The Hex Files - Wicked All The Way

by Gina LaManna

  Everyone had assumed she’d died in the fire, but after a strenuous investigation, they hadn’t been able to find so much as a bone from Margot in the remains. The conclusion had been that the fire was caused by an Incinerator Incantation—a spell possible to purchase from The Void—and had consumed Margot’s remains entirely.

  At the time, they hadn’t had a Reserve on the force to confirm Residuals, nor did they have the magical technology necessary to determine the exact cause of the fire.

  It was the testimonials at the bottom, however, that caught my attention:

  “Margot didn’t die in that fire,” Gary Bikersfeld said. “I think she went and disappeared and left the fire behind to make us all think she was dead.”

  When asked why Gary thought any such thing, his response was, “She’s too old and too tough to die from a measly fire.”

  While not scientific in his analysis, I wondered if Gary was onto something. Had Margot disappeared for other reasons and faked her own death? Or had it been faked for her?

  A twinge of excitement in my gut told me I was on the right track. The years were right; they were matching up. The fire had come a year after Matthew was rumored to have killed the vampire attempting to take over the borough via The Hex Files. They’d formed a council and then dispersed the files for safekeeping. What if Margot had faked her death in an extreme way for her to escape with one of the files? She could have relocated to The Isle, kept to herself, and set up a fortress to protect her file.

  Even more agitated, I wondered if that could be what was behind the door in the White’s house. Had Margot Pulley passed down her guardian duties through the women in her family? Would Evelyn White become the next guardian of the file?

  I sat back, reeling from the information. I had more questions for Evelyn, but it was too late to call. I sent her a quick message over the Comm so she’d know to call me in the morning.

  Then I read the article again. According to Margot Pulley’s history, she was a witch.

  To my surprise, my Comm buzzed. It was Evelyn, returning my message.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you,” I said. “Sorry to ping you so late.”

  “I was up,” she said. “What did you need?”

  “I found an interesting article on Margot Pulley tonight. Apparently, she disappeared from the Sixth Borough. The article speculates that she died in a house fire, though there was no evidence she was in her house at the time it burned down. Do you know anything about that?”

  “You know, after we talked this evening, I got to going through old family stuff, and I found a journal by a woman named Maggie Price. The weird thing was that it was in a box of stuff labeled with Margot Pulley’s name.”

  “You think Margot Pulley used an alias when she moved to The Isle?” I wondered. “Let’s pretend Margot was forced to disappear from the Sixth Borough. If she set up shop on The Isle and gave a fake name, she would have been as good as anonymous.”

  “I was wondering that same thing. But, do you think...” Evelyn cleared her throat. “Do you think this has something to do with the locked door in the house?”

  “I think it has everything to do with it. And I think it also has everything to do with why your brother died, though I can’t say how just yet. It’s a working theory. But I’m almost positive that Margot set up whatever’s behind that locked door and has been passing the protective torch down through the women in her family, if you will.”

  “I can’t believe my parents would be involved in something like that.” Evelyn’s voice came out hushed. “I can’t believe they’d protect that—that thing at the expense of my brother! When it’s mine, and it will be someday, the first thing I’m going to do is destroy it.”

  I glanced at the Christmas lights twinkling from the corner. I stared at one individual light, then let my eyes unfocus and take them all in at once. “I wouldn’t judge your parents just yet.”

  “You know what’s behind that door, don’t you? Do you think it was worth my brother’s life?”

  “That’s not what I meant, Evelyn. I’m just saying—give your parents a chance. Whoever killed your brother made a choice. Your parents had no say in the matter. They didn’t know what your brother was or wasn’t doing. His death isn’t their fault, nor is it yours. It’s no one’s except for the man or woman who murdered Mason.”

  There was a hushed silence. “I suppose you see a lot of this in your work. People blaming others.”

  “It’s easy to do. I think probably inevitable,” I said. “But no good comes of it. What I can promise you, Evelyn, is that we’ll find the person responsible for your brother’s death, and they’ll be brought to justice.”

  “Thank you, Detective,” she murmured. “I—I looked through the journal for anything else that was interesting, but I didn’t find much. If you want it, you can have it for evidence.”

  “If you don’t mind, that’d be great. I’ll swing by tomorrow and pick it up if that’s okay.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll leave it—actually, I’ll take it with me to the shop.”

  “Are you afraid your mother won’t want you handing it over to me?”

  Evelyn exhaled sharply. “She’s been a little strange about this whole thing. I haven’t told her I’m still talking to you.”

  “You’ve been very helpful,” I said. “I’ll stop by the shop tomorrow. Thank you, Evelyn. I can’t help but think your brother would be very grateful to you for your work on this.”

  “I hope so,” she whispered, her voice clogging. “Because I didn’t do enough while he was alive. Goodnight, Detective.”

  We hung up, and with renewed hope in my current line of questioning, I cleaned up my dishes and books, hauling the former into the kitchen and the latter upstairs with me. I ignored my furniture as they peppered me with questions and headed for bed.

  It was late, and I had a big day tomorrow. Though I didn’t love the idea of going to sleep with people out there wanting me dead, I knew that without rest, I’d be useless. And if I wanted to find out what Angela White was hiding behind her locked door, I most certainly couldn’t be useless in the morning.

  So, I let my head hit the pillow, closed my eyes, and wished Matthew were in bed beside me. I’d grown used to those cool arms wrapped around my body, firm in their stance, gentle against my skin. And as I tossed and turned and longed for Matthew, I found myself wondering exactly what Grey had meant on my front steps this evening. And why he kept turning up to save my life...

  Chapter 21

  I was at the office by the crack of dawn. I was pretty sure I’d gotten some shut eye the previous night, but it’d been interrupted by nightmares of poison green Residuals seeping through every crack and crevice in my bedroom meant to strangle, to kill.

  I’d woken up screaming once when a vision in black had pressed down on my throat, only to find the room empty, my apartment clear. I’d slept the rest of the night in a cold sweat and was relieved to find the sun rising just a few short hours later.

  The precinct was mostly empty when I arrived. I put on a fresh pot of coffee and grabbed an extra-tall travel mug. A sleepless night didn’t bode well for my caffeine intake, but that was another hazard of the job I’d learned to accept.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” a voice asked from behind.

  I turned around, trying to hide the fact I’d jumped at the sound. “Cripes, Primrose. What’re you doing here so early?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, either,” she said. “Sorry to startle you. But this case is getting to me. It’s all I can think about.”

  “How’s Woofie?”

  “Oh, he’s a doll,” she said, then frowned. “But I’m trying not to get attached. Oh, and I got your message. You wanted me to bring him into the office this morning?”

  I nodded. “I’m headed back to The Isle. I think Harry belongs with Evelyn White.”

  “Is she a dog lover?” Primrose asked defensively. “You’re not just trying to dump Woofie somewhere so I don’t
have to worry, right?”

  I took a gulp of coffee and smiled. “No, she genuinely wants the dog. It might be all she has left of her brother. I can tell you’re already attached, but—”

  “No, no, it’s a good thing,” Primrose said, stepping to the coffee pot and pouring herself a mug. “If I want to make detective sooner rather than later, I’ll have to give everything I have to the job, and that’s not fair to a pup. Can I come with you? I won’t say anything, I’ll just handle the dog.”

  “I was hoping you’d volunteer for the trip,” I said. “Come on—carpet rental isn’t open for another hour, and I want to see what you found in your research.”

  “Oh, just you wait.” Primrose grinned again, her excitement already renewed. “I think I found something you’ll like. I’ll grab my things and meet you in your office?”

  Ten minutes later, we were settled with our coffees. Beside our mugs sat pages and pages of Primrose’s notes.

  “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” I asked. “I didn’t even send you this request until late last night.”

  “I see the bruise on your neck and the bags under your eyes,” Primrose said. “I don’t expect you got a lot of sleep either.”

  I hid a smile. “So, what’d you find?”

  “I completed my preliminary search of all the students and teachers in the classes. The content search was a little bit harder, but I did what I could with the syllabi,” she said. “For the students, only three jumped out at me. I have a list here with their names and why.”

  I scanned over the list of names and saw that Primrose had highlighted three students—two men, one woman—who were in the classes Mason hadn’t needed to take. All of them had some combination of an interesting background.

  The woman was repeating Orientation for the second time. One of the males had lived on the mainland for most of his life and was now taking Orientation for no visible reason. He hadn’t been married, no major life changes to speak of, a story similar in style to Mason White’s. The other male Primrose had highlighted stuck out because he had perfect scores in every class—but just the written tests. He hadn’t participated in any practicals, either.

  “This is excellent,” I said. “I’m going to put Renola on the line. I’ll have you explain your findings to her—maybe while we’re on The Isle, she can pepper the dean’s office with our questions about these particular students.”

  “Me?” Primrose asked. “Renola has been here longer than me, and—”

  “And if you become detective, you’re going to have to give instructions to people older than you, more senior than you, or generally more intimidating than you. Get used to it.” I fired up my Comm. “Renola, sorry for the early wakeup call. Can we borrow you for the day? I cleared it with your boss—he agreed to lend you to homicide until this case is wrapped. I’ve got Primrose here to explain the details.”

  Following a thorough explanation, Renola agreed to head to the Campus of Magic first thing. I let her know to keep us posted if anything popped.

  “Anything on the instructors?” I asked Primrose after we’d hung up. “The list is significantly smaller.”

  “Yes, but somewhat less interesting,” she said. “I looked into Professors Bleeker, Petri, and Harrison. Neither of the men had anything particularly interesting in their pasts—at least on my first scrub.”

  “We’ve got Magical Maladies with Professor Petri and Paranormal History of the Sixth Borough with a Professor Harrison?”

  She nodded in confirmation. “Professor Petri has been working at the school for some thirty odd years. I get the feeling he’s waiting to retire. His students don’t have any complaints, he rarely fails people but doesn’t seem to be extraordinarily easy, either. His only personal or social life to speak of is one sister who lives on The Isle and two cats whom he cares for at his home on campus. He’s a member of a book club. That’s about it.”

  “And Harrison?” I asked.

  “Younger guy, but from what I can tell, he’s going for tenure. Been there a couple of years. Students really love his class. He’s regularly voted best professor on campus. His family life is also somewhat bland. He has one brother who lives in the borough, but from what I can tell, they’re not super close. No significant other that I could find. He also hosts History Club once a week, which has quite good attendance from students.”

  “And Bleeker?”

  “She’s known to be a bit of a hardass,” Primrose said, wrinkling her nose. “But again, not entirely surprising. Though I did notice something a little odd about this semester. Her students have a significantly higher than average grade in her class as a whole.”

  “What do you mean? She’s giving them all A’s?”

  “Not quite, but that’s the gist of it,” she said. “Her class average is usually a C. This semester, it’s a whopping B+.”

  “Interesting, but I’m not sure that conclusively gives us enough to be suspicious.”

  “I didn’t think so either,” Primrose said, “but I got to wondering why that might be. You know, that four a.m. hour when you’re still drinking coffee and getting a little loopy—the brain works in weird ways sometimes.”

  “Primrose.”

  “Right. What I was trying to say,” she said, “is that I had an epiphany. Or rather, I thought more about why it was so strange. If it were genuinely a blip in Bleeker’s pattern, what was causing it?”

  I remembered Bleeker last night, strolling into the library and then leaving conveniently before my attack. It seemed a bit too obvious to me, but then again, Matthew had a point. If she’d expected me to be dead, it wouldn’t have been obvious because nobody else would have known she was upstairs in the first place.

  “I thought maybe the professor was distracted. You know, it’s highly unlikely she just got “nicer” or “graded easier” overnight. But maybe if her mind was elsewhere, and she didn’t care so much about keeping a diligent watch on her students, really pushing them like she had in the past, maybe she inadvertently started letting things go because it was less work for her.”

  “I’m hoping you have more to back up this theory.”

  “I do.” Primrose proudly produced a sheet of paper and pushed it across the desk toward me. A big red X was stamped across the top. “Bleeker put in a request for a sabbatical. At the Campus of Magic, they allow teachers to request sabbaticals for different areas of expertise they want to pursue, different research projects, that sort of thing. It’s basically a semester off to dig into a personal interest that relates back to the school.”

  “Yet she was denied.” I thumbed the page. “Did you find out why?”

  “Well, it’s not entirely unusual that a request is denied, but for all intents and purposes, it looks like Bleeker had never used a sabbatical. She submitted all the correct forms. There was a space open. From what I can tell, it looks like she should have gotten permission granted—no real questions asked.”

  “Yet she didn’t. You’re wondering if she’s bitter about it? Maybe exploring her project of interest on her own time as payback?” I wondered, thinking that made some sense with her visit to the library. Though it didn’t explain her imaginary meeting with a friend who didn’t seem to exist. “And because she’s busy, she doesn’t care as much about being hard on her students.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do we know what her proposal was for?” I asked. “What was her project about?”

  “The plans were unfortunately private,” she said. “I assume with a warrant and the correct paperwork, you could get the dean to give on that. But obviously I didn’t have time to pull it last night.”

  “We’ll get started on it,” I said. “Maybe while Renola’s on campus, she can hunt down a few alibis for the folks on your list. It’ll be good to start ruling people out. We can find out where they were on the night of the murder. And last night, for that matter.”

  Primrose’s eyes went to my neck. “I see.”

  “One more thing
,” I said. “Do we know who took the open sabbatical spot that was supposed to be Bleeker’s?”

  She frowned. “I don’t, but it should be easy enough to check. Good thought. I was only focused on the people on my list, but I suppose that’s why you’re the detective and I’m the rookie.”

  “You’ll get there,” I said. “I have to run down to the lab for a second. Can you get Renola up to speed on the rest of this stuff?”

  “I know I’m just a rookie,” Primrose blurted, shooting to her feet as I stood up across from her. “But Detective, I want to help you. I don’t think you should be on your own until the case is wrapped up—for safety reasons.”

  “You sound like my boyfriend.” I snorted. Then raised a finger. “Don’t comment on that.”

  “I’m not commenting on your boyfriend, but maybe your captain is right,” Primrose said. “Someone came after you, didn’t they? Does that mean you’re getting close to the right answer?”

  “No, Primrose,” I said, making my way to the door before turning to face her. “We’re getting close.”

  Chapter 22

  It was a much tighter squeeze on the magic carpet with three of us—two cops and one dog—than I had anticipated. Primrose had only kept Harry the dog for one night, and already, his things had multiplied tenfold. He had a carrier, treats, a new leash, and something that resembled a raincoat, which Primrose shoved into her backpack with a sheepish look when I questioned it.

  The journey was quite routine. Our magic carpet cooperated more this time around. Harry seemed to enjoy sticking his head out of the cage and catching the cool air on his slobbery tongue, and Primrose seemed to enjoy much of the same thing.

  Instead of landing in the same spot as our previous visit, I grounded the carpet on the street before the White’s house. I kept us out of the line of sight from the windows and doors, tucked behind a large tree shielding their front yard.