It's a Charmed Life

by Selene Charles

  He frowned. “Looks like it’s been there for ages. This murder just recently took place.”

  I pointed to the roughened edges and the smoothed-down center of the metal. “Look here and here.”

  He did, peering closely, a frown tightly marring his brows. A second later, he stood and glanced at me. “I see what you’re saying. It looks jagged in spots. Too rough.”

  “Exactly. Someone tried to make it appear water worn, but it was poorly executed. Over time, water will cut through even the most jagged of canyons, turning its pathways so smooth they’re nearly silk. This isn’t water-smoothed, though it was an attempt to make it look that way.”

  He nodded. “It’s not weathered so much as distressed.”

  “Exactly.”

  His look was open and frank. “But how can you be sure it’s tied to my case?”

  I twisted my lips and handed him the metal. It was part of his investigation, after all. We were marking the evidence with our fingerprints, which was not smart, but the thing had been buried in tons of sediment and had likely been rubbed clean of all markings, anyhow. We were knee deep in it, now. We’d broken the very laws we’d sworn to uphold.

  “I can’t.” I shrugged.

  “By rights, we ought to hand this over to the Bureau,” he said, before curling his fingers over the evidence, silently asking me my opinion on the matter.

  I knew that, for all his eccentricities, behind that quirky façade was a brilliant mind. The constable knew as well as I that it stunk like ten-day-old fish entrails anytime the BS went meddling.

  I bit my bottom lip, and his eyes tracked the movement.

  “They don’t even know it exists. And tell me, Maddox, why now? This scene is how many days old?”

  “Not even twenty-four,” he said, stroking his immaculately groomed goatee.

  I pursed my lips and shook my head.

  He grinned, putting the evidence in my palm and closing my hand over the metal. “Methinks something’s afoot, dear Watson.”

  I snorted. “You’re mad.”

  “That’s what they say, Detective, but I say we’re all just a little bit mad here. Perhaps we should go have a chat with Pillar and see what she has to say.”

  “Can we trust her?”

  “I don’t know.” He took a step into me, invading my space with his heat and wicked, smirking lips. “I’d say we’d be fools to trust anyone right now.”

  I was working a separate case. This case and that one had nothing to do with each other. But the sudden appearance of Crowley made me think that was wrong. Maybe there was much more here than met the eye and maybe, just maybe I’d found myself smack dab in the center of a conspiracy with only a madman by my side.

  “Can I trust you?” I asked him.

  His fingers brushed petal-soft skin beneath my jaw, tipping my face up until our breaths mingled.

  “I rather think the real question is can I trust you, Detective Elle? You show up, and suddenly, everything’s flipped on its head. Why is that?”

  Fire and heat laced his words, the obvious and the subtle wrapped up in one. My heart beat like a racing stallion in my chest. I grabbed his wrist.

  “You play with fire, Maddox,” I whispered.

  His dual-colored eyes flared and his pupils widened, nearly oblitering the irises, as he growled low. “You think you have my number, Detective, yet I can assure you, you do not.” Then he released me and stepped back as he casually dusted off the edges of his shirt.

  I trembled from head to toe, staring at the tunnel of starlight ahead of me as I struggled to breathe. My claws were unsheathed, and my teeth ached, feeling sharp and pointed at their tips.

  This had to stop.

  This had to.

  Tonight, I would go back to Alice’s shoppe and feed my need. The siren in me was awakening, and if I didn’t feed the beast soon, I would arouse a bottomless hunger that could only be assuaged by blood.

  Chapter 8

  Detective Elle

  WE STOOD OUTSIDE OF a derelict-looking home that sat high on a hill, all by itself. It was a Victorian gingerbread, a dilapidated structure that had clearly seen better days. The wooden siding was mostly gray, with peeling bits of chipped paint. There were no glass windows, just holes where they should have been, and boards nailed over them to keep the unwanted pests out.

  Rocks—more like massive boulders, really, smoothed down from years of hands brushing against them—lined the pathway and were painted with phosphorescent green runes that rolled with powerful waves of magick.

  The house itself was divided up into three separate but joined sections that created a sort of trident shape. Ghostly, skeletal horses, their eyes blazing red, and their skeletal riders rode on swirling air currents. The night was full of spine-tingling sounds—the cackling of laughter, the hoot of owls, and the symphonic wail of the wind.

  To say the place was haunted would be an understatement.

  I glanced at Hatter, who looked unflappable as ever, and he at me, his face clearly saying he’d thought I’d lost my nerve.

  I snorted. “You clearly have never visited my father. This place looks like fairy garden compared to that hells.”

  Then, shoving my hands into my pockets, I started down the pathway. But Hatter grabbed hold of my elbow and guided me down a hidden trail I’d not seen.

  “Enter through the front door, and you’ll become as one of them, your soul instantly sucked out of you, doomed to haunt this place forever.”

  “Cheery thought,” I said back and smirked.

  The trail he took us on was less dead-looking than the rest of the grounds, though it shimmered with a thick weaving of magick.

  “How do you know of this pathway?”

  He pointed to his eyes. “I can see magick in all forms.”

  I raised my brows. “You do know you’d make an excellent addition to the Grimm PD. I’m just saying. I think Bo would shart herself to get her hands on the likes of you. Not sure there are many of your kind in all the realms.”

  “What if I told you, Detective Elle, that I’m the only one?”

  The way the moonlight framed the black velvet hat on his head and cast shadows onto the hollows of his throat and cheeks made him look more sinister and devilish to me than he ever had.

  I wet my lips, and he snorted, as if the bastard knew exactly how much I liked it.

  “Then I’d say I’m lucky indeed to have had you assigned to me. We work well together, Constable.” I shrugged at his raised brows. I wasn’t very good at mincing my words. I’d never been that kind of girl.

  “A compliment from the siren? Maybe I am dead.”

  It was my turn to snort. “Keep teasing me, and I might just decide to shove my claws through your soft belly meat. I’ve not eaten in days, you know.”

  He went still, completely serious, and I instantly regretted my words. I knew my history and what everyone thought of me, mostly because the stories of my kind weren’t exaggerated. We were man-eaters in the most literal sense. A muscle in my jaw twitched.

  “I am—”

  “You’re not what they say, Elle. I know that well enough. Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize for being what you are.”

  I might have said more to him then, but he was slowing down, and when I glanced over, I saw why.

  We’d walked a very long way around the house to the back where, at the heart of its structure, looked to be an opening the size of a man’s body that led straight into the earth itself.

  He gestured for me to follow, and without hesitation, he marched straight into the opening and was swallowed up by the unyielding shadows within.

  More nervous now that I was alone, I knew I had no choice but to follow. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took the last step and was instantly sucked into a vacuum of complete and utter darkness. There were no noises. No smells. Not even a source of light to guide me by.

  Pulse beating on the back of my tongue, I took a cautious step forward, and then another, and ano
ther still. With each step, I felt a lessening of that vacuum, a slow release of pressure against my form until, with one last step, I’d gone from complete black into a swirling miasma of radiant fog the colors of the rainbow.

  The world smelled of flowers, a clashing mix of hundreds of thousands of flowers that offended my nostrils and made me cough into my fist.

  Hatter was there a second later. “It does reek in here, but at least it doesn’t smell like dog waste.”

  I chuckled, waving a hand underneath my nose as my eyes continued to leak water. “There is that, I suppose.”

  “Shallow breaths. You’ll adjust soon,” he said. “Follow me.”

  Not releasing my hand, he led us down a long narrow corridor that still swirled with colorful fog at our ankles.

  “You can release me now. I’m pretty sure I can find my—”

  He shook his head. “No. If we are separated in this place, we might never find our way back out again. What comes in together must remain together. It’s the law in this twisted sepulcher the caterpillar calls home.”

  So why hadn’t we walked in holding hands? I wasn’t certain Constable Hatter was telling me the full truth, but then again, this place made my skin crawl, and I wasn’t exactly keen on getting lost here either.

  “Fine,” I rolled my eyes and kept pace so that we walked side by side.

  He glanced down at me. “You don’t sound fine.”

  Thrusting out my chin mulishly, I whispered, “I don’t much care for dark magick, if you must know.”

  Soon enough, the dark hallway, lit dimly by far-spaced candlelit wall sconces, began to fill with creeping, slithering, twisted, wrist-thick vines. Flowers of every variety bloomed from them, some snapping their sharp, nasty little fangs, others weeping their venomous toxins. I hissed as one in particular—a blood-red bloom that looked like a lipstick tube—reached for me, dripping a viscous, clear fluid.

  I squeezed in closer to Hatter, pressing my side to his as much as possible.

  “We’re here on official Grimm business. The blossoms will not attack us, Elle. No cause for concern.”

  I clenched my jaw and nodded, steeling what vestiges of pride I still had left to me so that I wouldn’t do something stupid, such as scream like a banshee and draw my pistol to shoot wildly at the flowers.

  Scrubbing at my mouth with my free hand, I whispered, “Just walk faster, Constable, if you please.”

  Neither of us spoke again until we’d cleared the hall of horrors and found ourselves in a spiraling chamber of rocks that echoed hollowly with the steady dripping of cave water.

  I frowned. “How the hells did we get so far below ground?”

  “This is Wonderland,” he said with a shrug.

  I spotted a hunched figure sitting at the center of the stone chamber, looking as wizened as Thantor. Her ears were as long as his, her skin as wrinkled and liver spotted as well. She was writing on a rolled sheaf of parchment. The gentle scratches of her quill were oddly soothing.

  Resting beside her was a vase full to overflowing with hundreds of sticks of incense, the cause of all the colorful smoke that’d guided us to her.

  She wore a thick overcoat with odd striations that made her appear as though she were divided into three parts, much like a caterpillar. She had no hair on her bald head, but she did boast two impressive-looking black antennae that swiveled toward us.

  “Thantor warned me ye two might come,” she said in a voice as ancient sounding as dried parchment.

  I winced, her voice grating sharply on my ears. Hatter was as calm as ever as he dipped his head. She glanced up, and I was shocked to see that her eyes were milky white. She was blind.

  My heart sank. There was no way she’d be able to help us identify the key card, if that was indeed what it was.

  But Hatter didn’t seem to share my misgivings. Reaching into his pocket with his free hand, he pulled out the distressed bit of metal.

  “What is that?” she asked as she gently set her quill down and held her hand out, palm up.

  We walked forward. Hatter dropped the metal into her palm.

  “It’s why I’ve come. We believe it could be—”

  “A key card. Yes, it is,” she said as she traced her fingers over the roughened edges and frowned hard. “Useless now. Why have you brought me this?” She looked up, voice tight with impatience.

  I licked my lips. So it had been a key card. We’d been right, then, and my gut was telling me we were right about the rest too.

  Hatter looked at me, and I knew he wasn’t sure how to proceed. I stepped in front of him.

  “You’re a mystic. Surely it isn’t above your pay grade to tell us who this belonged to and why it was found where it was.”

  She snorted. “Mystic? Hardly. Ye ken that I only channel a little of me master’s power. What ye ask for is more magick than I possess.”

  My shoulders slumped. We’d tried. But I shouldn’t be working on Hatter’s case, anyway. “Maybe we should just—”

  Hatter jerked his head and growled. “Give us something, Pillar. Anything. I know you know more than you’re letting on.”

  Her lips curved into a sickle-shaped smile that looked grotesque on her ancient features.

  Confused as to why Hatter seemed to be taking this so personally, I stared at him. Sure, getting cut off at the knees by BS wasn’t fun, but anyone with any time on the force had experienced it before. It sucked, but what was there other than to let go and move on?

  “It’ll cost ye, madness. Are ye sure ye wish to pay up? We both ken what the giving does to ye.” She laughed, and the sound was cruel, edged with flinty darkness that made my skin crawl and my insides squirm.

  I looked back at him, noting the hard tick in his cheek, the way his molars ground together, and the sheen of sweat that had suddenly covered his brows and upper lip. It seemed Pillar meant more than just what he’d given Cheshire. Whatever it was, Hatter didn’t like it and didn’t want any part of it.

  “Excuse us, ancient. I just need to speak with my partner for a minute,” I said smoothly, then jerked on Hatter’s hand, dragging him behind me.

  He looked shocked but came without complaint.

  I walked until we were well outside the range of the gnome’s super hearing and then hissed beneath my breath.

  “What does that bat want? More sight?” I gestured to his eyes and noted his nostrils flaring. “Or... that?” I pointed to his arm, still not really sure how or what he’d done back at the bar with the cat.

  He licked his front teeth, looking like he wouldn’t tell me, and I cocked my head.

  “We’re partners in this, Constable. You’re—”

  Hatter glowered. “Partners,” he scoffed, looking hard and angry. “Disabuse yourself of that notion right now, Detective. I’m but a lowly constable in this realm, as you continually like to remind me.”

  Shocked by the weight of his vehemence, I nearly dropped his hand, but he clung tight to my fingers, refusing to let me go.

  “What the two hells is the matter with you? And you bloody well better tell me the truth. I understand the willingness to do whatever it takes to solve a case,” I said. “Believe, me I get that. But this feels wrong, and I want to know what is really going on here. You’re off this case, so why pay a price you don’t want to? We tried, we failed. It’s time to move on. Or is there something you haven’t told me yet?”

  With a growl, he dropped his head into his hands and took several deep breaths. I didn’t know what had happened back there, but something had been stirred up in him. I wasn’t exactly the nurturing type. It wasn’t part of my chemical make-up. Sirens took; we didn’t give. But he’d been good to me in this twisted place, and I felt compelled to help in whatever small way I could.

  “Listen to me, Maddox,” I said slowly, and I saw him shudder. Looking back on it, it was clear to me he’d never much cared for my calling him either Hatter or Constable. If he wanted me to call him Maddox, then so be it. “Are you listeni
ng?” I whispered.

  He glanced at me, and his eyes were blazing, the blue one burning like flame. He was having a vision, and I couldn’t remember if it was the past or the present that the blue eye could see. All I knew was that something wasn’t right with him.

  “For however long I’m here, we are partners. And you should know I have no partner at home. I don’t much care to share the spotlight.”

  At that, he grinned. It was slight, barely more than a stretch of his lips, but it was something. “How very unsurprising of you, Detective.”

  I sniffed and grinned. “Well, be that as it may. You are my partner here. And having partners means that when one of us can’t, the other must. I don’t know the history between you and that antediluvian demoness back there, but I do know that I want to help. So let me help. Tell me what to do.”

  “She wants part of my soul, Detective. Gnomes aren’t immortal like their masters, and Pillar is coming to the end of her string. She wants what we all do.”

  “More time,” I guessed and then sighed. “How very unoriginal of her. Have you given her soul before?”

  Immediately, his shoulders tensed up and his jaw clenched tight. His hand in mine squeezed so hard that it was almost painful. Though I desperately wanted to ask him what in the two hells had happened to him before, I knew I couldn’t pry. It wasn’t my place.

  “I did,” he bit out, “and in the end, it cost me everything.”

  The bitterness dripping off his tongue scorched my flesh and made me wince. His blue eye blazed, casting a brilliant glow on our surroundings as his gaze turned inward.

  I had very little soul of my own left, not enough that I could give any away. But I wasn’t without my own charms.

  “Can I just ask you one thing?”

  He looked at me and nodded, but his face was a rigid mask hiding so much pain that I felt it like a punch to my chest. And because I knew that kind of pain, because I had my own, I knew I couldn’t let him do this.

  “What?”

  “BS stole your scene from you. Whatever was there is there no more, I can assure you. This key card is inadmissible as evidence.”