Hex at a House Party

by Gretchen Galway

  He pointed at the cottage up the hill. “Sift everything, even the furniture. His spoor will be everywhere.” He looked at his phone. “A truck will be here in two hours with replacement furnishings. We’ll have to get Warren Hawk to sign the receipt, agreeing to the switch. Everything by the book. Understand?”

  “What if he won’t sign?” asked the woman.

  “I’ll be here,” Darius said. “Find me if there’s a problem.”

  She nodded, turned to the other agent, and they began taking out black velvet bags and steel boxes from the SUV.

  I’d been on dozens of searches as a new agent—before my first demon-hunting assignment—and experienced a wave of nostalgia as I watched them haul the gear up the hill to the private cottage. Combing through a scene had been my favorite job when I’d been an agent. Breaking and entering, spying, stealing—and all part of a legitimate inquiry that wouldn’t get me in trouble—had been very satisfying. The worst Bellrose instincts, co-opted by the forces of Brightness.

  Except then I’d learned the forces weren’t always Bright. Cringing, I watched the agents blast through the door and set blinding spells to neutralize any demon magic—which would leave a foul, sewer-like odor that would linger for months. No guests would want to stay in the cottage for a very long time. All Warren would have in compensation for the Protectorate damage would be a useless receipt, an unbalanced contract promising not to complain.

  “Careful,” Darius said behind me.

  I turned and saw the two Flints carrying Zoe between them on an improvised stretcher. They’d bewitched the bedsheet to hold a rigid shape and carried it through the air like plywood. When they got to the SUV, the agent at her feet squatted down, the other one tipped her forward, and they catapulted her into the back seat.

  “What if she wakes up on the drive?” I asked.

  The men adjusted Zoe’s body in the back seat and pulled a seat belt over her. Her head slumped forward.

  When Darius, ignoring me, turned to go back inside, I ran after him. “She’s distraught. She cried the whole way here. She’s not faking, Darius. She’s in shock.”

  “Then her stay at Diamond Street will be short,” he said. “Or as short as it can be. There are a lot of questions.”

  I stood in front of him. “Have you called somebody in her family? A friend?”

  “Her only family was the demon,” Darius said, stepping around me. “And her closest friend was Crystal Hawk. Even you can see why she needs to be in custody.”

  The SUV peeled out and drove away, its tinted windows hiding the shape of Zoe, limp and broken and alone, strapped in the back seat.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I followed Darius into the house and grabbed his arm at the base of the staircase. “When did you get so heartless? You saw her face when she saw Phil lying there. She had no idea he was a demon. She loved him. And now he’s dead in the most hideous, traumatic way possible, and you just throw her around like a bag of garbage.”

  Darius scowled at me, glanced around the living room, and cupped his hand around his mouth. “Not now,” he said in a low voice.

  “Why not? Everyone saw the Flints carry her out of here. Philip Thornton is dead, and every witch on the planet will know why before sundown.” I pushed his arm away, suddenly disgusted I’d ever been proud to be part of the Protectorate. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. Warren’s right. You’re just another climber.”

  Jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, Darius glared at me in silence. A puff of uncontrolled magic rose up from his sternum, his anger taking flight in a pale, shimmering spiral of energy.

  He put his hand over his chest, inhaled deeply, and then pointed over my shoulder. “Out. Side.”

  “I’m not going anywhere—”

  “Now.” He hooked his arm around my shoulders and led me back out the front door. “We’re going to talk.”

  The SUV was long gone, but I could sense the wake of its magic in the driveway and along the road to the highway. The gnome was standing on the birdbath, her arms crossed over her chest, frowning at me as if the magical pollution of her world was my fault.

  I turned and saw the beginning destruction of the cottage. The searchers were already dragging furniture out onto the deck and grass, setting more noxious spells to break any demonic influence. A tendril of pink smoke rose from an attic vent. If they were following procedure, they would begin searching from the apex of the highest ceiling, vacuuming up dust, spiders, webs, weevils, mice, termites, squirrels, bees, wasps, hair, feathers, droppings, skin, toenails, claws, seedpods, grass—any object that was living, part of anything living, or formerly living. Everything would be bagged, labeled, boxed, sorted, and studied.

  Because a demon’s life was a crime scene.

  I shook off Darius’s arm around my shoulders and strode toward the cliff path. If it weren’t for murder and demons at the house party, I would’ve been out hiking every day, breathing the salty air, collecting stones, leaves, seeds, shells, and driftwood. At that moment, I blamed Darius that I hadn’t.

  “How did the Protectorate not notice earlier that a demon was married to—” I began.

  “Wait,” he said. “The cypress at the top of the hill. Wait until we’re past that.”

  I marched ahead of him up the path through the dry earth, grass, sage brush, and granite boulders, the cliff’s edge about ten feet to our left. The breeze blew my hair sideways, cutting through my sweater and T-shirt to bare skin. The sun was low in the sky, turning the clouds burnt orange, a hot color that didn’t match the icy wind.

  The Monterey cypress tree was an ancient, twisted sentry amid an outcropping of granite boulders. As soon as I walked past it, I felt a boundary membrane strain and stretch.

  I shot Darius an inquisitive eyebrow. “Yours?”

  “The Hawks’,” he said. “Keeps the tourists away, I imagine.”

  “I didn’t feel it the other day,” I said.

  “Maybe Warren strengthened it after she died. It feels like him.” He reached out and put his palm on the dull silver gray of the tree trunk. “A boundary affects both sides. Nobody from the house can hear us now.”

  “Why do you care? What’s to hide now?”

  “It’s procedure,” Darius said. “Which exists for a reason.”

  “To annoy normal people?”

  He gave me a warning look. “To protect the innocent.”

  “Which is who, exactly?” I asked. “Other than Birdie, who I hope you know is definitely that.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But it’s best to be careful.”

  “How about you be careful with Zoe? The Flint goons nearly took off her head when they threw her in the car.”

  “Answer me this,” he said suddenly, turning to me. “How did the wife of a demon become a researcher at the highest levels of the Protectorate? She had unfettered access to vast troves of witches’ personal data: private family histories, bloodlines, addresses, nationalities, job titles, magic specialties, legal entanglements, financial standing, society alliances, arranged marriages, you name it. Going back centuries. Why?”

  “She loves genealogy. Lots of people do.” I bent down and picked up a fallen branch from the ground. “She turned her hobby into a job. I can relate to that.” The branch was straight and solid, but it held a trace of Hawk magic, and I discarded it, unable to use it myself.

  “And it’s just a coincidence she was married to a demon?” Darius asked.

  “Being a demon was probably why he was so rich,” I said. “And being so rich is why he could help Zoe achieve her dream of being a professional genealogist amid paranoid witches.”

  Darius nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s really good at hiding. She might be a demon too,” he said. “We didn’t identify Philip Thornton, and he’s been mingling with Protectorate witches for years.”

  “The Protectorate works to identify evil,” I said. “Maybe he wasn’t doing anything to trigger the sensors
.”

  The look Darius gave me expressed the years of incredulous frustration he’d had with me. “You don’t believe that. You don’t really believe a demon deserves some kind of presumption of innocence? They’ve stolen a human body! That one ate Phil’s—the real Phil’s—soul.”

  “A silver stake kills the body, but you aren’t afraid to use one of those.”

  “It’s too late by then,” he said. “They don’t leave voluntarily. You’ve seen what happens when we try to convince them.”

  A powerful memory of the little girl at Diamond Street came to me. “You’re wrong. It can work. Raynor showed me.”

  “The child? I heard about that,” he said. “That was a unique situation. Most would never leave without killing the host. You’ve seen yourself what most of them are like.”

  Until last week, the captured demons I’d seen in Protectorate custody had been like cornered animals, terrifying and deadly.

  How could polite, loving Phil be the same as the creatures I’d seen?

  “Darius?” I asked. “Did you kill him?”

  “Who, Phil?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told you I didn’t,” he said.

  I snorted. As if witches were trustworthy. “I only have your word for that.”

  “Just like I have yours,” he said. “Did you stake him?”

  “What?” I laughed. “Yes, that’s totally on brand for me. Murdering, slaying, killing. It’s why I’m living in a redwood forest making necklaces out of twigs.”

  “Crystal identified you as demon stained,” he said calmly. “She almost certainly did the same with Phil, not realizing how true it was. She died. Then Phil, too, was eliminated.”

  “I’m not following your logic here, Agent Ironwood.”

  “It’s merely a possibility. Crystal blackmailed you and Phil. Phil killed Crystal. You killed Phil. You weren’t here last night, were you?” He brushed his hands together. “Case closed, threat neutralized. Nice and neat.”

  “You really— How can you—” I paused to take a breath. “I have an Incurable Inability, didn’t you know?”

  He stared at me, silent and expressionless, for a long time. The wind blew his hair to one side, emphasizing the tattoo. “I heard what you did to that Freewitch in Silverpool. I had lunch with Phoebe Day a few weeks ago. Maybe you’re not at all what you seem.” He touched the chain at his throat. I expected a probing truth spell, but instead I felt a defensive barrier go up between us. “She thinks you’re Raynor’s top-secret undercover agent. And if you are, I don’t want to hear any more. He told me to go back to San Francisco. That’s all I need to know.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He made me sound like a stealth assassin, answering only to the highest levels.

  And he was leaving? “You can’t go. There’s a murderer on the loose.”

  “That’s your theory,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, with Zoe in custody, Hawk Ranch is a closed case.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “It’s not a closed case!” I cried. “Who put that stake through Phil’s heart?”

  He pressed his lips together. “I was here to investigate Crystal. Now she’s dead. There was suspicion of demon possession, now the demon is dead.” He turned and frowned at the farmhouse and outbuildings below. His words matched the official line, but his tone told me he didn’t agree with it either. “I have no reason to stay.”

  “I think the same person who killed Crystal killed Phil.”

  “If that person did so, that person did everyone a favor.” He gave me a raised eyebrow.

  “It wasn’t me,” I said. As if.

  He shrugged.

  “What if it was Zoe who did it?” I was throwing out wild ideas just to get a reaction out of him. “What if she didn’t know he was a demon before, and he paid Crystal’s blackmail because he didn’t want her to find out? He truly loved her. But when he killed Crystal, who was her friend, she realized what he was and put a stake through his heart?”

  “I thought you said the same person killed both.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “And neither do you. That’s the point. Don’t you want to know? Don’t you need to know?”

  “It’s not my job to do what I want,” he said. “It’s not my job to have needs.”

  Those simple words expressed why I’d had to leave the Protectorate. I just couldn’t live under those restrictions, those boundaries, denying my own brain and spirit. “I know I said she seemed genuine in her grief, but she could’ve used magic to fake that. Maybe she fooled me.”

  “Good thing then that she’s in custody. They’ll find out if she’s guilty.” He flipped up the collar of his jacket. “But even if she’s innocent, her life is ruined. Everyone knows now her husband was a demon. Her reputation, her career, her social life are destroyed.” He shook his head, unhappy about it but powerless.

  I watched him turn and begin walking down the path as he jotted something else in his notebook. The pink smoke rising from the cottage was thicker now and interspersed with greenish-yellow sparks. They must’ve found something of Phil’s that was concentrated with demon magic, maybe his toothbrush, and had tried dousing it in a protective solution. The sparks showed it had burst into flames instead.

  They shouldn’t have tried neutralizing any of Phil’s magic before they got to Diamond Street. These two Flints were too junior to have the skill. He’d hidden for years, never suspected— Why did they think a standard-issue search kit would be enough to overcome his powers? His host body was dead, but magic lived on.

  So that was it? Darius was leaving?

  “I’ll talk to Raynor!” I called after him. “I’ll tell him it’s too soon to close the case!”

  Darius stopped and turned. He shook his head. “Go ahead,” he said. “Your arrangement with Raynor has nothing to do with me.”

  “That’s right,” I said, feeling a little hope. Raynor wouldn’t tell Darius what he wanted me to do. “I’ll talk to him myself.”

  The irony struck me. I was going to beg Raynor to let me stay?

  Darius nodded. “If you do stay here, may Brightness help you find the answers to your questions.” His words rang true, sounding rich and powerful in my ears. He was casting a vow, a supporting spell, to help me. Maybe he wanted the truth as much as I did.

  I returned the nod. “Thanks,” I said, feeling as if we’d finally put the past behind us. The next time we met, maybe he wouldn’t act like he hated me.

  But did he really think I was capable of being a secret, deadly killer? Me?

  I trotted down the trail to join him on the walk back to the farmhouse. “Or maybe I’ll forget about my questions and just enjoy myself,” I said, falling into step beside him. “Now that I’ve assassinated my enemies.”

  He snorted and tucked his notebook in his back pocket. “Sounds like a plan.”

  When one of Gail’s employees catered dinner at seven that evening, Darius and the searching agents had already gone. Warren sent his regrets through Tierra, who told the caterer there would only be four dining at the house for the rest of the week: me, Birdie, Nathan, and herself.

  Down to four, I thought. An unlucky number. Or did Warren make five? He lived here—did that count?

  Tierra handed me the salad bowl. “I can’t expect you to stay, but I hope you will. The funeral rites are going to be Thursday night at moonrise. All kinds of witches will probably show up.” She hunched her shoulders and shuddered. “I don’t want to be alone with them.”

  “Here’s an idea,” Nathan said. “How about we all leave?”

  It should have been tempting, but I wanted an excuse to stay. I was hooked. If I didn’t find out what had happened here, it would bother me for the rest of my life. And both Birdie and I would always have to be checking over our shoulder, wondering if a murderer stalked us, needing to trim the loose ends of a deadly week in October at Hawk Ranch.

  “I’m not leaving him to that,” Tierra said.
>
  “Why not?” Nathan stabbed his salad. “He’s just going to hide out in the barn anyway.”

  Tierra swatted his arm. “His wife died. He’s old. He’s not used to caring for himself. I’ve already told him I’m going to stay and help him out the rest of the week.” Tierra shook out a cobalt-blue napkin and set it in her lap. “Besides, Gail’s food is too rich for him.”

  Nathan made a rude noise. “Not rich enough, you mean. He needs his organic duck eggs and imported pâté.”

  I sighed inwardly, tired of their bickering.

  “That was my idea,” Tierra said. “Not his. You make him sound like a spoiled child.”

  “You treat him like one.” Nathan drained a glass of red wine he’d just poured. “But we both know that’s just an act.”

  “Excuse me,” Birdie said, “would you like us to sit somewhere else? Because you’re kind of making me uncomfortable. Alma and I can bring trays to our room if you want to hash this out. It’s no prob—”

  Tierra put a hand on her arm. “No, of course not. If anyone is going to leave, it’ll be Nathan.”

  In spite of the recent horror and death, I was fighting the urge to cheer at Birdie’s forthright request. The lovebirds were getting more annoying every second.

  Nathan cut into the lamb on his plate. “I’ll shut up. It’s what I’m good at, right? The strong and silent type, paying the bills, keeping the show running, never complaining.”

  Tierra opened her mouth to argue, then glanced at Birdie and clamped her lips shut. The dining room was shadowed and quiet, the frame of the old farmhouse, much too large for just the four of us, creaking in the wind. Not all witches believed in ghosts, but I felt Crystal’s presence like a dull ache in the back of my throat.

  “We can stay until the funeral if it’s helpful,” I said. Birdie shot me an eager, relieved look, which made me feel guilty. It would be safer for her to go home.

  Unless…

  If Zoe was a killer, she might have the power to escape the Protectorate and come after all of us, either personally or through Shadowed witch servants. Birdie could be in as much danger in Silverpool as she was here.