When my daughter and I reviewed that detail, she became flustered. “If anyone kills my father before I get to meet him, they’ll have to deal with me.”
“Anyone?” I snickered. “Remember, your grandmother did take a chunk out of him,” I said. “Via the neck.” I gave her a double eyebrow raise. “You should take it up with Gigi next time you see her. That’ll be fun.”
“Right,” she said flatly. “Fun.”
“So much family drama,” Ribbons commented.
In unison, Zoey and I said to him, “You love family drama.”
He paused, his cutlery in midair—he’d taken to using a fork and knife to eat human meals for reasons unexplained.
“No,” Ribbons said defensively. “Human family drama is boring, because all human affairs are boring.”
Zoey and I exchanged a look. She rolled her eyes. For someone who complained how boring we were, Ribbons spent a lot of time hanging out with us.
“These cabbage entrails are not entirely unpleasant,” Ribbons said, changing the subject. He preferred to make up his own terms for human food. Cabbage entrails sounded more fierce and wyvern-y than coleslaw.
We continued eating and talking about genies, then about sprites. I’d broken our no-books-at-the-dinner-table rule and had the DWM Monster Manual open next to me. I pictured my boss, Kathy, the head librarian, as I paraphrased the information to Zoey.
“Sprites aren’t in this book at all,” I reported. “Under sprites, it says ‘see trolls.’ The trolls page is pretty short. I guess our book editor, good old Jorg Ebola, didn’t think much of them.”
Zoey asked, “Are there pictures?”
“There’s a bridge with a pair of eyes gleaming from the darkness underneath.”
“Are you joking or is it really that offensive?”
“I’m not joking. I’m not even a troll or a sprite, and even I’m a little offended.”
Zoey pouted. “I wish I could see it myself.”
But she couldn’t see it. I had to describe the glamoured contents of the book to her. Even though she had manifested some witch abilities, such as her telepathic connection with Ribbons, she wasn’t yet able to see through the fake text. To her eyes, the Monster Manual was a textbook entitled Second Year Intermediate Economics, and I was reading it upside down.
“Ms. Carmichael doesn’t seem like a troll to me,” Zoey said.
I winced and held my finger to my lips. “Not so loud,” I said, feeling guilty. “Maisy wasn’t supposed to tell me, so you knowing about it is wrong on two counts.”
Zoey waved her hand impatiently. “More information about trolls, please.”
“Sprites.”
“Whatever.”
“Words matter. Would you want to be referred to as a werefox? A carnal beast who changes whether she wants to or not with the waxing and waning of the moon?”
“Gross.”
“Exactly.” I scanned the page before summarizing. “This creature’s strongest talent is its digestive system. They can eat practically anything.”
Zoey snickered. “We Riddles must be part troll. I mean sprite.”
“Please. Don’t even joke. Our family tree is already complicated enough.”
“What else? Can they cast spells?”
“No. But their tongues are prehensile.”
“Like monkey tails?” She stuck out her tongue and waggled it. “My tongue is not prehensile.”
“They can also use their tongues like whips.”
Ribbons chimed in. “They can regurgitate potions.”
Zoey shot me a stunned look. “Is that true?”
“The book says their three stomachs produce different kinds of compounds.” I rubbed my chin. “It doesn’t say anything in here that would explain Kathy’s weakness for stale birthday cake.”
“That could just be a librarian thing,” Zoey said.
“True. I’ve never met a librarian who could turn down...” I trailed off, distracted by the ghost who’d entered the dining room. Ishmael Greyson had come in, casual as could be, and taken a seat at the foot of the table. I cleared my throat. “Cake,” I finished. “Speaking of which, what’s for dessert?” I kept an eye on Ishmael. His throat was glowing, but he appeared to be calm enough, content to watch us eat.
“Dessert is apple pie,” Zoey said, and she went to get it.
Ribbons sent me a private message. “Is the ghost back, Zed? Something is glowing.”
“It’s our friend,” I whispered. “He’s sitting at the foot of the table.”
“That means the human detective hasn’t finished his task, Zed.”
“It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours. Give Bentley a break. The guy’s only human, after all.”
“Puny human,” Ribbons agreed.
Zoey returned with the pie. The scent of cinnamon filled the air.
I calmly informed my daughter that a certain house guest, wink wink, was sitting at the foot of the table, and that it would be polite to set a wedge of apple pie in front of him. She may have suspected I was playing a game to get an extra piece for myself, but she played along anyway. Whatever genie powers she had, they didn’t give her the gift—or the curse—of seeing ghosts.
My daughter and I kept talking, acting as though nothing was wrong.
As we were finishing our second helpings of apple pie, Zoey said, “I think I’m lucky to have two powerful parents.”
“Oh? Because of what you might inherit?”
“That, and also because if anything bad happened to me, both a witch and a genie would take vengeance!” Her voice took on a dramatic flair. “If someone messes with me, they’ll have to deal with my family!” She hit the table with her open hand. The candles rattled. “Vengeance will be swift!”
She was sounding a lot like Ribbons. “My daughter the avenger.” I shook my head.
“Speaking of The Avengers, that gives me an idea,” she said. “Movies are a great way to do research. I’ll hit the books, of course, but first, I’m going to watch every movie that has a genie in it, starting with Aladdin.”
“Sounds fun,” I said. “We could finish the weekend with a mini film festival.”
“I’ll come if there’s popcorn,” Ribbons said.
Movement at the foot of the table drew my eye. I turned to the ghost, though I didn’t need to see him to know he was upset. I could feel his emotions affecting me. Thanks to his inner turmoil, I suddenly had muscle tension in my entire body. And the urge to grab the dining room table and flip it.
Ishmael’s mouth was agape. His usually-buggy eyes were threatening to pop out of his head again. He got to his feet slowly, looking left and right with a panicked expression.
Ribbons sent me another private message. “What’s happening, Zed?”
“He’s freaking out,” I replied. “I can feel it. He’s angry and scared, all mixed together.”
“Be strong,” Ribbons said. “Look at me. Look into my eyes.”
I turned to the wyvern. He had dropped his utensils and fanned out his wings. He curled his talons around the back of the chair, digging into the wood.
His black eyes bore into mine, and I felt a wave of serenity flowing from the wyvern and washing over me. I unshielded my mind and thanked him. I felt I could withstand the ghost’s emotions now that I was prepared.
Now a question rose to my mind.
What had upset the ghost? We’d been enjoying a weird yet peaceful Sunday family dinner. Everything had been going well, but now something had changed.
I studied Ishmael. He got up from the chair and started pacing. He paced faster and faster, until he was practically running in circles, like a dog chasing its tail.
I tore my gaze away and looked at Zoey. She couldn’t see Ishmael, but she could read my body language well enough to know something was up.
Zoey asked, “Is the ghost doing something?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Did he take his head off?”
“Ew. No. He’s paci
ng.”
“That’s not so bad.” She went back to eating her apple pie. “Let me know if I should be concerned.”
“Will do.”
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. The rubbing of the temples wasn’t magic, but it did help my memory.
Images from the weekend’s investigation came to me in flashes. The twin streaks of blood on the wall. The head in the trophy cabinet. Family. Vengeance. Fire. Flying. Curved knives. Green busts made of gelatin. A Jersey cow chewing buttercups in an alpine meadow. The tattoo of a cougar. A car charging toward me. My hands, stuck to a hot table. Glowing eyes beneath a bridge. Family. My thoughts kept returning to family. And vengeance. That was what Zoey had been talking about a moment earlier.
My eyes flew open.
Zoey, who’d been looking at me, startled in her chair. “You scared me,” she said, then, “Mom? You’re not possessed again, are you?”
“I’m only possessed by a really good theory,” I said.
“Oh?”
Ribbons chimed in, “Tell us, Zed!”
“Not until I’m sure,” I said.
They both groaned.
“On the positive side, our dinner guest has just given me the information I needed.” I pushed my chair back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to do something.” I got to my feet. “I have to find Bentley and tell him the killer’s been under our nose this whole time.”
Chapter 31
Five Days Later
Friday, July 22
5:25 pm
Five days after Ishmael Greyson’s ghost gave me the key to solving his homicide, I was wandering around the DWM’s underground headquarters by myself.
As I walked by an open office door, I muttered under my breath, “Where is that hallway? It’s like a maze down here.”
The person inside the office must have heard me, because he looked up from his desk.
“Steve,” I said, my voice cheerful at my apparent relief in seeing a familiar face. “How do you find your way around this maze? Do you drop breadcrumbs to make a trail?”
His round face broke into a bright grin. “Oh, no. Management frowns on that. It attracts ants.”
I stood hesitantly in the doorway and glanced around the lawyer’s office. “You sure have a lot of candy on your desk. I notice it’s all red candy.”
“As you can see, some stereotypes are based on truth. We iguammits love our red candy.” He waved for me to come into his office. “Would you like a piece, or would you rather not spoil your dinner?”
I came in, set down my heavy tote bag, and lifted the lid off a jar of red jawbreakers. “Don’t make me laugh. Mr. Adebayo, you don’t have enough candy here to spoil my appetite.”
“Call me Steve,” he said. “I insist.”
“Thanks, Steve.” I dug into the jawbreakers.
He opened the jar of red licorice, selected one, and gently tapped it against my jawbreaker in a toast gesture. “To pre-dinner candy,” he said.
I made short work of the jawbreaker and immediately started the next one. He pushed up his tortoiseshell glasses and watched me. He was curious about what I was doing down there at the underground headquarters, but I didn’t volunteer any information. You first, I thought.
“It’s a shame they haven’t made any progress on Ishmael’s case,” he said. “Are you... still working on that?”
“No need.” I flicked one hand through the air. “It’s all but wrapped up.”
“They’re closing the case, unsolved?”
I waggled my eyebrows. “The opposite.” I leaned forward and whispered, “Can you keep a secret?”
He sniffed and grew taller in his chair. “I’m a lawyer.”
“But you’re not my lawyer.”
He looked me steadily in the eyes. “Zara, I can keep a secret. What’s going on?”
I reached for another jawbreaker but changed my mind and went for the jelly beans instead. “I can talk better around jelly beans than jawbreakers,” I explained.
“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently.
“So, here’s the thing.” I looked behind me. “Should we close the door?”
“I don’t know. Should we?”
I shrugged. “You never know.” I was closest, so I leaned back and pushed the door shut without getting up from my chair. I couldn’t use magic, since Codex’s dampening field was still in effect.
Once the door was closed, the interior of Steve’s office felt eerily still and soundproof. The fake window behind him, showing a view of a wheat field, didn’t do much to help me forget we were several stories beneath the surface.
“So, here’s the thing,” I said, using the juicy-gossip voice that always got my coworker Frank riled up. “It turns out there’s a good reason those high-tech movie projectors weren’t allowed off the department’s premises.”
“Oh?” Steve looked both surprised and interested.
“They’re spy devices. They might have been broadcasting images, but they were actually sucking up way more than they ever sent out.”
“What? Are you talking about,” he lowered his voice in spite of the closed door, “surveillance?”
I nodded.
“Oh.” He leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. “Oh!” He leaned forward and grasped the edge of his desk as though steadying himself. “Oh,” he said a third time, and leaned back, both hands curled into hooks against his chest. “Well, they can’t do that,” he said. “It’s an invasion of privacy.”
“It sure is. I’m surprised the news hasn’t traveled down here to your department. I bet it’s a real legal can of worms.”
Steven hunched into his chair while his face went through a dozen variations on upset. “So many worms,” he said.
“People are probably scrambling to cover their butts right now, but at least one good thing has come out of this. Ishmael Greyson had one of the units in his apartment. There’s a very good chance it captured footage of his killer.” I nodded down at my tote bag. “Assuming the killer wasn’t another ghost, or someone invisible.”
Steve said nothing. His glasses slid down his nose slowly.
“That’s why I’m down here.” I leaned over, picked up the tote bag, and placed it on my lap. “The box from Ishmael’s was buried in red tape at the police station evidence locker. Bentley finally got it out today.” I puffed up my chest with pride. “He deputized little ol’ me to bring it here to the tech department for footage retrieval. According to the techies Bentley talked to on the phone, it’s going to take a few days. We’re not holding our breath or anything, but we might have our killer by Monday.” I grabbed another handful of jelly beans and stuffed my mouth. “These beans are the perfect amount of stale, by the way. Nice and chewy.”
“You’re taking the box that was at Ishmael’s apartment to the tech floor for data retrieval?”
I pointed a finger at the lawyer. “You got it.” I turned my head toward the closed door. “That is, if I can find the techies in this maze.”
“Oh,” he said. “Oh! I could take you there. No. Even better. I could take the box. I’m heading there shortly. It’s on my way.”
“I don’t know. Bentley told me not to dilly-dally.”
“I’ll take it straight there.” He got up from his chair. “Right away.”
I nodded, unzipped the tote bag, pulled out the plastic evidence bag containing the box, and set it on the desk between us. “Sure, why not? If you can’t trust a lawyer, who can you trust?”
As Steve reached for the box, there was a series of urgent beeps coming from his computer.
“That sounds important,” I said, nodding at the desktop machine.
He slowly turned and leaned down to read his computer monitor screen. “There’s a memo here about undocumented surveillance and possible legal issues.”
“Hah!” I pointed at my chest. “You heard it from me first.”
He moaned. “It’s just one mess after another.”
“I guess tha
t’s why they pay you guys the big bucks.” I got to my feet. “Not me, of course. I’m just a librarian.” I opened the door. “Promise you’ll take that box to the tech department right away? I don’t mean to be dramatic, but being haunted by Ishmael’s ghost is getting old. It’s time for our buddy to move on.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Steve clicked off his computer monitor, picked up the evidence bag, and clasped the box to his chest. “I’m heading down there right now.”
“Then what? Are you working late today or heading home?”
He frowned. “I’m not sure. Why?”
“Come stop by the cafeteria in,” I checked the time, “exactly one hour.”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m somewhat busy.”
I wagged a finger at him. “You can’t say no to me. Not today. It’s my birthday.”
He sucked in air audibly. “It is? Happy birthday.”
“It’s not a big deal.” I rolled my eyes. “Okay, it’s kind of a big deal. The cafeteria made a special cherry cheesecake. A few of my other DWM friends will be there, too. They’ll probably make me blow out an embarrassing number of candles. You have to join us.” I stamped one foot. “You have to!”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “One hour. Cheesecake in the cafeteria. I’ll be there.”
Chapter 32
One Hour Later
Light from the artificial windows filled the cafeteria with a golden glow that passed for summer sunshine.
The DWM’s working-through-dinner crowd had cleared out, leaving only our group of five and our massive dessert. It was a football field of cherry cheesecake, dotted with candles. Too many candles, if you ask me, but I hadn’t been in charge of that detail.
Seated around one rectangular table were a few of my friends who worked in or above the building: Charlize, Rob, Knox, and Bentley. Respectively, they were a gorgon, a bird shifter, another bird shifter, and a human.
Charlize was extremely powerful, able to turn living creatures into stone and back again. To the outside observer she was just a pretty blonde in a flashy silver catsuit. She looked about as menacing as an aerobics instructor. Our path to friendship had taken some twists and turns. When Charlize and I first met, she’d pranked me by pretending I’d been in a coma for years. It wasn’t funny at the time, but we laughed about it now. I had originally been jealous of her easy friendship with my shifter neighbor, Chet Moore, but as my crush on him faded, my appreciation of Charlize had grown. We became friends. It didn’t hurt that I’d saved her sister’s life, and then Charlize had saved mine, bringing me back from the brink of death with her gorgon powers. Sure, she’d also betrayed my trust at least twice, but we were moving past it. Our friendship had its ups and downs, but what relationship doesn’t? It certainly wasn’t boring.
Wardens of Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 1) Page 24