by N. M. Howell
“Stop,” I whispered urgently and pulled Bailey by the hood back against the side wall of the building we were passing. “Hide. All of you.”
“What’s going on?” Rory asked, following my lead and pressing her back up against the cold brick of the building.
I shushed her then turned sideways to peek around the corner of wall we were using as a shield, doing my best to stay as hidden as possible.
“Holy crap on a stick,” I said. I squinted to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me.
Zack freaking Brandon was walking out of the laundromat.
“It’s Zack,” I whispered. We were kitty corner across the intersection, so I was sure there was no way he could hear me, but I felt the need to whisper nonetheless.
“Who?” Jane asked. She bent down and poked her head around the wall beneath me. “Oh, what! The guy you work with?”
“No, way,” Rory said, joining us at the edge of the wall. “Are you sure? There’s no way.”
He was wearing a jacket with the hood pulled up, but I was sure it was him. “Yeah, pretty sure.”
“That could be anyone,” Bailey said. She pushed my shoulders down so she could peer around the wall above my head. To anyone looking our way, we must have looked like a bunch of lunatics. Or stalkers, for that matter.
I pulled my phone from my jeans pocket and dialed Zack’s number and held my breath. Sure enough, the guy standing outside the laundromat door reached for his phone and held it up in front of his face. His expression turned dark at the sight of my name of his phone.
“Shit,” I swore under my breath. Zack glared at the phone for a long moment, then put it back in his pocket, ignoring my call.
“Jerk.”
Zack then bolted down the street in the opposite direction to us, thankfully, and I watched as he hailed a cab and sped off in the distance.
Once he was safely out of sight, we stepped away from our hiding spot and stared at each other. We all shared the same blatantly confused expressions.
“So,” I began. “That just happened.”
Bailey scratched her head. “I don’t understand.”
I stared at the laundromat across the street and blinked, trying to make sense of what we had just witnessed.
“How does he know about this place?” Jane asked the obvious question we were all thinking.
I shook my head. “Better question is why the hell he came here.”
Rory, Bailey, and Jane all nodded. “I’ve had a bad feeling about that guy since he first came to town,” Bailey said. “Bad mojo, and all that sort of stuff.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temples. “I’m going to need coffee if I have any hope of figuring this one out.”
I led the way into the Starbucks we passed half a block back and ordered a triple Americano to go. I then sat down at one of the small tables outside and sipped my coffee in silence.
It took a solid five minutes of drinking coffee and processing what I had just witnessed before Bailey managed to pull me out of my daze and back to reality.
“Zack Brandon just visited the place we sourced the dark magic that killed Trey,” I recited out loud once Rory joined the rest of us at the table. She ordered some sort of whipped caramel atrocity that took seemingly forever to make. Those poor baristas. I swear, every year Starbucks comes up with even more obscure and complicated drinks that their young and underpaid staff had to magically whip up a million times a day for their cranky customers. I always made a point of tipping them well whenever I got coffee from there.
I shook my head in an attempt to bring my mind back to the task at hand. Zack. Zack Brandon and the laundromat. My issues with Starbucks could wait.
“We just saw Zack Brandon in the place the dark magic spell came from,” I repeated.
Rory slowly shook her head back and forth in disbelief. “Can you think of any logical reason why he would be there?”
I took a long sip of my coffee and shrugged. “Nothing comes to mind.”
“Maybe someone tipped him off and he came for the story?” Jane suggested.
I tried to remember the events that occurred following the murder last night. “No one else knows the location of the building apart from Mrs. Brody and us, and I highly doubt she would have spilled the beans to anyone.”
“Could he have overheard us talking anywhere?” Rory asked.
I shrugged. “Doubt it.” My head hurt, and I was having trouble processing everything. The awful truth that was hovering in my mind was a hard pill to swallow.
“Do you think Zack had something to do with the murder?” Bailey asked. “Did any of you even see him at the party?”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t see him.”
“Neither did I,” Jane said. “I don’t think he came. I spent most of the night greeting people as they arrived, and I don’t remember seeing him. Or your editor, for that matter.”
I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands. “He’s a misogynistic asshole, but I really don’t think he’s capable of murder,” I answered. “I can’t think of a motive. As far as I know, he hadn’t even met the guy. He’s still fairly new to town, and Trey and Grace only just moved to Brimstone Bay. The party would have been their first time meeting each other.” I then remembered the thoughts I had about Zack at the bar last night.
“Unless…” I began.
“Unless?” Bailey asked.
“Isn’t it suspicious that he didn’t show up at the party?” I asked. “What if he was trying to find a way get close to Grace?”
Rory laughed. “Zack going after Grace? Isn’t he dating your editor?”
I nodded. “Yeah, he is. Besides, I highly doubt that she’s his type. She’s far too much of a ball buster for him.”
“Could Zack have had something against Trey?” Jane suggested.
“Don’t know how they would. They don’t know each other, as far as I know,” I said.
“Could Zack have known Trey from New York?” Rory asked.
Again, I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t hang out in the same circles as Zack. He was always weary of the paranormal community, so our paths never really crossed apart from the classes we were in together.”
“You could ask Grace,” Jane suggested. “It would help clarify a few things.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do. Emily might know.”
“I still don’t understand,” Bailey said. “Motive aside, what would a guy who doesn’t jive with paranormals be doing in a place that deals in dark magic?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt he was doing his laundry.”
“Could he have followed us?” Jane asked.
“I doubt it,” I said. “But if he somehow found out where we were going, I wouldn’t put it past him to have come solely to get a head start on a story for the paper. My guess is he found out we were coming and made a point of getting to the guy first to interrogate him.”
“Even if he found out we were coming to New York, though,” Bailey said. “There’s no way he would have been able to get the address of the building we were going to.”
“My guess is he suckered Mrs. Brody into telling him,” Jane said.
“She wouldn’t have told him anything,” Rory said.
I shrugged. “As much as it pains me to say, he’s really good at what he does. He could have made her believe he was coming to help us or something.”
“We need more information,” Bailey sighed. “We need to know for sure why he came, and why the spell was bought in the first place.
I finished my coffee and pushed myself out of my seat. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”
I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, then led the way across the street towards the laundromat. When we reached the front door, I turned back to face Bailey, Jane, and Rory, and attempted a confident smile. “I have no idea what we’re going to find inside. If there’s dark magic in there, it might be dangerous. I don’t want to drag you guys into somethi
ng that could possibly end badly.”
Rory rolled her eyes. “If you think we’re letting you go in there alone, you’re crazy.”
Bailey pushed passed me and opened the door. “Strength in numbers.”
“Besides,” Jane said as she followed Bailey into the building. “It’s a laundromat. It’s not like we’re walking into some stranger’s basement or anything.”
I followed them inside, and allowed myself to relax as I took in the mundane surroundings. It was literally just a laundromat, complete with harsh fluorescent lights, loud machines that looked like they were installed in the 80’s, two vending machines on the back wall, and a handful of grumpy-looking people listening to music and doing their laundry.
I laughed to myself as the nervous energy in my stomach dissipated.
I noticed a small desk in the back corner in front of a door that had a sign saying “office” hung crooked from a nail, and walked up to it and pressed the little bell.
I heard paper shuffling from behind the closed office door, but no one came. After a few more minutes I pressed the bell again. Still, nothing.
I sighed, and knocked loudly on the door.
“Excuse me,” I shouted through the door. The sound of shuffling papers stopped, and then there was silence.
I sighed then knocked even harder on the door. The aggressive noise garnered a few looks from the laundry-doers in the room, but I ignored them. We had a growing list of questions, and I expected to get some answers.
When whoever was on the other side of the door still failed to answer, I attempted the door handle. As expected, it was locked. I glanced back at Bailey and she nodded, reading my mind. I stepped back from the door and with a snap of her fingers I heard the click from behind the door handle as the mechanism unlocked.
I grinned at Bailey who winked back at me. Sometimes it was fun being a witch.
I motioned for the girls to step back, then I pushed the office door open.
“Hey, what the…” a croaky voice said from inside the dark office. “That door was locked!”
We stepped into the office and were greeted by a greasy-looking thirty-something man in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and baggy jeans hanging low, nearly to his knees.
“Do you work here?” I asked.
He kept looking back and forth between me and the door, his expression a mix of shock and confusion.
“She asked you a question,” Bailey said after he didn’t respond for at least a minute.
“I own this place.” The man puffed out his chest. I didn’t know if he was trying to look proud or if it was an attempt to look tough.
I rolled my eyes at him, and his expression turned to anger.
“Who are you?” he snapped at us.
“We’re here to ask you a few questions,” Rory said. She closed the door behind her as we all stepped further into his office.
He glanced nervously between the four of us, then returned his gaze to me.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said. “Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter,” I said to him. “What matters is the reason we’re here. Sit down.”
He obeyed and sat down in his chair. He seemed to reconsider, though, and moved to stand back up a moment later.
“Sit,” Bailey said, holding her hand straight out in front of her with her palm toward the man. He immediately shot back in his chair with force and looked up at her with wide, frightened eyes.
That seemed to get his attention. Good.
“What’s your name?” Bailey asked. She continued holding her hand out toward the man. It didn’t serve any purpose other than to frighten him, but the effect seemed to work wonders.
“Steve,” he answered with a shaky voice.
“Steve,” I repeated. “There was a guy in here about fifteen minutes ago. Green jacket, wearing a hood. What did he want?”
Steve shook his head frantically. “There was nobody in here. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar,” I spat at him. “We know he was here. We saw him leave.”
Steve sunk back in his chair, seemingly completely deflated. Bailey lowered her arm, and the man rubbed his eyes. Poor guy seemed almost as tired as I felt.
After a few moments of contemplation, the man finally spoke. “Some journalist. Asked a bunch of questions. Complete nonsense. The guy was a lunatic.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Oh? What kind of questions?”
Steve looked up at me with a pleading look in his eyes. I maintained my stern expression, and after a long minute of unbroken eye contact, Steve continued. “He asked if anyone had come to talk to me. I guess he was talking about you guys?”
I glared at him and waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I snapped my fingers and made a flame appear in my hand. His eyes went wide at the sight of the fire but kept his lips shut tight.
“Tell us what he said, or this fire in my hand will get a lot bigger,” I threatened. “Truth or fire, your choice.”
Steve whimpered, then thankfully decided to talk. I really didn’t want to have to use that fire. Besides, I probably wouldn’t even know what to do with it even if I tried.
Steve looked up at me with a pleading look in his eye. “Please, don’t make me talk. He said he would kill me if I talked.”
I blinked in confusion. “What?”
“Please don’t make me talk.”
I looked to my side and Bailey and I exchanged worried looks. Rory and Jane were doing the same.
I finally looked back to Steve and resumed my stern expression, and after a long minute of unbroken eye contact, he continued. “He asked me about a murder and something to do with a cookie. Honestly, dude, I have no idea what he was going on about. Kept asking me what I knew.”
I took a few steps forward so that I was looking straight down at the frightened-looking man in the chair. “Why was he asking you these questions?”
Steve shook his head. “I have no clue. Seriously, you have to believe me. He was just some whack job off the street.”
“A journalist or a street person, which is it?” I glared at him.
He stared up at me unblinking. “Aw, man, I don’t know. Believe me, please. Don’t do anything… unnatural to me. Please.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped back.
“Who else works here?” I asked. “Tell me the names of everyone else who works in the laundromat.”
Steve relaxed and pushed himself upright after slumping down in anxiety. “Just me. My last employee left a month ago, and I haven’t been able to hire anyone since.”
“So, you’re saying you’re the only one here, all day?” I glanced back at the girls. “So if someone were to come in, you would be the only one they would deal with, right?”
He nodded.
I ran my hand through my hair, trying to formulate my next question carefully. I stepped back and pushed myself up onto the desk and crossed my legs. If we had any hope of getting answers from this guy, he would have to feel comfortable enough to talk to us.
Following my lead, the girls stepped back and softened their expressions.
Once the atmosphere in the room lightened, I closed my eyes and put my feelers out to see if I could pick up any traces of magic. It was extremely faint, but it was there.
I opened my eyes and glanced to Bailey, who nodded back to me. Of course, she would be able to sense it. Looking to Jane and Rory, I could see that they picked up on it as well.
I turned back to Steve. “Tell us about the kind of magic you do.”
He stared at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me, Steve,” I said, my voice gaining an edge of anger. “You don’t want to make me angry. Bad things happen when I’m angry.”
He swallowed, then shook his head. “I’m not lying. I don’t do magic. Couldn’t, even if I tried.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “There’s magic in this room. I can sense it. We can all sense it.”
His eyes darted across the room as if looking for something. After clearly not finding what he was looking for, he returned his gaze to me. “I don’t… I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Did the guy ask about the spell?” I asked. I raised my arms as if to cast a spell, just to scare him a bit. I had no intention of casting anything.
“What spell?” Steve asked. He nearly broke down crying, barely managing to hold in tears. “Please, I don’t know who he was or what he wanted. He just kept asking about a cookie. I have no idea what he was talking about. He didn’t say anything about any sort of magic.” He doubled over in his chair and placed his forehead in his hands, shaking his head back and forth.
I glanced to the girls who shrugged back. He seemed to be telling the truth.
“Not long ago you gave someone a spell capable of hurting people.”
He snapped his head up at that and narrowed his eyes at me. “It was you.” I couldn’t tell if that was a statement or a question.
Now, we were getting somewhere. “Who did you give that spell to?” I asked.
He paused then crossed his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I sighed. “Bailey?”
“On it,” Bailey answered. She rolled up her sleeves and raised her arms, and a slight wind picked up in the room. Steve’s chair suddenly rolled back and slammed against the far wall from the force of Bailey’s magic.
“Those are some nice clothes you’re wearing,” I commented. The fear was back in Steve’s eyes. “Those shoes must have set you back, what, five hundred dollars?”
“Expensive taste for someone who runs a laundromat,” Rory added.
I grinned as the poor guy grew increasingly uncomfortable. Rory rolled up her sleeves as well, and sheer panic spread across the man’s face.
“Okay, okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll talk.”
Bailey lowered her hands and the wind in the room vanished.