It's a Charmed Life

by Selene Charles

  Setting her jaw, she changed direction and headed toward us with the single-minded diligence of one on a quest. My hand went immediately to my Glock.

  “Constable Maddox!” Goose screeched, causing me to grimace in sympathy. I relaxed my hand on the grip. She was no threat.

  Hatter merely tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Mother, how are you this morning?”

  “Not well!” she snapped once she’d stopped just a few feet in front of us. Her blue eyes turned in my direction, scanning down my body as if assessing me. Then, with a turn of her nose, she turned her gaze back to Hatter. “A goat tore through my gardens this morn. Thus, my need to trek down to the city for provisions.”

  Her face turned red as she thrust the basket of goods up for his inspection.

  Just then, the first of Goose’s many children came circling around us, like sharks sensing blood in the water. I edged closer to Hatter’s side, frowning as their singsong, high-pitched squeals grated on my sensitive hearing.

  I waved at one getting too close. “Shoo.”

  The child stuck his finger in his nose and grinned.

  My lip curled in disgust.

  “And how certain are you that it was a goat?” Hatter asked, his tone and manner just as respectful as before.

  A pair of sticky fingers tried to latch on to my wrist. Several sets of hands were doing the same to Hatter. A few of the bolder children dug into his pockets, their small mouths tipping up in delight when they came away with a treat. After that, the line of kids left me to go rummage through his pockets.

  I thought about the fistfuls of stuff he’d shoved into his pockets before we’d left and knew it had been the treats. But how had he known? Had he had a vision of this? I looked at him from the corner of my eye, a little in awe of his talent.

  Goose’s face contorted into a frightful mask of lines and scowls. “How sure am I?” she snapped, “How sure am I?” Each time she asked it, her pitch grew just a little louder and more ear splitting. “I’m quite certain! That dastardly Farmer John has let loose one of his furry devils, and I’m telling you now, Constable, if that beast lays waste to another one of my azalea patches, I’ll shoot it. Damned right, I will.”

  “Damn wight she will,” said a boy no older than three, with hair the same dirty blond as his mum’s.

  Goose cuffed the back of his head. “You mind that potty mouth of yours, Charles.”

  The other children began snickering, and the whole lot of them grew increasingly louder, causing several sets of eyes to turn in our direction. I shifted on my heels. It wasn’t that I hated children, but I wasn’t exactly the maternal type either. They were sort of like window dressing to me—nice to look at from a distance.

  “Aye, well, I vow to speak with John at my earliest opportunity,” Hatter said, tone respectful.

  “See that you do,” she huffed. “You know how frightfully hard it is to grow flowers around here that don’t wish you ill?” Then, with a stiff jerk of her head, she flounced off, her little goslings following behind.

  “Holy hells,” I gasped the moment they were well out of earshot. “I can’t even,” I sputtered. “How do you deal with her?”

  He snorted. “Goose is harmless, as are her little ducklings. Not fond of children, are you?”

  Hatter gestured for me to precede him, pointing in the direction of the busiest street crowded thick with vendors and Wonderland natives alike.

  I shrugged. “I don’t hate them, I just...”

  I let the words trail off. I didn’t give children much thought until I came across one during an investigation, and even then, only the most cursory reflection. Ichabod had once told me that fate had failed to gift me with the motherly gene. After today, I was inclined to believe it.

  “They are rather a lot to handle, especially a pack of fifty beasties, to be sure.” He crossed his arms behind his back.

  “And how in the hells did you have so many candies in your pocket?”

  Rather than answer, he pointed to his eye.

  “Ah. Of course.” I’d been right. He’d seen it. Quite a talent he had. Maybe there were some uses to his curse after all.

  Thankfully, the rest of our stroll toward Potts’s was uneventful. Mr. Potts’s Haberdashery and Ribbons wasn’t much to look at from the outside. It was a small, plain structure built of pale bricks, with wide, front-facing glass windows showcasing the current trend in men’s and ladies’ headwear.

  There were several top hats like the one Hatter favored. But whereas Hatter’s was plain and unadorned—except for the simple ribbon of black silk tied around it—these were almost theatrical in style, unfashionably large and so colorful as to be gauche.

  One was cerulean with red ribbons and large glass beads around the brim. Another was lime green with blazing orange ribbons and an ornate beaded cockade. The women’s hats were even more bizarre, some of them in the shape of a swan or other types of birds. There was even one that resembled a tarantula.

  I shuddered.

  “Don’t knock them until you’ve tried them on, Detective.” Hatter grinned, opening the door for me.

  “Those will never go on my head. And I can open my own doors, thank you very much,” I snapped, feeling more waspish than normal, though not really sure why.

  The sparkling light of laughter in his bi-colored eyes died. “Of course.”

  I blew out a deep breath. I was beginning to suspect I was hells bent on making things as awkward as possible between us. It wasn’t my intention, but Constable Hatter didn’t act like most detectives I worked with. He was trying to be my friend, and I really wished he wouldn’t. This was work, not friendship. The worst thing a cop could ever do was get attached. That was why I was so good at my job—I was cold.

  The inside of the store was as radically decorated as the outside was plain. A large mountain of crystal chandelier hung suspended from the rough-hewn beams above. Ribbons of every color of the rainbow and many shades in between dangled like fluttering garter snakes from rafters above.

  Thick rugs of Perisinous and Turkinish design lay scattered across the black marble floors. Standing behind rows upon rows of white display counters were women dressed in gowns that buttoned all the way up to their throats. The fabrics were the deep jewel tones of amethyst, emerald, sapphire, and ruby, with rich brocaded filigree.

  The women were as equally stunning as the dresses they wore. All of them had high cheekbones, soft, sloping eyes, and wide, friendly smiles. Some were brunettes, others blondes, with a nice range of hair colors in-between, but they each had their hair pulled back into a loose chignon with one thick curl draped across their left breast.

  I shoved my hands into the cardigan’s pockets.

  Many different realms comprised the Grimm universe. Where I came from, the predominant style leaned heavily toward contemporary sensibility. Women wore almost nothing, rarely dresses or skirts, except on very specific occasions. Hair styles varied from pixie length to more eclectic styles like mohawks and cuts where half the hair was shorn nearly to its roots while the other half hung long and loose down the back.

  I’d never taken a set of clippers to my own hair. No siren had. The length of one’s hair announced our age and determined the strength of our power. The two went hand in hand.

  But here in Wonderland, that was not the case. There was a very Victorian air that’d adapted overtime but had never entirely gone out of vogue. Lace, ribbons, and silks still ruled the fashions here.

  Hatter rubbed at a ruby-red spool of fabric tucked into a section of wall that was lined with more types and colors of fabrics than I’d ever seen in my life. This place dripped a certain type of femininity that made me increasingly uncomfortable.

  “Ah, Constable Maddox,” a male voice chirped delightedly. “To what does my humble shop owe this great honor?”

  I twirled in time to see a mouse of a man, no taller than the base of my neck, come scurrying out from the back room. He wore a freshly pressed navy-blue suit
that hugged his slim physique. A large green paisley bow tie bobbed up and down as he spoke. I couldn’t exactly tell what he looked like. He had mousy-brown hair, a small upturned nose, and a chipped front tooth, but most of his features were hidden behind a small black filigree mask, the type one might see on a prince at a ball, worn around his eyes.

  “I am well, Potts. Thank you.” Hatter shook the small man’s hand.

  “We’ve just received a most enchanting order of to-die-for cravats in the very latest Wonderland style.” Potts snapped his finger at the nearest counter girl, who ducked out of site, clearly searching for said cravats.

  “This is not a social call, Potts.” Hatter shook his head.

  “Oh, no?” Potts’s nose wiggled. Then he turned to look at me. “Oh, my dear. Who dresses you?”

  I frowned, rubbing at the cardigan. “Myself.”

  “Mmm.” Potts’s lips thinned with obvious distaste.

  Hatter cleared his throat. “This is Detective Elle from Grimm PD.”

  Instantly, Potts straightened his shoulders, and this time when he glanced at me, all traces of disgust had vanished.

  “Indeed. Forgive me, mademoiselle. I did not know.” Reaching for my hand, he took it, and before I realized what he was about to do, he kissed my knuckles. “I adore all Grimmers.”

  Grimmers was the name given to those who lived and worked inside of Grimm City proper.

  I snatched my hand back, more than ready to get out of this flowery, stinky den of hell. Slipping the dirt-stained, worn ribbon from my pocket, I handed it to Potts.

  “Ever seen this?” I asked without preamble, expecting an immediate denial. I’d come only on Bo’s insistence, not because I thought it likely that, after so long, any man, let alone this little eccentric fellow, would remember the ribbon.

  But the moment he picked it up, he gasped. “Of course I do.”

  I frowned. “You do? Whose is it?”

  Potts didn’t make a show of rubbing or smelling it, he simply looked at it quickly, then shoved it back at me. “That belongs to Alice Blue.”

  “As I suspected,” Hatter murmured.

  “Are you sure?” I squinted at the little man, doubtful.

  “Oh, quite.” Potts nodded vigorously. “She is the only one of my clients that demands her ribbons be made with a mystic cross-stitch.”

  “A mystic cross what?” I asked.

  Taking the ribbon out of my hand once more, he flipped it over and whipped out a magnifying glass. “Look.” He held the glass over the ribbon. “Do you see the x-style stitching at the edges?”

  Bending over, I was able to make it out, a small x-shaped stitching pattern. But more than that, I also noted a soft white glow at its edges that I’d not noticed before.

  “What’s the glow?”

  He nodded before burying the glass back into his pocket. “That is the mystic portion of the cross-stitch.”

  “What’s so special about it?” Hatter asked.

  Potts shrugged. “Nothing much. It’s a very antiquated style, to be honest. There are now ribbons that can make the wearer’s hair glow like flame. Alice, however, prefers the softer glow this style provides, as she says it adds an air of elegance and grace to her countenance.”

  “And you’re sure she’s the only one with this style of ribbon?” I asked once more.

  “I know my ribbons, Detective Elle. This is hers and can be no other’s,” he said, voice quivering and lips thinned, obviously insulted. I was pretty sure I’d heard a hint of a growl at the end of his sentence.

  Hatter smiled and held out his hand to the mousy man once again, who was now glaring openly at me. “Always good to see you, Potts.” Hatter said, causing the little man to look back at him.

  Potts nodded slowly. “Yes, and you as well, Maddox. Stop by any time.”

  Then, without looking at me again, he turned and disappeared back through the door he’d first come through.

  Hatter didn’t speak again until we were back outside on the busy, rainy street.

  “Did I do something to offend him?” I asked, glancing once more over my shoulder.

  At first, I thought he wouldn’t answer, but finally, he glanced down at me. “Detective Elle, I told you last night we do things differently out here. Questioning Potts after he’d already told you that ribbon belonged to Alice was a serious breach in etiquette.”

  I could hardly believe my ears. “Excuse me? You do realize this is a murder investigation. I will question a suspect as I see fit.”

  “Potts was not a suspect, and if you want Wonderland’s continued help, you’d do well to familiarize yourself with the customs of our realm.”

  He looked genuinely upset, and I hated that it bothered me. When he gave his head a tiny shake of disappointment before turning on his heel and walking off without me, I honestly felt like a child that’d just displeased a normally proud parent.

  I wrinkled my nose. The feeling was not a comfortable one for me. But we detectives had been trained to understand that, though we might do things one way in Central Grimm, that didn’t mean we were always free to do and act as we pleased in other parts of the realms. There were rules and customs. I knew this and was usually good at remembering it. So why was I failing so spectacularly right now? I suspected I knew why, and the truth did me no favors.

  I frowned and shoved my hands into my pockets. I wanted to retort, insist I’d done nothing wrong and that Potts owed me an apology, not the other way around. But that was my bloody pride talking, and I knew it. Solving this case depended on continued assistance from Wonderland. I knew I could ill afford to have rumors spread that I was not to be trusted.

  If Wonderland brought their pitchforks against me, then goddess help me, this case would go nowhere, and I’d be dead in the water before I’d ever even begun.

  I sighed, realizing I would have to apologize.

  I watched Hatter marching down the sidewalk, hands clenched and spine taut. He was put out.

  “Argh,” I muttered inarticulately. Goddess, I really despised Wonderland sometimes.

  Chapter 5

  Detective Elle

  “When in Wonderland,” I muttered beneath my breath, remembered Ichabod’s admonishments of honey, and caught up to the constable.

  Bloody hell. Was I really about to do this? Clenching my teeth tight, I zipped through the painful words.

  “I do not make a habit of apologizing,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from fidgeting.

  He kept silent for several heartbeats, hands clasped behind his back, staring broodily ahead as we walked through what felt like a maze of streets. Finally though, his lips twitched.

  “As far as apologies go, Detective, that was a rather poor one.”

  I pursed my lips and rolled a wrist. “I call things as I see them.”

  He raised a brow.

  “But”—I popped my tongue on the roof of my mouth to punctuate the word—“maybe I was a little too aggressive with Potts. Maybe.”

  Truthfully, I hardly thought I’d gotten aggressive with the man at all. I’d done far worse to others and had rarely received the reaction Potts had given me.

  Stopping so suddenly that I stumbled over his left shoe, Hatter locked eyes with me as he latched a hand on to my wrist.

  The touch surged like a riptide through my veins, making me feel dizzy. Frowning, I disentangled quickly, clearing my throat and nodding in thanks.

  “You’ve been to Wonderland only once before, so far as your report states,” he said, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d stayed up late into the night to study up on me instead of working on his files.

  “That’s right.”

  “Then you should know”—he paused as a surly looking man dressed in a cap and threadbare work clothes walked between us without sparing either of us a passing glance—“that out here, a gentleman’s or gentlewoman’s word is never refuted.”

  “Oh, goddess,” I groaned, wanting to slap my palm to my forehea
d. I was so sick of the high and mighty toff who thought they were above the law simply because of their status in life, which was often due more to chance than true worth.

  “But,” he whispered and leaned in so close that I drowned in the scent of his earthy cologne, “that is not to say we should blithely just believe.”

  His green eye winked.

  “Constable Hatter, have you something in your eye?” I asked innocently, with just a hint of acerbic laughter.

  He chuckled, the sound big and thunderous, calling attention to the both of us.

  Fighting my own grin, I turned up my nose and sniffed. “Fine. I will only question a toff once and then make a note to fact check those lies once they’ve turned their backs.”

  “Now you’re learning, Detective.”

  I rolled my eyes. After several more minutes of walking, I looked up at him. “So Alice was the original keeper of the bauble?”

  “Mmm.” He nodded. “And she’s also who we’re headed to see.”

  I frowned, taking a quick minute to study our surroundings. We weren’t headed toward residences, but rather deeper into the business district. The structures were mostly ramshackle things that looked like they’d been built a century ago and never updated. Many of the buildings were lopsided, leaning too far to the left or right, with doorways built of brick that looked ready to crumble at our feet with one too-strong gust of wind.

  Most of the shoppes around here were of the food variety—cupcakes and tea shoppes, candy shoppes, cupcake and cake shoppes—sugar, basically—though there were a few potions stores along the way as well.

  One in particular caught my eye. Green fog swirled from the door of the Crypt. The wooden placard hanging above the door was etched with the design of a coffin with a single thorny rose lying atop it. The door opened, and a man dressed in tweed from head to toe and wearing a leather mask around his eyes walked out, carrying a black leather crop in his hands. Aware that he was being watched, he looked up and smirked lasciviously at me, licking his upper lip in a clear invitation for sex.