Deadly Spells

by Jaye Wells

  “Wow, that’s some dedication.”

  I shook my head and laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, what I didn’t account for was that the BPD wasn’t real keen on letting an Adept work the Arcane beat—especially one that was also a rookie.”

  “But now you’re on the MEA task force, so you must have done something right.”

  Now my laugh was more genuine. “Not exactly. I had to kill an MEA informant to land that job.”

  His eyes widened. “You killed someone? You told the class you hadn’t.”

  My cheeks heated. It had been so long since I socialized with someone who didn’t carry a gun that I forgot casually mentioning shooting someone was shocking to a normal person. “If I’d told the class they would have wanted details, which I didn’t think was appropriate.” After he tipped his head to acknowledge that point, I continued. “He was freaking on a nasty potion and had me cornered.” I hated the edge of defensiveness that crept into my voice. “It was him or me.”

  His cheeks heated and his eyes sparkled with excitement. “That’s—”

  I adjusted my ass in my seat, cursing myself for not holding my tongue. “I’m sorry—”

  “No.” He leaned in, and tension zinged from him like small bolts of lightning. “I meant—that’s kind of hot.” His hand landed on my knee, and his eyes darkened with invitation.

  I moved my knee out of his reach. “Brad, no,” I said, “it’s not hot. Not at all. The guy I killed, he got pulled into this nasty situation. I don’t take any pride in killing him.”

  His face cleared, as if my subtle rejection hadn’t fazed him. “I just meant it’s extremely attractive when a woman can take care of herself.”

  Harsh words sprang to my lips at the implied insult in his comment. Every woman I knew took care of herself just fine. But I swallowed the comment because I was determined to get the date back on track. “Thanks,” I said instead. Probably he hadn’t meant to be insulting. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about work. What do you like to do for fun?”

  His face fell, as if he’d had a million other questions about my job. “Oh, I’m pretty boring. When I’m not teaching I like to read.”

  “I love to read,” I said.

  As if I hadn’t spoken, he said, “Have you killed a lot of people?”

  I pressed my lips together and tried to keep a lid on my patience. “I know TV makes all that stuff seem really exciting, but mostly it’s boring paperwork.”

  “Right,” he said, drawing out the word. “That’s not how it sounded when you were talking to the kids.”

  I finished off my wine. “It has its moments, but I was hoping to get away from it for a while tonight.”

  His posture stiffened. “Sorry.”

  Great. “Let’s just talk about something else. What’s the last book you read?”

  He motioned to the bartender for another drink. “I don’t remember.”

  I frowned. “Have you seen any good movies lately?”

  He took his drink from the guy and swallowed half of it. “Huh?”

  “I asked if you’ve seen any good movies.”

  “I went an indie movie festival a couple of weeks ago,” he said absently.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “You’re just… different than I thought.”

  I pulled back. “What?”

  He shrugged and took another sip. “No offense, but I thought you’d be a little more exciting.”

  My mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry,” he said, sounding petulant, “but if I wanted to talk about books I would have asked out one of the teachers from school. Just figured you’d be a nice change of pace, is all.”

  My eyes narrowed. “A change of pace?”

  He sighed. “I normally date educated women. I thought you’d be more fun.”

  I turned fully in my seat to stare at him. “Did you just say you asked me out because I’m uneducated?”

  He shook his head. “No, I meant—well, you’re not, right? Educated.”

  “I graduated from college.” I added a silent asshole at the end.

  He raised a brow. “Where’d you go?”

  “Babylon Community College,” I said. “I graduated with honors in criminal justice.”

  His mouth twitched. “An associate’s degree.”

  Anger rose in my throat. “I worked my way through night school while holding down a job and raising my little brother. Sorry I wasn’t in the right sorority or whatever.”

  He placed a hand on my arm. His palm was damp, and that look was back in his eyes like maybe he thought he still had a chance at some blue-collar ass. “Relax,” he said. “There’s no shame in that. It’s just different from what I’m used to. I’m sure you’re smart in your own way.”

  My left hand itched and the only way to scratch it would be punching this dick in the face. But I pushed down the urge because I was determined to walk out of there with some dignity.

  “You know what? I’m suddenly really tired.” I stood then, motioning the bartender as I rose. “Drinks are on me.” I tossed two twenties on the bar.

  “You don’t—” he said, starting to rise.

  “Oh, I insist.”

  “Don’t be so sensitive. I wasn’t trying to offend you.” His eyes strayed toward my chest. “Have another drink with me.” He smiled what he probably thought was a charming smile.

  I suddenly felt very tired. “I think I’ll pass.”

  The smile disappeared. “You’re a tease.”

  “A tease?” My tone was flat.

  “You’ve been flirting with me for months. Practically begging for it.”

  I laughed out loud. “Unbelievable. See you around, Mr. Hart.”

  As I walked away, he muttered, “Bitch.”

  I walked forward with my head held high. But inside, I was on full burn. Part of my anger had to do with Hart’s insulting attitude, but another part was mad that it turned out Morales had been right, after all. Going out with Hart had been a mistake. Not because of his jaded past, but because he was a major dick in the present. So much for giving nice guys a try. Alpha males were pains in the ass, but at least they didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time I got home, my anger had mellowed but my mood was still pretty shitty. I just wanted to go to bed and pretend the night had never happened. Unfortunately, there was a BMW I didn’t recognize sitting at the curb in front of the house. A bumper sticker on the fender advertised Channel Seven Action News.

  Grace Fucking Cho. Awesome.

  I trudged up the steps and approached the door. Inside the kitchen, the lights were on and the sounds of two female voices reached me. Remembering what Baba had said about Cho trying to get dirt on me, I rushed inside.

  Baba and Cho sat across from each other. Two mugs steamed in front of them, like I’d interrupted a cozy coffee klatch. When I walked in, they both looked up.

  “Kate!” Baba said. “Look who stopped by.” The overly friendly tone hinted that Baba was uncomfortable.

  Grace Cho smiled a catty smile and waved me over with her claws. An open notepad lay on the table in front of her. Considering my shitty mood, I should have just flipped her the finger and walked back out the door. But I knew she’d keep coming at me if I didn’t nip her ambitions in the bud.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, looking from one woman to the other.

  Baba started to speak, but Cho jumped in. “How was your date?”

  I flicked an annoyed look at Baba. She just shrugged, as if she’d been caught off guard by the reporter’s intrusion. “No comment.”

  Cho chuckled. “You’re home too early for it to have been a love connection.”

  I tossed my keys on the counter. “Baba, can you give us a minute?”

  The old woman hesitated, but finally rose. “See ya,” she said to Cho.

  The reporter nodded with a small smile on her face. “It was nice chatting with you.
” She sounded totally comfortable, as if she hadn’t invaded the sanctity of my home.

  I waited until I heard the sound of Baba’s bedroom door closing. Crossing my arms, I leaned back against the counter. “How long have you been here?”

  Her long black hair was perfect and her makeup was tasteful, instead of the heavy on-camera face she wore for the show. She flicked her hair over her shoulder before answering. “Not long.” She raised her coffee mug and blew the steam from the top before taking a delicate sip. “Who was your date with?”

  “None of your business.”

  She nodded amiably. “In case you’re worried, Baba didn’t tell me anything.”

  “I wasn’t worried. Why are you here?”

  “You know why.” She set down her mug and turned more fully toward me.

  I crossed my arms and blew out a breath. Pen’s warning about not antagonizing the reporter rang through my head. “What’s it going to take to get you to leave me alone?” She opened her mouth, but I raised a hand. “Besides an on-camera interview. I’ve already said that’s out of the question—as did my boss.”

  Her eyes took on a speculative gleam. “Would you be willing to answer a few questions off camera?”

  I shook my head. “Not if you’re going to use it to do an exposé or something.”

  She hesitated, as if thinking it over. “All right, off the record, then.” Off my skeptical look, she rushed forward. “Promise. Whatever you say tonight won’t make it into a report.”

  I laughed but there wasn’t much humor in it. “What’s the point then?”

  “I’m curious about you. It takes a special kind of person to walk away from a crime family and join the other side.”

  “Flattery won’t get you far with me.”

  “It’s just a conversation.” She blinked her heavily lashed eyes in a way that indicated she was attempting to look innocent. I turned my back to her and filled a glass with water from the tap. “All right,” she admitted, “my producer really wants me to land this interview to complement the series on Mayor Volos. I’m hoping that maybe you’ll change your mind once we’ve talked for a bit.”

  That seemed about as likely as me punching myself in the face, but if a simple conversation would get her off my back I’d do it. I nodded curtly and dropped into the seat Baba had vacated. “You’ve got ten minutes,” I said. “I suggest you use them wisely.”

  “All right.” She nodded. “Let’s get to it, then. I’ve been researching your history. Ten years ago, you left the coven almost immediately following the death of your mother. How did she die?”

  I took a slow sip while I gathered my thoughts. Finally, I set the glass down with deliberately careful movements. “The death certificate is part of the public record.”

  “You know as well as I do that death certificates don’t tell the whole story.”

  I rose from my seat. “If you wanted to butter me up for an interview, leading with my mother’s death was a really shitty strategy. Conversation’s over.”

  “Who shot her?” The question was asked quietly but I heard it just fine.

  I turned. “Excuse me?”

  “On the death certificate—it said cause of death was a gunshot wound.”

  I frowned and lurched back toward the table. “That’s bullshit,” I whispered. “The coroner declared her death an accidental overdose of an Arcane substance.”

  Cho’s eyes grew wide. “That’s impossible.” She leaned down and pulled a file from her bag and opened it on the table. “Here it is,” she said, holding up a photocopy. For a moment I was too distracted by the thickness of the file. She really had been digging into my life. “See?” She held out a sheet of paper.

  I grabbed it. The document listed the deceased’s name as Margaret Ann Prospero, age 34. I swallowed hard and forced myself to scan the rest of the form’s boxes until I found one labeled Cause of Death. Sure enough, the reason listed was gunshot wound. My breath escaped my lungs. I dropped into the chair. “What the fuck?” I whispered.

  “How did you think she died?”

  Distracted, I shook my head. My gut was churning and my mind spun as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. Part of me wanted to latch on to the death certificate as proof I hadn’t really been responsible for my mother’s death. But the other part—the rational part—told me I couldn’t trust anything Grace Cho put in front of me. She could have forged the documents or doctored them to get a rise out of me. I just couldn’t figure out what her angle was.

  I pushed away the conflicting thoughts and focused on getting control of the conversation. “I’ll talk about my job, but I am not interested in opening old wounds.”

  Smooth as silk, she took the photocopy and stashed it away. “Then let’s talk about why you became a cop.”

  I licked my lips and leaned back. The words on the paper flashed behind my eyes like a neon sign. “I became a cop because I wanted to help people.” And because I thought it would help balance the scales on my past sins. Questions about the death certificate rose again—was it possible my mom hadn’t really died from that potion I’d cooked?

  “I’m not buying that,” Cho said. “You belonged to the most powerful coven in Babylon. A coven that was run by your own uncle. You really expect me to believe you suddenly did a one eighty and decided to become a cop?”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t exactly that easy. It took five years. I left the coven, got a job as a waitress, put myself through school, and then I signed up for the academy.”

  “Still, you understand why someone would question your motives. Is it true you don’t do magic anymore?”

  I narrowed my eyes. She really had done her homework. “Who told you that?”

  She smiled. “I can’t reveal my sources. So it’s true?”

  I nodded. “Mostly. I used to stay away from it altogether, but I’ve relaxed those standards a little.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged and toyed with my water. “Not all magic is bad.”

  “Dirty magic is,” she said.

  “Usually.”

  “So this relaxed attitude toward magic, did it happen before or after you joined the task force?”

  I could feel her prodding at me, trying to find a way to trip me up. “I didn’t have much use for it on patrol. But the more dangerous and complex cases I’ve had on the MEA required the use of magic to get the job done.”

  “Like with the Babylon Bomber case,” she said. “Is it true you summoned the Lake Erie Lizard to help stop him?”

  I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “The Lake Erie Lizard is an urban legend. We stopped him using good old-fashioned police work.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Last I checked defusing bombs wasn’t standard training for a cop.”

  The corner of my mouth lifted. “No, but no one stays on the force long if they don’t learn how to think on their feet and improvise.”

  Judging from the expression on her face, she wasn’t buying my lie. “I’m confused. You claimed you’ve had to use magic to solve cases for the MEA, but you just said you used Mundane police work to solve the biggest case you’d had since you joined the team. Are you saying you’ve used magic to gather evidence, then?”

  I clenched my jaw. “Evidence gathered using Arcane means is inadmissible in court, as you well know, Miss Cho.”

  “Precisely. So how about you give me a specific incident where you used magic in a legal way?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know what you’re fishing for here, but I assure you that when magic is used it’s well within the boundaries of the law. You’re aware we have a wizard on the team who is in charge of creating protective amulets and other potions that we use to help solve cases.”

  “So Kichiri Ren is the only wizard on the team who’s cooking?”

  And there it was. The real reason she wanted to investigate me. She thought that I was a dirty cop using dirty magic to solve Arcane crimes. I leaned forward with my hands on the table.
“I am a detective. My job is to arrest bad guys. Mr. Ren handles the cooking.”

  She pursed her lips and spun the stem of her glass for a moment. “Why did you quit Arcane Anonymous?”

  I stood so fast that my chair fell over behind me, causing a racket. Cho didn’t flinch, and she had the nerve to smile when I threw open the door. “Time’s up.”

  She rose slowly and gathered her purse before walking toward me. “If you don’t tell me the truth, I may be forced to connect the dots creatively. I have enough material to build a story about how a detective on a federal task force might be using dirty magic to solve cases and she’s the mayor’s former lover to boot. How long until questions arise about the mayor’s relationship to dirty magic?”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game. I might have left the covens a long time ago, but I didn’t abandon my backbone. Pushing me is a mistake.” I didn’t even mention how idiotic it was for her to think she could go after Volos directly.

  “Are you threatening me, Detective Prospero?”

  I lowered my voice. “Take it however you want—just stay the fuck out of my life.”

  Head held high, she walked through the door but stopped to issue a parting shot. I slammed the door in her face and turned off the porch light.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When I got to work the next morning, I found Morales and Shadi loitering near Gardner’s closed office door. I slowed my stride at the top step. “What’s up?”

  “Shh.” Shadi didn’t even turn to look at me when she made the noise. She was too busy straining her ear toward the door.

  I threw my stuff on my desk and went to join Morales at his. He was leaning back in his chair with his boots up on his desktop, but his eyes were aimed at the door like a couple of lasers. “Who’s in there?” I whispered, leaning a hip next to his boots.

  “Your favorite person.”

  I frowned, scanning my list of least favorite people for likely candidates. It took me a few moments to narrow it down to a handful of likely suspects. “Captain Eldritch?” I guessed.

  Morales shook his head. “Volos.”