The Undercover Witch

by Gina LaManna

  I raised my eyebrow. “I wonder why.”

  “Her magic is powerful; don’t cross her.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” I said. “I just wish she could’ve told me where to find the prophecy.”

  “It’ll come to you,” he said. “Glamour is deluded about many things, but when she tells a story, there is always a piece of truth in it. It’s up to us to determine what is truth, and what are lies.”

  Chapter 11

  I walked my father home, the two of us quiet in the evening air as the adrenaline faded from our bloodstreams. “So do you know what sort of creature she really is?” I asked. “A witch?”

  “Don’t bother asking around,” my father said, glancing over at me as we reached the house. “She is known as the Woman of Curiosities. She is a truth teller for the most part, but she is not as reliable as The Storybook. When she spins a tale, she’s been known to embellish, and as Guardians, we need to be able to disregard the delusions.”

  “So complicated.”

  He ruffled my hair. “Don’t go back unless you absolutely need to; she doesn’t take kindly to young, pretty witches, all right, pumpkin?”

  “Goodnight, Dad.” I waited until my father scaled the trellis.

  He waved from the window, winked, and then disappeared inside. Judging by the light clicking off in the first level living room and the soft goodbyes filtering through the open windows, my grandmother was just leaving after what was surely a second or third round of tea, coffee, and desserts that Andalina would never have touched. My mother would be cleaning up in the kitchen. My father had made it just under the wire.

  I had too much on my mind to go straight home, but I couldn’t stick around there, either. Flying would be easier, but earlier this evening my mother had stored my broomstick in the front closet with the rest of our traveling devices, and it would be impossible to retrieve at the moment. I’d ask my dad to deliver it tomorrow—he’d be happy for an excuse to get out of the house.

  For now, I settled on a quick stop at the makeup shop in the treehouse to fix my smudged face. Once the disaster that was my mussed hair and dripping mascara was somewhat mollified, I set back out into the night. Shifting my hoodie higher, I walked as quietly as my leather pants would allow, in the direction of the only place still awake.

  Ace’s bar.

  The building for his speakeasy was located inside a skyscraper that housed mostly banks. It was modern, made mostly from windows and glass and sleek black floors. I stepped into the lobby, a spacious room with vaulted ceilings that generally closed early due to the nine-to-five atmosphere of the offices here.

  I strode past a magical creature posing as the afterhours front desk attendant and made my way through a hallway of elevators. I continued into a smaller passageway near the back, a space used mostly by janitors and technicians, and selected a button for the elevator permanently labeled “Out of Service”.

  I glanced both ways down the hallway, but I was alone. The sign did a great job of keeping most humans away, but just in case a particularly daring individual tried to climb into the lift, Ace kept the elevator locked with a secret code. I punched in the familiar digits that’d bring me directly to the penthouse, then waited as the mechanisms engaged and the elevator stirred to life.

  It shot upward and, in a second flat, the door opened to reveal a small landing the size of a large bathroom. To the left, a small smoker’s balcony perched over the city, and straight ahead, a door invisible to the human eye led the way to Ace’s bar.

  The actual human penthouse was located one floor below us. The balcony on this magical level was visible to humans, though I doubted any ever found their way up here. Ace’s “Out of Order” elevator might function for our kind, but the human version stopped a floor below. The only way a human might wander onto the smoker’s balcony was via an old, rickety staircase, and that wasn’t likely, seeing how Ace had tried everything he could think of to discourage visitors: out of order signs pinned to the door, construction banners flapping from the railing, crime scene tape wrapped around the ledge—he’d used every trick in the book.

  In addition to being a haven for magical folks, it was beautiful up here. The vast sea of lights that made up the Minneapolis skyline spread before me, and a bit farther in the distance, St. Paul. Other skyscrapers surrounded the penthouse, office lights winking as the last night owls finished up for the day.

  I muttered the magic word to a stone gargoyle who guarded the entrance; he stood in front of a mahogany curtain that looked as if it hid a broom closet. The gargoyle grunted a note of acceptance, then stepped to the side and held the fabric back, letting me pass through the curtain first, and then the door behind it.

  “Thanks, George.” I fist-bumped the gargoyle, who didn’t seem too thrilled with my friendliness, and I moved inside.

  Immediately, I spotted Ace behind the bar. I looked away just as quickly, meandering toward the ritzy seating near the edge of the roof. Fireplaces were scattered between black leather couches, plush chairs, and a few sleek tables, and the place oozed class, dark and rich and seductive as jazz pulsed through the speakers.

  “Ains!”

  I turned, warming at the sound of Ace’s voice. Feigning surprise, I waved and made my way across the room. “Hey, I didn’t see you back there,” I lied, sliding onto a bar stool. “How’s it going?”

  “Are you looking for someone?” He gave me a smile, his dark hair, dark features glinting as he poured a whiskey coke and slid it over. “Meeting friends?”

  “Well …” I hesitated, and then gave a wry smile. “Not really.”

  Ace didn’t laugh at my act like I’d expected. He cocked his head to the side, studying my face before pouring himself a drink and nodding to one of his staff to take over. He eased onto the stool next to me. “Tough day?”

  I shrugged. “Sort of.”

  “Work?”

  Ace knew I was a Guardian, which meant he knew most of my assignments were classified. He never pried unless I offered information. “Not really,” I said. “I mean, I’m not sure.”

  He raised his eyebrow. “Would you like to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” I exhaled a long sigh. “Just some weird things going on. Then add my mother and grandmother into the equation along with Twinkies instead of birthday cake, and…it’s complicated. I want to be distracted. Tell me something.”

  “About what?” Ace put his arm around me, squeezed my shoulder tight, and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, by the way, friends or no friends.”

  “Me too.” I smiled back. When the silence stretched too long, I asked the first question that popped into my head. “Have you heard about the Frost King?”

  His smile faded. “Oh, Ains. Don’t be getting mixed up with the northern people.”

  “I’m curious about the legends.”

  Ace frowned. “I can’t say I know much of anything about them. I thought it was mostly rumors.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “I’m probably just overthinking everything because I’m bored. It’s the first time I’ve been unemployed in ages, and I’m already digging up trouble.”

  Ace laughed. “Do you need a part-time gig at the bar?”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But Millie offered to help. She put in some good words for me at the library. Otherwise my grandmother would’ve shipped me off to finishing school.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure MAGIC will assign you another target soon. They’re probably just giving you a break from the big job.”

  I sighed, unable to explain my boss’s cryptic assignment. “I hope so. Usually we get word pretty quickly, especially if we completed a mission successfully, but I’ve heard squat.”

  “On the bright side, the library doesn’t sound bad. You could hang out with Millie for a few weeks until you’re reassigned.”

  “True,” I said with a smile. “Thanks.”

  His dark eyes trailed over me, pausing on my lips before he moved his gaze far
ther down to my exposed collarbone. “My offer of a job here stands.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I’d have offered it to you earlier…” He hesitated. “But I didn’t because I enjoy the friendship side of our relationship too much to screw it up by adding a business angle.”

  The word friendship sent warmth shooting to all of my limbs, even though I knew he didn’t mean anything more than just that: friendship. We’d never done anything except smile at each other. He had squeezed my shoulder once, and then had almost kissed me the night before. Sometimes, my skin tingled where he touched me. I really needed to learn to make a move.

  “Ainsley,” he murmured, pulling me close as his hand reached around my waist.

  My eyes almost bugged out of my head, and I wondered if he could somehow read my mind.

  “You do not need finishing school,” he said. “You’re beautiful. You are funny, and friendly, and—”

  Ace was interrupted by a loud bunch of men entering the bar, yelling about a round of shots. He looked up, glaring behind him.

  “Agents,” I said, my voice tense. “The worst.”

  While Guardians were taught to work quietly, blend in, and do the right thing at all costs, Agents were a rowdy bunch who loved nothing more than to show off whenever possible. They got the best gear and weapons, the newest broomsticks, and somehow, they rarely seemed to work.

  “Where was I?” Ace turned back to me. “Oh, yes. You’re funny, and please don’t change. You don’t need finishing school—”

  I raised a finger, hating myself as I stopped the forward motion of his lips as they headed toward my face. “Listen,” I interrupted. I winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “Listen to what?” His words danced warmly off my ear. “I don’t care about the Agents. Ignore them. My staff will help—”

  “Sorry,” I said, wincing again. “I need to listen…”

  One of the Agents, a large, beefy man with a red face and a beer in each hand, stood with his foot on one of the couches. “Did you hear the call from the castle?”

  Ace’s eyes registered surprised. “The Frost King?”

  I nodded, my eyes begging him to be quiet.

  “I heard the whole thing,” the Agent bragged. “The maid was so panicked she called the human police. Can you believe it? MAGIC got there after the cops. Embarrassing.”

  “I heard the Frost King was there himself,” another Agent said. “He came to the door.”

  “He told the cops no crime had happened,” the first Agent said. “I don’t believe it. He’s covering something up, but nobody knows what.”

  I battled to keep my expression unconcerned, all while leaning close, listening with undeterred intensity.

  “What’s the big deal?” the second Agent asked. “If there was no crime, that is.”

  “Dimitrius came back for a reason. If he didn’t alert MAGIC of his presence, it can’t be good. We need to find out what he’s after before it’s too late.” The Agent leaned forward, dropping his voice so low I had to strain against Ace’s figure to listen. “A battle is beginning, my friends.”

  My mind whirred. What had happened in that castle? It seemed everyone had a secret, and nobody wanted to share. Speculation was high and truth was low, which meant one thing: if I wanted the facts, I had to go get them myself, especially if it meant the king was coming after MAGIC territories.

  “I’m sorry, I have to go,” I murmured in Ace’s ear. I stood up, almost bumping his chin with my shoulder from where he’d perched close. “I’m really sorry.”

  Ace flashed a smile. “I understand. Work beckons?”

  I nodded, my face pained at the thought of leaving him. We’d had such a nice conversation going, and something about sharing a drink with him at the bar had me forgetting about the rest of my problems—until those stupid Agents ruined it all.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured again. In my haste to leave, I planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. His eyebrows shot up. Luckily, I was too flustered to pay much attention, giving a finger wave as I pulled up my hoodie, slipped my hands into my leather pockets, and made quick work toward the exit.

  It wasn’t until I’d skirted the curtain and passed through the doorway that I collapsed against George the Gargoyle and realized my mistake. I’d interrupted another kiss. From Ace. The man I’d been dreaming of kissing for years. “What the hell is wrong with me, George?”

  The gargoyle grunted.

  “You’re not being very sympathetic.” I told him.

  He moved back to cover the entrance.

  “Don’t look at me like that, George.”

  George grunted again and raised one of his stone eyebrows.

  “I told you not to look at me like that!” I gave George a push on the shoulder. He was a big guy, and he could handle a little force. The creature hardly flinched. “It’s not my fault I’m destined to be an old maid. I’m not meant to kiss anybody, all right? It’s not my fault—”

  Someone cleared their throat behind me and I froze, mortified. I pivoted as slowly as humanly possible, my heart sinking as I faced the one and only Detective Beck.

  “Am I interrupting?” he asked, looking glorious in a uniform of jeans and a soft-looking gray sweater. “Because it sounded like you were talking to this statue.”

  “No,” I muttered.

  “Did you call him George?” Beck stepped around me and crossed his arms, eyeing the stone statue with a keen interest. “If we hadn’t already met, I’d be shocked, but somehow, even from our brief interaction, I’m not surprised you’ve made a friend here.”

  George didn’t move because he was required to freeze in front of all humans. I exhaled. “What can I say? I’m a friendly gal.”

  “Gargoyles, broomsticks…” Beck paced up and down the hallway, casting a glance at George every few steps. “What’s going on here, Miss…?”

  “Ainsley. How did you get up here, Detective?”

  “I have access to these things.” He thumbed toward the stairwell. “How did you get up here?”

  “I have my ways.” I met his gaze, my chin steady.

  Silence ensued.

  “Let me walk you home,” he finally said. “It’s dangerous this time of night.”

  “I’m good, Detective.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’m used to getting home by myself. Thanks, though.”

  “Let me,” he said more persistently. “Let’s walk and talk, Ainsley. You’ll be doing me the favor, I promise.”

  This time, his offer didn’t feel so much like an offer as it did an order. “Fine,” I sighed. “I suppose you’re going to make me take the stairs?”

  Chapter 12

  We took the stairs—all zillion of them.

  “You should really consider fixing that elevator,” I said, glaring at the magical fairy behind the desk posing as a human receptionist. “I almost died coming down those stairs.”

  The fairy didn’t bother to look up, which was probably how Beck had gotten around her in the first place. She should have diverted him, but obviously, she wasn’t very good at her job. I watched as Beck scanned her briefly, his sharp, detective eyes taking in every detail.

  “Her name’s Michelle,” I said as we left. That part was the truth. I just happened to omit the part about her being descended from the President of Paranormal People in Europe. I’m still convinced that her connections were the only reason she landed the job in the first place. “She’s from France.”

  “Interesting place to hang out on a Monday night,” Beck said once we’d descended the front steps and arrived at the street level. “And an interesting choice of friends.”

  “It’s none of your business who I hang out with.”

  “If you need to talk to a real person, Ainsley, I’m here for you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I snapped. “But I find it very therapeutic to talk to someone who doesn’t speak back.”

  His eyes twinkled, deepening to a dreamy brown that radiated a smile. “I like yo
u.”

  “That makes two of us. Where’s your car, anyway?”

  “I took my broomstick.”

  Startled, I glanced up at him, confused. Then, after a beat, I understood. There, staring back at me, was a sparkle in his eye and a joke on his lips. “You’re funny, Detective.”

  “Question for you.” Beck paused, serious. “How can I investigate a crime…if there is no crime?”

  “What?”

  “You were there,” he said, resuming our walk more slowly. Apparently, he’d either taken a broomstick like he’d joked, or he’d walked. I guessed the latter. “The other night, the mansion at the end of the street…we get a nine-one-one call from inside the house, and then nothing. We’re sent home. My boss insisted we leave.”

  “But you think there’s more to the story?”

  “The maid called after finding the open safe, but when we asked her about the details, she refused to talk. The owner of the house claims nothing is missing. I was pulled off the case—if there even is a case. Something isn’t right.”

  “Have you tried to get in touch with the maid since?”

  “She quit.”

  “Yikes.”

  “She was probably working illegally; there’s no documentation about her ever being there.”

  “Maybe there’s nothing you can do,” I said, realizing I was talking to myself as much as him. “It’s not your place, I suppose. It’s over.”

  He shook his head. “It’s unsettling.”

  We walked next to each other, neither of us speaking for quite some time. Every time I looked over, his forehead was creased in thought, his mouth turned in a frown.

  “For what it’s worth,” I said quietly. “I suspect you’re very good at your job. This isn’t your fault.”

  He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, that does mean a lot.”

  To my surprise, I’d guided us back to my apartment. “I’m just up ahead,” I said, pointing toward the corner. “You can leave me here.”