by Emery Belle
“Broomrobics,” he whispered back, bobbing his head to the beat. “It’s an exercise program that Fiona developed a few years ago, and it’s become the hottest thing on the island. Every one of her classes is packed, and she’s able to charge a premium because she claims it’s what keeps her looking so young.”
The music suddenly swelled, and Fiona called out, “Time to pick up the pace!” The broomsticks dropped lower, and the women began galloping around them in circles. My head was spinning just watching them, and I could feel myself getting slightly seasick.
Yanking Sebastian to the corner of the room, I slumped down to the floor, and we watched as Fiona led the women through a cool down before she thanked everyone for coming. The women gave Fiona a round of applause, accompanied by hoots and hollers, that seemed to go on forever.
When the last of the dawdlers finally made their way to the elevators, Sebastian and I approached Fiona, who was waving her wand around the room to collect the stray broomsticks.
“Class is over,” she said shortly as we approached, eyeing me up and down. I tugged self-consciously at the waistband of my jeans, wishing I hadn’t gorged myself on that third muffin at breakfast. “If you want information about the next broomrobics program, you’ll have to talk to my secretary.”
Now that the exercisers were gone, Fiona sounded decidedly less friendly. Up close, she also looked a lot older—there were worry lines around her eyes, and her lips were pinched together in a permanent scowl.
After the broomsticks had stacked themselves into neat piles, she waved her wand again and they flew in an orderly fashion toward a storage closet at the back of the room. Fiona made to brush past us, but I shifted to the side, blocking her way. “What do you think of Cassandra, the gossip columnist for The Islander Gazette?” I asked without preamble, hoping to catch her off guard.
It worked. Fiona stopped mid-stride and swung around, her eyes flashing with anger. “As far as I’m concerned, that good-for-nothing waste of space can rot in Hades for all eternity, and it still wouldn’t be enough time.” Cold fury was etched into every inch of her face, and her chest swelled as her breathing quickened. “No one embarrasses Fiona Thane and gets away with it.”
“So you haven’t heard that she was murdered?” Sebastian interjected, raising his eyebrows at me. I watched Fiona’s face for a reaction, but she didn’t even flinch at the news.
“Oh, I heard all right.” Fiona’s hands were clenched at her sides, her perfectly manicured nails pressing into her palms. “It’s nothing less than she deserves.” Then she glanced down and caught sight of my notebook, and my pen poised over it, and I heard her sharp intake of breath. “Why are you asking me about her, anyway? Did Kellen send you here?”
“Kellen’s heading the investigation into Cassandra’s death,” I said, sidestepping the question. “Can you tell us where you were on the evening of Monday, July 1?” According to Sebastian, Cassandra had stayed late at The Islander offices that night to finish up a new column. It was the last time any of the reporters saw her alive.
Fiona’s eyes widened, and she took a step back from us. “I was visiting my sister on Star Island, to get away from all the negative press coverage about my marriage. There’s only so much one woman can take, you know. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live in a house filled with memories of when my husband and I were happy? I can’t stand it.”
Her bottom lip quivered, and I felt a burst of sympathy for her that evaporated almost as quickly as it arrived when she turned her nose up at us, the haughty look returning to her eyes.
“If you think I had anything to do with that woman’s death, you’re sorely mistaken,” she said, the ice in her voice chilling me to the bone. “She wasn’t worth my time. And if you’re planning on tracking down every one of the people whose reputation Cassandra destroyed, then it’ll be centuries before you find her killer. Cassandra collected enemies like I collect diamonds. One more was never enough.”
With that, she elbowed us out of the way and stomped over to the elevators, jamming her finger repeatedly on the button. The doors finally slid open and she disappeared inside, but not before shooting us one more deadly look.
“Come on,” Sebastian said, tugging on my arm. “There’s nothing more for us to do here, and I don’t know about you, but I could use a stiff drink right about now.”
I flipped my notebook closed and slipped it back into my pocket. “Lead the way.”
“Fiona’s story can be verified easily enough,” Sebastian said as he slid out a bar stool for me and raised his hand to signal to the bartender. “We just need to get hold of the ferry records. If she left the island before Cassandra’s death, her name will be on the list.”
“I’ll take care of that,” I said quickly. This was, after all, supposed to be my investigation, and I didn’t want word getting back to Percival that Sebastian had to hold my hand every step of the way. Figuratively, that is. Although, I thought as I studied the side of his beautiful face, I wouldn’t necessarily object to a more literal interpretation.
“Sebastian!” The bartender, a tall, slim woman with waist-length black hair and violet eyes, sashayed over to us, the eyes of every man at the bar following her. “You haven’t come to visit me in so long, I thought you forgot who I was.”
She pouted her lips and planted one hand on her hip. Normally a woman like this—stunningly beautiful, but oozing desperation out of her pores—got on my last nerve, but her voice was so lilting, so musical, that I could only stare at her, entranced.
“You know I could never forget you, Karina,” Sebastian said with a wink, though he placed a hand on my arm, warming me from the inside out. “Have you met Wren? She just moved to the island a few days ago.”
“Charmed.” Karina gave me a curt nod, then turned her simpering gaze back on Sebastian. “Will you have the usual?”
“Make it two.” Sebastian smiled down at me. “Wren’s from the mainland, so she doesn’t know yet what she’s been missing. Karina makes the best drinks this side of the Pacific,” he added, nudging me gently.
Karina smiled tightly, her gaze slipping to Sebastian’s hand on my arm, and flipped her hair over her shoulders. The man sitting beside me nursing a tankard of ale stopped mid-sip and watched, open-mouthed, as her long locks cascaded down her back. As she busied herself behind the bar, shaking ice into two martini glasses and pouring a bright orange liquid over it, she began humming softly.
Sebastian, his eyes widening in alarm, promptly stuck his fingers in his ears, and every man within earshot followed suit. When I went to do the same, Sebastian shook his head and mouthed, “Not necessary.”
Noticing this, Karina narrowed her eyes and slid our glasses toward us, turning away in a huff and causing the liquid to slosh over the sides. Sebastian unstuffed one ear just long enough to slap a bill down on the bar, then motioned for me to grab our drinks.
I followed him across the room to an empty table, then handed him his drink. “What was that all about?”
“Karina’s a siren,” he explained, taking a long sip and inviting me to do the same. The orange liquid fizzed against my tongue, and within seconds, my head felt considerably lighter. “She’s lured more than one man to serious injury when she’s feeling feisty, and I don’t fancy being her next victim.”
He shuddered. “I made the mistake of taking her out to dinner once, thinking she was a sweet girl, and when I didn’t ask her for a second date, things took an ugly turn.” When he didn’t elaborate, I gulped down the rest of my drink, then began eyeing his. Man, this stuff was addictive.
“Anyway,” Sebastian said, shifting his drink subtly to the side when he noticed the gleam in my eye, “let’s get back to why we’re here.”
Why were we here? I thought as the room began to sway gently. As Sebastian talked, I kept my gaze trained on his lips, oblivious to whatever words were coming out of them. How had I never noticed how kissable they were until now? Very, very kissable. Like, seventy-
four on a scale of one to ten.
I leaned forward, grabbing onto the edge of the table for support, and began puckering my lips…
“I think Fiona’s right,” Sebastian said, smacking his palm against the table for emphasis and jolting me out of my reverie.
“Absolutely,” I choked out, snapping back to attention. My cheeks heated, though Sebastian seemed not to have noticed my strange behavior… or at the very least, he was too polite to call me out on it. I paused, casting my mind around to try and catch the thread of the conversation. “Right about what?”
“That tracking down every last one of the people Cassandra alienated is going to take the rest of our lives, and then some.” Sebastian shook his head. “We need another plan.”
“Cassandra’s death wasn’t random,” I said stubbornly, folding my arms over my chest, “especially since it happened at the office, the ‘scene of her crimes,’ so to speak. Someone sought her out, and then waited until she was alone.” I drummed my fingertips against the table as Sebastian pulled a basket of pretzels toward himself and began tossing them into his mouth by the fistful.
I watched him, chewing my bottom lip thoughtfully. “You sat next to her every day,” I said. “Did she ever mention having a problem with anyone in particular? Someone who stood out from the rest? Surely she would have confided in you.”
He shrugged, then leaned back in his chair. “Cassandra kept mostly to herself. Except…” His eyes suddenly lit up, and he smacked his hand against his forehead. “Of course! How could I have forgotten about Lazar?”
“Who’s Lazar?” I perched on the edge of my seat eagerly. “Someone who has access to a wand?” Luckily—if you could call it that—Cassandra’s manner of death was obvious, and only a skilled witch or wizard could have carried it out. That narrowed down the list of suspects considerably.
“I’ll say he does.” Sebastian blew out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember this before. Lazar is a senior member of the Sparrow Coven—well, he used to be, until he got suspended.” He paused dramatically, then leaned forward and added in a stage-whisper, “For stalking Cassandra.”
“What?” I practically toppled out of my chair in excitement. This was a solid lead. I could feel it in my bones.
Sebastian swallowed the rest of his drink and brushed a few stray pretzel crumbs from his lips. “It started out with a couple harmless pieces of fan mail, which eventually led to him making excuses to stop by the office and visit her. When she realized what was happening, she went to Percival, who banned him from the building. But then Lazar just started showing up outside her house, claiming he was on his way to visit a friend who lived in the neighborhood.” He frowned. “But she filed a formal complaint with the police, which seemed to do the trick. That was a couple years ago, and as far as I know, she hasn’t heard from him since.”
“Two years is a long time to hold a candle for someone who isn’t interested in you, especially if he hasn’t been allowed near her.” I grabbed a pretzel from the bowl and nibbled the edges. “If he ever planned on hurting her, why would he wait so—”
I stopped mid-sentence, nearly choking on my pretzel, as my eyes landed on something across the room—or should I say someone—that shouldn’t have been there.
He was draped casually across a chair, fingering the rim of his tankard, but I could tell it was just an act, especially when his eyes slid to mine. He held my gaze, his eyes dark and forbidding, and my palms broke out into a cold sweat. He was here. Again. Following me.
“What is it?” My distress must have shown on my face, for Sebastian twisted around in his seat, frowning as he scanned the room.
“That man.” My voice was shaky. “Over there. Wearing the black cloak.” I pointed to the table where the man in black was sitting, alone. As our gazes caught again, he lifted his tankard in a toast and took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I don’t see anyone.” Sebastian squinted around the bar again, then looked at me in concern. I saw him glance down at my empty glass, and understanding registered on his face. “Ah,” he said. “Strong stuff. Maybe I should have started you out with something a little weaker.”
He hopped down from his chair and took my arm, then gave a wide, exaggerated yawn that I knew was for my benefit before he prodded me out of my chair and led me across the bar. “I don’t know about you,” he said, shouldering open the door, “but I’m ready to call it a night. I haven’t had this much excitement in my life in years, and I think it’s getting the best of me.” He grinned down at me, but I could only offer a tight-lipped smile in response.
Twisting around, I attempted to snatch one last glimpse of the man in black, but when I scanned the room again, he was nowhere to be found. That was twice I’d seen him, and twice no one else seemed to notice his presence. Who was he, and, more importantly, why was he following me?
Or, more worryingly, was he just a figment of my imagination?
Whatever was going on, my gut instinct was telling me that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Chapter 10
“Today we’ll be practicing a basic cleaning spell,” Lady Winthrop announced, passing around the box of training wands, “useful for scrubbing countertops, floors, and wiping up small spills.”
She brandished her own wand with a flourish and pointed it to the wall across the room, and an apartment-sized kitchen appeared with a pop. The counters and stovetop were covered in a thick layer of grime and looked like they hadn’t been scrubbed down in months, and a couple of flies flittered around a stack of unwashed dishes.
“No,” she muttered to herself, flicking her wand toward the kitchen. “That’s too dirty. Sometimes I get a little ahead of myself.” The unwashed dishes disappeared, and the grime was replaced with a few streaks of dirt and an overturned carton of orange juice. “Much better.”
She pointed toward Hunter. “Cleaning isn’t just woman’s work,” she said, “no matter what some wizards like to think.” Her face turned mutinous, and Garnet and I exchanged amused glances. “So Hunter will go first. The spell is mundare.”
Hunter walked to the front of the room, rolling up his sleeves with a look of determination. “Mundare,” he said, jabbing his wand toward the mess. The carton righted itself but wobbled precariously on the edge of the countertop, and the patches of dirt faded slightly, though orange juice still dripped steadily onto the floor.
“Very good,” Lady Winthrop said, then nodded to Garnet, who got to her feet a bit unsteadily, took a deep breath, and positioned herself across from the makeshift kitchen. I could feel her tension from where I was sitting, and offered her a few silent words of encouragement that I hoped she could sense. I had a feeling she was still thinking of her disastrous last attempt at spell casting.
Lady Winthrop, who must have been thinking along the same lines, took a few quick steps back from Garnet. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said with an encouraging smile.
“Mundare,” Garnet said, gripping her training wand, and a great rush of sound seemed to rupture from its tip before the carton of juice burst into flames that rose almost to the ceiling.
“Aqua!” Garnet shouted, aiming her wand haphazardly at the roaring fire, but whatever liquid arced toward it only seemed to expand the flames.
Hunter and I raced for the windows, choking on the thick smoke billowing in the air, and threw them open. We stuck our heads out, gasping for breath, as Garnet cried “I’m sorry” over and over again while Lady Winthrop threw spell after spell at the growing flames. A couple of students lounging beneath the shade of an oak tree on the academy’s front lawn glanced up at the commotion, saw us, and waved, then resumed chatting as if this was an everyday occurrence.
Fifteen minutes later, the fire now under control, a harried-looking Lady Winthrop dismissed us early from class, but not before snatching away our training wands and locking them firmly in their box. Hunter patted a tearful Garnet awkwardly on the back as we
walked outside, and I inhaled deeply to take in as much of the scent of sunshine and sea air as I could.
“Why don’t we grab a bite to eat?” I suggested to Garnet as Hunter headed off to his job at the Magic Island real estate office, covertly scrubbing some of the soot marks from his clothes. “My treat.”
Garnet nodded gratefully, and I linked my arm through hers, brushing the last of the ash from her hair when she wasn’t looking. We grabbed a table at an outdoor café overlooking the docks and distracted ourselves for a few minutes watching boats chugging to and from shore.
“So,” Garnet said after the waitress brought over two tall glasses of mango lemonade, “what’s going on with you and Sebastian?”
“What do you mean?” I frowned at her over the rim of my glass.
“Don’t play coy,” she teased, raising her eyebrows at me as she pushed the umbrella in her lemonade out of the way and took a sip. “I saw the way he was looking at you the other day, and the rumor mill tells me that you were spotted getting drinks last night, looking awfully cozy. Are the two of you an item?” Though her voice was casual, I thought I caught a hint of hardness at the edges of her words.
“No,” I said, pulling my sweater tighter around me as a cool breeze wafted in with the waves. “We work together at The Islander, and he’s helping me with my first assignment.”
As we waited for our sandwiches to arrive, I filled her in on how I’d convinced Percival to let me temporarily suspend the gossip column while I snooped around the island investigating Cassandra’s death. So far, I didn’t have much to show for it, though it seemed like Kellen and his crew weren’t making any better progress, since the murder continued to remain unsolved.
“That was pretty brave of you to confront Fiona Thane,” Garnet said, popping a fry into her mouth. “She’s one of the most powerful women on the island. Or, she used to be, I guess, since she won’t be the mayor’s wife anymore.” She grabbed a bottle of what looked like purple sludge from a tray on the table and began dumping it over her fries.