Wardens of Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries - Daybreak Book 1) Read online

  Bentley followed the man’s gaze past the eyeglasses to the bright windows.

  “You mean like that pretty view,” Bentley said. “We see what we wish to see. If we believe hard enough, the illusion becomes the truth.”

  I followed his gaze. Beyond the cafeteria’s huge window panes there was what appeared to be a sunny courtyard. The courtyard had been lovingly landscaped with a variety of shrubs and bright flowers that bobbed in a light breeze. Except there were no flowers, and it wasn’t a courtyard. It couldn’t have been. We were at least ten stories—maybe twenty—below ground. They might have been able to grow plants, but they didn’t have sunshine.

  “Exactly,” Steve said. “The view is a courtyard if you believe it is.”

  “What are those glass panels made of, anyway?” Bentley asked. “Television screens? A projection of some kind?”

  Steve smiled, looking like a professor who was pleased by a student’s astute questions. “It’s not exactly my department, but I can tell you that it’s hybrid technology. Magic and science.”

  I asked him, “Is that what Codex the Talking Elevator is made of? Magic and science?”

  Steve’s smile fell off his face immediately. “Codex is not my favorite innovation. The architects don’t even know why they’re making her. They simply are.” He waved at the windows. “At least this window technology has an obvious end use. It offers a pretty view, and helps prevent Seasonal Affective Disorder. That’s all. It’s not going to one day...” He trailed off, shuddering.

  Bentley shot me an uneasy look.

  I gave him a that’s-what-you-get look right back.

  We’d come here for information, and we were getting plenty of it. Not necessarily the information we’d come for, but I was thrilled to learn more about both rune mages and the inner workings of the DWM.

  Steve shook his head as though waking himself from a daydream. “We... are... standing in the cafeteria,” he said uncertainly. He looked past us, in the direction of the refrigeration units. “We should get something from foodservices.” He glanced upward briefly. “It will look suspicious on the surveillance feed if we stand here talking and don’t partake of the amenities.”

  I swung my arms enthusiastically. “Hot diggity dog. We wouldn’t want a security team to swarm in here and shoot us for looking suspicious. I guess we’d better get some cheesecake!”

  Chapter 21

  The three of us poured cups of hot coffee from the self-serve kiosk, then selected cold treats from the cooler.

  Steve stared at the cold meatball sub, but didn’t grab it.

  “That sub looks good,” I commented.

  “Yes, but my girlfriend is vegetarian,” Steve said. “She doesn’t like kissing me if I have meat breath.”

  I clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good boyfriend.”

  He gave me a wry smile. “A good boyfriend who’ll be enjoying a kale salad.”

  I selected the cherry cheesecake, of course. I’d inherited a craving from a spirit, and while the spirit had been returned to its body, the craving had never left. I’d been thinking about cherry cheesecake ever since, and while I’d had it a few times, I hadn’t been able to get the DWM cafeteria’s version until now.

  We sat at a table near the fake windows and dug in.

  The cheesecake was exactly as delicious as I remembered, thanks to my borrowed memories. Pretty soon my wedge was gone, like magic.

  Bentley had gotten the cheesecake as well, but he wasn’t that hungry. He took only one bite, then poked it a few times while we talked to Steve about Ishmael.

  When Bentley wasn’t looking, I took his plate and ate his as well. The second slice was even better than the first, thanks to being stolen.

  I ate and listened while Bentley questioned Steve about Ishmael’s work schedule, his relationship with his colleagues, and his relationships outside of work. Steve painted a picture of a young man who was pretty typical for a twenty-six-year-old. He had rubbed a few people the wrong way, particularly those further up the chain of command, because he didn’t take well to direction. He was also a braggart who let everyone around him know about the most minor of achievements.

  “Who brags about emptying their email inbox?” Steve asked rhetorically. “Some days he couldn’t let an hour go by without letting people in the adjacent cubicles know he had successfully removed a sliver from his finger, or shot three crumpled pieces of paper in a row into the recycling basket across the room.”

  “That would be irritating,” Bentley said. “But it’s not behavior worthy of a beheading.”

  “Not in this country,” Steve agreed.

  Bentley tapped his notepad. “Thank you for your insight. And now it has come to the part of the interview where I must ask about your own whereabouts last night.”

  “That’s easy.” Steve took off his glasses and began cleaning them a second time. “I’m Carrot’s alibi, and she is mine. I was at her apartment above the tattoo studio all night.”

  “How convenient,” Bentley said.

  Steve’s hands paused mid-glasses-rub. “Oh? What might you mean by that?”

  “With the two of you being each other’s alibis, you might also be each other’s accomplices. Kill him together, collect the inheritance.”

  “I see.” The cleaning of the glasses resumed. “But surely you saw the state of his apartment. He spent all his savings on vacations and those ridiculous safaris. I suspect I’ll have to pitch in from my own funds to pay for his funeral costs.” He placed his glasses on his nose and pushed them up delicately. “Which I will do, of course. Anything for Carrot.” He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Any idea when Dr. Lund will be finished with the body? I’d like to get to the cremation arrangements sooner rather than later.” He looked from Bentley to me and added, “For Carrot’s sake.”

  Right, I thought, suspicion bells ringing. To give the victim’s sister closure, not to destroy physical evidence. Righty-ho.

  The iguammit shifter’s enthusiasm over cremation arrangements had suddenly roused my suspicions. On the true crime shows, the family member who was the most interested in getting the body cremated was always the killer, or protecting the killer. Was Steve protecting his girlfriend? Anything for Carrot, he’d said. Anything?

  The two men returned to their discussion of the victim and the arrangements for his remains. Bentley stated that he remained hopeful for a swift resolution to the case so that everyone could have their closure.

  I kept a close eye on Steve’s face, watching for signs of deception. If he’d been a regular human, not a supernatural creature, I might have tried one of my spells on him. The bluffing spell, while technically not a lie detector, was a great one for getting people to open up. However, Aunt Zinnia had beaten a bit of good sense into me. I wouldn’t risk casting magic. I could handle an angry Bentley, but I wasn’t so sure about an iguammit.

  My gaze drifted from Steve’s face to the giant windows. The image of the sunny courtyard was perfect. No pixellation or flaws in color. And yet, what lay on the other side of the windows was no courtyard. It was probably just more offices.

  My gaze remained on the fake courtyard, and a tickle of anxiety crept up my spine. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that someone or something was watching us from the other side. I felt like a caught critter in a glass box.

  Codex is always watching, I thought. The absurdity almost made me laugh. I was worried about a computer! Just when you think you’ve seen all the weird stuff at the DWM, they pull a new, weirder rabbit out of their hat.

  * * *

  I was enjoying my third slice of cherry cheesecake when the interview finished up. Steve Adebayo received a message on his phone, and mentioned he was needed back in the legal department for something unrelated to the Greyson case.

  “Please call if you think of anything,” Bentley said, handing over a business card.

  “Certainly.” Steve stood, rolled his shoulders back, and coolly buttone
d his body-hugging jacket. “I’ll walk you to the nearest exit.”

  “No need.” Bentley got to his feet and did the same shoulder-rolling and jacket-buttoning. “We’ll be stopping by the morgue to see Dr. Lund with a possible murder weapon.”

  “It’s our hot Saturday-night date,” I interjected. I got to my feet, rolled back my shoulders, and then not-so-coolly flicked the cheesecake crust crumbs off my suit jacket.

  Steve’s eyes flashed with interest behind his round glasses. “A possible murder weapon? Do you have it with you?”

  Bentley nodded to his suitcase, which had been sitting innocuously on the chair next to him the whole time. “Would you like to see it?”

  Steve half-clapped and half-tented his hands together like a schoolboy supervillain. “Might I?”

  Bentley glanced over at me as though seeking permission.

  “He might as well have a look,” I said. “Maybe he’ll recognize it.”

  A frown flashed across Bentley’s face, ever so briefly. I had the impression I’d given the incorrect answer, failing a test I didn’t know I was taking.

  The detective turned toward the suitcase, picked it up robotically, and held it over the cafeteria table without setting it down. “Zara, you’ve gotten crumbs everywhere,” he said.

  “Some of those crumbs were there when we sat down, I swear.” I cast a simple spell to tidy away the crumbs. The air gave none of its usual resistance. The spell was a dud. The crumbs remained untouched.

  I muttered under my breath and tried the spell again. Nothing. Then levitation, sweeping my hand above the table to guide the direction.

  Bentley said, “I’d rather not dirty my suitcase with those crumbs.”

  “Hang on,” I said. “I’m trying to clear them.” Another hand sweep. Still nothing.

  Steve cleared his throat. “Ms. Riddle, if you’re attempting to use magic to remove the crumbs, you’ll find it won’t work.”

  I gave him a suspicious look. “Why’s that?”

  “Uh...” He grimaced and glanced around.

  My mind made a paranoid leap. “Was there something in the cheesecake? Witchbane?” My tone was accusatory.

  “No! Goodness, no!” He held one hand to his throat. “We don’t poison people here. Not even witches.”

  He claimed there had been no witchbane, but even so, I silently admonished myself for not casting a threat detection spell over the food. The DWM was comprised of mostly shifters, and their kind had a natural distrust of witches. It wouldn’t have surprised me at all if their standard cafeteria food was laced with witchbane, the plant that sapped witch powers.

  Bentley asked, “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a dampening field in place,” Steve said with a tight smile. “Just a dampening spell. You haven’t been altered or damaged, I assure you.”

  “A dampening field,” Bentley said. “That seems logical.”

  “Sure,” I said. “But I was only trying to sweep away crumbs. Is mild levitation really a security threat?”

  “It’s a potential threat if it’s witchcraft,” Steve said matter-of-factly.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “I’ve done magic down here before. Just simple stuff like opening locked doors, but it always worked before.”

  Steve raised his eyebrows. “That must have been before we had Codex.”

  “Codex.” I shot Bentley a look. I did not like this new Codex system. Not one bit.

  Bentley sighed. He was still holding the suitcase above the table.

  I groaned, grabbed some napkins, and manually dusted the crumbs off the table. As disturbed as I was about having my powers dampened without my knowledge, there had been no real damage. I would know better the next time I ventured down there.

  “Good enough,” Bentley said when I was done. He set down the suitcase and unsnapped the buckles. He lifted the top to reveal the karambit inside, nestled in its multiple plastic bags.

  Steve leaned over to look at the weapon, and then immediately pulled back, hurtling away as though being struck by an invisible force. Both of his hands flew to cover his mouth. He made a guttural noise.

  Bentley and I stared at Steve. Was he afraid of knives? Why would he ask to see a weapon, then be so shocked?

  Steve held up one hand and wriggled his fingers apologetically while he composed himself. With the other hand still over his mouth, he said, “I apologize for my reaction. I suppose my curiosity got the better of me, and I forgot how squeamish I am about knives. Plus, imagining it being used to harm poor Ishmael. It’s all just too much.”

  Bentley said, “Perfectly understandable. Most civilians aren’t prepared to see the things I deal with every day.”

  Steve kept retreating, putting a few more feet between himself and the suitcase. With a forced chuckle, he said, “There’s a reason I got into the law side of law and order.”

  I squinted at him. Something wasn’t adding up. I asked, “You’re squeamish, and yet you’re dating a tattoo artist?”

  Steve wiped a bead of sweat from the side of his face. “You’ve met her,” he said shakily. “Carrot is the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  “She is... a lovely girl,” Bentley said hesitantly.

  We exchanged a look. Carrot Greyson was cute, in her own way, but it was hard to swallow the idea of her being the most beautiful girl in the world. Had she cast some kind of enchantment over her boyfriend?

  “Again, I do apologize for my reaction,” Steve said. “I’m sure Dr. Lund will be much more helpful than I’ve been.”

  Bentley closed the suitcase and snapped it shut. “There we go,” he said calmly. “You can breathe easy. The big, scary knife can’t hurt you.”

  Steve used his glasses-cleaning cloth to mop the side of his face. “Thank you for being so understanding. If you don’t mind me asking, where did you find this weapon?”

  “Around,” Bentley said cryptically.

  Steve’s eyes twitched. “Are there more of them, do you think?”

  “Why?” Bentley cocked his head.

  Steve took a deep breath to compose himself, then curled his index fingers into C shapes. Using the curved fingers, he made a scissoring gesture. “Two blades working together would act as scissors,” he said. “That would explain the twin blood spatters on the wall.”

  “You saw the blood spatters on the wall?”

  Steve nodded, then brought both hands up to partially cover his eyes with his fingers, like a kid watching a scary movie. “I had a look at the crime scene photos on my computer, like this. I didn’t want to, but if the other people in Ishmael’s family are in danger, I felt I had to look. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

  “I’m glad you did take a peek,” Bentley said. “That’s a very keen observation you’ve made about two of these blades working together like scissors.” Bentley made a scissoring gesture. “Chop, chop, and off goes the head.”

  Steve swallowed audibly, then burped. “Oh, no,” he said. “I might be sick.”

  Bentley waved a hand in the direction of the cafeteria’s exit. “Don’t let us keep you another minute. You’ve been a great help in the case, Mr. Adebayo.”

  “Any time,” Steve muttered as he half-walked, half-jogged away.

  Chapter 22

  After Steve left, Bentley said, “What an odd man.”

  “Is he still a suspect?”

  “I don’t know,” the detective said slowly. “He does give the impression he’s hiding something, or covering for someone.”

  “You mean his girlfriend? The most beautiful girl in the world?”

  Bentley frowned. “Love is blind,” he said.

  I pointed at him. “I’m glad you said it and not me. I try not to judge people by their looks, but...”

  “Say no more.” He nodded. “She’d only make the top ten list,” he said. “Not the number one spot.”

  “Exactly.” I looked down, plucked a stray cheesecake crumb from my suit jacket, and popped it in my m
outh. “Where to next? Is it time for the morgue?”

  “That depends. Are you feeling up to it?”

  I shrugged. “It’s why we came.”

  He waved one hand. “What about the dampener field? You have no power down here.”

  “No, but I’ve got you, Bentley. My personal bodyguard. What more does a girl need?” I fluttered my eyelashes at him.

  “I do have my service revolver,” he agreed. “You don’t suppose the dampener field affects guns, do you?”

  “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”

  * * *

  After a few wrong turns in the underground labyrinth, we finally reached the morgue.

  Dr. Jerry Lund, the medical examiner, had left a note on the door for Bentley: Back in five minutes.

  The door was unlocked, so we entered.

  Despite being in a secret organization’s underground headquarters, the morgue looked exactly like all the morgues I’d seen on TV. There was a big wall of metal drawers, rolling steel tables, hanging scales, a workstation full of glass vials, microscopes, and computer equipment. All of it was lit with bright overhead lamps. The only thing unusual about this morgue was the large arched picture window. It was the same height and shape as the ones I’d seen earlier that day at Dreamland Coffee. Unlike Dreamland, which showed the Wisteria street outside, this huge window showed an alpine meadow view.

  At the sight of the lovely meadow, I forgot all about the wall of huge drawers. For an instant, I forgot I was in a morgue. As I stared, a Jersey cow meandered into view, the bell on its collar tinkling with its slow, ambling movements.

  Bentley and I exchanged a look. We were deep underground, so the window was just another illusion, probably a high-resolution screen. As for the sound of the tinkling bell, it must have been transmitted through speakers. Even so, knowing the cow was an illusion didn’t take away the wonder. I went to the window and looked left and right. To my surprise, I was able to see more of the alpine meadow view.

  “This isn’t flat,” I said in astonishment to Bentley. “It’s not a screen at all. Come over here and look.”