princess lay in deep freeze, protecting her body from decay. Annie followed Jack through the cooler and though he could still see her in the vampire’s grip, she made no reaction to being back in the cold room.
“This doesn’t bother you, being back in here?” Jack asked as they wheeled the body into the examination room. They set the table under a light, reset the brake on the table, and turned on the bright white fluorescent light.
“No. I can’t let every one of them get to me. I can’t do my job if I do,” Annie replied. She donned her latex gloves, checked the toe tag, and unzipped the bag fully to reveal the dead princess.
“She was beautiful,” Annie said over the twenty-seven-year-old princess, who would never see another birthday, sunrise, or swanky party.
Petite and pretty in life, in death the princess lay naked and exposed. Her once-golden hair, no longer shiny, hung limply from her head. Carefully, Annie removed a strand of hair from across Amelie’s eyes and tucked it behind her ear. For a moment, the witch seemed to lose herself in the cloudy eyes of the dead girl—no longer a vibrant blue, now gray with death.
“There’s one last thing. The family is picking up the body tomorrow,” Jack said.
All four Wizard Guards gawked at the FBI agent, eyes wide in surprise. He almost wanted to laugh.
“You’re kidding, right?” Annie asked.
He shook his head. The pounding headache formed in his temple and slowly moved to his forehead. “I wish I was, but this is the Royal Family, and as you probably know, the United States and Amborix have a rather complicated relationship.”
“I thought the two countries swept the incident under the rug, so to speak, when they recalled the ambassadors,” Annie said.
“They did until now. Amborix thinks this is retaliation and the United States is worried Amborix will find a way to even the score.”
“So what could have been an international incident years ago may now become one. Fabulous,” Annie said.
“Listen. I know this isn’t ideal. The United States just wants this finished and is willing to placate the family. Unfortunately, you need to get what you can from the body tonight. I’m sorry about this.” Jack rubbed his temple as Cham pulled out his scrying crystal.
“We’ll find a way to deal,” Spencer said. Cham palmed the crystal and maneuvered it slowly across the body.
“So how does that thing work?” The FBI agent moved closer to the examination, trying to keep out of their way. Cham glanced up, a slight frown on his face and Jack stepped back. But his curiosity was stronger than his desire to stay away from magic.
“Every spell, jinx, hex, and curse that’s cast leaves a distinct energy signature. Kinda like DNA. We can tell what spell was cast, when it was chanted, and by whom.” Annie pointed as the crystal suddenly glowed brilliant blue.
“We won’t need the body after tonight,” Cham said. “Like this, here.” He pointed to the dark blue glow. “This color is strong, dark magic.” He held the crystal over the girl’s chest. “And it’s roughly a day old, so it fits with the time of death.”
The news settled over Jack as his eyes darted from person to person. None of them seemed phased as if they failed to realize what this meant for them.
Cham tucked the crystal away and said, “With the magical trace stored in my crystal, we simply need to find the witch or wizard responsible for casting the spell. The question is, who would want a spoiled princess of a small European nation dead?”
Jack shook his head. “Now that I know the boyfriend is magical, we should start with him. I’ll have the room cleared in an hour. Meet me back here in two. I’ll drive you to the hotel and get you in without being seen, because the press is all over that hotel. I’m not sure if there’s a safe place for you come into the scene on your own.”
“That’s acceptable,” Annie said as she zipped up the body bag, released the lock on the table, and—with Jack’s help—returned the princess to her icy storage.
*
“You okay?” Cham still held her close as they landed on her front porch an hour before examining the hotel suite.
“Wow.” Annie bit her lower lip, Jack’s stress suddenly became hers to bear. Though she was not new to difficult cases, this one would be more challenging due to the exposure risk—and that threw her off. Cham tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. Thankful for him as her partner, she closed her eyes.
“Nothing we can’t handle together,” he said.
Her hand rested on his, even after she opened her eyes. She let him pull her near and rested her head on his chest.
“What if he did it? I don’t ever remember a magical murdering a nonmagical on a scale like this. Practical jokes and stuff, sure, but not this,” Annie said.
Cham nodded. The Wizard Council had created secrecy laws centuries ago, ensuring that no one outside of the magical community would ever learn about magic. For the better part of four centuries, that had remained true. “I guess we strip his powers and send him to an American prison and do a little hocus-pocus with the cause of death?” he suggested.
She sighed. “I wish I hadn’t taken Jack’s phone call.” Cham grabbed her hand, and his strength calmed her. “You can take lead on this, if you’d like,” she offered.
“Yeah, no. Why does this make you so nervous? It’s not like you.”
“It’s them. The FBI… examining the crime scene at two in the morning.” Annie shook her head and stared at the ground, her mind wandering.
“You got the call because out of all of us, you know more about the nonmagical world. I know you can handle it. Just because it’s the biggest case we’ve ever been involved in shouldn’t affect anything.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I got your back,” he winked.
“Hilarious.”
Chapter 7
Jack Ramsey waited in his car, chewing an antacid. It left a chalky flavor in his mouth; he reached for a can of pop to wash away the aftertaste. The clock in his car read 2:12 am, which made his guests twelve minutes late already. He downed the rest of the pop as a woman—probably a lawyer, a marketing executive or maybe a doctor—sauntered across the nearly empty parking lot, gracefully balancing on high heels and dressed in a thin pencil skirt that hugged lovely hips. Rubbing his temples the FBI agent tried to remember his last date. It was too long ago to recall.
The can lay on the car floor, an empty reminder th
ere was no time to properly dispose of his garbage. His life, a string of cases one after the other, left little time for anything else.
Do I even know what fun is anymore?
Jack smashed the can, shoved it in the side pocket of the door, and returned to watching the attractive woman enter her Lexus, her long legs gracefully entering the car. He imagined her reason for working so late.
At 2:17 a.m., Jack dialed Annie’s number but hesitated to hit send. Instead, he watched the woman drive her Lexus from the parking spot and head out of the garage. Finally, the group of wizards turned the corner and walked towards his FBI-issued car, a black sedan—the type of car meant to blend in and suck all the fun out of driving.
“Sorry we’re late. We waited for that woman to leave.” Annie squeezed into the back seat between Cham and Spencer. Gibbs grumbled as he slid in beside Jack.
“You okay, man?” Jack asked Gibbs.
“Rather teleport.” Gibbs fumbled with his seatbelt while Jack pulled out from his parking spot and headed to the hotel.
*
The unmarked car made its way north along Lake Shore Drive. Though it was well after two in the morning, people filled the streets and sidewalks, and traffic inched along.
Inside the car, the heat rose, causing great discomfort for all inside. Gibbs messed with the air vent, closing it and then snapping the latch and cutting off the air, making the ride more unbearable. Clearly unfamiliar with cars, Gibbs then switched to playing with the door controls, grumbling when he accidentally locked the door and swearing under his breath when he finally found the window control.
“The air’s on,” Jack reminded him.
Gibbs grunted and rolled up the window, glowering. An uncomfortable silence hovered inside the car until Annie pulled out The American Sphinx, the newspaper for the magical community, to review the broomstick-racing scores.
“Racing scores?” Cham asked, leaning closer to Annie for a better look.
“Missed the news tonight.”
Wizard Hall Chronicles Box Set Page 7