The Hex Files - Wicked All The Way

by Gina LaManna

  “Hands it over,” Primrose continues. “Waits while the other guy writes it down.”

  “Or girl,” I said. “We don’t know yet. But they must have stood around talking for a few minutes. Otherwise, why wouldn’t Mason have just folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket? He was discreet with everything else. I have no reason to think he wouldn’t be discreet with this, too.”

  “We know he didn’t do that because there aren’t any smudges,” Sienna completed. “The type of ink he used—I tested it myself—is the thick, wet kind that takes a while to dry. On my count, it took almost three minutes before your name on that slip of paper would have been dry enough to fold without smearing at all.”

  “Which means there’s a good chance our victim had a five-minute conversation—maybe a little more, maybe a little less—just before he died. And if he was in the library, there’s a chance someone else saw it.”

  “It would have looked like they were discussing the homework assignment,” Primrose said. “Exchanging notes for a test, calling card numbers, that sort of thing. Happens all the time.”

  “But just because they blended in, doesn’t mean someone didn’t see them,” I mused. “They might have been standing in front of a water fountain, a stack of books. Blocking an entrance. If this was a spur of the moment meeting, their location wasn’t likely planned. All it takes is one student annoyed at people blocking a hallway to remember the conversation.”

  “You’re brilliant!” Primrose said. “That’s it!”

  “It’s not it,” I said, more crossly than I’d intended. “We still have to find who saw them—if anyone. It might still be nothing.”

  Primrose deflated. Then she perked back up. “But it’s a place to start.”

  I glanced at my watch. “Speak of the devil, it’s the perfect place for you to start. You up for a long shift?”

  “The longest,” Primrose said. “At the library?”

  I nodded. “I can’t join you this evening, but if you could head to the library around six—that’s the same time Mason’s study group met. I know we might not hit everyone who was there the day he was killed, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “The library crew are sort of regulars,” Primrose said. “I know. I was part of that group myself. I mean, sometimes you get the one-off study groups, but there will be a few people around who were there the night he died. I’m sure of it.”

  “Primrose,” I said. “Were you a nerd?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You aced all your tests. Did you spend a lot of time at the library?”

  She shrugged. “Most nights, yeah.”

  “You know some of the librarians?”

  She shrugged again. “Most of them, yeah.” Then her eyes lit up. “You want me to use my connections?”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” I said. “They’ve got video footage. We’ll get a warrant in the works, but for now, maybe use some of that sweet talking you’ve been going on about to see if they’ll give you a sneak peek.”

  Primrose looked extremely happy with the request.

  “Comm me with any findings,” I said. “Same to you, Sienna. Now, I’ve got to get going, or I’ll be late to my mother’s party—and you’ll have me on your table to autopsy, Sienna.”

  “Oh, I won’t autopsy you,” Sienna said with a grin. “That’ll be an easy ruling. Murder by mother.”

  Primrose snorted, and the three of us shared a moment of wry silence that probably meant there was some element of truth to it. All at once, we snapped to attention. Primrose and I headed to the precinct to file our paperwork and drop off evidence, and Sienna settled back to her work in hopes that Mason White’s body held more clues as to who had killed him.

  Or why someone had wanted him dead.

  Chapter 8

  “Goodnight, Primrose,” I said, poking my head into the old janitorial closet that my rookie had manufactured into a cramped but efficient office space. “You got everything you need?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’ll update you at the end of the evening and send a report through.”

  “Thank you, Officer.” I tapped my fingers against the door and retreated as Primrose returned her gaze to the papers before her. On second thought, I poked my nose back inside. “By the way, good work today.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” I said. “A weak stomach doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “This is a hard job,” I said. “It exposes your weaknesses like no other career. The sooner you get used to shaking that off, living with it—the better you’ll be.”

  “Thanks, boss,” she said quietly. “I appreciate that. Have fun with your family tonight.”

  I wasn’t sure if fun would be the correct way to describe the evening’s activities, but the sheer fact that I found myself humming a little “O Holy Night” as I meandered home showed that I probably wasn’t dreading it as much as I let on. There was something about DeMarco traditions, especially led by Rose DeMarco, that didn’t let our family escape the holiday spirit.

  In a way, I was glad for the mandatory cheer. It was easy enough to be sucked into work on a daily basis, and the holidays were no different. If I had anyone else for a mother, I might have just worked straight through the festivities without realizing they’d come and passed. A night off here and there to celebrate with my brothers, eat a load of food, and try my hand at a Present Peeker spell never failed to lighten the mood, if only for an evening.

  Plus, it had the added effect of taking my mind off Matthew. While he’d said he’d try to make it, I knew that was code for him calling midway through the party to let me know something had come up. Normally, Matthew didn’t look for reasons to get out of plans that involved me, which meant he really was dealing with something big in New York. Something huge that was capitalizing on all his time and attention, sucking his every working hour dry. I only wished he’d confided in me so I didn’t have to wonder and worry when I went for hours or days without hearing from him.

  Sounds from the house on the horizon stilled my thoughts about work. I glanced up, finding a gingerbread-like walkway through the dry, brown grass and the last fighting fingers of green holding on until that first snow.

  On either side stood lighted Christmas trees, making it feel as if the cobblestone path led into another world entirely. A magical version of snow fell repeatedly from the sky, lining the trees and my parents’ yard with tufts of white. It went right until the edge of the Roberts’ yard where all cheer stopped abruptly next to their grumpy, un-festive house and de-snowed lawn.

  Holiday spirit positively burst from my parents’ house. Santa stood on the chimney magicked to wave merrily and cackle a Ho-Ho-Ho when anyone walked by while a trio of enchanted elf dolls danced a little jig above a bedroom window. Lights of all colors and sizes flashed random glow patterns timed to match the holiday music that swelled from the very belly of the house.

  Chatter filtered out from windows. The house would be draped with wreaths, topped by candles and stockings, greenery oozing along every banister, table, and chair inside the house, if memory served. It was impossible to hide my grin as I twisted the doorknob to let myself inside.

  “There she is!” Judging by the pink-ish tint to my mother’s face, she’d either laid into the eggnog, or she was very, very happy to see me. “Danielle! Darling, walk through the arch.”

  I looked up and saw an archway that was, of course, draped with mistletoe in the middle. Seeing as the only people around were family, I wasn’t sure who my mother was trying to rope into kissing, but that didn’t seem to be the point. With a curious stare, I took one step through the archway. Then a second.

  The red felt arch swarmed around me, thick curtains covering my body in a whirlwind of air and manic activity. I spluttered, waving my arms to fight off the attacking fabric. By the time I managed to inhale a deep breath, it was all over.

  “What was that?”
I gaped at my mother. “A deadly archway?”

  She just grinned at me, her eyes a bit hazy. “Look down, dearie.”

  I looked down, and I was suddenly more relieved than ever that Matthew King had other things to do in life besides attend my mother’s holiday party. I was dressed to the gills as a storybook Christmas elf.

  Apparently, my mother had magicked the doorway in our home with a quick Costume Changer that turned everyone’s clothes into temporarily cheerful attire. My outfit was green and white striped leggings and a tight red dress that was just a little too sexy for a holiday party. I had bulbous earrings that glowed like Christmas lights and draped so far down they touched my shoulders. When I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, I gasped. One hand reached up, touched my hair, and confirmed the existence of a massive amount of tinsel sprouting out of my head.

  The only solution was to not glance at myself until the night was over... and to make sure everyone drank enough eggnog to forget this had ever happened.

  “The whole family together,” my mother said. “Rob’s back. Can you believe it? What other present does a mother need besides all her ducklings under one roof? Except for maybe those new slippers they’ve been selling down in the marketplace—those super fuzzy ones that are supposed to be self-warming? I could probably use those. And the matching throw. The handmade one in pink.”

  “I read you loud and clear, Ma,” I said. “Thanks for the Christmas list. Anyway, do you know what Rob’s doing here?”

  Her eyes focused more clearly at my question. “What are you talking about? Rob came to spend the holidays with his family. He said he ran into you and told you that.”

  “Ran into me alright,” I said with a groan. “But, Ma, you have to admit—Rob almost always has an ulterior motive.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t this time,” Rose DeMarco said stubbornly. “People change. And your brother is a good man, Dani. He’s just made some life choices that the rest of us might not have made.”

  “Well, this is fun,” a voice said from behind one of the numerous Christmas trees shoved into the living room. “However, if you feel like discussing my status as black sheep of this family, can you at least have the decency to include me?”

  Rob held a sparkling goblet of red wine in hand. The Costume Changer had conveniently changed him into some sort of Christmas Prince, and as usual, Rob looked somehow magnificent in his gem-studded crown and royalty themed clothing. All while I looked like his little sister, the trashy elf.

  “Honey, you know that’s not what we meant,” my mother said quickly, trying to make peace before the party turned sour. “You’re my firstborn! I’m proud of you, Robbie. You’ve always been a good person.”

  “Relax,” I said to Rob. “It’s nothing we wouldn’t have said to your face. I already asked what brought you back here, and all Ma said was that you made choices others wouldn’t have. That’s just a fact.”

  Rob took a sip of his wine, gave a cocky tilt of his head. “It’s alright. We all know I’m the favorite.”

  “Shut up,” I said, and scooted next to him to find the table of goblets and wine that had been placed between the wall and the trees. “You’re the troublemaker.”

  “I keep things interesting.”

  “That’s what all criminals say,” I muttered. Then I straightened, turned around. “Sorry. You’re not a criminal. At least, you’ve never been caught.”

  “The best ones aren’t.” Rob winked, that boyish playfulness back in his eye.

  My mother heaved a sigh of relief. It appeared she was mostly relieved that Rob was a good enough criminal to not be caught. I supposed it was better than his being a lousy one. And so long as neither Rob nor I ruined Christmas, my mother would be happy regardless.

  There was a small commotion at the door as two more guests arrived. Willa and Jack, hand in hand, stepped through the archway together. Jack groaned while Willa squealed in delight as the swatch of fabric wrapped around them both and spit out two newly attired partygoers.

  The archway had seen fit to dress Willa and Jack as cute little mice—Christmas ornaments from The Rescuers Down Under. They had little red noses and whiskers, and Willa had a darling cap that made her look quaintly British.

  “This is great!” Willa clapped her hands and squealed, then leaned over to kiss Jack on the cheek. “Look at us! I want one of these for my place. Say, I wonder if the arch would work on my mom seeing as she’s a ghost. Probably not, huh?”

  “Probably not,” Jack said, but he was obviously half listening. His attention was directed at me. “What the hell happened to you?”

  I wriggled my brassiere up higher and glanced judgmentally at my own tights. “Ask mom. I had no say in this.”

  “Oh.” A gasp was all Willa could manage. “You look very...cute?”

  “Are you supposed to be a cross between an elf and a Goblin Girl?” Jack asked. “I don’t get it. Why do you have that much... er, skin on display?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with this!” I insisted. “I can’t change out of it if I try.”

  “Maybe if you go through the archway again?” Willa suggested. “Though with your luck, I’m not sure that’d be any better.”

  “Okay, darlings,” my mother said, clinking her goblet of eggnog with a spoon as she sensed my growing agitation and the rising decibel of the room. “We’re all here; time for the festivities to begin! Tree decorating first. Jack and Willa, can you please do the stockings? Nash, you’re in charge of draping garlands.”

  “Don’t we have enough garlands?” Nash, dressed as a toy soldier, stood stiff and unimpressed. “There’s no place left to drape garland.”

  “There’s always room for more garland,” my mother said stoutly. “And throw in some mistletoe while you’re at it. And find someone to bring underneath it, will you?”

  Nash opted not to argue and instead grabbed the garland and began throwing it haphazardly over the fireplace. My mother handed out boxes of ornaments to my twin, Doug. To me, she handed a big bowl of popcorn.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked.

  “You know, make those balls,” my mother said, her face coloring. “The popcorn balls. Construct them.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Figure it out,” my mother said. “You’re a detective.”

  “I’m using magic.”

  “No magic!” she said. “If I smell a whiff of magic, I’m throwing you all into the fireplace.”

  The room went silent. My mother gave a hearty cackle. But when even my father stared at her, she gave a sheepish grin.

  “It was a joke, people,” she said. “Loosen up. Rob, sweet Robbie, will you do the honors? The star? For my star.”

  I mimed vomiting as Nash looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes at my mother.

  “She has two children who put their life on the line every day to serve and protect the borough,” Nash grunted, “and she praises Rob?”

  “I’m sure he’ll only be here a short while, and then she’ll go back to complaining about him,” I said. “And watch where you put that garland. Half of it’s on fire.”

  Decorations took an hour, most of it punctuated by my mother’s random bursts of caroling (which she insisted we all take part in). It paired nicely with my father’s cursing as he struggled to untangle Christmas lights without the use of magic. This whole thing could have taken five minutes with a few handwaves and magical spells, but instead, it took almost two hours and three vats of eggnog. The unspiked vat of nog, however, remained studiously full.

  Finally, my mother declared the decorating portion of the evening over. At least for the house. There were still trays and trays of cookies that would need decorating, but I was hoping to sneak out before most of that happened. Red faced and full of eggnog and wine, we gathered around the table for my favorite part of the night: dinner.

  My mother smacked Jack’s hand as he reached for a hunk of garlic bread fresh off the loaf. Stea
ming piles of pasta steeping in red sauce sat in a platter large enough to double as a flying saucer. Meatballs were like small planets floating around the edges. The real prize of the night were the ruby red lobsters next to butter sauce bubbling over tea light candles. The smell probably had Matthew salivating from a whole other world.

  We closed our eyes, each of us trying hard not to rush through the yearly toasts we completed before the food became fair game. Finally, my father put us out of our misery.

  “Let’s eat,” he declared.

  The second his butt hit the chair, it was a feeding frenzy. I reached for the olives as my mother battled my brothers to serve the main course. Willa, poor thing, watched with wide-eyed wonder.

  “Don’t worry.” I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “My mother will protect you. She has a soft spot for first time holiday-ers with the family.”

  “I just—I’ve never seen anything like it before,” she said. “It’s like shark week. Or something. I... Jack! Wait your turn, will you?”

  My mother hid a smirk as Willa slapped my brother’s hand away. Willa was rewarded with the biggest lobster and a pile of spaghetti with extra sauce. And freshly grated cheese.

  I was holding out my plate, bouncing with anticipation, when a knock sounded on the door.

  “Oh, no,” I moaned. “Go away, whoever you are. It’s my turn. Mom, quick. Drop the lobster.”

  “Go answer it!” My mother swiveled the lobster away from me and dropped it onto Rob’s plate instead. “You and Nash are the only ones who ever get company at this house, and it’s always work-related. Send them away, and you can eat.”

  “Why can’t Nash answer it?”

  Nash just raised his Stunner and pointed it over my shoulder at the door. “I could just shoot whoever’s there, and none of us would have to move.”

  “Just because you got your food first,” I snarled, heaving myself to my feet. I looked longingly at the noodles spiraled around Nash’s fork before stomping—loudly—to the door. I yanked it open, prepared to continue growling, when the face on the other side shocked me into speechlessness.