Introducing Cassie Scot: ParaNormal Detective by Christine Amsden!
Meet Christine Amsden
Connect and Socialize with Christine!
ParaNormal Detective by Christine Amsden (2013)
Length: 260 pages
Purchase your copy from Amazon!
ParaNormal Detective Blurb:
Cassie Scot: Secrets and Lies by Christine Amsden (2013)
Length: 274 pages
Purchase your copy from Amazon!
Cassie Scot: Secrets and Lies Blurb:
To complicate matters, Cassie owes Evan her life, making it difficult for her to deny him anything he really wants. And he wants her. Sparks fly when they team up to find two girls missing from summer camp, but long-buried secrets may ruin their hopes for happiness. Book 2 in the Cassie Scot series.
The Cassie Scot Series:
Book 1: Cassie Scot:
Book 2: Cassie Scot: Secrets and Lies
ParaNormal Detective Excerpt:
I've been called a lot of things in my life: normal, ordinary, and even a disappointment. After the Harry Potter books came out, a couple of people called me a squib. Since I haven't read them, I have to assume it's a compliment.
Personally, I prefer normal, which is why the sign on my office door reads: Cassie Scot, Normal Detective.
You have to understand that around here, when your last name is Scot, people are easily confused. Not only are my parents powerful practitioners, but I have six talented brothers and sisters. Plus, my family hasn't always been known for its subtlety. When weird stuff happens around here, the people who are willing to believe in magic are prone to suspect the Scots.
The day I opened for business I got a call from an old woman who swore her cat was possessed by the devil. She also swore she'd read my web site, which clearly stated the types of work I did and did not do. Exorcisms were on the No list, and while I hadn't specified pet exorcisms, I would have thought it was implicit.
After that auspicious beginning, things went downhill. It seemed people weren't entirely convinced an associates' degree and six months as a deputy with the local sheriff's department was quite enough to fly solo. I did receive three calls from people asking me to cast spells to look for lost items, two from people in search of love potions, and two from a pair of neighbors who each wanted me to curse the other. I thought I'd hit bottom, when a ten-year-old boy wandered into my office one afternoon and asked me to help him summon Cthulhu.
It was a near thing, but I managed to rein in my sarcasm long enough to explain the difference between the real world and horror worlds created by early 20th century authors. He seemed more or less convinced until my brother, Nicolas, came in and started juggling fireballs. Kind of walked all over my point there. He's a terrible showoff; thinks it helps him with women. For some reason, it does.
Sheriff David Adams, my old boss, stopped by once every couple of weeks to "check in on me" and offer me my old job back, but I always turned him down. It's not that I disliked working for him. In fact, he was a great boss and a good person, albeit in a little over his head. Eagle Rock, Missouri and the surrounding areas have more than their fair share of strange and unexplained cases. I would even say that I took the job hoping to use my better-than-average knowledge of the paranormal to help protect the innocent, but in the end, those cases only served to remind me that despite my magical connections, I, too, was in over my head.
So I quit. I got my private license, rented an office, and installed a frosted-glass door like in the old movies, then I furnished it with the sort of busted up furniture that costs an arm and a leg to make look just right. The old wooden filing cabinets behind the desk and the office chairs in front came from estate sales, but I finished the desk myself. It was a beautiful piece of lacquered mahogany before my hammer and screwdriver got through with it. I did that just after the cat exorcism call. It was rather therapeutic.
By the door stood an old wooden hat and coat rack, while a nearby table held a coffee maker, compliments of my father. I don't actually drink coffee, but Dad told me to have some for my customers, so I brewed a pot every morning while I waited for my tea to steep.
It was June seventh, a Monday. I'd spent six months in that office, going in to work at eight o'clock, breaking for lunch at noon, then going home at five. That day started like all the others. I updated my Facebook page to say that I was at work and feeling happy, though that last was a lie. I checked a few of my favorite blogs, posted a couple of comments that I'm sure were witty and insightful (though I suspect no one read them), and twittered that I'd just posted the comments to the blogs. After that, I picked up my kindle and buried myself in some mystery novel I'd already solved by page thirty seven.
When the door opened, I was sure it would be Sheriff Adams, in for his bi-weekly chat. As the months wore on with no sign of a client, it was becoming harder to politely turn him away. In recent weeks, my replies had become more blunt, bordering on rude. I'd really hoped he wouldn't come around that day, on my half year anniversary, but just in case he did, I had come up with a story about a statewide convention I was sure would help me find work. The convention part was true–the certainty less so.
All I can say is, it was a good thing my parents were rich.
I lowered my kindle and raised my eyes to the door. The words, "Hi, Sheriff," started to spill from my mouth when I realized it wasn't the sheriff at all. It was Frank Lloyd, from Lloyd and Lyons, a man I knew more by name and reputation than anything else. My boyfriend had a summer internship with his firm, and a good friend of mine worked there as a receptionist. Lloyd and Lyons specialized in family law, especially divorces, and the gist of the reputation was that if your marriage was over, you'd better get to Frank Lloyd before your soon-to-be-ex did.
He looked impressive. His head nearly touched the top of the door frame, while his broad shoulders aimed for the sides. He wore an expensive dark gray suit that had been tailored to fit his athletic frame. His face was long and handsome, featuring deep, dark eyes and a wide, curving mouth that formed into a friendly smile. It was the sort of face that commanded trust.
Lightning flashed outside, brightening the room for the space of a few seconds, and I couldn't help but smile. All the best stories started in a thunderstorm, didn't they? I had no idea what the day would bring, but one thing was for certain–Frank Lloyd was not there to ask me to exorcise his cat.
He laid a long, black umbrella carefully against the wall near my coat rack, and strode confidently inside. "Hello, Ms. Scot."
"Cassie, please." I wound my way out from behind my desk and offered him my hand. He took it, his grip firm and self-assured.
"Cassie, I'm Frank Lloyd." He released my hand but held my gaze as if he could take the measure of me by looking through them to my soul. Some practitioners can do that, actually, but I've never met one.
"Yes, I know." I did not lower my eyes. Something told me that would be a sign of weakness. "What can I do for you?"
"I've got a small job for you, if you have the time." It was very diplomatic of him to say it like that, since I'm sure he knew I had plenty of time.
"What's the job?"
"Serving a subpoena,"
Ok, so it wasn't sexy, but it was a job, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with magic–or so I thought. In any case, at that precise moment, I couldn't have been more excited if he'd dropped some line out of a movie about someone trying to kill him.
"I can do that," I said in a calm, measured tone. "Who am I serving?"
Frank broke eye contact and stepped around me to the desk, where he laid his black briefcase down and opened it. On top of a large sheaf of papers lay a plain white envelope with the name, "Belinda Hewitt" written on it in a long, slanted handwriting.
Hewitt was another name that many people in town associated with magic, though few were diplomatic where the Hewitts were concerned. Even my mom called them witches, and she normally wouldn't call a woman a sorceress. (She thinks it's sexist.)
Belinda was a gifted herbalist and an expert potion maker. A gift is, well, it's a special power tied to the soul in such a way that it can be performed almost without thought, and it has a strong influence over the bearer's personality. Most sorcerers possess a gift, as well some seemingly ordinary people, though in the latter case you can usually find magic in their family tree. Belinda's gift was growing things, but to say she had a green thumb would be like saying a diva could sing. Belinda could grow things, anything, anywhere, and under conditions that would starve farmers out of business.
She sold a lot of her plants and herbs to local practitioners, though my parents refused to buy from her because of the other thing she liked to do–brew potions, especially love potions. At any given time, she would have two or three men under the influence of powerful love potions that made them hopelessly devoted to her. She would play with them for a few months or a few years, depending upon how interesting they were, and then cast them aside. She'd torn families apart.
It was mind magic. My dad liked to say that magic itself is never black; only the uses to which it is put, but mind magic is already tinted a deep, dark gray.
As far as I knew, though, Belinda had never been married, so I wasn't sure what Frank Lloyd would want with her.
"Belinda Hewitt?" I raised an eyebrow at Frank in question.
"My firm is filing a class action lawsuit against her on behalf of a number of men who feel her love potions have caused them irreparable harm."
"Gutsy move." I approved. I whole-heartedly approved, but going head to head against a practitioner could be dangerous, to say the least. For the most part, they did what they wanted to do and suffered no interference, not from other practitioners and certainly not from the law.
I wasn't entirely sure what Belinda would do to me if I showed up on her doorstep with a subpoena. Probably, nothing, since she'd have to answer to my parents for anything she did to me. That may even have been why Frank chose me, but I wasn't too proud to take advantage of my connections when it suited me, as long as the job itself was normal.
"Belinda is going to curse you for this," I said as I took the envelope from Frank.
He just smiled. "I appreciate your concern, but it's about time the sorcerers living in our community learn they are not above the law."
What a beautiful sentiment. I used to think that way, back when I'd first dreamed of becoming a cop. Fat chance, though. The sorcerers in our community owned this town, whatever most of the regular folks thought. Everyone else was tolerated, and that included me.
For a minute, I wondered if I should try to talk him out of it. As much as I loved the idea of putting an evil witch in her place, Belinda wasn't someone to mess with. That either meant he didn't believe in magic, didn't understand it, or he had an ace up his sleeve.
I lifted my eyes to his and saw the confident, calculating expression there. He was still sizing me up, and in that moment I took the measure of him as well. He wasn't insanely successful because he walked into anything blindly.
"You have an ace," I said. It wasn't a question.
Frank just smiled.
"I'll run this over to Belinda's this morning," I said. "I'll give you a call when it's done."
Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "If this works out, we may have some more work for you."
I took the card from him, letting a genuine smile touch my lips. Lightning struck again and thunder rumbled. "Thank you."
He packed up his briefcase and left without another word.
***Most of the magical practitioners in the area preferred to live outside of town, and Belinda was no exception. Her two-story home was within easy walking distance of Table Rock Lake. Since my parents hated her, I had never been to her home, but I knew the house doubled as a shop, and many of her potions were for sale, including some weaker love potions.
It should have been an easy job, since Belinda's shop was open for business Sunday through Thursday from nine to one. As I headed to her place, the rain even eased to a drizzle, and a hopeful ray of sunshine peered out between a couple of dark clouds.
For someone who liked to use rich men, the house itself was relatively modest. It had a red brick facade in front and white vinyl siding along the sides and back. There wasn't much noteworthy about it, but perhaps that was because the eyes immediately moved to the surrounding grounds.
The front yard didn't seem to have a single blade of regular grass, or any weeds for that matter. Instead, marbled walkways wound around beds of flowers, bushes, trees, and other plant life. The house stood on a full acre and from what I could see, she could have charged admission. Whatever else she was, Belinda possessed a true gift.
I parked my powder blue Jaguar in the long, circular drive behind a red pickup truck that earned only a passing glance. I grabbed the leather folder I had used to keep the subpoena flat and dry, and made my way to the front door, which was also the entrance to her shop. A black and orange sign hung from the door, proclaiming in no uncertain terms that the store was CLOSED. Beneath the sign, her clearly posted hours indicated she should have been open for business at nine o'clock. I glanced at my watch, which read nine thirty.
Frowning, I rang the doorbell. I heard it chiming through the house, but there were no echoing footsteps or movement of any kind. I rang it again several times before backing away from the porch.
Something felt wrong. Sure, she could have just gone off to the grocery store, and gotten hung up on the way back, but that didn't explain why several hanging vines on her porch were starting to wilt.
I took another look behind me at the red pickup, really seeing it for the first time. It couldn't have been Belinda's. Granted, I didn't know for sure what she drove, and she might need a truck for hauling landscaping materials, but given her tendency to lure wealthy or powerful men into her web, I suspected she would only drive new vehicles. This one was at least five years old and had a dent in the fender, as if it had once been in an accident. That dent, more than anything else, told me the truck wouldn't fit with her neatly ordered existence. It might have belonged to a customer, of course, but if the shop was closed, then where had the customer gone?
There was an unattached two-car garage a little further down the driveway, so I took a quick walk that way to see whether Belinda had a car parked inside. It didn't tell me as much as I'd hoped. There was a car parked inside–a fairly new red Jeep Cherokee with a personalized license plate reading "LUV U," but beside it was a spot for another vehicle. She could be out, or she could just have one car, but it didn't shed any light on who owned the pickup truck.
My natural curiosity tempted me to explore the grounds and the back of the house, but good sense told me the place would be warded. I didn't like it, but I didn't have much choice in the matter. I would have to wait. I reasoned that if Belinda had gone out during business hours, she would have to come back soon.
But as I walked back to my car, I couldn't help noticing the hanging plants again. I shivered, dug the cell phone out of my purse, and dialed the sheriff's number. I ignored the tiny twinge of guilt telling me I was taking advantage of our friendship, reasoning that I had a hunch, and my hunches were usually good.
"Sheriff here," said the deep male voice on the other end of the line.
"Hi, it's Cassie."
"Cassie, I was just thinking of stopping by. When are you coming back to work?"
"Not today." I allowed myself a moment of pride. "I have a job."
"Really?" He didn't sound enthusiastic. "What do you need?"
"I found an abandoned car out by the lake," I said. "I've got a weird feeling about it, and wondered if you'd run the plates."
"All right. I'm in the middle of a dozen things, but give me the number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." It was a mark of his esteem for me that he didn't even question the request. I only prayed he didn't have his hopes up about my returning to work for him.
After rattling off the number and disconnecting the call, I moved my car to the other side of the circle drive so I wouldn't impede anyone trying to get in. Then I put it in park and cast about for something to do. I hadn't brought my Kindle because I had expected this to be a twenty minute job, so I pulled out my cell phone and sent random text messages to my friends. Every so often, I would get one back, but most of the others had things to do.
My mind began to wander, and I found the wilted plants became the central focus of my daydreams. Somewhere out there, I imagined Belinda hurt or dead. Something wasn't right, and while I didn't want to jump to conclusions, conclusions were busily jumping at me.
I checked my watch so often it didn't seem to move, but at some point it must have, because an hour came and went. No one came by her store, and no one returned to the truck, but I had no idea how much business Belinda usually got. Maybe she had so little business that she didn't bother opening the shop some days. I had an idea how that felt, and I had only been at it for six months.
I had nearly decided to give up when a car pulled into Belinda's driveway, but it wasn't hers. The metallic blue Prius looked familiar, but I didn't place it until Evan Blackwood stepped out, raked his fingers through thick, nearly black hair that touched his shoulders in waves, and started up the front path. He had spent a moment looking at the pickup truck parked right in front, but he hadn't seemed to notice me on the far side of the drive.
I hadn't seen Evan more than a handful of times since high school, which was something of a relief to my father, who has hated Evan's father for longer than I've been alive. We weren't exactly what you would call friends, at least not since junior high. I'm not quite sure what we were, actually, though we were best friends in grade school. After that, things got complicated. From a shy, uncertain boy, Evan became an outwardly confident teen with a bit of a dark side. More than a bit, depending upon who you asked.
He looked like a man on a mission as he strode up the porch steps and took a long look at the CLOSED sign. I opened my mouth, ready to shout out to him what little I knew for sure–that Belinda wasn't home–but something held me back. What was Evan doing there? The obvious answer, that he needed some plants or herbs, didn't fit because I knew for a fact that Henry Wolf, the man to whom Evan was apprenticed, refused to buy from Belinda for the same reasons my parents did. I even thought Evan's father had issues with the woman, though that might have simply been a rumor I picked up somewhere.
A sick possibility twisted my stomach–perhaps Belinda had him under one of her spells. True, he was about half her age, but it wouldn't be the first time she had gone after a much younger man, especially one as dangerously attractive as Evan. Plus, he was among the most powerful sorcerers in town, one of those who could get away with anything and knew it, and Belinda would find that compelling.
When Evan rang the bell, I decided to announce my presence. I stuck my head out the car window and called, "She's not home."
I must have caught him by surprise, because as he jumped, so did two rocking chairs, a swing, and the wilting plants. With a startled gasp, I drew my head back inside the car. It's not a good idea to sneak up on a sorcerer, especially one with a strong gift like telekinesis. I didn't think he would consciously hurt me, but accidents happened. With six powerful brothers and sisters, I knew that better than anyone.
"Hi, Cassie. It's been a long time." Evan tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and strode down the driveway to my car. He had given up wearing all black, choosing instead blue jeans and a dark green t-shirt that suited his complexion far better than the black ever had. Not that I had ever told him, but I thought black made him look more washed out than dangerous.
He looked good. And tall. He'd grown in the last three years, so that by the time he reached my car, he practically towered over me, giving him, impossibly, an air of even greater strength than before.
"Hi, Evan," I said with forced casualness. "You locked yourself away with Mr. Wolf and haven't come down to see the rest of us mere mortals."
"He's a slave driver, but he's brilliant." He leaned against the side of my car, the image of practiced nonchalance.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer. I wished he would look at me. You can tell if someone is the victim of a love potion if you can get a good look at the whites of their eyes–they'll look a little pink. He wasn't avoiding my gaze, precisely, but he did seem preoccupied with the red pickup truck.
"I'm just here for some herbs." It was such an obvious lie, I couldn't believe he bothered to tell it.
"Come on, Evan. Mr. Wolf doesn't buy from Belinda."
He glared at me, and it occurred to me that not too many people would have called him on the lie. "She's the only herbalist within three hundred miles to get mandrakes this year."
Another lie, but this time, I let it go. I didn't fear him, the way many others did, but if he didn't want to talk, I couldn't force an answer from him.
"So, how long have you been waiting here?" Evan asked.
"About an hour. I was just about to give up, actually. This was supposed to be a quick job."
"Yes." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I didn't think you'd still be here."
"You knew I'd be here?"
"I told Frank to hire you."
"You did?" I had no idea whether to feel flattered or embarrassed. On the one hand, I didn't want to feel like some kind of charity case, but on the other hand, I needed the business, and it was nice of Evan to think of me. I hadn't even known he knew about my business.
"Of course I did," Evan said, as if it were obvious. He shifted slightly, and looked down at me, finally holding my gaze long enough for me to see that the whites of his eyes didn't contain a hint of pink, although by then I had pretty much dismissed the love potion theory.
"I admit," Evan continued, studying my face, "I was surprised to find out you'd quit the sheriff's department, but I always knew you'd do well at whatever you tried."
I turned my face away, so he wouldn't see the slight flush creep across my cheeks. I wouldn't admit it to him, but it had been a long time since anyone had paid me a real compliment, and there was something about his matter-of-fact tone that told me he meant it.
"How do you know Frank?" I asked.
"I'm helping him with his lawsuit."
"Really?" I didn't know which surprised me more: that he was helping with a lawsuit at all, when doing so might require him to share knowledge, something sorcerers avoided at all costs. Or that he was helping with this lawsuit, involving love potions. Rumor had it, he had cast a few himself once upon a time, and surely this would revive those rumors.
"Master Wolf told me to do some community service as a senior project, so I volunteered as an expert witness."
"You're an expert on love potions?" I meant to tease him, but somehow the words sounded all wrong as soon as I said them. My mind flashed back to a day when we were fourteen, and I asked him if the rumors were true. Afterward, he didn't speak to me for six months.
"I don't brew them, if that's what you mean."
"Of course not. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it."
For a minute, he didn't say anything, then he took a deep breath and reached through the driver's side window to take my hand in his. Though casual and almost unconscious, the touch sparked something in me that reminded me of the silly crush I'd had on him in high school. It had been entirely one-sided, since he had never noticed me as a woman, and ill-advised for even more reasons than that, not the least of which was our families' mutual enmity. Still, like dozens of other silly girls, I felt the attraction. To the danger? To his looks? To the power? I don't know. I'd like to think, in my case, it was to the boy he had been before all that, and who, deep down, I thought was still the real him.
"I'm not an oversensitive fourteen-year-old anymore," Evan said. "It's okay."
"Good." I pulled my hand away from his, and reminded myself that I didn't have silly crushes any longer. I had a boyfriend, after all.
Evan tucked his hands back into his pockets, and looked at the red pickup one more time. "You know, if Belinda hasn't shown up all morning, there's probably no point waiting around for her. You should go home."
It wasn't quite a command, but it came close. He knew who owned the red truck, I decided, and he had business here he didn't want me to see. Since I didn't see any hope of carrying out my business in the near future, I agreed to leave without much fuss, even if my curiosity gnawed at me.
"I'll stop by to see you sometime soon," Evan said. "We should catch up."
"Yeah," I said, barely aware of my rote response. "That would be great."
As I pulled the car out of the driveway, my cell phone rang. I answered it before turning onto Lakeshore Drive.
"Hi Cassie," Sheriff Adams said from the other end of the line. "I ran that check you asked for. Car belongs to Nancy Hastings."
"Really?" Nancy Hastings was Evan's cousin, and only sixteen or seventeen.
"She's a minor," Sheriff Adams said, "but we don't have any reports about her. Do you think there's a problem?"
"Maybe, but her car probably just broke down." I didn't believe it, not with Evan there, and acting so strangely, but if his family didn't want the sheriff's help, I wasn't going to involve him.
But my own personal curiosity refused to be assuaged, so as soon as I got off the phone, I found a place to turn around and headed back to Belinda's house. If Evan had been any other sorcerer, I might not have dared, but I thought I could handle him. He wasn't safe, as my father used to constantly remind me, but I understood him, to a point. He wouldn't hurt me.
He didn't hear me approach, which made sense when I saw him sitting on Belinda's front porch, surrounded by black candles, and lost in some kind of spell. Judging by the wicks, the candles had not been burning for long, but how long he might be there was anybody's guess. Spells could take anywhere from a few seconds to a few days to cast. Evan's position, his posture, and the black candles made it look to me as though he was attempting to break through whatever magical protections Belinda had on her house.
A gentle breeze began playing with my hair, tying it into tiny knots. The same breeze blew out the candles surrounding Evan, and very slowly, his posture shifted.
"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, and I couldn't tell, from his tone, whether or not he was upset.
"A few minutes."
"I should have known you wouldn't leave. You're too curious for your own good, you know that?"
"So my parents keep telling me. Evan, why are you trying to break into Belinda's house?"
"I don't want you involved with this," he said.
"I am involved. I used to work for the sheriff and even if I don't anymore, there are some things I can't ignore." I paused before adding. "Like breaking and entering."
"Are you threatening to call the sheriff on me?" Evan arched his eyebrows in a manner I can only call arrogant. He had perfected the look years ago, and it reminded me that he, too, was part of the untouchable elite that had helped drive me out of law enforcement.
"Of course not," I said, knowing I sounded petulant, but not caring. "It wouldn't do any good. It never does."
"Is that why you left the sheriff's department?" He had always been too perceptive, especially where I was concerned.
"Just forget it."
He narrowed his eyes, looking like he wanted to say something else, but I waved him off.
"I need to clean up here." Evan gave me an inquisitive look, as if he thought he needed permission to use magic in front of me.
"It's okay." I was used to watching the people around me perform magic; that wasn't the part that bothered me.
With an almost casual wave of his arm, all the candles flew into the air and threw themselves into the backseat of his car.
"I know that's your cousin's truck," I said.
His eyes searched my face. "How do you know that?"
"Does it matter?"
"My aunt and uncle were hoping to handle this quietly, in case someone decided to take advantage of the situation. I don't know what happened to her, but I don't want the wrong person to find her before I do."
"I had the sheriff run a license plate check," I said. "I asked him when I first got here, because it didn't look right, but when he told me who it was a few minutes ago, I did try to convince him to let it go."
"Okay, nothing to be done about it now." He ran his fingers through his hair again, and looked at the door.
"Can I help, since I'm here? You know I won't say anything."
"I trust you, but I don't want you hurt. I don't know what's going on here, but Nancy never went home last night, and when I started looking for her this morning, I couldn't even find her with a hair sample. Anything but blood can be fooled, but not without... skill." I had the impression he meant to say something else, more along the lines of power, but I didn't push.
"I can help," I said. "If magic isn't working, you need an investigator."
"I'm going with you or I'm calling the sheriff. Which is it going to be?" I was mostly bluffing, but I also found myself curious to know what he would actually do if I did call in the mundane authorities, as some of the practitioners liked to call them.
Evan closed his eyes tightly, and when he opened them again, he fastened his crystal blue eyes on me in a manner I had seen him use countless times to intimidate, though never with me. "I could stun you and lock you in your car. Is that what you want?"
I knew he'd done something similar to Marshall Burks in the ninth grade, leaving the boy on the school bus all night. Most people agreed that he'd had it coming for stealing a smaller boy's lunch money, but since Evan hadn't been speaking to me at the time, I hadn't felt like cutting him any slack. Besides, I thought the incident, along with many others, had more to do with him wanting to prove his own power. Well, he could pull that act on other people if he had to, but I refused to let him intimidate me.
"If you really think there's danger here," I said, "wouldn't I be in worse shape locked in a car, completely helpless?"
His eyes darkened, but he nodded, stiffly. "Fine, but stay quiet for a while. I'm not quite done with the protections."
I stepped onto the porch, but did not interrupt his spell casting. The magical world is full of all kinds of dangers. There are magical creatures, negative energies, unfriendly spells, and of course, other magic users. Sorcerers tend to be the worst. There is nothing so evil in the world as what humans can do to one another, or so Dad always said.
The point is, it's unwise to simply burst into a magic user's house. There would undoubtedly be wards, spells, traps, and protective plants. I had a feeling his earlier spell had disarmed most of the wards, but there were still the plants. Even wilted, the ivy wouldn't take kindly to trespassers.
After a minute or so, I felt a spray of dust on my face. It coincided with a small, almost unremarkable popping noise.
"All clear," Evan said.
I coughed and brushed the dust out of my hair.
He offered me his hand. "Just in case I missed something."
He made it sound like a request, but it wasn't. I took his hand, and with Evan slightly ahead, we stepped over the threshold.
"Hmm," Evan said. "That's not a good sign. Not even a tingle."
I'd never experienced what he was referring to, but I understood that sorcerers are weaker when crossing a threshold uninvited. Some magical creatures, such as vampires, can't cross a threshold at all.
Most of the first floor of Belinda's house was given over to a shop with shelves, bottles of potions, magical herbs, and a few new-age trinkets, some of which work. We breezed through it on our way in, and made a careful search of the rest of the house.
I would describe Belinda's decorating style as elegant. She chose rich colors and patterns that commanded attention and proclaimed wealth. She seemed to love knick-knacks. Her collection of crystal and porcelain flooded shelves, curios, and the tops of tables.
An efficient three-year-old could have destroyed the place in five minutes. Ten, with supervision. Belinda didn't have so much as a niece or nephew to pay her a visit.
We didn't speak as we looked through the formal living room, dining room, kitchen, and laundry room. There was no sign of Belinda. No sign of a struggle, either, but that didn't put me at ease. I was still very aware of the fact that I was trespassing in a witch's home.
Upstairs was more of the same. Belinda had three bedrooms: one for her, one for guests, and one that she had turned into an office. We looked in bathrooms and in closets, but nobody was home.
When we went back downstairs, I noticed a door leading to a screened-in back porch and started to turn the handle when my hand froze on the doorknob. My whole body stiffened, and my mouth went dry, so it took me several tries to alert Evan to what I'd seen.
"I found her," I finally managed, in barely a whisper.
Nancy Hastings, Evan's sixteen-year-old cousin, lay in a pool of her own blood, eyes vacant and staring. Her hair had been a rich, luminous brown but was now matted with blood. It looked as if her throat had been torn out.
"No!" The cry tore from his throat and before I had a chance to stop him, Evan was inside the room and leaning over the body, looking for any sign of life, and probably destroying any trace evidence the police might have collected. But I couldn't blame him. I would have reacted precisely the same way, if it had been my family. As it was, I had to wipe away tears before I could get to my phone and call the sheriff. The need for secrecy had passed.
"Sheriff's department, this is Jane Conway."
"Jane, it's Cassie. You need to get out to Belinda Hewitt's house right away. There's been a murder." I hung up before she could ask for more details.
Slowly, Evan rose to his feet and made his way back into the house with me. He had smeared the blood and left footprints on the floor, but somehow none of it had ended up on him. Or if it had, then he had some way of removing it.
"The police are on their way," I said, not sure if he would be upset with me for calling. Probably not. He looked too shocked to care.
"Yeah." He leaned against a wall and closed his eyes.
"You should call your uncle."
"Can I borrow your phone?" Evan asked. "Master Wolf doesn't believe in phones."
"Sure." I handed him the phone without analyzing his reasons for needing it, then I went out the front door to give him some privacy and wait for the sheriff. Brushing the fine layer of dust from the front steps–all that remained of the wilting plants–I sat down with my head in my hands.
Evan joined me a few minutes later, sat beside me without bothering about the dust, and silently handed me back my phone.
"I'm so sorry," I said.
He didn't say anything for a long time. Not that I expected him to. Really, what was there to say?
"I want to know what happened to her," Evan said. "Do you need a job?"
The request caught me off guard, and even though I wanted to take the job, for Evan and for the girl, I hesitated. I had a feeling this would become the type of paranormal investigation that had caused me to leave the sheriff's department. Also, the kind that had made me want to work there in the first place.
"It looked like a vampire attack to me," I said.
"It did, but some friends of Nancy told me they last saw her around noon yesterday, and that she had left to get some herbs before Belinda's store closed at one. I don't know why she would have stayed all afternoon, let alone after dark."
He took one of my hands in his, the way he had done earlier. He used to do those sorts of things in high school. Oh, never to me, but to other girls, the ones he ended up dating. Most of the rumors surrounding him suggested he wove his love spells with those casual touches. I didn't believe it, but I did yank my hand away, feeling as if it had been burned.
"Now that you mention it," I said, "there's another problem with the vampire idea. The porch should be within the threshold. A werewolf might have done something like that, but it's not the full moon, and again, it was daytime."
Evan stiffened. "Scott would have known if any of his wolves were hunting humans, anyway."
I had almost forgotten that one of Evan's best friends was a werewolf, yet another rebellious move, and obviously, one he had not outgrown.
In the distance, I heard the scream of approaching sirens.
"The sheriff will do everything he can to try to figure this out," I said, still uncomfortable at the idea of taking on a supernatural case. "Why do you think you need me?"
"Because there are things the sheriff doesn't know, and I can't tell him. For example, if it was a vampire attack, it will be tough to tell because she was protected. She won't turn."
Secrets and lies, I thought. But he had a point, and as much as I hated the idea of getting involved with anything supernatural, I knew I couldn't let a friend down, not even one as uncertain as Evan. Besides, a young girl had been murdered, and I couldn't let that go. When I closed my eyes, I could still see the blood and the silent scream on her young face.
"All right, I'll do it."
He offered me his hand and I shook it, somewhat tentatively, though he didn't hesitate. When he released my hand, the first car had arrived on the scene.
* * *
"So you're saying he broke into the house?" Sheriff Adams asked me an hour or so later, after I had already gone over the story with two of his deputies. It was noon, which meant I would miss my usual lunch date with my friends, but given what I had seen that morning, I didn't think I wanted to talk to any of them anyway.
"So did I," I said. "Are you going to charge us with breaking and entering?"
"Would it do any good?" he asked.
There wasn't a prison in the world that could hold Evan, but I didn't say so. I just gave the sheriff a blank look, and noticed that he had more hair than the last time I had seen him. Strange, since his hairline hadn't moved in the ten years he had been in town.
"If the girl was missing," Sheriff Adams continued, "you should have told me. And you say Belinda hasn't been home all morning?"
"That's right. I was supposed to serve her a subpoena." It was still in my car, but at this point I had serious doubts about my ability to deliver it. I didn't see how Belinda fit into any of this, but the fact that she was missing and I'd found a dead body on her back porch made finding her my top priority.
"And what time did Evan show up?"
"Ten thirty. Look, I've already been over this with Jeff and Ryan. I know the drill – that asking the same question in different ways might shake loose an important detail–but is there any way we can finish tomorrow?" I already felt worn out, though the day was barely half over, and somehow I would have to find a way to sleep with images of Nancy Hastings haunting me. I had never handled a murder before. Small towns like Eagle Rock don't have the kinds of murder rates the larger cities do.
The Sheriff sighed, slapped his notebook shut, and nodded. His face looked drawn and weary, and there was something a little off in his tone. Something I couldn't put my finger on. "I want you in my office bright and early tomorrow, though, all right?"
"I'll be there."
"Listen." The sheriff lowered his voice. "Right now, I'm mostly worried about you. Do you trust him?"
I glanced over my shoulder at Evan, who maintained a mask of cool composure that I was sure hid a world of hurt and anger over his cousin's fate. It reminded me of the day, in eighth grade, when he had explained his discovery that showing emotions was perceived as a weakness. I wanted to disagree with him, but I couldn't argue with results. After that, he only opened up to me, and then, only sometimes.
"Trust Evan? I don't know. I mean, it depends upon what you want to trust him with. He'll do just about anything to protect his family." We had that in common, as a matter of fact.
"There are rumors about him."
"There are rumors about me, too."
"Not the same kind." Sheriff Adams studied my face. "I don't pretend to understand the power game in this town, but by all accounts, he's winning it. He acts like nothing can touch him. Practically dared me to try to lock him up, almost like he wanted to prove it wouldn't work."
That sounded like something Evan would do, and I suspected the sheriff had pegged his motives correctly. I didn't say so, though. I just shrugged.
"He also said you're going to look into this murder for him. Can I trust him with you?"
"Yes." That much, I knew.
"All right. Listen, let me know what you find out and we'll do the same. There's no reason to duplicate one another's efforts on this."
"Okay." We both knew I wasn't being entirely truthful, but the sheriff had long-since accepted that I couldn't tell him everything, and most of the time he allowed me to use my own discretion.
"What's your dad going to think about you working for a Blackwood?" Sheriff Adams asked.
I didn't have a good answer for him, but I thought about Evan as I drove back to town, not so much to work out my father's feelings, which had more to do with Evan's father, but to work out my own.
I never felt like I had to compete with him, and even though I knew he had magic of his own, I never saw it except in minor ways, silly tricks that even I could do.
He didn't use magic at school. That sort of public display was typically frowned upon, even in the Eagle Rock schools, where most of the students and teachers were aware of the rumors, speculation, and evidence not easily explained away. That's not to say they knew much of anything for certain. Heck, the most powerful families kept enough secrets from one another that even they could not come to a consensus on exactly how or why magic worked. Sometimes, I didn't know if warning kids away from using magic at school had more to do with keeping the information from the regular townsfolk, or from one another.
Whatever the reason for it, Evan took the admonishment to heart. Whereas my brother, Nicolas, showed off in ways that intentionally made him seem more like a clown or stage magician than anything else, Evan kept that aspect of himself shut up inside. He let people push him around for years, never striking back. I suppose it couldn't have lasted forever, especially when he found himself faced with the surge in magic that often comes with adolescence.
We were in seventh grade when Paul Ellerson, backed by two cronies, found him on the playground at recess one fall day. He and I had been talking, but we stopped when we saw the threesome approach, instantly wary. They didn't usually mess with me, except to offer insults I could more or less brush off. I won't go so far as to say they didn't affect me, but I always had friends and family to back me.
Evan had it much worse, partly because he took the insults more to heart, and partly because the boys sometimes got physical with him. Somehow, the teachers never saw.
"Look," Paul said, "it's the freak and his girlfriend."
I rolled my eyes and started to move away, taking Evan's hand to guide him with me.
"Isn't that sweet?" Paul said. "They're holding hands."
I dropped his hand, but kept walking away, trusting Evan to follow. This tactic often worked, but not on that fateful day. Paul's cronies blocked my escape, and when I turned around, Paul grabbed me by the hair and twisted, hard. It was the first time they had ever gotten physical with me, and it had me pretty scared, but I didn't have time to work myself into a real panic.
There was no warning. If there had been, I couldn't have been certain the attack was an accident, unplanned and instinctive. One second, Paul had me by the hair, and the next he was gone. I never even saw Paul's dramatic flight through the air, but I heard the ominous crack as he hit the tree, and when I did look, I saw him slumped against the trunk, eyes closed, red-gold leaves fluttering around his head where a trickle of blood ran down his cheek.
I had seen magical accidents before, but they had never involved Evan, who I had somehow come to think of as safe. He may have talked about magic, but I didn't see it, which gave me the illusion that he was like me. But he wasn't like me, and at that moment, the fact hit me as hard as Paul had hit the tree.
I tore my eyes away from Paul, directing them instead at Evan, who looked different. It might simply have been the product of my shattered illusions, but I never forgot the remorseless expression on his face.
His eyes, colder than an ice storm, took in Paul's accomplices, who stood with their mouths hanging open. Beyond us, a girl screamed, but I barely registered her reaction or the rush of teachers to the scene.
"Don't mess with my friends," Evan said. Then, as if to emphasize the point, Evan waved his hand, almost casually, and the two cronies toppled backwards.
They weren't really hurt, but then again, Evan had been in control when he knocked them over. Paul ended up in a coma for two months, and I'm not sure he was ever the same. I know Evan wasn't.
* * *
Kaitlin and I used to be on the cheerleading squad together in high school, back in the days when anything seemed possible in love and life. We spent glorious afternoons pretending to be something special as a way to cover our own inadequacies. At least, that's what Kaitlin said once. I'm sure she wasn't talking about me.
Since small town gossip travels faster than the speed of sound, Kaitlin already knew about the murder by the time I arrived. So, apparently, did the other dozen or so customers milling around on a Monday afternoon, because they didn't even try to hide their attempts to overhear our conversation when Kaitlin sat down in a booth across from me and asked for details.
"Don't you have to work?" I asked.
"I'm on break. Lunch rush is over." She tucked a stray lock of red-gold hair behind her ear and leaned forward. "So come on, spill."
"I can't say much."
"You never can." Kaitlin was one of those in town who eagerly, almost desperately, believed in magic, but living on the outside, she didn't know much about it. It wasn't as if the fact of my family's sorcery was a secret, the obscurity was all in the details. How powerful? What, exactly, could they do? And how does the magic work? Therein lay the secrets.
As someone who lived between the two worlds, it was always a bit odd to me to see the range of disbelief in a town where so many practitioners dwelt. Some refused to believe at all, using faith in God or science like a shield. Others, like Kaitlin, eagerly believed any rumor, true or not. Most, though, lived somewhere in the middle, acknowledging the strangeness, but from a distance, as if it couldn't touch them if they didn't try to meet it head on. For the most part, they were right.
"What are people saying?" I asked.
"That Belinda Hewitt killed Nancy Hastings."
I cringed. "We don't know who killed her."
"But it was magic, wasn't it? People are also saying Evan Blackwood was there, swearing vengeance."
"She was his cousin."
"And Belinda is missing?" Kaitlin tried to make this sound very significant. "I wonder if he's torturing her."
Before I had a chance to defend Evan, the diner bell jingled and the man himself strode inside, angling straight for me. Kaitlin, sitting with her back to the door, didn't notice.
"Where do you think he's been all these years, anyway?" Kaitlin rushed on. "People are saying he learned black magic, and now that he's back, he'll take over the town."
Evan paused, no more than a couple feet from our booth, an odd expression that looked like a cross between a laugh and a grimace on his face. A few nearby customers hurriedly dropped money on the table and left the diner.
"I suppose I could," Evan said, deliberately drawing out the words, "but what would I do with it?"
Kaitlin's face went pale, but she did not turn to look.
"You shouldn't listen to rumors so much," I said. Not that she'd listen. I'd said so before.
"I'm sorry," Kaitlin whispered.
"He's not going to hurt you," I said, motioning for Evan to sit beside me. "And he couldn't take over the town if he wanted to. He was teasing."
He arched an eyebrow and shrugged, but accepted the invitation to sit beside me.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Looking for you." He turned to Kaitlin, who was studiously avoiding his eyes. "Can I have a minute with Cassie?"
"Sure." She scurried out of the booth and practically ran for the double doors leading into the kitchen.
"You could have been nicer," I said, watching the doors swing shut.
"Me? I just walked in to discover my role in a dastardly plot to take over the town."
May you read well and often