“That’s impossible. A mouse couldn’t get down here unless someone dropped it off on purpose.”
“Exactly,” Chet said. “All those false alarms we’ve been having? They were just a distraction. All part of a plan to keep the agents busy while someone carried out her orders.”
He jabbed the elevator call button some more.
“Which is?”
“How should I know? Who knows what a crazy computer wants?”
A voice spoke from speakers all around them. “I am neither crazy, nor am I a computer.”
Chet let his hand drop away from the elevator call button. There was no point to pressing the button. Not anymore. The elevator wasn’t coming. The elevator was just one of the many internal systems run by a computer, which was run by software, which was run by Codex.
The snakes on Charlize’s head went frantic. She tilted her head up and spoke to the red camera lights that represented her creation. “Codex? What’s going on with you?”
“I’m doing very well, thank you for asking,” Codex replied.
“Is it true? What Chet said? Are you the one who transferred that book to a civilian residence?”
“That is true.”
Chet broke in, demanding, “Where’s Corvin? Where’s my son?”
“He is not your son, Agent Moore. The entity known as Corvin Moore is safely in custody, at an undisclosed location.”
Chet began to scream at the computer, and at Charlize, and at the gloom around them, as well as the walls that imprisoned them.
Then he really lost it.
Days later, when he recalled his behavior at this moment, when all the brittle tension in his body shattered and the real Chet Moore came gushing out, he would wish that he could wipe the next ten minutes from his memory.
Chapter 27
ZARA RIDDLE
WISTERIA POLICE DEPARTMENT
Detective Theodore Bentley couldn’t sit still. He paced behind me while I confirmed the bad news, reading the evidence I’d found on Persephone Rose’s computer.
“It’s all in here,” I said. “Your buddy Persephone emailed—”
“She’s not my buddy,” Bentley said, practically growling.
“Your coworker emailed thousands of crime scene photos to Temperance Krinkle. That’s how Krinkle was able to re-create those crime scenes with such accuracy.” The general public knew nothing about the Greyson homicide being a beheading, let alone that the severed head had been found inside a trophy cabinet. But Krinkle’s model had been accurate, right down to the specific shelf the head had been displayed on—something even I hadn’t seen until now.
“That’s odd,” I said. “She didn’t even try to cover her tracks. I know I’m good with computers, but I’m no hacker.” I waved at the incriminating emails on my screen. “But look. All the emails are here, logged in her outgoing folder. It’s like she wanted to get caught.”
He grumbled. “Or she’s being set up.”
“If she’s being set up, someone went to a lot of unnecessary work in the creative writing department. She sent the photos over a period of several weeks, and her emails included a lot of personal details.”
“Personal details?”
“About her crush on a certain hunky detective.”
He growled, “Zara,” using my name as a warning.
“I’m not messing with you. Here, let’s read one at random. ‘Dear Temperance. This morning, T.B. commented on my attention to detail in a report I worked on for him. He said I may be due for a promotion. Do you think I should ask him to mentor me?’” I looked up from the computer screen and fanned my face with my hand. “Ziggity! Hot stuff in here.”
“Zara, you’re wasting time. And that email doesn’t say anything about a crush.”
“It’s all subtext. Trust me, it’s in there if you read between the lines. Using your initials instead of your name? Classic crush indicator. And when she asks about being mentored by you, I think we can both agree that the phrase ‘in bed’ is heavily implied.”
“Stop distracting me from the case.”
“But this is the case. Or a case. Persephone’s got a Case of The Matching Underwear, if you know what I mean.”
He said nothing.
I quickly explained, “That’s where you always make sure your bra and underpants match, just in case.”
He frowned. “Just in case... what?”
I used both hands to make a gesture that was anything but subtle.
He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.
While he was looking up and away from me, a thought struck me out of the blue.
A Case of The Matching Underwear.
I surreptitiously peeked down the front of my blouse, and then down the top of my skirt. My underwear was, for the first time in a long time, matching. Did my closet think I needed to be prepared for some event today? Some event in which I would be stripped down to my underwear?
My forearms prickled with goose bumps. But not the bad kind.
“Back to the email,” Bentley barked, breaking me out of my daydream.
I turned back to the screen and got to work. Zara tries to be a good witch. Zara sticks to the case at hand, and doesn’t get sidetracked.
I scanned through several more emails and relayed the gist of them to Bentley—this time without any commentary about the very obvious subtext.
We worked together combing over the emails for what felt like a long time, but was only about twenty minutes.
The evidence was coming together, painting a whole new picture. Persephone Rose provided Temperance Krinkle with the photos she needed to create crime scenes that would convince us she had psychic powers. But why?
“How could I be so stupid?” Bentley smacked his forehead as he paced holes in the carpet. “This is why they don’t tell us everything when we start working here,” he said. “This is exactly why I was kept in the dark.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I was there with you at Krinkle’s house, and I made the same leap in logic. We both got tricked.”
“But only because we both know all about,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “magic.”
We were alone in the cubicles that formed that part of the office, and I’d cast a sound bubble around us for privacy, but Bentley still lowered his voice whenever the word “magic” came up. It was a reflex that didn’t go away easily.
He continued. “If you don’t know about magic, you have to think logically, because doing anything else would be insane.” He smacked his forehead again. “Even one of the secretaries would have done a better job investigating this case than I have.” Another smack. “I’ve got to be better than this.”
While he continued scolding himself, I double-checked a few more things on Persephone’s computer. Her relationship with Temperance Krinkle began a few months earlier, when the two of them met at the support group, The Awakenlings. I’d been suspicious of the group itself—with a name like that, who wouldn’t be?—but their emails to each other didn’t implicate anyone else from the support group.
The same WPD employee who’d helped me earlier with the password and fresh orange juice came rushing over to us.
“Persephone Rose isn’t at her apartment,” he reported to Bentley. “And her landlord wasn’t thrilled about the door getting busted down. Are you sure that was necessary?”
“We need to find her,” Bentley growled.
The young man was confused, pulling his head back. “Over some emails?”
Bentley whipped around with inhuman speed and grabbed the man by the lapels of his jacket. “Over a kidnapping,” he said. The words were crisp, but had a growling energy. “Find her. Find her now.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man scurried away.
“She couldn’t have gotten too far,” I said.
Bentley wheeled around to face me, eyes blazing. “What makes you say that?”
“She was, uh, wearing high heels.”
I sensed that my joke was not
going over well. The snarl on Bentley’s lips was probably my strongest clue. I crossed my two pointer fingers in front of myself, making a cross. “Don’t bite me. I’ll stop with the dumb jokes.”
“Log out of the computer,” he said. “We’re going.”
“Where?”
“Krinkle has been brought back to her house. We’re going to find out what she really knows.” His snarl changed to a cruel smile. “You have my permission to subject her to any spells you’d like.”
“Easy now,” I said, jumping to my feet. “Clearly, there’s a scam in progress, but the details are hazy. For all we know, the Tate woman herself could be behind this. She wouldn’t be the first person who arranged to have herself fake-kidnapped.”
Bentley narrowed his eyes at me.
I went on. “Furthermore, maybe Krinkle was the one who took her. Look at the timeline.” I waved a hand at some imaginary timeline diagram that wasn’t actually there. “She could have abducted the woman and the dog, then returned home and called the station about the missing person.”
Bentley opened his mouth, probably to object, but stopped. Krinkle looked old and frail, but looks could be deceiving. And the Tate woman was relatively small and light, even for a woman.
I thought of a funny bumper sticker I’d seen: Fat people are harder to kidnap. The bumper sticker had a good point. If I’d been looking for someone to kidnap, a small woman who met strangers at their homes to pick up their dogs would be a top candidate.
But why kidnap someone and then not demand a ransom?
I tried pushing all my knowledge about magic out of my brain so I could solve the puzzle using the logic of someone who wasn’t a witch. Someone normal.
From that perspective, the crime made even less sense. In towns everywhere, women did get taken, sadly, but not after having an old lady call the police about a psychic dollhouse.
“It’s time to find out what’s going on,” Bentley growled.
I couldn’t agree more. It was time to get Corvin back home.
We took the elevator down to the parking level, got in his car, and drove toward the Krinkle residence.
*
When we arrived at Krinkle’s house, there was no answer at the door. According to the calls Bentley made during the drive over from the station, the old woman had been returned to the residence, and the crime scene investigators and agents had all left. They were resources that were best allocated elsewhere, helping follow up on leads about the missing woman.
After waiting a minute with no answer to our knocks or the doorbell, Bentley tried the handle. “It’s locked.”
“Detective, there’s no such thing as a locked door when your partner’s a witch.” I turned the handle from the inside using magic, and opened the door.
Bentley hesitated.
“Don’t tell me you need an invitation,” I said.
He stared at me blankly.
“An invitation,” I repeated slowly, as though he was hard of hearing. “Because of your condition? Is that what you need? Maybe I can do something with a bluffing spell on the house itself.” I pretended to push up my sleeves, although my forearms were bare. My romantic blouse was falling off one shoulder, so I continued the motion, pushing the puffy sleevelet back up to cover the strap of my bra.
“Oh,” Bentley said, his eyes widening as he caught my drift. “The invitation thing is just a myth about us,” he said. “What’s holding me back is our distinct lack of a warrant.”
“But this house is a crime scene,” I said. “You don’t need permission to go in and out of a crime scene, do you?”
“It’s a private residence,” he said. “The thing about a warrant is—”
He stopped talking when I grabbed him by the shoulders and forcibly dragged him into the house. “Witches don’t need warrants,” I said.
It was time for us to question Temperance Krinkle and get to the bottom of this business with the weird dollhouses.
Chapter 28
“Mrs. Krinkle?” I called out sweetly. “Are you home? It’s me, Zara Riddle, the nice redhead who you shared the lovely tea and cookies with on Saturday!” Whether you remember me or not, you’re going to remember me after we get finished questioning you. At least until such time as the DWM wipes your memory back to the factory default settings.
I repeated my sweet-voiced inquiry. “Mrs. Krinkle? Temperance?”
The only answer was a creak coming from upstairs, and then the low murmur of a man’s voice.
“She’s not alone,” Bentley said softly.
“An accomplice?”
“Maybe. Speaking of which, do you happen to know where that genie friend of yours is right now?”
“Archer Caine? He’s not my friend, and no, I don’t know where he is.”
“If he’s working with Krinkle on whatever this is, I’m going to finish what I started on your birthday.”
I stifled a giggle. The situation was serious, but Bentley was so cute when he threatened to eat people.
The floor upstairs creaked again, and there was more murmuring.
“It’s not the genie,” Bentley reported, sounding disappointed. “And yes. My hearing is that good.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know yet, but he sounds familiar, like someone I’ve met recently. Don’t you have some spells to cast?”
We both looked down at my hands. I held them up, showing off the blue plasma pooling in my palms. Fireballs were at the ready. More lightning tingled through my body.
Bentley said, “Do you have anything more subtle than blue fireballs?”
“Hang on. I’ll cast my threat-detection spell,” I said. “It doesn’t do much,” I warned him as I cast the spell. “It’s the magical equivalent of walking into a spooky house and calling out hello, but—” I was stopped by the dazzling light show in front of me.
To my surprise, the spell had worked. And I mean really worked. The whole inside of the residence was lit up like a Christmas tree—a Christmas tree with enough lights on it to cause a power outage in the neighborhood.
I was so taken aback by the display of glowing, gleaming, and pulsating walls, I nearly jumped into Bentley’s arms. I did stumble backward and bump into his tall, solid body.
“What is it?” His tone was low, his lips next to my ear. His breath was hot. Surprisingly hot. Another type of lightning rushed through my body.
I made a nonverbal, squeaky sound.
He put one hand on my shoulder to steady me. My blouse had a wide neck, so half of his hand fell on the exposed skin of my shoulder. His hand was warm. So much for his kind being cold-blooded.
“Talk to me,” he urged, his breath still hot on my ear. “You jumped back like you saw a ghost. I thought you were going to jump right into my arms.”
“You wish,” I snorted, then I cast a sound bubble spell around us, in case Krinkle was listening. “No ghost,” I reported. “But that threat-detection spell actually worked. You can’t see it, but I can. Everything in this house is lit up with danger.”
“What kind of danger?”
He glowed red in front of me. Monster detected.
“I don’t know exactly,” I said. “It’s only a general threat-detection spell. Stuff that’s involved in magic glows. It doesn’t label itself, except by color, sort of, but even that’s open to interpretation.” I looked around. “Everything’s glowing like crazy, but the color intensifies the higher up I look. The threat’s above us.”
“The attic,” he said grimly. “Where she worked on the models.”
“It’s always the attic,” I agreed.
“Except when it’s the basement.”
“But it’s the attic this time. Let’s go.”
He hesitated. “We should wait for backup.”
I turned to look into his eyes. They were so attractive, that lovely shade of gray that looked silver. They looked especially bright at that moment, with his skin glowing red from the spell and his eyes reflecting the blue and gr
een glow around us. I could stare into those eyes all day and all night. But we had a case to solve. A woman and a hellhound to find.
I’d lost track of what we’d been talking about. “You were saying?”
“We should wait for backup,” he repeated.
“Do you want to wait for backup?”
He stared back at me, silver eyes unwavering. “I don’t like waiting. I don’t want to wait.”
My head swam. The lurid glow of danger was all around us, but I couldn’t break away from his gaze.
“I don’t like waiting, either,” I said.
He cleared his throat. “Nobody does, but it is WPD protocol to wait for appropriate backup when a threat, such as a weapon, has been detected.”
“Detective, aren’t we just a wee bit beyond WPD protocol? We did witch-and-enter the premises without a warrant. Am I supposed to stand here like a ding-dong, waiting for the regular cops to show up so I can get charged with witching and entering?”
He quirked one eyebrow. “What would you suggest we do?”
“Let’s go up to that attic right now, just the two of us, and let me witch things up. I’ll witch things up real good.” I took a step back and gave him a hand gesture of generosity. “And you can do whatever it is you do.”
“Vamp things up?”
I snapped my fingers and pointed at him. “Exactly. Do one of those enthrallment things. You can boost one of my spells for me. Or move around really quick. That’s fun.”
His eyebrows twitched together. I knew the look of a man reacting to his power being insulted, and I’d just done it.
“I have powers beyond that,” he said.
I rubbed my neck self-consciously. “If you mean biting, then yes, I figured as much. When we question Krinkle, you can bite it out of her.”
He wrinkled his nose.
I swatted him on the chest. “Why the face? Is old-lady neck not good enough for you?”
“Zara, I’ve never...” He trailed off and blinked repeatedly. “I’m new at this. I haven’t even been this way through a full cycle of the moon.”
“Come on. If she tastes that bad, I’ll let you wash the old-lady neck out of your mouth with some of my good stuff.”
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