Wytchcraft: A Matilda Kavanagh Novel

by Shauna Granger

  The hall wasn’t very long and there were only four doors leading off of it, the majority of the space of the house was at the front, but at least that meant my search would be short. The first two doors were bedrooms, empty bedrooms, but the third was an office. I slipped inside. I checked all the walls for a secret door, but didn’t find anything, even going so far as to check under the area rug, half hoping to find a trapdoor that lead to a cellar, but there was just nothing.

  “Where the hell are you keeping him, you creep?” I demanded, grinding my teeth together.

  I found an invoice for the monthly rent on the utility space where we’d found Jackson’s wife and the dead guy, but that wasn’t earthshattering. There were pictures on the bookshelves, many of Jackson and Bernadette, all smiling and happy, but when I looked closer, I realized how young they looked, much younger than Bernadette looked when I saw her in that warehouse. Not one of these pictures had been taken in the last five years. That was a long time to be unhappy.

  But in the back, behind the other pictures, was one of Jackson and another man. They were both dressed in suits, shaking hands and smiling up at the camera. Beside that picture was another taken at some sort of banquet. Jackson and his wife were sitting at a large, round table, and leaning over them, with his arms around both, was the man from the other picture, the man we found dead in the storage unit.

  “Man, you are messed up, Racanelli,” I whispered and turned away from the pictures and back to the rest of the office.

  After a little more digging through his filing cabinet, I found Jackson’s copy of the divorce papers. The divorce had only been final for about seven months, but who knows how long they were separated before that. I turned to the desk and turned on his computer. Part of me wanted to find something that would be evidence enough for the human police to convict Jackson on kidnapping Roane. I didn’t know what the Lord and Lady had planned for him, but I knew it was going to be much worse than anything he might’ve done to Roane. I wasn’t going to let them put that guilt on my head. If I could turn Jackson over to the human police, then at least he’d be in jail for kidnapping and safe from the twisted hands of the pissed off fairies.

  Jackson didn’t bother with putting a password on his computer, so the soft blue light of the monitor shifted to the desktop in a couple of moments. Unsurprisingly, he’d stored his email password, so I was able to click right to it, but before I could start shifting through his internet history, I heard a shuffle in the hallway.

  “Mattie! Mattie, where are you?” Ronnie’s voice was muffled through the door, but her panic was obvious. I rushed to the door and opened it to see her terrified face and Joey fretting behind her. A wisp floated down between us, hovering and glowing bright as it drank in our fear.

  “What? What?” I asked, reaching out for Ronnie, gripping her arm.

  “He’s back,” Joey answered, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  “Damn it, that was fast.” I pushed them back, trying to herd them down the hall, but we heard the front door open and a man’s voice swear.

  “What the fuck?”

  Ronnie turned her wide eyes to me, making the wisp dance around our heads, ruining our night vision the brighter it got. I tried to bat it away as I turned again and ran to the office, shutting the door as quietly as possible once Joey and Ronnie were through.

  “What do we do?” Ronnie mouthed, but I put my finger to my mouth to shush her. Pressing my ear to the door, I tried to listen. It was deadly quiet; that was his big mistake. If Jackson had thought to make some noise or turn on his massive television, I wouldn’t have been able to hear the click of the safety being taken off his gun or the sound of the slide as he put one in the chamber.

  I waved Ronnie and Joey back, telling them silently to go to the back wall and stay down. Moving to the side of the door, I slipped my necklace out and pulled the vial free, uncorking it. My hands shook as I waited, listening for the slightest sound as Jackson looked for us. I thought I heard him open the closer bedroom door and held my breath – he would be on me in another moment.

  My eyes fell to the doorknob when it moved as Jackson started to turn it from the other side. I tried not to look at Ronnie, knowing her panic would make me nervous. When the latch was free, Jackson pushed the door open with his foot, holding the gun with both hands. He made the mistake of looking forward first and didn’t even see me as I flung the powder at his face. In a burst of white, Jackson had just enough time to cough before he crumpled to his knees, his eyes rolling back into his head. I grabbed the gun just as his hands went slack and his arms fell before he hit the floor, face down. I thought I heard the sound of his nose breaking against the hardwood, making me cringe.

  I handed Ronnie the gun to put the safety back on. She pressed the button to release the magazine before struggling with the slide to release the bullet in the chamber. She walked the gun over to the desk and hid it in the bottom drawer after wiping our fingerprints off.

  “So this is him?” Ronnie said, nudging Jackson with a toe, her upper lip curling in distaste.

  “What’s the plan here?” Joey asked, looking from Ronnie to me and back again.

  “Did you find Roane?” I asked. Ronnie shook her head no.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, digging in my pocket for the amulet. When it was free of my pocket, it jumped out of my hand and landed on Jackson’s chest. “Frogs.”

  “What does that mean?” Ronnie asked. I knelt down and grabbed his face, turning his head back and forth before I moved to his left hand, pushing up his sleeve, finding nothing, but I found what I was looking for on his right arm.

  “It means that blood I used was mixed.” I held up Jackson’s arm so they could see the slashes on his wrist, four claw marks that were scabbed over.

  “Looks like Roane or Bernadette hurt him pretty good and he tried to clean it up,” I said, letting his hand drop before standing. I stomped my foot and let loose a few choice curses before I was able to calm myself again.

  “Now that you got that out of your system, what’s the plan?” Ronnie asked.

  “There’s gotta be something here that will tell us where the hell Roane is,” I said. “I’m finding him tonight, even if I have to wake his ass up, put the gun to his head, and make him drive me there.”

  “Let’s look around first. Maybe we can avoid that and the prison sentence and collaring that will inevitably come with it,” Ronnie said. “Give me your scarf.” She held out her hand, snapping her fingers when I didn’t move fast enough. Instead of asking her what she was planning, I just unwound it from my neck and handed it over. Ronnie took it and shoved Jackson over with her foot so that he was face down again and grabbed his arms, twisted them behind his back, and tied his wrists together with my scarf.

  “Uh,” Joey started to argue, but Ronnie said, “Just in case he wakes up before we’re ready.”

  “Okay, go,” I said. I pounced on Jackson while Ronnie ran for the desk drawers and Joey for his computer. The sound of Joey’s fingers across the keyboard stopped me for a moment. When I looked at her, I saw her pink brows drawn together as she glared at the computer screen, her fingers tapping quickly before snatching at the mouse and clicking like a madwoman. Clearly she should have come in here earlier and I would’ve served better as the lookout.

  I brought my attention back to the unconscious Jackson and started digging in his pants pockets. I found his cell phone, but he was one of those paranoid weirdoes that locked his phone and I just didn’t have time to try the thousands of four digit combinations to get it open. Ronnie slammed another drawer shut, making me jump and nearly toss Jackson’s wallet when I pulled it free of his back pocket. Clenching my fists, I took a second to steady my nerves before flipping open the wallet.

  He had a few hundred dollars inside in crisp new bills that made my fingers itch. Would it be wrong to steal from a criminal? I deliberately looked away from the money and started examining the cards in the many little slots. He’d a
lready procured an American Express Black that made me blanch. It looked so normal, but somehow felt heavier in my hand. I crammed it back into place.

  Finally, hidden behind his driver’s license, I found something out of place: a business card for Blackhaven Hotel. It was a rundown hotel that catered to the junkies of the supernatural world deep in West Hollywood. It used to be a magnificent place in the last century, but not now. It was not a place you went to for comfort and relaxation. It was the kind of place you went to score candy or enjoy a night with a prostitute without anyone asking too many questions or giving a damn about who you were. What would a newly made millionaire with a Black Card be doing at a place like that?

  I checked the rest of his pockets, hoping to find a key because the Blackhaven wasn’t the kind of place that had spent the money to upgrade to electronic card keys, but I came up empty.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, slipping the business card into my pocket after putting his wallet back where I found it. Joey and Ronnie both looked up at me with questioning faces, but I rushed out of the room without explanation.

  I ran to the front door and made my way through the house, looking for where Jackson left his keys. He didn’t have a pretty little key hook on the wall or a bowl by the door, but I managed to find them in the pocket of his jacket that he’d tossed on the back of the couch when he’d come in. Shuffling through the keys, I finally found the one that was totally out of place, stamped with Blackhaven, just visible through the tarnish.

  I dug into my pocket and pulled out the amulet. Letting it hang by the lanyard, I held up the key with my other hand. The amulet swung toward the key and strained in my grasp to reach it.

  “Gotcha,” I said, tucking the amulet back into my pocket, and worked to get the key off the ring. When I went back into the office, I found Joey staring at the printer, waiting for something as Ronnie gave up on the last drawer, shaking her head at me. The wisp from the hallway had floated into the office and was hovering over Jackson, glowing brighter and brighter.

  “Nothing,” Ronnie said, “but Joey found the email that got Roane out of the Mound the night he was kidnapped.”

  “We’re not calling the police,” I said.

  “Mattie,” Joey turned to me as she grabbed the transcripts, “he kidnapped someone!”

  “Joey, explain to me what we’re gonna say?” I said, tilting my head to the side, waiting.

  “That he has the fairy prince locked up somewhere and is using him to grant him wishes?” Joey’s voice had started out so sure, but faltered the longer she looked at me.

  “And how do we know that?”

  “The blood in the utility place and this.” She held up the pages she’d printed.

  “Uh huh,” I nodded. “And how do we explain how we came by that information?”

  “Well, we, uh…” Joey stopped, realizing where I was going with this. “We broke into both places.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and her hand fell, the papers making a fluttering sound.

  “Look, it’s okay,” I said. I crouched by Jackson and started untying his hands. The wisp darted in front of my face, blinding me for a moment. I waved it away, trying to blink past the spots in my vision. “I know where Roane is now, and we’re gonna go get him.”

  “Why are you untying him?” Joey asked.

  “Because we have to make it look like we were never here, and I’m not about to leave my scarf behind as evidence.” I wrapped the scarf around my neck and checked Jackson’s hands for any stray hairs that may have fallen. I tipped my head, calling Ronnie over to help me. She rushed over, and we pushed Jackson over onto his back, cringing at the sight of his broken nose and the smear of blood on the floor.

  “Gotta fix that,” Ronnie said. I groaned in agreement before getting my hands under his shoulders while Ronnie took his legs. He was heavier than he looked, and we nearly dropped him twice as we shuffled into the hallway, especially with the wisp darting around, trying to trip us up and make us drop him. It took three tries to haul him into the master bedroom behind the last door I didn’t check and onto the bed and positioned as naturally as possible.

  Ronnie ran into the en suite bathroom, coming back with some damp tissue that she used to clean the blood off his face, not that it did anything for his broken nose and I didn’t have any healing potions on me. Ronnie flushed the bloodied tissues, along with the ones that Joey used to clean the blood off the office floor, in the toilet.

  “That’ll have to do,” Ronnie said with a sigh.

  “Knockout powder has a strange effect on humans,” I said. “They wake up with hangover-like symptoms. Maybe he’ll just think he got drunk and passed out and just can’t remember what happened to his face.”

  “Hold on!” Joey jumped and spun around before running out of the room, moving so fast she almost appeared to be flying.

  “What in the—” Before Ronnie could finish her question, Joey was back with a bottle of whiskey and a glass. She set the glass on his nightstand and poured some whiskey in it before dribbling a couple of drops onto his lips. She stood back and admired her work, set the bottle on the nightstand, then wiped her fingerprints off.

  “There, that should work.”

  “It’ll have to,” I said, worried everything was unraveling. If we moved fast, I could get to Roane tonight, free him, and let the Dunhallows deal with this madman before he figured out who’d really done this to him.

  “All right,” I said, pulling myself out of my dark thoughts and turning away from Jackson, “let’s fly like a banshee.”

  Chapter 17

  The Blackhaven hotel was in a dingy, rundown part of the city. The hotel was on a forgotten block that had been a glorious and affluent neighborhood in the last century. The buildings were all tall, red brick and with sweeping staircases leading to the front doors. But now the staircases were covered in graffiti, layers upon layers of spray paint, so that you couldn’t see what color the plaster had been originally. The red bricks were crumbling, holes eating away at the once beautiful facades, and though the buildings were as tall as ever, they appeared to slump under the weight of disappointment and broken dreams.

  The Blackhaven was one of three identical buildings, sandwiched in the middle. At one time, during its heyday, all three buildings had been part of the Blackhaven, but as time and bankruptcy passed, the building had been cut up and sold in pieces. The two buildings on either side of the hotel were low-income housing now. Most of the apartments inside were occupied by multiple tenants, some just struggling to get back on their feet, others enjoying the creepy dens they had created, smoking, eating, or shooting up whatever they could get their boney hands on. Some part of me had a fleeting, horrible thought about the possibility of children living there, and I said a silent prayer that there weren’t any.

  We sat in the car for a while, watching the street and the buildings, taking in our surroundings. Even at this angle, I could see the iron fire escapes on either side of the flanking buildings, knowing the one for the Blackhaven must’ve been in the back. How horrible to be a fairy trapped inside and your only means of escape as an iron torture system. We were going to have to get Roane out through the front.

  “Mattie?” Ronnie whispered, drawing me back to the inside of the car, the heat of my cohorts warming me and chasing away the chill.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding, “we should go.” I dug into my bag, grabbed the canister of knockout powder, and crammed it into my jacket pocket, taking a second to check my wrist sheaths, reassuring myself of their presence.

  Joey darted out of the car right behind me, and Ronnie and I closed our doors almost simultaneously before we headed across the street. The street was just as dark and depressing as the buildings on the block, with only two street lamps lit at either end of the block. The shadows both attracted a certain type of creature and deterred another. It deterred me, that was for damn sure.

  The front door was unlocked, and we slipped inside, feeling the need to be quiet for
some strange reason. I was a little surprised not to feel some sort of banishing wards or protection on the threshold. But I suppose, if there had been protection on the entrance, then someone like Jackson Racanelli wouldn’t have made it inside.

  Everything about the foyer said “dingy,” and I found myself cringing away from touching anything, even brushing against the walls. The walls were covered in fading art deco and the floors were a dull marble. I wondered how beautiful they used to be when they were waxed and polished every other day. There was a huge, ornate mirror on one wall, facing the front desk, but it was tarnished and black in places. A small table sat under it with a vase full of flowers that had died and turned brown months ago. It was as though the owners had gone out of town ages ago and just forgot to come back.

  The doors leading off of the lobby were chipped with paint flaking off. The stained glass windows were broken, and any sense of privacy was gone. Anything brass was tarnished and a layer of dust coated all of the table tops. I could see the elevator from here, but the way the metal grate stood half open and how dark it appeared inside, I knew there was no chance I’d be attempting to use it. It looked scarier than the one in our apartment building, and that was saying something.

  Turning to look at the front desk, I could see the attendant was asleep, his feet up on the desk and his head lulled back, mouth hanging open.

  “Charming,” Ronnie said, arching one brow.

  “C’mon,” I said, leading the way to the once grand staircase. The banister was coated in a layer of grime, the dust turning into something sticky after the extended neglect. There were worn spots in the carpet on the stairs, threatening to trip us as we started up.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” Ronnie whispered.

  Glancing down at the key in my hand, I saw the number 1013 stamped on one side and sighed, “Tenth floor.” Joey made a noise behind us, but I pressed on, leading the way. I just didn’t trust that elevator to take me safely to the second floor, let alone a hundred feet up.