Lorelei hefted the watering can from the depth of the sink basin and lugged it over to the airavata leaf fern. The plant reached all the way to the conservatory’s glass ceiling and bent inward with it, its white leaves as wide across as her shoulders and curling up on the ends. She stood on the sandstone tiles that marked the curving pathway down the room’s center and emptied the can at the fern’s base. As the rocky soil darkened, the tips of the airavata’s leaves unfurled, a shimmery glow running along their pasty veins.
“You’re so dramatic,” she whispered to it, and the stalks shook as if shrugging.
The alalynx pounced into the dirt by her feet, just missing a salamander as it darted off, a flash of orange flame left in its wake. The alalynx chirped, and Lorelei dropped to the ground to snuff out the end of one of her whiskers. “Maybe we should call you Smoky, huh? You know those salamanders are just going to give you heartburn if you ever catch one.”
“I thought you were calling her Aly?” Conrad’s voice came from behind her, and when she looked over her shoulder, he was standing there with an old book in hand.
Lorelei stood. She had tested out the name, but was unsure. “Is it too much like calling a cat Kitty?”
The alalynx ran over to Conrad and wound between his feet, rubbing against his shins.
“Maybe, but you could do a lot worse and call her Bird.” She reached her paws up as high as they would go on his leg and dug her nails in near his knee, stretching. “Whoa, okay, okay.” He rubbed her head, and her wings fluttered.
“Aly.” Lorelei cocked her head, and the alalynx gave her a pointed look back. “Listen, the only holes Conrad wants in his jeans are the ones he bought them with.”
Aly retracted her claws and slid down.
“Hey, it worked.” She grinned at the slightly perturbed look he was giving her and then went back to the faucet. She started to refill the watering can, yawning. The humid warmth of the conservatory off the back hall of the manor wasn’t helping the poor night’s sleep she got, lulling her into drowsiness.
“So…” Conrad walked past her to lean out around the plants and peer into the other end of the room. It was a long, narrow space, nut trees and flowering vines climbing up the walls and cutting off direct view to the door. He was apparently satisfied that he saw no one and looked back to her. “What exactly did you tell Bridgette while you two were off together?”
She snorted. He said it like it had been a girl’s trip. “About what?”
He lowered his voice. “Byron.”
“Oh, nothing.” She blew out a breath and heaved the can up, relieved he wasn’t hinting at—well, what could he have meant?
He hurried over to her and shoved the book under his arm, putting a hand underneath the can, lifting the weight off of her. “You’re sure?”
Lorelei thought a moment, her shoulders relaxing. “We were pretty preoccupied with not dying, so it didn’t come up. Why?”
After they returned through the mirror, Bridgette had stalked down the hall and shut herself up in his bedroom, and Lorelei went to her own upstairs. Her assumption had been that they discussed everything and in detail.
He helped her guide the can to the next flowerbed. “She didn’t really talk to me afterward, just got her stuff and left.”
“You must have said a second dumb thing after telling her she looked like crap.” Lorelei chuckled to herself watching the snapdragons tilt their heads to gobble up the water. He grumbled something under his breath about the two women getting along and how he wished they wouldn’t, but Lorelei chose to ignore it. “Though I am surprised she didn’t tell you about Zyr or your great, great, great, and about a hundred more greats grandmother.”
He blinked back, waiting for an explanation.
“It’s just a guess.” Lorelei swatted at a handsy tendril of the tactus pothos that was snaking over her shoulder. “We met this tall, blonde witch who was almost definitely related to you somehow, same nose and same frosty temperament.” Lorelei went on to tell him everything, watching to make sure neither door to the room opened, leaving out only the late-night conversation she’d had with Bridgette and the veiled accusations that had been thrown her way. And, of course, how easy it was to bargain with Bur. Conrad didn’t need any clues she was human, the less of them that knew, the better.
“That cord you got from the box your father jinxed? It has to be the same one Estrid was wearing,” she told him. “Where is that now?”
“Locked up,” he said. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to do.”
“Well, back then it was holding something your ancestor called the source. It’s this fancy, wet-looking stone that I think I saw once in the fireplace, but it’s gone now.”
He opened and closed his mouth a couple times. “That’s a lot of information.”
“Yeah, and get this: Zyr? He’s like the father of all elves or something. At least, that’s kind of what Ren told me. The name might be really common, though.” She was tired, so the flippancy was coming easier, and even though she grit her teeth, the next part came easy too. “I don’t really know why Bridgette would run off, she kicked ass over there.”
“Yeah, she’s always been pretty powerful,” he said blowing out a breath and shifting from one foot to the other, fidgeting with the spine of the book.
Lorelei put the watering can back beneath the sink and looked up at him. He was no longer bruised, but concern was all over his face. Bridgette’s question about him loving her was asked again in her mind, and she cringed, hating what she was about to say. “Honestly, Conrad, I’m surprised you still haven’t told her anything about Byron. He did sort of mention her, remember? That Blackburn girl? She could be in danger, you know.”
He squinted down at her. “I didn’t think of that.”
“And you’ve spent all your time in the basement with her for, like, a week straight—I don’t know how it didn’t casually come up.”
“We were busy with other things.”
“Oh, gross.” Lorelei twisted up her face and closed the cabinet door a little harder than she meant.
“I don’t mean that,” he said rubbing his forehead. “I asked for her help with some spells I’ve been working on. Between that and work she’s been doing for her dad, there’s been no time or energy for anything else, believe me.”
She still stuck out her tongue, but it aligned with what Bridgette had said about the binding technique she’d used on Zyr. She said Conrad had designed it. “Still, why not just tell her?”
She watched his face as he struggled for something to say. It was marginally better than him declaring he wasn’t going to tell her anything at all, but he was still holding back. She wanted him to confide in her, but if he wasn’t going to do that, he had to confide in somebody.
“Bridgette’s your girlfriend. Even if you guys break up all the time, you always end up back together, so that’s got to mean something. You should be able to talk about this kind of stuff. She can probably help, at the very least.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Conrad didn’t seem entirely convinced.
“But what do I know? I left my fiance at the altar.” She hesitated, focusing on her shoes so she didn’t have to look at him. “It just might make you feel better to be completely honest with someone you love.” She turned back to the sink, face red, and started aggressively washing her hands.
“Oh,” Conrad finally said. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
She turned the faucet off, and shook the excess water off her hands before finally turning back to him. “Unless—” But he was already gone, the door into the manor swinging shut behind him. She collapsed back against the sink and groaned.
The alalynx jumped up beside her and pawed at her arm.
“Yeah, I know,” she whispered to the winged cat, “but it was nice, okay?”
Aly tipped her head to the side and trilled, her pupils dilating.
Lorelei felt another tendril sliding over her shoulder. “I said quit it!” And she smacked the tactu
s pothos away again.
CHAPTER 10
MODEL RESIDENT
The days were growing shorter as November waned, but it wasn’t so cold that the guests were more subdued. Philomena checked with Lorelei every evening to see if Ziah’s schedule had changed, the succubus skillfully avoiding her each time, busy either with clients in her room or simply undiscoverable. Charmed folk who were visiting family for their winter holidays, greeting Lorelei with blessings from beings and places she’d never heard of, spilled in. Mr. Ecknees remained the easiest to care for, only needing a few cups of tea a day to sustain him and never complaining even through a mumble in his sleep. And then there was Mr. Carr.
He took meals in the dining room and spent most of his time alone in his room. Once Lorelei had seen him in the conservatory, but when he watched the Saturn canary trap try to take a chunk out of Grier’s finger and how Ren subdued it with a piece of raw flank steak, Mr. Carr swiftly left, not to be seen again for two whole days. What was troubling about all of this was the tablet he carried with him everywhere, skillfully tapping on the screen and taking notes, she presumed, but on what?
It was near the end of Lorelei’s evening shift, after she gave Philomena the news of Ziah’s unchanging schedule yet again, when Mr. Carr sauntered out of the dining room after dinner, tablet in hand, and up to the desk.
“Mr. Carr!” She greeted him with a wide smile as he examined the wood of the counter, not making eye contact with her. He placed the tablet down, but she could only catch that there were many tiny lines of text on it before the screen went blank.
“Yes, hello, Miss…”
“Lorelei.” She was sure she’d introduced herself before. “That’s my name. And what I am. I mean, I’m me, but also a lorelei. It’s confusing for some people, er, charmed folk.” She wanted him to know for sure, just in case there was any question which, really, there shouldn’t have been. She hadn’t given him a reason to think otherwise, right? No, of course not, but maybe now with that stupid over explanation, and, oh, god, was he saying something to her?
“…if you had a moment?”
“Sure!” She shut the guest book and leaned on it, not actually sure. She didn’t have a moment—there was a warlock who had lost his toiletries and didn’t find the duplicates the manor whipped up for him acceptable, and she still had to make a call to the local sundries store to put in an order before they closed, but none of that would probably matter to him.
“Last night I couldn’t help but notice there were these…say…lights in my room? It was very late, and I was half asleep, but when I woke up this morning, my clothes were all folded, and my shoes were tucked under the bed.”
“The faeries,”—she nodded—“they like to tidy, but I can ask them not to if you—”
“Faeries. No, that’s fine, par for the course. I just wanted to…check.”
“They’re part owners,” she said, wondering if they too needed to be registered with city hall like hexed folk. She continued to smile, but felt it leave her eyes. Was this some sort of test?
He lingered there, and she watched as he fiddled with a groove in the wood. “Also,” he went on slowly, “that…that bellboy. He’s unique.”
“Grier?” Her smile faltered.
“Is he…well, what’s going on there?” He gestured to his own face where a scar might be if, like Grier, he’d had a stepparent that used him as a punching bag.
Lorelei’s smile fell away completely. She narrowed her eyes, recalling Mayor Blackburn’s comment about what he called unsavory and riff raff. Then she thought better of her frown and lowered her voice. “Well, Mr. Carr, we’re not supposed to fraternize with the guests, but if you’re interested, I could see if he’d give you his number when you check out.”
Mr. Carr quickly recovered, rapping sharply on the desk and looking back up at her. “No. No, Ms. Lorelei, that isn’t—thank you so much for your time.”
“Of course.” She managed to smile again, even brighter. “Anything else?”
“Uh, no.” He collected his tablet and headed off for the stairs.
“Have a lovely night!” She watched him go and listened for his steps to disappear, leaning over the desk. He was athletically built and kept his hair cropped short and clean, all clues he might work for some force that required a certain level of health and tidiness like she imagined the magistratus demanded. None of her coworkers had questioned his presence there, he was just so normal—too normal, really—but of all of them, Lorelei knew exactly what she was looking for: the mayor had told her after all and even cast a spell to make it stick.
She folded her arms and sat back just as Grier came in from finishing his dinner. Lorelei frantically waved him into the office with her, shutting the door behind them.
“Ugh, are you going to yell at me about the filing?” He already looked defeated. “I’m sorry I shoved those inventory sheets in the back of the cabinet, I just really didn’t want to double check them. Isn’t once enough?”
“What?” Lorelei pulled open the closest drawer to see a crumpled set of papers stuffed in the back. “Grier!”
“Damn.” He dropped down onto one of the rolling chairs and splayed his legs out. “I mean, I wonder who did that?”
She pulled the inventory pages out and tried flattening them on her stomach. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else.”
“Oh, okay.” He fished a piece of jerky out of his pocket, ripping off a chunk with his teeth. “Shoot.”
Unsure how to go on, Lorelei leaned against the cabinet. “So, Grier, we’re friends now, right?”
“Sure,” he answered simply, chewing with his mouth open. “I mean, we’re not best friends or anything.”
“Right.”
“Yeah, for sure I would call you my friend, but you’re definitely not my best friend.”
“I got it, Grier.”
“Because that’s someone else.” He tore off another hunk of jerky then pointed at her with the sinewy bit that was left. “Not you.”
“Dude, I understand. I just need to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone else. Not even your actual best friend, all right?”
“Like a secret? Because I already know your secret.”
Lorelei rubbed her temple. It was true, Grier had known since day one she was human, and it had been quite the point of contention with him specifically, but thankfully he’d gotten past it and managed to keep her truth to himself. It helped she was the only one that knew he was actually a lycan and not the shapeshifter everyone else thought he was. “Yeah, well it has a little to do with that. You know Mr. Carr, the guy in 210 and a half? I think he might be a wizard cop.”
“That’s not a thing.”
Lorelei sighed again and tried to explain, delicately, what had happened when she went to Moonlit Shores City Hall a week and a half prior and the discussion she’d had with the mayor. He stopped chewing as she spoke and sat up straighter. “And I think Jordan Carr is one of the people who might be on Mayor Blackburn’s task force. I think he’s a magiwhatsit here to find humans.”
Grier frowned. “Sucks to be you.”
“He’s looking for undocumented hexed folk too.”
“Oh, sucks to be me too.”
Lorelei nodded, and Grier looked off toward the far side of the office. It was a strange thing to say aloud, perhaps stranger to hear, that someone may or may not be looking for you simply for existing. This wasn’t anything Lorelei had ever experienced before, but when she glimpsed back at Grier, she knew this wasn’t new for him.
“So.” He pocketed the rest of his jerky. “What do we do?”
“Well, I don’t know if there’s anything we can do except be careful.”
He didn’t look to like the sound of that, fidgeting in his seat.
“And I might be totally wrong.” She faltered, scratching her chin. “It’s just a hunch.”
“We need to know for sure.” He stood suddenly, and she took a step back, not remembe
ring the scrawny teen being quite so tall before. “We should follow him, look through his stuff, conduct a real investigation on this bastard.”
“Grier, chill.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “He might just be a regular guest.”
“And if he’s not?”
The urgency in his voice and wild look in his eye made Lorelei’s heart speed up and sweat break out on her neck. The thought of Mr. Carr whipping out a badge and zapping all of her memories, not to mention whatever he might do to Grier, gave her symptoms she was familiar with that had led to running in the past—a moderate to severe panic attack.
“I don’t like it,” he said, pacing to the other end of the narrow office and back. “Magistratus are tricky and powerful, worse than human police even. Only really elite witches and warlocks become them, and they give up a lot to do it. If he even thinks for a second something’s wrong here, he’s going to stick around until he gets an answer. We have to know what he knows, destroy any evidence he has, and chase him off.”
“Grier,” Lorelei cautioned, watching him, trying to not let herself get too worked up. “We don’t even know for sure.”
“Then we’ll find out. I’ll follow him everywhere.”
It was risky, but she didn’t hate the idea. “Fine, but don’t actually do anything without me, okay? Just see if you can pick up on his habits or something.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.”
“And don’t tell anyone,” she stressed.
“Who am I going to tell that I think a magistratus is here looking for a lycan and a human?”
She frowned back at him—hearing the words made her stomach turn over. “Please be careful.”
He narrowed his eyes and gave her a small salute then turned for the door.
“Ah, wait a minute.” She handed over the crumpled inventory papers. “First put these back where they belong. Where they actually belong.” As he groaned, she instead went to take her leave. “By the way, who is your best friend?”
He looked at her like she should have known. “Hana. Duh.”
***
The Wayward Deed (Vacancy Book 2) Page 11