Dead Witch in the Library, page 24
I’d have to try to get some sleep. Seth had seen to it my bodily needs were met for now.
I stretched out on my back. The floor was cold, but the oak planks comforted me with their familiar power. They sang a magical, botanical lullaby.
But I was too worked up to listen. My mind was racing.
It had to have been the emerald that was stolen. I was the daughter of the most famous thief of our era and had no valid reason for being at the conference, so naturally I was the prime suspect. And since the theft occurred on the same day as a sudden death, I might get saddled for murder as well.
This was bad.
Thank Brightness Seth had gotten me to store all my valuable magic inside Helen’s house. The only objects of power still on my body were the two copper rings Raynor had given me—one to hide my demon ancestry and another to hide my power. It had been a gamble not removing them, but he’d left them there when I’d been brought in that evening, so hopefully I’d guessed correctly.
Everything else would’ve been confiscated forever—my beads, the gnome’s stick, my redwood staff. If the Protectorate didn’t send me to Death Valley for the rest of my life, I vowed to take my psychic boyfriend to his favorite dim sum place in the Sunset and let him get as many plates as he wanted, even the expensive ones.
Another vow to another fae.
I put my hand over my eyes and tried not to cry.
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
Around midnight—I couldn’t be sure because I had no clock, watch, or phone—four female agents came to my little jail cell. The room that had been too small for one body now magically enlarged to hold five, showing me its smallness had been part of the all-inclusive discomfort package the Protectorate liked to give its captives.
“Take off her clothes,” one of them said.
And they did.
Too shocked to fight the eight hands pawing at me, I felt real fear jolt through me. I’d been wriggling out of trouble my entire life, but even the greatest gambler had a bad night. Had I run out of luck?
Still mute, I could only curse them with my thoughts and hope they could hear it. Shadow bite you!
Far from being intimidated by my silent curses, they smirked and scoffed as they put each item of clothing into a plastic evidence bag. And then, as soon as I was completely naked, the tallest woman suddenly lifted a bucket and dumped water over my head that felt as if it had been scooped off the coast of Alaska in January.
It even had ice in it. And little bits of something slimy.
A violent shiver ran through me. It was more than the cold. Enchantments seeped into my traumatized pores and hit my bloodstream with magical precision.
Although of course I’d heard about the bucket treatment, I’d never seen it with my own eyes. Primitive and undignified, it was reserved for extreme situations. The water was designed to wash away any enchantments in the skin, hair, and mucous membranes. It not only removed dangerous spells but harmless cosmetic ones as well. If I’d been using vanity spells to look pretty, now the truth would be out.
But there were many simpler, more modern spells that were just as effective. Had Raynor approved this?
“What’s with the tattoos?” one of the agents asked.
“Maybe she thinks they look cool,” another said.
Humiliated and furious, I glared at the floor. Bits of kelp and melting ice shards dotted the wet floor. I was shivering harder now, unable to feel even the faintest tendril of magic inside me.
“Hey, look, the tattoos are fading now,” the first agent said. “They weren’t even real.”
I felt an urge to kill one of them so I could get a ninth ring to show them how real they were.
“Lie down,” the tall woman said. “We need to make sure the security bath gets everywhere.”
My reply—no way in Shadow—only came out as an angry, muffled grunt.
With strong, rough hands, they forced me down on the floor. One held my legs, one my right arm, one my left. Ice jabbed me in tender places, and kelp smeared across my flesh.
The tall agent lifted the bucket again. Down came more water, more ice, more slime. First on my back, then on my front.
I’d never been so angry in my life. I clenched my teeth, fisted my hands, and struggled under their grip—but it was all useless. Without my magic, I was as weak as a drowned rat.
“That’s it,” said the tall agent, setting aside a bucket. “She’s clean.”
The agent holding my left arm released me immediately, but the one holding my ankles only dug her fingers in more tightly.
“Are you sure? She’s still awake. Aren’t they supposed to pass out?”
“They usually do,” the tall one said, “but I’ve heard some don’t.”
“That’s only supposed to be the strong ones though,” said the one with my ankles. “This one’s a loser.”
How sweet it would be to kick her in the nose. I lifted my head to study her face for future vengeance—er, reference. Chestnut hair, freckles, pointy chin. I wished my eyeballs had screen capture so I could save it to memory.
The agent holding my right arm released it. “Whatever. We did what we were supposed to do.”
Finally my brunette enemy let go of my legs and stood up with a sigh. “I need a drink. I can’t believe I’m on night shift again.”
“Same, girl.”
“Right?”
After their moment of camaraderie, somebody picked up the now-empty buckets (there were four, one for each) and they just left me there.
No blanket, no towel, no robe—nothing.
My mind was echoing with curses I couldn’t shout aloud. Was I just supposed to—
The door popped open. A tracksuit and underwear flew into the room. As I jumped up to prevent the clothes from landing on the wet floor, the door slammed shut again. The room immediately retracted to its cramped size again.
I was too angry to be grateful.
No, I was too cold not to be grateful.
I put on the uniform that had actually gone down in quality since my years as an agent—not an ounce of cotton anymore, really?—and huddled in the corner. In the tiny space, it was impossible now to avoid the puddles.
I glared at the door, preparing for more insults, but nobody else came. Raynor had let me know it was New York agents who would get the honor of interrogating me, so maybe I could go back to sleep for a few hours.
Still squatting with my arms stretched out on my knees, I looked at my left arm. If I hadn’t been forcibly silenced, I would’ve told those sadistic agents how each one of my so-called ugly tattoos—I had to admit I actually missed them—represented a witch who had died after crossing me.
I stroked my arm. That’s probably why Raynor had locked my voice with such a long-lasting spell. He’d known I’d blab under light torture.
His copper rings were now the only items left on my body, but I couldn’t see them. In my state of reduced magic, I could barely feel them even when I caressed my hand. What was he going to say if the interrogator saw through the illusion? They carried his magical signature. It was a big risk.
Let him burn. He’d put me through the assault of the bucket treatment. I didn’t care what happened to him.
For the rest of the night, I warmed myself with the fire of imagined vengeance.
Around nine the next morning, a male agent in a black suit with Sapphire insignia, holding two takeout coffees, appeared in the doorway and invited me to follow him out of my cell to the library.
“I used to spend a lot of time in here,” he said with a smile, pulling out a chair for me and setting the coffee on the table between us. “The librarian never would’ve let anyone drink in here when she was alive. We’re being very naughty.” Another grin.
So he was one of those. Good cop type. I looked around for the yang to his yin, but he seemed to be alone.
I stared at him. I’d had better nights. Was he also going to torture me? Since it would be natural for me to be anxious, I let my worry show. In my experience it was the happy ones that did the most damage; they were cheerful because they were unaffected by the suffering of others.
“I took down the death scene boundary markers,” he said, gesturing around the library. “Terrible aesthetics for such a beautiful space, don’t you think?”
Figuring my ledger of grudges had room for one more, I studied his face. He was blond and blue-eyed, past forty but enchanted to look twenty-five, clean-shaven, and handsome. If he hadn’t had a diagonal scar across his right eyebrow and a face that was heavily pierced with titanium and gold, he could’ve been a model for preppy sportswear.
“I talked to Zack Song about you,” he said. “He says you’re innocent.”
No surprise he knew Zack Song. They looked like they’d mingle in the same polo pony circles.
“I got here early this morning,” he continued. “I couldn’t find any trace of your footsteps below the ground floor. You always came directly upstairs.”
The vault holding all treasures from an investigation was in the basement. Was he telling me he didn’t think I’d stolen whatever it was because he believed in his own scans? I held my hands in my lap and waited. I still couldn’t talk even if I’d wanted to.
“Hold this for a second, will you?” He placed a thin gold chain, about the size of a child’s necklace, on the table in front of me.
There was no benefit in hesitating. I was completely in their power. Keeping my left hand with the copper rings in my lap, I picked it up with my right.
“You look so sad,” he said, giving me a sympathetic look that was almost believable. “But don’t worry. We’re almost done. Go ahead and give it a squeeze.”
Almost done? That didn’t sound good. Bracing myself for pain and/or humiliation, I moved the chain into my palm and closed my fingers around it.
An electric shock blasted through my arm and sent me flying backward out of my chair and onto the floor.
Pain shot through my entire body. So much for bracing myself. It felt as if my skull had struck the floor hard enough to break a molar. I ran my tongue over my teeth, relieved they seemed intact, though I tasted blood.
“Goodness,” the agent said. “You all right?”
I hated Sapphires. They loved pulling tricks like that.
“Demon’s balls,” I muttered, rolling over to my side. At least the shock had removed the silence spell, freeing my voice.
“Sorry about that.” The Sapphire got up and came over with his hand out, offering to assist me up. “I had to make sure.”
I gave his hand a look of distaste, then reached up and draped the chain over his fingers.
I didn’t get to my feet. If there were going to be more shocks, it was better to stay on the floor where I had less distance to fall. My skull was throbbing enough already.
“Don’t worry,” he said brightly, tucking the chain in his chest pocket. “That was the last test. If you’d had any secret power, the gold would’ve revealed it. Come on, get up. You’ve had a long night.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I got to my feet. I didn’t reclaim my seat. “Last test? You’re saying I can go?”
“Yup. Isn’t that great? You must be so relieved.”
I glanced around for the bad cop I was sure must exist—then, considering the pain I was in, decided he was plenty bad by himself.
But where would I go now? I still didn’t know what had happened—and I still had an investigation to finish.
“The coffee’s pretty good.” He pointed at the cup I hadn’t touched on the table. “You might as well take it with you. I’ll just have to throw it away.”
As if I was going to consume a liquid from his hands. “No, thanks.” I cleared my throat. It was still scratchy from the silence spell. “Where’s—”
I stopped myself just in time. Trauma had almost made me refer to the Director by his first name as if we were pals.
“Your clothes have been destroyed, I’m afraid. Standard procedure. But you had a little training here once, didn’t you? You might remember our quirks.”
He obviously held me in contempt. In my experience, witches at his level were masters of politics, magic, and social climbing—and were incapable of caring for anyone but themselves. Behind the smiles and the gestures of goodwill was an empty chest cavity where a heart would be.
I put my hands in my pockets, still uneasy about him noticing the rings. Sometimes telling a prisoner to leave was just a trick to get them to put their guard down.
“I have so many incredible memories,” I said, making a smile that I’m sure was much more convincing than his. “May I have the honor of knowing your name, Sapphire Sir? For my… memory bank.”
“Clyde Corbett.” He tilted his head back a fraction of an inch as if preparing for a torrent of amazed accolades.
I kept a puzzled, polite look on my face—although I had heard of him, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of showing it—then turned and walked out. My shoulder blades twitched, fearful of a final attack, but he let me go.
There were agents lurking everywhere, pretending not to watch me. Keeping my head high and smile in place, I walked slowly down the stairs and out the front door. They’d imprisoned me, drained every spark of magic out of me, stripped me naked, pushed me to my emotional and physical limits—but I wouldn’t let them see me struggle.
When my bare feet touched the sidewalk outside the range of the Protectorate boundary spells, I sucked in the fresh air of freedom. Keeping up my leisurely pace for my fans—I felt them watching me from the windows—I strode to Helen’s front door.
Nobody came. I rang the bell and knocked a second time, afraid that at any moment somebody was going to grab me and drag me back into a small, windowless room, strip me, pour Alaskan water on—
The door swung open. “There you are,” Seth said. “Waffles are ready.”
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
As soon as I was safe inside Helen’s house, I collapsed into Seth’s arms.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“I need a shower.”
I felt him pick at my hair. “I kind of like the kelp.”
“You would,” I said, sniffling against his chest. Today he was wearing a thick, cozy hoodie. “I want to go home. But we can’t.”
Sighing with me, he stroked my hair. “Yeah, not quite yet.”
“I want to burn that building to the ground with everyone in it.”
He drew back and looked at me. “I’ll help you, but then we’d have to live at the bottom of a lake for a few decades until they forgot about it.”
His serious tone made me smile. “As much as I’d love to meet your family, I’d better not.” I wriggled free and looked around. “How hard was it to keep the Protectorate goons out of here?”
“Helen said she didn’t need any help, but the house fairy and I gave her a little backup when she took a nap.”
“I’m surprised she let me back into the house,” I said.
“She’s still napping.”
I looked at him more closely. His face gave nothing away. “Did you knock her out?”
“She needed the rest.” He smiled. “I think you’ll probably have to do something extra nice for her when she wakes up.”
I swore under my breath. “Everything just gets better and better.” The feel of seawater and debris on my body was becoming intolerable. “I’m going to spend a long time in the shower. Then I’ll eat. Then—”
“Raynor will be here in ten minutes.”
“What?” I swore again. “How do you know— Forget it. I’d better get moving.” Ten minutes. Determined nothing was going to get between me and hot water, I bolted for the stairs.
Seth called out after me. “He used the landline. We had a nice little chat.”
Chat. Nice. Whatever. Was he really going to come inside Helen’s house? If she was unconscious, it just might be possible.
Thanks to Seth for bringing my belongings inside, I was able to use my favorite shampoo and body butter, then get dressed in my own clothes. The tattoos had reappeared on my arm, faint at first but getting rapidly darker with each minute in Helen’s house. Even though I’d never wanted them in the first place, I was glad they were back. Those Shadowed agents had no right to make any permanent change to my spirit or my body.
With ceremony, muttering elaborate curses against those who had wronged me, I slipped on my bracelets and wood-bead necklace. Like the tattoos, my power was returning. I was going to have to use external measures to achieve maximum strength as soon as possible in order to: (a) bring villains to justice, and (b) settle personal scores.
And it was tempting to put (b) first.
Raynor’s voice boomed from the other side of the bathroom doorway. “Bellrose, where are you hiding in this heap?”
I couldn’t believe it. He was not only inside Helen’s house but he’d made it to the second floor—and still had the energy to speak.
She was going to kill me. I opened the door to find Raynor standing there with a tray in his hand. My waffles.
“I’ve been told to bring you this,” he said.
I was overcome with a rage that was hotter than the scalding water I’d used in the shower to wash away my trauma. “You put me through hell,” I said. “You think that’s going to calm me down? You didn’t even make them. Seth did.”
“If it weren’t for me, you’d be in jail right now,” he said calmly. “Everyone was absolutely convinced your father had used you to break into the vault. They didn’t need evidence. They would’ve made evidence. Your power would’ve been enough to convict you. Breaking you down to your weakest level and hiding what you had left with the rings I gave you—you’re welcome—were the only way you were going to walk free.”
I glared at him. “You should’ve warned me. I still don’t even know what was stolen.”
