"Thanks," I said, although I wasn’t handing responsibility over completely. I definitely planned to keep looking into it.
She waved a hand at me, her smile friendly. "Don't worry about it," she said. “What are friends for."
It struck me sometimes as odd how easily I had made friends in Elder. I had never been popular growing up, and had always lived in the shadows. But here, my magic had pushed me to the forefront, and I had benefited.
“Go,” Russke advised. “I’ll check in with you when I know something.”
I waved to her and then tucked my hands in my pocket and headed outside. It was starting to get too warm to wear jeans, even in the evenings, but I didn’t have any shorts.
The closer I got to my car, the better I could see Mocha’s paws on the window edge and her sad, soulful beagle eyes staring in my direction. I wasn't sure how anybody refused beagle faces. They were so darn cute.
"Easier said than done," Mocha said cheerfully.
"Can you read minds?" I asked suspiciously.
"No," she said. "You're just really predictable."
The corners of my lips tilted up, but I didn’t laugh in face of what I had learned. Not that it was a dead end, really. There were probably plenty of other places I could look. Right? “The records are gone," I said.
"The records?" Mocha sounded startled.
I nodded. “The ones that tell who had the apartment before me.”
There was a frown on Mocha's face. I could tell that wasn't something she’d anticipated.
Unease tied my stomach in knots as I got behind the wheel of the car. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, but I wasn't really convinced. "The human doesn't need to worry, for now," she said. She was almost teasing.
I gave her the side eye. "This human likes to know things," I grumbled.
“Too bad.” Mocha gave me her side-eye, and then slithered up onto the front seat, pulling her sad beagle face. “I want dinner.”
“Fine.” I started the car, shaking my head in affection.
“Faster.” Mocha’s cold, wet nose nudged my shoulder. “I’m starving.”
“You’re not starving. You could even stand to lose a few pounds.”
Ominous silence.
“So could you,” Mocha pointed out coolly. “Should I mention that in front of Miles next time?”
“He can’t hear you,” I muttered. “But!” I said hastily before she could retort. “Point taken. Let’s go feed you.”
I was perched on the couch eating pizza when there was a knock on my door. I glanced at Mocha, who lifted her head before laying back down. “Not worried?” I asked her, slipping on some slippers before I headed to the front door. She didn’t bother replying.
Figuring it was the delivery guy who had maybe forgotten something, I opened the door and then stopped halfway.
"Hello," Yanis said, his tone casual.
I peered past him. "Did my dog call you?" I asked. I was only half joking.
He did blink at that, although I wasn't sure if it was genuine surprise or if he was just hiding the truth. “May I come in?”
“Why?” I asked suspiciously.
“I want to talk.” Yanis looked at me, his eyes so dark they were nearly black. But they didn’t look creepy. Instead they looked warm. I could see why others hadn’t been certain of him, however.
Finally, I moved and let him in. I closed the door, leaving it unlocked, and then went and sat back on the couch. My stomach rumbled, so I grabbed my slice of pizza and scarfed it down. He didn’t seem in any hurry to talk.
"What can you tell me about Millie and Mildred?" I asked finally.
Yanis looked at me, his eyes scrutinizing in a way I recognized from one of my old bosses. He was looking over every aspect, assessing who he could trust and what he couldn't. "You're the one who took her coffee shop."
Anger flared up under my collar. "I didn't take anything," I said hotly. "I had no idea what was being left to me.” The pizza I had eaten suddenly tasted sour in my stomach.
"What do you want to know about her?" he asked. "Either of them.”
It sort of hit me then that I wasn’t really sure. I had come up with so many questions and so many thoughts, and in the heat of the moment, my brain went blank. I hated when that happened. "Why do the people in this town think you're weird?" It wasn’t what I wanted to ask, but it was what my brain decided was important. Wren’s behavior had been curious enough for it to register.
He laughed. "No one's told you?"
“No.” I mentally mapped out my path from the couch to the door, which he was standing near.
His smile was a mix of amusement and resignation. "They think I murdered my wife."
Nothing like dropping a bomb with a smile. I set down the pizza, trying to figure out how fast I could get to the door without being in his attack range. I wasn’t a very good strategist. "Why would they think that?"
"Mildred tried to blackmail me," he said. He laughed again. “Pointless.”
"Did it work?" I asked.
His eyes sparkled, the blackness fading and the brown coming back. "No," he said. "Because I didn't murder my wife."
“Okay,” I said, not sure what to believe. I felt all over the place at the moment. It summed up my life.
His eyes narrowed, but not menacing. Like he was trying to recall a specific bit of information but was having trouble finding it. Then his face smoothed out. "I think she had a child out of wedlock."
"That's an incredibly specific bit of information to know," I said carefully. “Who?”
“When someone tries to blackmail you, you learn a lot about them," he said. “I make it my policy, anyway.”
That made more sense than I wanted to admit. “Who?”
“Mildred.” Yanis tilted his head, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
"Where does Millie fit into this?" I asked, although I wasn't sure if I was really expecting him to have an answer.
"No idea," he said with a wry smile. “She didn't try and blackmail me, so I paid less attention to her.”
I tried not to laugh, but I didn't succeed as well as I would've liked. The way he said things was just so matter-of-fact. I did wonder what in life had gifted him such an attitude. Too bad he couldn’t bottle and sell it. It would have worked wonders on some of my old coworkers.
“Why do you think she died?" I asked, not sure where else to go with it.
There was patience in his eyes. "You have the evidence," he said. "You just need to follow it."
“For someone who came here to talk, you haven’t done much talking,” I muttered.
His smile was enigmatic. “I’ve talked, but have you listened?”
I hated fortune cookies. I really, really did. It was probably one of my least redeeming qualities.
He glanced at the clock, a slight frown creasing his features. "If you wouldn't mind, I have a meeting I have to get to."
I followed his eyes to the clock. 7:52pm, which hardly seemed like a meeting time. “Of course,” I said, because I didn’t really have a choice. “Thanks for the wonderful chat.”
He chuckled, his voice deep. He looked almost like an old and wise wizard, except one I was miffed with at the moment. Fortune cookies.
"Thanks," I said, not sure what else to say.
“Thank me when you find them," he said. I opened my mouth, to ask what he meant by that, then stopped, because he turned and headed out the door. I sat there on the couch, dumbfounded over the whole thing.
I didn't think he was guilty, not of this, at least. He'd been so blasé about blackmail, about being suspected of murdering his wife. Not that I'd known many murderers, but I had a feeling I’d have some more self-preservation than that.
"I forgot to ask about the drugs," I muttered, almost kicking myself. I threw myself off the couch and through the door, then froze. He wasn’t there. The door hadn’t opened.
An icy shiver went down my spine. “Magic,” I said dark
ly. Who needed horror movies when someone could disappear like that?”
Mocha was waiting by the couch when I returned, entirely unsurprised and unimpressed by everything. I had a feeling that was her default state.
“Where were you?” I asked. “Could’ve used you.”
Mocha sniffed. She circled, then laid down. She wasn’t looking at me. "Find anything interesting?" she asked.
"You say that like you don't know," I said tartly.
“Technically I don't," Mocha said. "I can make hypothetical guesses, but I'm not magic.”
I gave her a sharp look. "Could've fooled me.”
“Is that really that hard?" Mocha said, smirking.
“How do people survive familiars like you?" I lamented.
"Only the best are blessed with me," she said smugly.
I snorted like I was annoyed, but I was starting to enjoy the banter, having somebody who was by my side almost all the time. One of the things that had been hardest about Mom being sick was the constant isolation. Especially near the end, when she'd spent so much time in the hospital that my friend group had been restricted to the nurses, because my friends had long since stopped coming. It was depressing being around someone dying, and I understood that. It still sucked.
"What did you learn?" Mocha repeated.
"Child out of wedlock," I said, not quite sure what to do about that information. The pizza was cold now, so I went and stuck it on a plate and put it in the microwave.
“Use it to get yourself in interesting situations," Mocha said, although I wasn't sure exactly how interesting she thought they were.
“What exactly are you expecting me to do?”
"What you usually do," she said. "A human child?" Mocha asked, switching topics again.
"That's what he said," I said. “I would assume.”
"Did you ask him how he knew this?" she asked.
“Mildred apparently tried to blackmail him at some point," I said. I frowned. "He says the rumor is that he murdered his wife.”
“What you think about that?" Mocha asked.
My lips were tight. "I'd like to think that if somebody actually did murder their wife, they’d be a bit smarter about it than confessing to someone they barely know.”
Mocha let out a long sigh. "You would be sadly disappointed by the state of criminals in this country," she said mournfully.
I laughed when I took the pizza out of the microwave. “Met many of them, have you?"
“How else do you think I entertain myself?" Mocha asked.
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. "I didn't quite imagine you as somebody who read the news.”
"Humans are always doing interesting things," Mocha said. "Stupid, but interesting.”
I had to give her that. I'd seen quite a few examples of human stupidity in my time, and the more I thought about it, the more I could see why it was entertaining.
"Right," I said, taking a deep breath. "What do we do next?"
Chapter Twenty-Six
I helped Wren hang up clothes, kind of surprised that there were so many. "You guys really take in a lot," I said.
She nodded, although I could tell she was distracted. "We’re the biggest of the charity shops," she said. "We have the most resources." She tapped the side of her nose like she was sharing a secret. “Magic.”
I laughed. Last night hadn’t brought a consensus on what to do next, so when Wren had texted asking for some help in her mom’s shop, I'd said yes. It was a combo of a charity and a craft shop, somewhere that magic people apparently donated everything to. Yarn and knitting needles were in the same pile as someone’s neon-yellow socks that had to be from the 80s.
"So, there are people in town without magic, right?” I asked, my brain straying back to the past few days.
“Of course.” She straightened up from the jeans she was folding. “Who did you meet?”
I tried not to look guilty for not having told them what I was up to. Not that I needed to, but they wanted to help. "I met Russke at the library.”
Wren’s eyebrows raised, but she stilled her face. “She’s a good person.”
“But not magic?" I asked.
Wren nodded. "It's not common, but it does happen."
“That must suck," I said, thinking about being so different from your family. Did Russke feel alienated? She hadn’t seemed bitter or anything.
"Not as much as you think," she said honestly.
Huh. “Really?”
She nodded. "You're still new here, so you really haven't seen the downsides of magic," she said. "But sometimes, not being magical in itself is something to dream of."
I thought about everything I had learned and couldn’t imagine it, not yet. But maybe I would understand someday.
"But," Wren said, clapping her hands together. "I think we’re almost done." Our goal had been to get through the week’s donations and sort them for pricing. It was more complicated than I had expected.
The little silver bell on the door rang as it opened.
“Welcome,” Wren said before she looked up. I did the same, then paused mid-fold on a shirt.
"I was told you were here," Miles said, looking from Wren to me.
I looked at him, and then past him, not hearing any sirens. “What?”
“Lou!” I heard Sarai’s shout before she threw the door open and bounded inside, the little silver bell ringing aggressively as it smacked against the glass.
“Hello,” Wren said, gobsmacked.
Sarai had that effect on people.
“I need a watcher," Miles said, nodding down at Sarai.
I blinked. “So you’re…”
“Leaving her with you.” Miles’s eyes were hawkish. “A case takes precedence.”
I looked at Sarai, who was poking through a pile of folded clothes, then back at Miles. “With me.”
“Don’t worry.” His smile was a combination of razor-sharp and black humor. "I'll make sure that you don't do anything."
I started to retort, and then realized it wasn't really worth it. If he thought I was guilty, the only way I could really fix that was by finding out who actually did it. Besides, I doubted he really thought I was guilty if he was leaving his daughter here.
"Okay," I said, and Wren stared at me with wide eyes.
"As long as it’s okay with her," I said with a nod towards Wren, "since I'm here working at her shop.”
Miles looked at Wren with that same expectant look he wore when he knew he was getting what he wanted.
"It's fine with me," Wren said doubtfully.
"Good." Miles turned to look at Sarai, who was already poking at the edge of one of the clothing racks. "Behave," he said.
He might as well have been talking to a wall for all the attention she paid him, but apparently the salute she gave the clothes rack was meant to be an acknowledgment, because he nodded and seemed satisfied.
"I'll be back later," he said with a pointed look at me. Then he was out the door, leaving the three of us standing in the shop, Wren frozen mid-movement. Sarai was poking through the sizes now, trying to figure out if anything would fit her.
"He's letting you watch his kid?" Wren said quietly, skepticism written all over her face.
"He thinks I'm guilty," I said like that made sense.
She rubbed her forehead. "I’m not even going to ask,” she said finally, her tone wry. “Maybe by the time I die, it’ll make sense.”
The door jangled open, and both of us winced in anticipation.
"Just coming by," a familiar voice said. Sally walked in, her smile bright and her curled hair pulled back.
I turned to look at Wren. "See?" I said. "We have a chaperone."
"Where's Mocha?" Sarai asked, looking around the shop.
“Left her at home,” I said, even though the truth was I had no idea where she had gone. “She thinks clothes are boring.” I winked.
Sarai narrowed her eyes, and then she giggled, like she had decided I was teasing. “They are,” she
agreed. She looked around the shop and then hopped up on the stool behind the payment counter, almost level with Wren and I.
"I'm just browsing," Sally said, attempting to sound innocent.
I snorted.
“Not flying?” Sally laughed. "I'm just doing my job," she said, holding her hands up.
“You’re not a hostage,” Sarai said impatiently. “She’s not going to murder me.”
Suddenly Sarai became the focus of attention.
“And how do you know that?" I asked.
She gave me an irritated look. "Because that would be boring." She huffed at us, hopping off of the stool and moving behind one of the racks. "If you were an actual murderer, you'd be more interesting.”
“Just wait until she’s older,” I muttered.
“I heard that.” Sarai popped up just long enough to give me a scowl before she vanished back into the objects. Instead I turned to Sally.
"Nice to see you,” I said, not sure what type of greeting to use. Had we ever been formally introduced? I couldn’t remember.
"Nice to see you too," she said with a professional smile. "He's got you babysitting?" She tilted her head towards Sarai.
The door opened. Biting back a groan, I brightened up when I saw Mocha pushing her way in. She trotted in like she owned the place.
Sally gave Wren an inquisitive stare. “Dogs are welcome?”
Wren smiled ruefully. “Try and stop her.”
"Mocha," Sarai shouted, pelting across the room. Mocha licked her face, and I watched the dog who always pretended to be so grumpy, as her tail wagged and she clambered into Sarai’s lap. Grumpy my butt.
“I've always wanted a dog," Sarai said, sounding wistful.
“Does your dad not like them?" I asked.
Sarai’s bright face dimmed. She buried her face in Mocha’s fur. "Mom is – was – allergic.”
Well, that was a fabulous misstep on my part. Internally I smacked my forehead. "Do you want to talk about her?" I asked. "I lost my mom, too.”
She gave me a shrewd look and shook her head. "What’re we going to do this afternoon?” Her gaze turned assessing. “What do you do, anyway?”
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