I gaped like a fish, I’d admit it. That was a good question, and I didn’t know how to answer.
"Yeah," Sally said, her grin wicked. "What do you do?"
“Stuff,” I said finally. Sarai rolled her eyes, but she was still focused on Mocha.
“Her color is so pretty," Sarai said, stroking Mocha’s back.
Mocha stayed where she was, not speaking, which unnerved me. She was always so talkative, but now she was quiet.
"Thanks," I said. “She’s called tricolor because she’s white, brown, and black.”
Sarai was quiet for a long time, stroking Mocha’s head now. "If she ever doesn't treat you right," Sarai said, looking intently into Mocha’s eyes, "let me know and I'll make her pay."
Sally looked like she was about to laugh, and Wren had her mouth open. "How does a ten-year-old know that kind of vocabulary?” Wren asked, baffled.
"Both her parents were homicide detectives," Sally said. "There's not much she doesn't know, when it comes to that sort of stuff.”
"No wonder she fits in with your department so well," I muttered.
Instead of looking annoyed, Sally just grinned at me. "Exactly," she said. "Exactly.”
I didn't know how many hours passed before the door jangled open, jolting me out of what I'd been doing. Wren was taking a break, Sarai was helping me fold clothes, and Sally was chilling near the door, playing on her phone like the chaperone she was. I was only mildly surprised to see it was Miles.
"Thank you," Miles said, although I wasn't sure who he was talking to. Apparently, it was Sally, because she raised a lazy hand and headed out the door.
"I don't need a babysitter," I said, although I wasn’t sure I meant it.
"You're still under suspicion for murder," he said pointedly.
I fixed him with a look. "But you obviously don't think I did it, because you left your daughter here under my supervision.”
Miles glanced around. “Did you make her do something?”
"Yep," I said, emphasizing the pop of the ‘p’. "You didn't leave any instructions, so I figured she could be useful.”
He seemed entirely amused by the idea, and when he turned to look at Sarai, she was still very intently focused on what was in front of her. In the past hour she had become a master at folding all sorts of clothes. Better than I was, even. In quiet, we watched as she folded a t-shirt that was almost as big as her torso.
Carefully she tucked the sides in, creasing the folds with deft fingers. Something seemed wrong, although I couldn’t put my finger on it. I watched her do another one, and caught sight of the spark. Was it friction? Or was it something else?
Something silver was leaping between her fingers and the cloth. Or maybe I was just imagining things.
"Lou?” Miles’s voice caught me off guard.
I jerked, aware I had stopped paying attention. “Sorry, what?”
“Walk us home," he said.
"Is that an order?" I asked suspiciously.
"Yes."
Well, at least he was honest about it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I reached out to grab my jacket and stopped, looking at Wren.
“Go,” Wren said frankly. When Miles turned his back, Wren made googly eyes at me. Aware that Sarai was watching, the best I could do was glare at her before I headed out the door, my jacket over my shoulder.
“If you need me, text me,” I shouted inside.
“Any time,” Wren said warmly.
I still could waffle over whether or not I would stay, but the town was starting to win my heart faster and faster. Even just the little things. Yes, I was a suspected murderer, and there was a crazed police chief lady who was out for my guts, but there was something nice and quaint about being here, about the quiet and the peacefulness that existed when I wasn't being hunted.
"You're strange," Sarai said, latching her arm through Miles’s.
I half smiled. "You're strange too," I said.
Instead of being offended, she seemed to take this as quite the compliment. "Thank you," she said primly.
I looked at Miles, who shrugged. "Blame her mother," he said.
I saw a flicker of amusement, but then it disappeared, as if reality hung heavy in the air. They couldn't blame her mother, because she wasn't around any more.
“I miss my Mom, too.” Sometimes talking about it helped, sometimes it didn’t. But for now, it could be a shared topic between us, but only if she wanted to talk about it.
Sarai looked at me, the curiosity cautioned by defensiveness. For all she was such an open girl, I wasn't surprised that this seemed to be a topic she wasn't comfortable talking about. "What happened?"
"Cancer," I said. I had a lot of complicated feelings about our medical system, but they’d done their best to extend my mom's life with as good a quality as she could get. Eventually, though, there just wasn't any point in moving forward with more treatment.
The memories were painful as they gripped me, and I had to shake my head to get them to stop.
"You look like a dog," Sarai said.
"Well, they do say owners look like their dogs," I said, squinting and doing my best impression of Mocha’s entirely unimpressed face.
Sarai smiled, and it seemed to lighten some of the tension that had popped up between us.
"Too bad magic doesn't exist," I said, cautious. "Something that could bring somebody back to life.”
Sarai gave me a look that was surprisingly strong in its disapproval. "You don't bring people back to life.”
There she was, throwing shade on my hypothesis that they knew nothing about magic. “Why?”
"That's one of the rules, dummy," she said with another pointed look.
“What rules?" I asked. I remembered guidelines, but not rules. Although maybe I had missed them.
"It's like the genie wishes," Sarai said impatiently.
"We've had Aladdin on repeat in our house," Miles said, his voice dry.
"Not anymore," Sarai said. She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. "I'm too old and cool for Aladdin now.”
In all honesty, I wasn't sure how parents did it. I mean, I'd only known her for a few weeks, and she was exhausting. But in a good way. She was the kind of kid that you wanted to see more of, see all the cool things that she would be able to do with her life.
"What was your mom like?" Sarai asked, sneaking a glance at me.
"She was a good person,” I said. “She loved kids and was a kindergarten teacher.” I stopped, rubbing the back of my hand over my eyes in an attempt to hide tears. “I miss her a lot.”
Miles was watching me strangely, and I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about this conversation. I was overstepping, probably, intruding on part of their lives that I didn’t belong to. But I continued. “I bet you miss your Mom a lot, too.”
Sarai nodded, and things were quiet again. Then she brightened up. "But at least I have Addie," she said. “Maybe she can be your second Mom, too.”
"Addie?" Miles and I spoke at the same time. He glared at me like it was my fault.
"The nice old lady from the shop," Sarai said, giving me a quizzical look.
“I just didn’t realize you knew her,” I said.
"She's a nice lady," Sarai said with a nod. "You should meet her, Dad."
Miles arched an eyebrow. “I have.”
“Yeah, but you should actually talk to her,” Sarai said, “instead of staring at someone like you’re about to arrest their mother. You’re not going to make friends that way.”
Miles’s fingers touched his forehead in a gesture of utter exasperation. “I’m not here to make friends,” he said patiently.
“Friends are important,” I said innocently, taking Sarai’s side.
His glare didn’t ruffle me.
“He gets grumpy,” Sarai said in a conspiratorial tone.
“Sarai,” Miles said, warning.
“He doesn’t like us talking about it.” A touch of her finger to the side of
her nose, a private eye gesture I had seen in movies. A promise of a secret.
“We’re leaving now,” Miles declared, reaching out and putting a hand on Sarai’s shoulder.
“Have fun.” We hadn’t made it to their house or their car, but it had been worth it.
Miles stopped a few steps away. "I have something for you," he said, sounding reluctant.
I narrowed my eyes. "You do?"
He held up a silver key. “For the coffee shop.” He handed it over, tucking it into my hand and then closing my fingers into a fist around it because I had suddenly turned to mush.
"Don't get used to it," he added. “There's a good chance you're guilty."
“The more you say that," I said, “the more it sounds like a token protest."
He gave me a long look, and I heard Sarai laughing.
"She's got you figured out," she said, and I saw rather than heard Miles roll his eyes. "Don't give away my secrets," he said.
It was – I was going to admit - really nice to see him change, to go from the grumpy guy I'd met, to be more open, to see how he laughed and smiled with his kid. His kid, who obviously loved him very much.
It made me wonder about my father, who I’d never known. It had always just been my mom and me.
He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, like I was a trainwreck he wanted to stop watching but couldn’t. "The chief approved this," he said.
“To see what I’d do with it," I finished, guessing but having a fairly good hunch I was right.
“Something like that," Miles said.
"I still don’t think she's a murderer," Sarai said, like she should have the final word on the subject. “I feel like a broken record.”
“Do you even know what a record is?” Miles asked, exasperated.
She gave him a ‘duh’ look. “When you do something faster than everyone else. Duh, Dad.”
Miles shook his head, but there was no animosity there, more amusement. Like the fact his daughter was speculating on who could be a murderer was one of the funniest things he'd heard all day. Maybe it was, given his job.
"See you around," he said, saluting me with a wave.
Sarai followed, talking to her dad in a voice so low I couldn't hear.
"That was interesting," I muttered, because it really was.
"He gave you the key?" Mocha drawled, unimpressed.
"He said one of the police chiefs made him," I said, not at all surprised when she sat down on my foot. “He didn’t look happy.”
"No," Mocha said. "He doesn't quite like being told what to do.” She gave me a look. "Sound familiar?”
I whistled at nothing, looking at the sky in an attempt to demonstrate my innocence. It failed.
In the coffee shop, most of the post-Millie damage had been repaired, with new windows and the cupboards removed if not replaced. It was quiet, like a mausoleum. The key worked perfectly, letting us inside.
"Why are you nervous?" Mocha asked, although she didn't seem entirely unsurprised, nor did she seem to disapprove of the idea.
“I don't know," I admitted. There was just a heaviness to the air that I couldn’t explain.
"No one died here," Mocha said, although whether that was supposed to reassure me or not, I wasn't really sure. Either way it really didn't.
"Thanks," I said instead.
"You're welcome," she said absently. "Go inside," she said with a wave of her nose, encouraging me when I dawdled by the door.
I took one step, then another.
“Stop –”
I had stopped, but not of my own accord. It felt like ice had been dumped on my head, like I was in molasses and permanently frozen. I couldn’t speak, but at least I was breathing. I couldn’t hear Mocha, and I couldn’t talk to her, although I could see her moving. She knew something was wrong.
Mocha headed towards the door. Or I assumed that, anyway, because I couldn’t actually see her behind me. A desperate part of me didn’t want her to leave, even if it was to fetch help. I didn’t want to be alone, standing there in the middle of the doorway, where people could see me.
"I put a shielding spell on you," Mocha said. "You'll be fine."
I frowned at her, or at least attempted to. "Can you read my mind?" I thought.
I didn't get a response, so maybe she couldn't.
"Don't die," Mocha said, and then cackled like she was laughing at her own joke. She probably was.
"Well this is just great," I muttered. Or attempted to, because it was still really annoying when I wanted to speak and couldn't. Then again, I was fairly tired, so maybe it was a good time to use it as a nap. I’d done weirder things in my life, that was for sure.
Maybe I’d drifted off, maybe I hadn't, but what brought me around was Theo's voice.
"Wow," Theo said. "That's a hell of a spell.”
"We may need Mom to help," Wren said, sounding concerned. I couldn't turn my head to look at them, but I knew they were close by. Had Mocha fetched them? Probably.
"If you could help me, that would be awesome," I thought but didn't say. Mostly because I couldn't.
There was some discussion, something related to magic, that I could only half hear. I wasn't sure why, but my mind was starting to fade, exhaustion seeping into my bones in a way it hadn't before. Was it part of the spell? I wasn't even sure we could do spells like this. It was definitely beyond anything Addie had taught me, and even beyond the parameters of what Wren had taught me a few days ago.
"Lou?" Wren asked, catching my attention.
I blinked, realizing my eyelids moved, but they were moving so slowly, like everything was half speed.
"That's a doozy," Wren said, not sounding impressed.
My knees gave out first, and it was Theo who caught me and eased me to the ground. Mocha came and stood on my legs, which were painful as they started reviving blood flow, but I was grateful for her warm presence.
"What was that?" I said, my words feeling clumsy.
"That," Theo said, “is a trapping spell." She looked troubled. "A hell of a good one at that."
“I didn't know we could do spells like that," I said, my tongue feeling thick and heavy in my mouth.
"Most people can't," she said. "It's not a skill known to many. I’m going to do a perimeter check.”
Theo disappeared from view and Wren ushered me inside. "Let's get you some water," she said.
I nodded, not trusting my mouth. Even my tongue felt like it was drunk.
"What were you doing?" Wren asked.
"Miles gave me a key," I said.
“To the coffee shop?" Wren balked at the idea, like Miles must have been taken by a doppleganger in order to do something like that.
I nodded. "He said that Kerrity approved it.”
Quiet for a few long moments. "I'll stay and help you inventory," Wren said.
"You really don't have to," I said, and I meant it. I didn’t want to bother them, although I would have been lying if I said having them around didn’t make me feel better.
The usually charming, sweet Wren looked scary. "I'll help you," she said, her face almost terrifyingly polite. "Just in case there's another spell or something.” Her tone left little room for an argument.
I held my hands up in defeat. "Got it," I said.
She grinned at me, the barest hint of an apology. "I know," she said. "I can be quite the jerk.”
I snorted, because that was about as far from the truth as one could get.
“It looks fine,” Theo said, popping her head in the door. “Nothing else looks disturbed.” She didn’t look convinced. “I’ve –”
“Go,” Wren ordered, using the same tone of voice. Theo obeyed.
"She's got duties at the stable," Wren said matter-of-factly. "Otherwise she'd stay.”
"It's okay," I said. "Do we really need more than just the two of us?”
“Depends," Wren said. She sounded too serious for my liking. "If we run into anything more like that one at the door, I might need
her help, after all. If not my Mom’s and Auntie Beth’s.”
“Really?" I wasn’t pleased to hear that.
“I am good," Wren said, not at all humble. “But even I have my limits.”
I stood not far into the coffee shop, the front door closed now. My stomach churned, a mixture of nerves and unease. “The spell was that good?”
She nodded. "Whoever created that spell was highly skilled, and not necessarily in the skills that we teach them in the Academy.”
“Academy?” It was the first time that I had heard the term. “Is that where everyone goes?”
“Almost," she said. "It's where you would've learned magic starting early, if you’d lived here. But some families have specific runes or spells that they passed down through generations." Wren frowned, lost in thought. "In that case, they tend to have their own education system, when it comes to that kind of stuff. There’s formal learning, but they also learn new things at home that we don’t teach them.”
"So you think this may be one of those?"
“I think there's a good chance it is," Wren said. She didn't look thrilled about the possibility. "Thanks to Mocha, I was able to bring Theo.”
“Do these types of runes usually need two people?”
Wren shook her head. "Usually for this type of spell, I'd assume just one person was fine," she said. "But in this case, we needed at least two. Mocha didn’t say it, but she wouldn’t leave without Theo."
“Can you find the runes?" I asked, peering suspiciously at the door.
Wren shook her head, heading into the kitchen. "Let's do the inventory," she said. "We'll need to investigate it, but we want to give it a day or two for the runes to settle. They’re kind of like impressions; if we try to mess with them too soon, they’ll disappear.”
I thought of the ones I’d drawn, the ones that had summoned Mocha, the ones I had seen on the doors. "Does that apply to all of them?"
Wren shook her head, starting to open cupboards. "No," she said. "But if the creator of this is as skilled as I think they are, it’s something they would've written into the spell. Especially since they must know you’re new to magic.”
"Would you have been able to get out of it on your own?"
Wren paused for a few seconds, pulling out her phone and starting to tap on it. "I might have sensed it before I walked into it," she said, and then she looked at me. "But I don't know for sure, and it's not something I want to test.”
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