Wytchcraft: A Matilda Kavanagh Novel (30 page)

The door screeched loud and angry when I pulled at the handle to roll it up. I froze, cringing at the noise. Joey hissed behind me, watching both ways down the alley. When no one came running out, guns blazing, I pulled on the door, stopping when it was just high enough for us to slip through without crawling on our hands and knees. I tucked the damaged lock into my jacket pocket.

“Think we should leave the car out there?” Joey whispered.

“Not planning on staying long,” I said back in a hushed voice. “And in that vein, let’s hurry up.”

I started to reach for the light switch, but Joey’s hand on my wrist stopped me. She shook her head, only the bright pink of her hair making it possible for me to see her in the darkened room. I twitched my nose, considering her caution. She was probably right.

“
Aduro
,” I whispered into my hand, causing a blue flame to burst into life, hovering over my palm. A circle of light grew around us, softer than the florescent lights would have been. Joey reached for the door, pushed it closed, and blew on the flame, sending it from my hand to the middle of the ceiling where it burst into a dozen tiny flames and spread out, lighting the room in a dim blue glow.

It wasn’t so much as a place of storage as it was an empty, wide room that would be better suited as a workshop. There were boxes piled high, taking up one full corner, and a long workbench took up the length of another wall. I walked over to the workbench to examine the clutter left there.

There was a couple of Bunsen burners with stained potion bottles set over them. I eyed the stains, a queasy feeling settling in my stomach; no witch worth her salt would ever use dirty and stained tools when casting. It was just asking for trouble, and explosions. There was a pile of bird wings, ravens from the looks of them, with crusted blood on the exposed hinges. A dingy paring knife was left on a cutting board covered in clippings of various herbs. This guy just didn’t care about mixing ingredients. I sniffed and caught the aroma of mint, rosemary, and mistletoe.

“Not good,” I whispered. Mistletoe was often used in poisons, and the fae stayed away from that particular plant like the plague.

“Um, Mattie,” Joey called out to me in a wavering voice, pulling my attention away from the workbench. I turned and saw her standing in the far corner, slightly obscured by the tower of boxes. She was staring at the ground, and I could just make out a drain in front of her feet.

“What?” I asked as I walked over to her, but she just pointed at the drain. I squatted down to get a better look. There were traces of blood pooled at the edge of the drain.

“Toads,” I cursed. I dipped my finger in the tiny puddle, making Joey hiss again, but I ignored her, sniffing the blood. No trace of iron whatsoever. Fairy blood.

“Is it Roane’s?” Joey asked almost too softly for me to hear her.

“I think so,” I said. The possibility they’d caught more than one fairy was slim. I dug into my bag and pulled out a wooden disk, a locator charm that I hadn’t yet activated, and dipped it into the puddle, watching as the white disk absorbed the blood and water, staining it.

“Do you smell that?” Joey asked, picking her head up, swiveling it this way and that, sniffing like a dog picking up a scent.

“Smell what?” I asked, cramming the disk back into my bag as I stood up.

Joey held up a hand to stop me and started walking toward the boxes. She shoved a couple out of her way with her hip, forcing her way into the mass of boxes. I started to open my mouth to stop her, afraid the boxes would topple over onto her, but she stepped lightly through the gap she made and disappeared from sight.

“Oh no,” she said, her voice muffled by the cardboard surrounding her.

“What?” I called out, trying to keep my voice as low as possible.

“Mattie,” she said, peeking her head out, her bright eyes gone dark again. “You’d better come see this.”

“Why do I think I’d rather not?” I asked but walked toward her anyway. Joey pulled herself free of the boxes so I could take her place. I held up a hand, calling down a tiny blue flame from the ceiling, cupping it in my hand to give me something to see by. I wedged myself into the boxes. I wasn’t quite as small as Joey was, so I had to push them further apart. One refused to budge, caught on something I couldn’t see. I held the blue flame out in front of me and saw what was stopping the box: a foot.

“See it?” Joey asked from somewhere behind me. I didn’t answer her right away. I tested the box caught on the foot and when I found it firm enough, I leveraged myself onto it and slid forward. Holding the blue flame out in front of me, I was able to see into the open space created by the prone bodies on the floor.

The man was in a suit that was crumpled with sweat and being worn too long. But what struck me was the dull, dark pool of blood under his head. Even at this angle, I could see that the back of his head was crushed, flattened on the ground. His eyes were open and staring lifelessly at the ceiling, his mouth slightly open, a trickle of blood dried at the corner of his mouth. His hands were bound behind him and his legs were kicked out at an odd angle. Somehow I wasn’t really surprised to see a dead body in here, not after a look at that workbench.

The woman had sandy blond hair with darker, almost caramel colored highlights, and if it weren’t for the blossoming bruise on her cheek, her skin would have been a lovely shade of honey. She was well dressed, how I would expect a bank manager to be dressed: expensive black slacks, a soft blue, silk blouse, and strappy heels that cost almost as much as a month’s rent for me. She didn’t look like she’d been here as long as the dead man in front of her; her clothing was still relatively clean. Her hands were bound behind her as well, and I could see they were held with zip-tie cuffs, the kind cops used on humans. I realized I was holding my breath when I gasped in relief when I finally saw her chest move as she breathed.

“Thank the gods,” I whispered, sliding forward on the box, trying to get to her.

“Mattie, what are you doing?” Joey asked, her warm hand wrapping around my ankle to stop me.

“She’s alive,” I said, craning to look over my shoulder. “I’m gonna help her.”

“Wait a minute,” Joey said, trying to tug on my ankle to pull me back.

“Why?” I demanded, twisting out of her grasp until I was sitting on the box and facing her.

“Look, we’ve got a human woman unconscious and tied up, and a dead guy,” Joey said, “and we’ve just broken in here. Do you think it’s a good idea to touch her? What if she doesn’t remember what happened to her and we wake her up and she thinks we did this to them?”

“So, what? You wanna just leave her like this?” I asked.

“No, but…” Joey folded her hands in front of her and started twisting her fingers, biting down on her lower lip. I could almost see the thoughts racing through her eyes. She had a point though; I had no idea what kind of person this woman was. What if she was the kind that didn’t trust supernaturals? Maybe she wouldn’t appreciate our help. Maybe she’d tell the cops we’d done this like Joey said.

“Oh balls,” I said, sliding forward to slip off of the box and stand in front of the scared pixie girl. “So what do we do then?”

“Does she have a phone?” Joey asked, as if I somehow knew. I shrugged, staring to turn back to the unconscious woman, but Joey darted past me. Being so tiny, she didn’t need to move the boxes as much as I did to get to the woman. I watched as she flitted around her, checking her pockets.

“Don’t touch too much of her,” I said suddenly worried about fingerprints.

“Wait, hold on,” Joey said, her voice straining as she pushed the woman’s hip until she almost rolled over. “Got it!” Joey said triumphantly, pulling out a white phone and holding it up for me to see.

“Okay, listen,” I said, stopping her from dialing for the cops. “Call but don’t say anything, just groan a little, like you’re in pain.”

“What?” Joey blinked up at me like she thought I’d lost my mind.

“Make it sound like you’re in pain and not really conscious, then we’ll leave the phone by her face and get the hell out of here.”

“What good with that do?”

“They’ll track her location with her phone and find her, and they’ll think she struggled to make the phone call, but was too messed up to actually talk,” I said as I started to wipe off the nearby boxes with my sleeves, trying to destroy any fingerprints we might’ve inadvertently left.

“Oh, good idea,” Joey said excitedly. She cleared her throat before calling the cops. I waited for Joey as she made the appropriate noises of pain and confusion. When she popped out of the boxes with a thumbs up, we started for the door.

“Did you wipe off the phone?” I whispered, as if my voice could be picked up by the phone this far away. Joey nodded and then followed me out, ducking under the door. I pushed it down, closing it as quietly as possible, which wasn’t very quiet as it squealed in protest, before wiping the handle off with my sleeve.

Doing the same to the lock, I fed it through the hasp on the door. It was broken, so I couldn’t actually lock it, but I figured the cops would be grateful for that since a lock would only slow them down.

Joey and I dove into my car and we drove away from the door. I was careful not to spin my wheels. The last thing I need to do after being so careful to cover our tracks was to leave tire marks behind. We made it out of the industrial maze and parked on the side of the road. We waited, the engine off and slouched down in our seats as far as possible, until the sound of sirens approached. I risked a glance and saw two police cruisers turn into the complex, sirens blaring and lights swirling. Once they disappeared around the bend, I scrambled back up, turned on the car, and got the hell out of there. Joey was shaking next to me, but we’d done what we could for the woman, and at least the cops would get her to safety and away from whoever had attacked her.

I felt for the bloody charm in my pocket, reassuring myself it was there, and couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. I was finally going to find Roane, get this bastard, and put all of this bullshit behind me.

Chapter 16

When Joey and I got back to my apartment, the first thing I did after banging on the ceiling to get Ronnie to come down, was turn on the television, changing the channel until I found the news. They were showing the feed from a helicopter, flying over the industrial park we’d just left. There were dozens of cop cars filling the alleys between the buildings, red and blue lights reflecting off the grey buildings. I could hear the faint wail of the ambulance sirens as they joined the melee. There were even a couple of fire trucks. If you asked me, it seemed a little excessive.

The newscaster was chatting animatedly with the reporter in the helicopter, not really doing a very good job at sounding concerned for the victims. The camera zoomed in on the scene as the reporter excitedly said, “You can see the officers escorting a woman out of the building. It appears she has an emergency blanket around her shoulders.”

“Well, Hal, it is quite cold out tonight,” the woman in the studio said, her stupid, smiling face appearing in a tiny box in the corner of the screen.

“That it is, Martina,” Hal agreed, but his chuckle was cut off when the EMTs came through the door rolling out a stretcher with a black bag on it. “Oh, it appears a body has been found.” Hal finally managed to sound appropriately somber.

Joey looked at me, her usually bright eyes dull and sad. I placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. We had done what we could for them.

“Hal,” the new caster said, cutting the reporter off midsentence. “I’m sorry, but we’ve just received confirmation on the identity of the woman we saw walking out of the building. It appears she is Bernadette Racanelli.” The screen changed so that there were side by side pictures of the unconscious woman we’d found, one clearly a DMV picture, the other a picture that showed Bernadette with her arms around a man whose face was blurred out. She was smiling up at the camera as if it had been the best day of her life.  It looked like a picture you would post on a social networking site.

“That was fast,” Joey said.

“Some people’s friends,” I said, shaking my head.

“Racanelli,” Ronnie said.

“His wife?” I asked with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Or ex-wife,” Ronnie replied.

“I wonder what that guy did,” Joey said.

“What do you mean?”

“That dead guy, I wonder who he was.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said.

“Maybe he had a stake in the money?” Joey asked, pulling her eyes away from the television.

“Or a stake in the kidnapping,” I said, feeling something unlocking in my mind. “Maybe they were in cahoots with each other, and Jackson decided he didn’t want to share after all.”

“What about the wife?” Joey asked.

“Dunno,” I shrugged. “Maybe, if she is an ex-wife, maybe she was the one that ended things and Jackson wanted her back.”

“Not really sure beating her and tying her up with a dead guy next to her is the way to go about that,” Joey said, arching one pink brow at me.

“I don’t think we’re dealing with a sane person right now,” I said. I pressed my fingers to my temples and rubbed. I needed to activate the locator charm and go get Roane. This guy wasn’t as crafty as I had given him credit for. This was just a money hungry human who was dabbling in magic and beat women in his spare time. Heat flared inside my belly, burning through me, searing away my exhaustion, filling me with anger and determination.

“I’ve got work to do,” I said.

***

Twenty minutes later, I was changed into jeans and flat-soled boots, a close-fitting jacket and scarf twined closely around my neck. Everything was in shades of black and gray. I finished off the outfit with the wrist sheaths and knives. I stuffed a pair of gloves in my pocket, not wanting to worry about fingerprints this time. I slipped the necklace with the single dose of knockout powder over my head, tucking the vial under my scarf for safe keeping. A full canister of the powder went into my messenger bag.