by Molly Fitz
I nodded and hustled away to deliver Gloria’s drink, fearing the bottom was where I might end up if the consensus landed on the new witch playing a part in Henry’s death.
“What did you do to earn that?” Gloria smiled smugly.
I pretended I didn’t notice her intense focus on my hair, or understand what she implied, and stated the obvious. “Here’s your drink.” She’d be the last person I’d tell about Jasper, even if it would provide an explanation for my magical blunder.
A quick check on Jasper confirms he’s still asleep. The poor kitty must be exhausted, so I let him sleep rather than wake him for the tuna I’d found in the back of one of the cupboards. I’ll give him the treat later.
I resist the temptation to pull Jasper out of my locker and confess to everyone that the new dark streak in my hair is from a misspell that enabled me to talk to a cat. Because there was a good chance no one else could understand his meows, this idea would likely only make me look irrational. On second thought, it might enable me to utilize an insanity plea if I end up unjustly charged.
So far, the only suspects I’d identified included that suck up Samantha and grating on my last nerve Gloria, who’d been dying to get into Gran’s retirement community. I wouldn’t put it past her to make her own vacancy in the Willow Hill Witch condominiums by killing off one of the residents.
I leaned over the bar to whisper to Burton, “Everyone thinks we have something to do with Henry’s death.”
Burton shrugged and continued pouring drinks.
I didn’t think he had anything to do with the murder, but I needed to confirm my assumption, which meant keeping my eye on him. The concept proved challenging when I couldn’t find him several times during the shift. Odd, considering he was usually behind the bar unless the occasional need to bounce someone who got too rowdy popped up. For Burton, that typically only required an extended look and the offender would leave quickly. His lengthy absences tonight had me wondering where he’d been hiding and it made him look guilty—of what, I wasn’t sure.
But each time, as soon as I began to truly fret, there he was again, standing in his usual spot. When I questioned him about his whereabouts, he raised a brow in an odd way that makes me hesitate to challenge him and replied that he never left.
After I thought back, I realized there had been other nights when I couldn’t find him. At the time, I dismissed his absence because I was busy with customers or caught up in my own priorities.
Granted, I typically didn’t pay him much attention when I was working, but it makes me feel guilty to admit—even if only to myself—that he’s generally a means to an end. We make a great team because he’s almost intuitive as though he knows exactly what I want before I’ve asked. Tonight has shown me that I may have been taking him for granted.
I glanced toward the bar from where I stand at the back of the room. Burton is there, but he’s not serving drinks or standing in his usual cement statue pose. I frown. What is he up to? He’s acting weirder than usual.
When the band finally starts, people rushed to the dance floor and I move toward the wall to avoid spilling the tray of drinks or getting crushed in the mass of bodies. I’m careful to avoid the groups starting up their lackluster, alcohol-infused dance moves.
Burton backs away from the bar top until he’s directly in front of the shelves of liquor. After a stealthy glance from one side to the other, he raises his hand above his head to touch the weird, ugly-ass statue I’d complained about from day one and then—poof!—he was gone.
What the? Did I blink? Where the hell did he go?
I continued to struggle as I pushed my way through the throng of people and got sidetracked along the way by several customers wanting to place drink orders who had no clue I was on a mission to discover where the heck Burton snuck off to. If he had a secret hiding place to escape the masses of people and the deafening volume, he’d better share it with me.
By the time I got to the bar, he was standing there like he’d never left. He studied my exasperated face with a curious expression of his own.
I set my drink tray on the bar. “Where did you go?”
He glanced around at his obvious presence as if I’d suddenly become feeble-minded. “Here.”
“No, you weren’t here a few minutes ago. I—”
I was going to call him on it and insist that I saw him disappear, but after noting the tension lining his jaw and the way he tightened the muscles there just a tad, I knew he was lying.
If I pressed him about it now, I’d never find out where he went. Based on tonight’s events and because of my insatiable curiosity, I simply had to know where he’d gone. I worked with Burton but knew very little about him. He did his job, listened more than he spoke, and refused to share any personal details. This mystery was a chance to look a little deeper beneath his expressionless façade.
“Nothing.” I forced a chuckle. “I was probably distracted by the band. They’re really pulling them in tonight, huh? That should make Vlad happy.” I chatted on to distract him from realizing what I might, or might not, have seen.
Once I’d decided upon Operation Burton I wouldn’t be dissuaded. I’d either be able to clear his name or confirm what everyone else already suspected.
Keeping most of my focus on the bar and Burton while I worked wasn’t all that challenging—except for when I almost dumped a drink on one customer, and placed a glass on another’s hand instead of the table. To erase their scowl, I’d laughed it off as if I’d intended to do that.
As the crowd got larger and rowdier, I kept as close to the bar as possible. When Burton started his stealthy retreat to the rear of the bar, I moved in with a long list of drink orders. He wasn’t starting with the disappearing act right when I needed his help. Not this time.
But once I’d arrived, he was gone. Oh, hell to the no.
My tray landed on the bar with a clatter and I rushed behind the counter, standing in the same place where I’d last seen him. Nothing happened. After looking around, my gaze settled on the only thing that didn’t really belong in this place but that Burton had completely ignored my requests to get rid of. I raised onto my toes and craned my hand over my head, and struggled to touch the ugly monstrosity of a statue. Once I felt the cold stone, I waited, and … nothing.
This position left me looking like I was doing a weird yoga stretch and allowed ogling from a few men who’d sidled up to the bar to find me with my arm raised, boobs thrust forward, and my stomach exposed to display the little jewel in my bellybutton ring.
“Cauldrons!” I left my odd post and went to serve the leering customers. Once I got their orders, I turned and bumped directly into Burton. Stealth mode was over. I needed answers if I had any hope of eliminating him as a suspect. “Where did you go? I saw you touch that thingy up there and then you disappeared. I tried to follow you, but I couldn’t. Why? I did the same thing you did.” I blathered on, eager to rid myself of the charade of pretending I didn’t know something was going on.
He studied me for a long beat. “Nowhere.”
“It wasn’t nowhere. Come on, you can tell me. I won’t share your secret hiding place with anyone else. I just want to check it out. Maybe I could use it occasionally when I need a breather.” Plus, I really wanted to know one of his secrets. We all have them, and most people can’t keep secrets for long, but Burton was obviously an exception. He knew plenty of mine, assuming he actually listened all the times I spilled my guts about my latest blunders. Sharing them with him felt like putting them in a vault because he never told anyone anything.
“You can tell me. I tell you tons of my secrets.” My sweet smile faltered when he maintained his expressionless, unblinking stare. I raised my hand and extended all five fingers. “Fine, then I’ll keep stalking you. My customers will have to suffer since I’ll be distracted.” I ticked off a finger. “Vlad will get mad and we’ll both have to hear about it.” Another finger lowered.
I paused. Still nothing.
<
br /> I threw up both hands. “Doesn’t it seem kind of silly not to just tell me? It would save a lot of time and frustration for both of us.” I didn’t think he really cared about any of these things. I was counting on him telling me to get me to stop talking and leave him alone.
“Don’t try to follow me.” He narrowed his gaze.
I paused again, uncertain if this was a threat. His tone was consistent, as usual. “So, you’re admitting you’re sneaking off to a secret place? Tell me I’m right. Show me the place you’re going once, and I swear I’ll leave you alone. Otherwise, I’ll keep trying to pull on that weird wanger of a statue until it lets me in.”
“It won’t let you in, ever, and besides, it’s not safe for you.” His voice rose a little.
This was one of the longest sentences Burton had ever said to me, and I didn’t particularly care for how he pointed out that I, specifically, wouldn’t be allowed into his secret clubhouse. “But if I went with you, I’d be safe. Wouldn’t I?” I reached for his hand. “You know everything about me. We’re friends, aren’t we? Shouldn’t you share a little about yourself?”
At this point, I had to know something about him, anything, to validate that we were the friends I thought we were despite our odd relationship that tested the boundaries and usual criteria for most friendships. Despite him challenging all the familiar norms, I wasn’t deterred from considering him a friend.
He remained silent, staring at me with an even more serious expression than he usually wore—which I hadn’t realized was possible until now. Could it be that he was concerned about me?
I smiled. “What in the world wouldn’t be safe about a hidey-hole in Night Moves?” I hoped he didn’t point out that the corpse in the freezer might challenge my claim about the safety of the club.
The muscle in his jaw twitched. I was wearing him down. “Why isn’t it safe? Is it because I’m a woman? Or a witch? Seriously Burton, you know I can take care of myself.”
“Because you’re not a demon.” He said the words as if they were the most obvious reason.
“Obviously. But neither are you—”
My mouth gaped long enough to make me feel ridiculous when I realized it was hanging open. “But you … you can’t … they don’t …”
As the protests tumbled from my lips, more puzzle pieces fell into place. Burton was different, but he was just Burton. Plus, demons didn’t walk the earth, did they? If he was a demon, where were his horns and spiked tail? Why hadn’t he mutilated me and others long ago? The most disturbing thought was why did he and I get along so well? That had to mean something. But instead, I said nothing.
Chapter Five
What do you say to a friend who reveals that they consider the bowels of hell their home? Someone who sought out souls to serve with a piece of warm, crusty bread—or at least that’s how I envisioned it. But instead of asking any of these outrageous questions, I asked an equally stupid question. After all, I felt like I had to say something rather than continue with our silent stare off bound to end with his piercing stare setting me on fire. “Is that why you chose Florida, because it’s so hot? It reminds you of home?”
My laugh was forced and Burton didn’t join in. Not that he ever did. I don’t think I’d ever seen him laugh, and that should’ve been my first clue. What did demons find funny? Watching people burn on a fiery spit?
A demon? Just when I thought I’d heard it all, I learned that I worked alongside a demon. Who knew? Not me certainly, but I wondered if anyone else did. This could confirm he was responsible for Henry’s death, and put one more nail in Burton’s coffin … or more like one more log on his hellfire. Perhaps Henry had stumbled onto his secret and Burton had shoved him in the freezer to cool him off after making him burst into flame with a glance—or whatever it was demons did.
Nah. Demon or not, I couldn’t see Burton doing anything like that, but maybe I was naive. The sad part was that I liked him a lot better than many of my customers and fellow coworkers. “A demon? But you’re so nice.”
My words fell flat once I realized what I considered nice. Being a good listener with a dead-flat expression, intimidating rambunctious customers, and an air of creepy mystery were all potential traits of a demon. Since I’d never met one before, that I knew of, I didn’t even know if Burton was a good representation of his demon brethren.
What was the world coming to? And where in the world—or should I say out of, or below, this world—was Burton disappearing to? Perhaps this explained why there were so many supernatural species frequenting Night Moves. Maybe there was more going on—or under—than I realized. I had a lot of questions, but I was sure Burton wouldn’t agree to an interrogation about his top-secret hell retreat. But what was he doing down there? I couldn’t drop this. Without my help, he was looking guiltier than most.
Lucky for me, Burton’s never-ending patience left him waiting with his silent stare as all these possibilities ran through my mind.
“Why do you keep disappearing? If I can’t go with you, can you at least tell me what you’re doing? You have enough dirt on me to bury at least five vamps and what’s left of my lackluster reputation since I’ve been babbling all my blunders to you.” I paused. What could Burton do with all my confessions of misdeeds and, what some might consider unladylike behavior, even for a witch? Was he compiling a list of my many indiscretions to secure me a hot seat in the underbelly of the afterworld?
“You haven’t been sharing what I’ve … er, what I’ve told you, have you?” I twisted my hands together, unable to even fathom the long list of indiscretions I’d accumulated with my wayward witchy ways. It was a little late for me to turn over a new leaf. Besides, any demon wouldn’t have to work very hard to gather info on wrongdoings when this wonky witch served up her sins on a silver platter with a shot of tequila. Which, is exactly what I could use right about now.
“No. I’m just doing my job.” He glanced at the drink orders and began mixing them with efficient, expert grace.
I swallowed. Did he mean his job for Night Moves, or whatever potential other job he might have as a demon? For a second time, I longed for that shot of tequila before I broached this subject. Even if I didn’t want to know the answer, I needed more information. “Henry?”
“Who?” His brows lowered in confusion as he set down the bottle of vodka.
“The guy we found in the freezer.”
He shook his head. “I had nothing to do with him.”
I exhaled.
Dang it. And what the hell was his demon job? Were the snazzy suits part of the dress code or was that just his preference? Did they make deals for the devil or sell souls? As a demon, he must have been up to more than bartending and bouncing. Some nights, work felt like hell itself, but I’d never thought that might actually be our physical location. Was I already in hell? I frowned, contemplating what Burton’s job might entail.
He tensed and paused his cocktail shaking. The ice settled and the silence hung heavy between us. His eyes locked with mine. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re right.” He turned and continued with his task of straining the chilled cocktail into the martini glasses. Once the drinks were complete, he turned and carried them down to the other end of the bar.
Did he read my mind? Or was I just that transparent? Ava always said my thoughts were written all over my face, but she was my twin, so we had that connection.
Souls? Devil deals? This would be a good time for Burton to talk more and listen less. Otherwise I’d continue to seal my fate. I’d already established that I didn’t do well in the heat. If I had to spend an eternity festering away in an underground sauna, I’d never last, and my hair would be frizzing to high heaven.
Even if he did kill Henry, Burton operated on logic. I took another look at Burton where he was methodically mixing drinks. Would he consider the freezer a good place to tuck a corpse so it didn’t hamper business? Maybe. But when he came upon me peering at Henry in the freezer he probably would’ve just said
that he needed killing, and leave it at that.
I needed to get clues into Henry’s murder to clear my name and Burton’s.
I intended to approach Burton to question him about his whereabouts but lost my nerve. Was my judgement clouded by my dislike of Samantha and Gloria? Both seemed like better suspects, yet all the gossip I heard pointed to the fact that no one considered either of them.
Vlad said a guy would be coming around to help sort out this mess. I didn’t trust the way his gaze lingered on me when he said the word mess. Even if I proved to be an awesome charmed cocktail mixologist, if Vlad thought I was a murderer, I’m pretty sure he’d fire me.
I needed to get Jasper, go home, and talk to Gran. She’d know what to do. She knew the folks around here. Gran might be a little—or a lot—eccentric, speak when she really should filter what she says, and dress in attire more suitable for someone thirty years her junior, but she’s a well-respected witch. Surely, that would count for something.
And, she knew Henry. I sighed and glanced at the clock as my shift wound down. Someone had to tell Gran that Henry was dead. Not just dead—murdered. A conversation like that was probably better done in person rather than a text or phone call. This news would have to wait until I got home.
The guy finally showed up to review the crime scene. If you could call it that.
“He barely even looked at Henry and he’s eating up everything Samantha’s telling him.” I complained to Burton as I imagined the accusations the vengeful vamp was probably making about me while she leaned in to the were. I thought he’d be immune to her vamp charms. Apparently not.
He started heading my way while keeping a wary gaze on Burton. It was easy to see why Burton would be the prime suspect. Even if he didn’t know Burton’s true job—which I deduced was to guard the gates of the Underworld—my demon buddy didn’t look like the friendliest fella. His demeanor made him a great bouncer, but not so great as a people-person since he suffered from “resting bitch face” one-hundred percent of the time.