It's a Charmed Life

by Selene Charles

  It was all I could do not to scream. An officer of GPD would have had sense enough to brief me first. Bloody backwoods place.

  I clenched my teeth together.

  Hatter looked at Boris. “You know why we’re here, old man. Tell us what you saw and how your claw wound up in a realm far separated from your own.”

  He nodded. “Aye. Aye. Anything.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Margo would no be too keen on springing me from the trapper today, I tells ya. She’s an absolute bear this morning.”

  As if to punctuate his words, the hut behind him shook with several shrill voices screaming at one another.

  He shuddered, causing his entire body to quake. But when he looked back at me, whatever must have been on my face caused him to straighten up and nod.

  “Male came to me, many moons past now. A strange, furtive, fellow.”

  “What did he look like?” I asked, trying to hurry him on.

  He shook his head. “Dinna ken. Was dressed all in robes, ye see, from his head to his toes. Heard the strangest sound whenever he walked though. And he reeked of sulfur. I mean, he stank, the poor bastard did. The missus couldnae get the rotten smell out of our home fer days.”

  He thinned his lips in obvious disgust.

  My ears pricked at the description. I’d smelled sulfides at the crime scene myself, at mine and at Hatter’s, which gave me an idea.

  “Boris, by any chance did this man return just a few nights past?”

  He frowned, thick, furry brows sinking so low he suddenly looked like the backside of a Shar-pei’s head.

  “Aye, weel, as me missus tells it, something were creeping round about the backside of our house just four nights past, muttering low to isself. Spooked me Margo, it did. She crept up behind it and took her claws to 'es face, she did. Lost a claw for her effort, poor dear. Don’t grow back whens we lose ‘em, ye ken.”

  His left hand twitched, and when I looked down, I noted that his pointer finger was clearly missing its claw—the claw that was evidence, buried in my pocket.

  Hatter and I looked at one another, both of us clearly thinking the same thought.

  “One final question, and then we’ll let you get back to it,” Hatter said politely. “I notice you’ve lost a claw yourself.”

  “Aye.” He glanced down at his left hand mournfully. “Like I said, we’ve ten li’l ones now, and he were offering a year’s worth of salary for it. Figgered I didnae have much choice in the matter.”

  “Why didn’t you express the poison sack first?” I asked him curiously.

  He frowned. “Ee said he were hunting big game and to leave it be. Gave me an extra fifty shilling for it, ee did.” He shrugged, glancing between the two of us with a worried tilt to his lips. “I ken our claws have been banned, savin’ for them black market deals, but it were all on the up and up. I swear it. He was just a hunter, was all.”

  Technically, we could book him. Hatter looked down at me, the question burning in his eyes. Willing or not, the bandercoot was an accessory to murder. In fact, I could even make the case that without him, none of the murders could have taken place. It was what Bo would want of me, I was sure. And yet...

  I turned to look at the little beast and felt nothing but pity for him. The constant cries and screams emanating from within that tiny cottage were proof enough of his words. This was a desperate man trying to make ends meet as best he could for his substantially large and growing family.

  I sighed. “Thank you, Boris. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “I’m no in trouble, then?” he asked, voice quivering as he glanced between Hatter and me.

  “No, you’re not,” I assured him with a soft smile. “Go tend to your family. I’ll be in touch again should any other questions arise.”

  “Aye. Aye. And thank ye, Miss Detective. I promise I’ll no be selling me claws no more.”

  Not that it mattered now. I pursed my lips. I didn’t know him, but I was pretty sure that if he knew the role he’d played in a triple homicide, the pitiful little bastard might actually suffer a shock. He was such a nervous wee thing.

  Boris made as if to walk away, but I held up my finger. “Oh, Boris? One last question.”

  He nodded and waited patiently for me to continue.

  “By chance, did you ever happen to find your wife’s missing claw?”

  “Nay. T’was like the damned thing sprouted wings and flew off. Never did find it again.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, Boris. That’s all.”

  He vanished as quickly as he’d come, and I glanced at Hatter, who was tapping his finger to the glass again. This time, when the automated pathway moved, it sped with a swiftness that caused my hair to blow wildly behind me.

  Only minutes later, we were walking back out the long pathway and into the heart of the city center. The air smelled clean, and the cobbled pathways were shiny with rain.

  Hatter frowned. “Can you walk on it?”

  “As long as I’m wearing my boots, I’ll be fine. Boris won’t disappear on us, will he?”

  “No. He can’t escape, neither him nor his missus. But they didn’t do it. In fact, I doubt he even knows what he’s caused.”

  I sighed, troubled by what I’d learned.

  “Our cases are definitely linked. There can be no question about that.”

  I looked at Hatter, but his face was impassive, and his eyes looked troubled. “Aye. I reckon we ought to speak to Goose sooner rather than later.”

  I slipped my hands into my pockets, nodding slowly as we made our way back down the road.

  “Constable,” I whispered a second later.

  He glanced at me. “Hmm?”

  But I had no clue what I wanted to say, nor was I sure what I was feeling. Scratching the back of my head, I stared down at my feet as I thought about how different everything looked to me now than it had before. I’d thought this just a simple cold case, but it was looking more and more like a high-level conspiracy with Hatter and I at its unwitting center.

  I needed to file my report, but who the hells could I trust now? I wasn’t even sure, and that was a problem.

  A big one.

  Chapter 11

  Detective Elle

  When we arrived at Goose’s boot—literally, her house was in the shape of a giant, leather, and quite holey boot—we were greeted by a pack of dogs who looked as though they’d not eaten well in years. Their rib cages were clearly visible, and some didn’t even have the energy to sniff our hand more than once.

  Feeling pity for the poor beasts, I glanced around and spied a small pond a few meters away. I went to it and dipped my hand in the water, grinning when I felt the thrumming energy of life.

  The pond was full of fish. I called them to me, pumping the water full of the siren’s lure, and up they came. With a flick of my wrist, I shot the slippery little bastards toward their gruesome deaths. The dogs were rather pleased with me after that.

  Hatter snorted.

  “You’re just full of surprises, Detective. You hate kids, and yet you melt at the sight of beasts. It’s no wonder you chose not to arrest the bandercoot.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I could if you really wanted me to. We could always go back.”

  We stood nearly chest to chest, the heat between us feeling like fire the way it snapped and curled. He lowered his head, and my heart thumped wildly in my chest at the clean, masculine scent of him.

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” he admitted softly. Then he stepped away from me and walked a perimeter around the boot. I turned and looked at the strange little house again, studying the layout.

  There were miles of rolling green grass and neatly manicured garden patches as well. I saw the cabbage patch she’d been whinging about being destroyed by her neighbor’s goats and wondered why in the two hells those goats had walked such a long distance to get here just for a few simple heads of cabbage. I saw the neighbor’s paddock in the distance, but well in the distance, at least three mil
es as the crow flew. Quite a distance for a few heads of cruciferous veggies.

  The place was lovingly tended... well, as lovingly as it could be considering the gaggle of children she kept as well. It was a wonder the dogs had any food at all to eat. The pathway that led to the boot was a winding, curvy, nonsensical thing lined with what must have once been pretty field flowers but were now nothing more than crushed and withered stems.

  The goats had certainly done a number on her property, that was sure. But I wasn’t at all certain why Pillar had sent us here. There was nothing about this place that seemed in any way connected to our crime scene.

  “Nothing,” Hatter said with a weary sigh when he came back around. “She’s not here, and neither are any of her children. We’ll have to come back.”

  I frowned. “My key card expires tonight at midnight. And unless I have something good to report back to the captain, the chances of me getting another are slim to none.”

  His dark eyes gleamed with worry. “You’re going to need to talk with her, then?”

  I tossed up my hands. “Only one problem. Who the hells can I trust there? What if she’s in on this?”

  He shook his head. “I could be wrong.”

  My look was skeptical. “How accurate are your visions, Constable?”

  Licking his front teeth, he grudgingly admitted, “One hundred percent. They’re never wrong.”

  “Well, there you bloody go. So I’m at an impasse. I know just enough to be in danger and not nearly enough to pin anything on anybody. Tell me, in my shoes, what would you do?”

  “I’m a country investigator, Elle. I’m rather out of my comfort zone as well.”

  “Yes, but you have a crime scene now.”

  “Stripped from me.”

  I shrugged. “Be that as it may, there’s no doubt our scenes are connected. I would assume you have just as much at stake in solving this as I do.”

  He scratched at his beard, and I noticed that he looked less neat and tidy than he had in days past. There were dark circles under his eyes, and I’d bet my eye teeth he’d not been sleeping well.

  “I’d go back, present a case, enough to gain an extension, at least.”

  I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t trust Pillar, and refused to go to her for another key card, not that she’d have given me one, anyway. Without the authority from Grimm PD, I was up excrement creek without a paddle. I could use the standard key cards, but the waystations in Wonderland were hazardous to reach, and I didn’t want to find myself suddenly cut off from Grimm.

  Ultimately, I had no choice. I would have to return to Grimm.

  “Or,” Hatter said, scrubbing at his jaw with his long fingers. “Or maybe I wouldn’t go back.”

  “Come again?” I shook my head, staring at him blankly.

  He rubbed at his beard with two long fingers. The movements seemed a type of anxious habit for him, like brushing his jacket was. “We’ve a wire at the station. Old as two hells and not very reliable, but Harry can get just about anything running with enough elbow grease. Ring her up, give her what you trust will grant you that extension, but just—”

  “Keep the truth close to the vest. I can do that. But I’d no idea you had a wire here. That’s why the Grimmers always have to drop by. The White Knight said—”

  “His armor was white, Detective. But do not conflate that with the measure of his character, for you’d be sorely disappointed.”

  I grinned and shoved my hands into my pockets. “Hmm. Learn something new everyday. Well, then, lead the way, Constable.” I gestured down the trail. “I’ve a report to file.”

  “I hope like the two hells this works,” he muttered beneath his breath, and I knew that, for him, it was personal too.

  “Me too, Constable. Me too.”

  Constable Maddox

  HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN focused on the stacks and stacks of paperwork he still had to get in order. He’d not lied to her when he’d said that the White Knight had placed the station in a very precarious position. There were cases going back at least ten years that had been improperly filed, or even—to his great vexation—not filed at all. Nothing but a small note pinned to their insides to remember to do this or that, which clearly the Knight had never gotten around to doing.

  How he’d managed to see his retirement with such a sterling reputation intact went beyond the pale for Hatter. It sickened him how badly matters had been handled.

  Accidents and mistakes were one thing, but the deliberate choice of being too damned lazy to do it at all was another. Harry, who wasn’t much of a filing clerk, or even much of a detective, for that matter, had been around during the Knight’s tenure as head constable in Wonderland. And he was able to give Hatter at least some clue as to when and where. If it weren’t for that and his genius with technology—a skill Hatter woefully lacked—he’d have sacked him on the spot and done the work himself, which he mostly was doing, at this point.

  Dull, throbbing pain continued to spread like crawling feelers from the base of his skull, and he winced. He couldn’t focus. With a loud sigh, he dropped the quill and rubbed his temples.

  Leaning back on his seat, surrounded by an infinite mound of paperwork, he once again found himself glancing into the back office. The detective had left the door ajar just enough that every so often he could hear snatches of conversation.

  Her words were breathless, rushed, and sometimes punctuated with emphatic bouts of anger.

  “I understand, Chief,” she snapped, “but I don’t think you’re hearing me. I’m telling you I’m close, damned close, to—”

  Her words cut off, and he saw her shadow pacing back and forth as she tugged at the tips of her hair with obvious frustration.

  “I see. I see,” she said slowly. Quietly.

  And his heart sank.

  “Balls,” he muttered. If she was getting yanked back to Grimm, he was out of options. Agent Crowley had cut him off at the knees. If they could just get back to that crime scene, he knew she’d find something. She’d been close as it was. He doubted anyone could dive as deep as she had. That pool was a known dumping spot for Wonderlandians. With its unplumbed depths, if you didn’t want something found, that was the best place to dump it.

  It was rare that a siren working on the side of the law and not against it came to town. In fact, it wasn’t just rare. It simply didn’t happen. But they didn’t necessarily need that pool either. Yes, it might make solving the case quicker, but instinct told him they already had most of the clues. All they needed was to understand what it was they’d gathered. They were bloody close to cracking this thing wide open. He just knew it.

  He tapped his fingers repetitively on his desk, that dull pain continuing its aggressive forward march.

  “Yes,” she muttered, and his gut clenched. He hadn’t liked the tone of her voice.

  If she left him now, that was it. Another unsolved case would turn cold and sit on a back shelf somewhere, growing thick with dust and forgotten by all. He didn’t get into law enforcement to lose. He hadn’t sacrificed everything just to back down when things got tough. That wasn’t who he was.

  Growling, he stood and marched over to the back bench, not even looking at what he grabbed as he filled his plate with pastries and made himself a quick spot of tea.

  Butterflies flitted on canary yellow wings around his head, making him growl as he swatted at them. His place was a mess. It needed tending to. Taming. The gardens in the back were starting to grow wild, and more often than not, little furry beasties were scampering through his stacks of files, causing them to tumble into haphazard heaps that only made his job all the harder.

  For the thousandth time, he wondered why he’d willingly taken on these duties. Until a year ago, he’d been content to be a beat cop, answerable to the White Knight, but free to handle cases as he saw fit and to leave at the end of his eight-hour shift.

  After three months of sleeping, eating, and working at the office, he’d come to
the conclusion that it was pointless to keep his home. So he’d broken his lease, sold off what he could, and now had only a bed and a few clothes to call his own.

  Taking a sip of the orange-scented tea, he stared at the wooden walls, crumbling wallpaper in gaudy shades of lavender-green, and the pebbled scat from bunnies that’d scampered through his space, and felt that he was stuck more in a prison than an office.

  This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. Not even a little.

  “Yes. Out,” she said, and then he heard her replacing the receiver.

  Jerking, he set his half-finished cup of tea down along with his untouched plate of sweets. He was just dusting off his hands when she walked out.

  She had taken her jacket off, and with her tumble of blue hair, wispy coral shirt, and black leather pants, there was something young and almost innocent looking about her. She didn’t look like the woman he knew her to be—a creature as fearsome as any boogeyman of legend.

  “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” she sighed, pulling Harry’s chair out from his desk and plopping into it with a world-weary look about her.

  He wet his lips. “Bad first, I suppose.”

  Her full lips thinned. “We didn’t get the three-day extension.”

  “Dammit all to the two hells,” he muttered before leaning against the tea bench, crossing his legs at the ankles and his arms on his chest. “Figured as much from the sound of things, though.”

  She thinned her lips. “Yeah, well. It’s not all bad. I did get one more day.”

  He rolled his eyes, and she grimaced.

  “I tried, Constable. And considering I couldn’t tell her everything, I’m surprised I even got that. Bo’s no one’s dummy. I’m pretty sure she knew I wasn’t telling her everything.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Oh, you know.” She laughed airily. “She’d bust my balls if I screwed her over and didn’t give her something definitive by day’s end. That she was sticking her neck out for me. That IA was up her arse to either poop or get off the pot. Yada, yada, yada... you know, same ol’ spiel.”