by WB McKay
My first stop was a nymph sporting a mask that gave her the appearance of the stereotypical human view of a witch, complete with green skin and a huge wart on her long nose. She'd sold several items to witches since I'd arrived, speaking amicably with them each time. Ironic, considering the offensive mask, but perhaps the witches thought it was funny. Clarissa came into view about thirty seconds after the nymph went into her spiel about love and youth potions. Love potions were highly illegal, if they were real, but judging by the price she was selling them for, they wouldn't do anything more than give someone a stomach ache. What was stranger still was that the potions were clearly human made. I'd seen her at the market before, but never given it much thought since she wasn't exactly in the trade for dangerous magical objects.
"So, where's the good stuff?" I asked, not even glancing at the wares the nymph had spread out on her table. I wasn't peeking back into her tent like I pretended, either. In truth I was watching Clarissa in the mirror hung at the back of her stall. "Got anything imbued with death magic?" It was a surprisingly direct question, but I was hoping for a moment of surprised fear, or anything that would tell me she was hiding something.
Mostly, she looked bored. "Objects imbued with death magic are highly illegal." She sniffed at me and interest sparked in her eyes. She leaned over the table and tapped the side of her nose. "What are you?"
Being a unique fae, I heard this question a lot.
I looked her straight in the eye. "Someone unusual looking for something unusual."
She sniffed again, amused this time. "Aye. Well." She reached under her table and pulled out a tiny bottle filled with red liquid. "A real love potion is the best I have for you."
"No thanks," I said, waving off the love potion. "I've got no need for that."
"Of course you don't, a beautiful young lassie like yourself. The red haired witch is a fine catch."
I sucked in a breath, shocked to be so easily caught at my spying. "I'm not with the witch," I sputtered.
The nymph gave me a knowing smile. "Well, you might want to tell her that. She's got eyes for nothing but you. Can't even pay enough attention to anything else to realize she's buying a fake summoning stone."
I wasn't quite sure what to make of that, so I moved to the next stall down the line, even though it was only a harpy selling glamour charms. Even if I could find a full body charm that didn't cost an arm and a leg, the Magical Object Division had strong rules about purchasing items at illegal markets. I could buy things if necessary to keep my cover going, but any purchases made had to be turned into the office for reimbursement. While not all items sold at the market were illegal, it was frowned upon for citizens to buy anything at an illegal market, and strictly prohibited for FAB agents to keep anything purchased there on the job, especially agents working for MOD. Occasionally I'd see an item that made being a good agent a real bummer, especially when my covetous nature flared, but I believed in only breaking the rules when I had a good reason. Hammond, my boss, was continually surprised at how often that came up. I had just picked up one of the harpy's charms when she let out an awful shriek. I dropped it on the table. "Sorry, I should have asked before handling the merchandise. No need to howl at me."
The harpy closed her mouth and met her eyes. I'd been ready to back away apologetically, it was her table after all, but the challenge made me stand my ground until she looked away. Harpies were not my biggest fans.
Once released, I glanced back to check on Clarissa. She was still at the same table, speaking with a witch there. I took a few steps to put some space between myself and the harpy's table, and gave the market another look. Perhaps it wasn't right for an agent of the law to feel in her element at an illegal market, but these were familiar stomping grounds. The vendors and customers were constantly shifting, but the atmosphere was the same.
I was about to continue my stroll when a burst of magic caught my attention and stopped me in my tracks.
When I was eight years old, Belinda got her boob trapped in a box fan. I'm not sure how it happened. All I remember is her screaming for help, me not knowing what to do, and the burning smell of the old fan's motor while it strained to spin the blades, and couldn't.
The swell of magic behind me smelled like that. I didn't have time to react before the fireball hurtled past my head.
A witch playing with fire. Once they started manipulating it, the fire burned a little hotter than regular fire, but it wasn't anywhere near as hot as something a fae would manage. Definitely not as hot as dragonfire, though it was still all they needed to burn a place like this to the ground.
Gravel dug into my palms as I pushed myself up into a crouch. Shifting into my crow form and flying off would have been the safest route, but safe wasn't what I was there for.
It wasn't hard to discern where the fireball had come from. The crowd—panicked and running every which way—had given a wide berth to the eye of the storm. In the center of it stood the witch Clarissa had been talking to the last time I'd seen her. The witch held her hands empty in front of her, mouth agape. If that look of shock was because she couldn't believe she'd been foolish enough to throw a fireball at me, she'd have plenty of time to come to terms with the idea once I threw her in jail.
I took off running straight for her. The crowd jostled me when a troll charged past. I stayed on my feet, but it slowed me down, and the witch met my eyes.
She started to say something, but just as fast decided against it.
She ran.
"Stop!" My legs pumped as hard as they could, but so did hers. And she had a head start. "You could stop!" They never stopped.
The witch glanced back, extended her arm toward a seller's table, and then twitched her wrist as she manipulated magic to lob the whole thing at me. Crystal balls rolled roughly over the gravel, sparking with whatever magic they'd been enchanted with. I jumped and dodged, not wanting to step in any of it. I hoped that wasn't all the seller's inventory. Yes, Sophie, now is the time to worry about the livelihood of criminals.
She did the same with another table, but I expected it this time and dodged better. While fae drew up magic from within themselves to do things like shift into crows or breathe fire, witches learned how to manipulate the magic naturally in the world around them. Learning to cause wind to move things around, or flick a lighter and then build the fire with magic into something stronger and ready to be thrown at my face, was a common skill. If we weren't running through a market full of magic and danger, I wouldn't be too worried about what she might do.
Still, she didn't seem to be trying to kill me—not after the initial fireball, anyway. Escape was her focus. Tossing tables in my path slowed me down, but this wasn't the first time I'd chased a dangerous criminal. In fact, I'd had worse. Luckily, she wasn't hitting the panicked crowd, who were headed in every direction but the way she ran.
From behind me, Clarissa called out, "Stop!" I'd wondered what had happened to the human agent. I was hoping she'd just ducked out of the way and hadn't been hurt. I was guessing that whatever she'd said to the witch we were chasing, Clarissa had somehow tipped her off that we were FAB agents. Hammond was going to be pissed.
I started to gain on the witch. In her panic, she couldn't stop looking over her shoulder and it was costing her speed. She flung out a hand and a tower of boxes erupted from a nearby stall and spread across my path. I hopped over them and skidded to a stop. The scent of the witch's magic work caught my attention. She wasn't pulling on the elements I'd expect. There was so much here she could be pulling on, and yet her magic smelled plain. It was cleaner and weaker than what had worked the fireball. Now that I thought about it, the fireball had smelled a lot like the scene of the murders.
Clarissa stopped just on the other side of the boxes. She glared at the ogre picking up his wares, then perhaps feeling my stare, turned her gaze to me. No words were necessary. I met her eyes, and we both knew. She threw the fireball. She killed the reaper. She had the scythe. And she killed Daph
ne.
I reached for Epic on my back at the same time she flicked her lighter. Hand raised in a claw, she seemed to pluck the flame from the lighter. It grew to the size of a basketball before she flung it into the boxes at my feet.
CHAPTER SIX
Charred debris drifted through the air. I'd rolled to the side to avoid getting my face burnt off and left a small trail of blood behind when I hopped to my feet. "Damn witches." I didn't see Clarissa anywhere.
"Damn FAB," grumbled the ogre, picking up what looked like a melted pink flamingo.
"Sorry about that," I said. "The FAB will cover the cost of the damages."
The ogre rolled his eyes. "Riiiiiiight," he drawled.
Speaking of the FAB, it was time to call Hammond. He was going to have me plucked for this. None of it was my fault, but I was sure he wouldn't see it that way. While I ran through the crowd as best I could, aiming for the parking lot where I was sure Clarissa had already taken the damn car, I brought up his number and hit call.
"Hammond," he growled, by way of greeting. Great, he was already in a crappy mood.
"Is there something wrong?" I cringed, but figured it was safer to let him vent first.
He heaved a sigh. "Just getting reports of a major disturbance at the market in Paw Paw. What did you need?"
It was my turn to sigh. "That's what I was calling you about, actually." I paused for a moment. What was the best way to frame the situation?
"What kind of trouble are you in now?" he asked, his voice deadly calm.
"Uh, so, that human agent you assigned to me, Clarissa?" I paused, hoping he would prompt me and direct the conversation. I couldn't just tell him he'd assigned an evil witch who'd tried to kill me and was probably responsible for the murders. His ego could be quite fragile.
"I didn't assign you any human agent, Morrigan. What the hell is going on?"
"Shit," I said, realizing too late that I'd actually said it out loud. I rambled on so Hammond couldn't work himself up further before I told him what happened. "So, I was at my sister Belinda's house, and this FAB agent came over. She's a witch named Clarissa Stark. She said you assigned her to our side of the case because the homicide agents weren't cooperating with her."
"And you didn't bother to confirm this with me," said Hammond, his tone unreadable, despite the negative connotation of his words. "Go on."
I decided not to explain the why of that and moved on to the next thing in our horrible situation. "Well, I decided to try the black market in Paw Paw for a lead on the scythe, and she showed up as I was leaving, so she drove me there." I was in the parking lot now, staring at the empty parking space where her sports car had been. Cars were zipping out of the parking lot all around me, kicking up dust and gravel as they went. The market usually went until dawn, and it was barely midnight. "So, we got here and were talking to some witches to see if they had heard anything. She was on the other side of the aisle from me, and all of a sudden, a fireball was flying at my head from that direction. The witch she was talking to fled, and we pursued."
"Raising hell in your wake," said Hammond. I could picture him nodding as he spoke. "Continue."
"Right," I said, not bothering to argue. That wasn't what he was looking for. "The witch hurled items into my path and ran away rather than tossing more fire at me and trying to fight." I waited for Hammond to say something and there was dead silence on the other end of the line. I knew it would be a mistake to ask if he was still there, so I continued my report. "Also, the fleeing witch's magic didn't smell the same as what manipulated the fireball. Agent Stark was coming up behind me when I realized my mistake. I confronted her, and she tossed a fireball into some boxes, causing debris to fly into the air. When I got my bearings, she had fled in an unknown direction." The only sound on the other end of the line was heavy breathing, and not the sexy kind. My money was on barely contained rage. "At this point, based on the smell of the magic and the fact that she lied about being assigned to the case, I'm fairly certain that Agent Stark is our suspect."
"Fairly certain?" said Hammond with a huff that made the speaker in my phone crackle. "Now that's some crack detective work. Somebody lies to your face and then tries to assassinate you and you're 'fairly certain' she is our murder suspect." He waited for me to say something, but it was my turn to do the angry breathing thing. I could let him call me stupid. I had done a very stupid thing. "You might as well take a good look around while you're at the market. It's the last you'll be seeing of it. There are rumors flying around about a couple trigger happy FAB agents trashing the place. It won't be coming back there anytime soon. The market will be relocated and we'll have to track it and then rebuild at least a dozen cases thanks to your little stunt. Get your ass back to MOD and report to Agent Fisk. He's heading up this case now. Anything you do on this case will be at his discretion."
The line went dead. "Argh!" I said, shoving my phone in my pocket. "Report to Agent Fisk? Art? We're the same level agent. He can't be my superior!" Besides, it would be totally awkward to ask Art what to do. Whenever we worked together, he was always so laid back that I mostly ran the case. I wasn't sure we'd ever get anything done if he took point, let alone acted as my superior.
Panicked peddlers lined the road out of the market. No one so much as spared me a glance. I considered ripping off the mask—my face was slick with sweat and it had become something like a sauna in there for my face—but even if they weren't staring, it didn't mean they didn't remember me as the agent who ran through the market, and showing my face would only make the situation worse. No, I was stuck in the mask until I got away from there. It was over two miles back to the portal to Volarus. I could shift and fly back, if I was willing to lose my clothes—not a big deal—and my phone—kind of an issue. Damn. Was I really going to be walking that far?
I pulled out my phone to text Belinda and let her know I was going to be pretty late getting back to Wailing Lakes and found a message from Art.
Art: I didn't ask to be put in charge. Don't hate me.
It hadn't even occurred to me to be upset with Art. I knew he would never ask to be put in charge of me. This was probably his worst nightmare.
Me: Oh, get over yourself, you silly seal. Come pick me up? I don't want to walk all the way from the market back to Wailing Lakes.
Art: Sea lion. I'll be right there.
I grinned. Art was a selkie, and there were a few varieties. Ignorant people thought they were all seals, but Art was a sea lion. If he could take me messing with him about that and still be willing to pick me up, we were good.
When I went to put my phone back in my pocket, something hard and oddly shaped hit my fingers. I pulled it out and laughed. The witch Pez dispenser. I'd forgotten I'd picked it up at Everything n Anything. When I bought it, I figured it was a fifty-fifty chance that it was a normal Pez dispenser or something pretty dangerous. I'd intended to test it somewhere safe later, but now was as good a time as any. I sat down on the side of the road to wait for Art and cranked back the head on the little witch. Immediately, I felt a strange pulling sensation tugging on my chest, and my thumb let go of the witch's head. The feeling disappeared.
Rolling the toy in my hand, I didn't sense anything special about it. When the head was down, there was no feeling of magic. When the tugging sensation had taken over, I'd smelled something, but it was subtle. I pulled the head back cautiously this time, readying myself for the tugging sensation, but nothing happened.
Maybe that had been all the magic the toy had, and it was over now. Kind of a weak enchantment for the imps at Everything n Anything to have offered me. Whatever. It seemed fitting with how my day was going. I rolled to the side on the ground so I could stuff the hunk of plastic back in my jeans pocket and almost screamed when I saw someone next to me.
"You scared the—hot damn." I waved an arm, and watched my replica do the same. "Well." That was different. I reached out to touch my own finger, but instead, reached right through the illusion of my own hand.
"That's freaky." The illusion's mouth moved in sync with my own. "So freaky." Rising to my feet, I backed slowly away from the illusion, and it did the same, doubling the distance. It was somewhat unrealistic when it passed right through a small tree, but other than that, it looked real. Identical, down to the awkward human mask I wore. I closed the distance between us, dancing the whole way, watching for jerky motions like I'd expect in a video, but this was magic of course, and my replica kept time perfectly. I flicked back the Pez dispenser's head, and my replica disappeared.
That was a nifty little toy. "I grossly underpaid." I wondered how it would work when I was in crow form, or when Owen was a dragon. I couldn't wait to show it to him.
Marveling at the magic had marginally lifted my mood, which only served to drop me further into the reality of how bad things were once my thoughts drifted back to my situation. The day had gone from bad to worse at every opportunity. I need to get to Belinda's and go to sleep before anything else happens. Even as I thought the words, they sounded ridiculous to me. I was supposed to sleep while Clarissa was out there, doing who knew what? She'd been right in my grasp! I'd let her go. Anything she did after this was my fault. Hammond should have fired me on the spot.
How had I not seen she was the one? The perfume made sense now. While witches themselves smelled human, since they didn't actually possess magic, they carried the scent of the magic they manipulated. Someone on their toes would notice if Clarissa smelled exactly like the crime scene.
Damn. The level of how bad I'd messed this up could not be understated.
Art pulled up in a teeny little smart car, his dimpled grin showing through his perfectly shaped beard. "Hop in before I change my mind about picking up strangers on the side of the road."
"I'm not a stranger, we've known each other for years," I said, sliding into the surprisingly cozy seat.
He flipped the car around without even having to back up. "Yep, and you get stranger and stranger every year." He gave me his biggest smile.