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CHAPTER TWENTY

“I DON’T BELIEVE THERE IS a spell to make FBI agents give up the facts of a case,” I told Trevalyan as he moved around his small kitchen, opening cupboards and taking down small pots, little glass jars holding anonymous herbs, and other bits and pieces. He put them all on the little chopping block island that sat in the middle of the kitchen. His cauldron was already set up in the middle of the block because this spell, he explained, didn’t need fire.

“It’s more a hex than a spell, and you’ll be wearing it,” Trevalyan replied. He gave a grunt of satisfaction and placed an old coffee tin on the block and closed the cupboard. Then he started opening all the jars and tins and putting pinches of ingredients into the cauldron. It was a little cast iron wok, but it worked marvelously for brewing up spells. At least, that was what Trevalyan had told me, although I had yet to graduate to cooking spells of any kind. I was still at the speak-and-close-the-circle stage.

“Okay, it’s a hex. I still don’t believe there’s a spell that can make Axel King tell me state secrets.”

“It’s not a state secret,” Trevalyan said absently, frowning as he added more ingredients. “The gossips in Gouverneur know exactly where the body was found. By the end of the week, so will the rest of Gouverneur. By next week you can read about it in the Trib . But we can’t wait for the grapevine to work.”

“Still, a spell , Trevalyan?”

“You’d rather seduce him?” Trevalyan looked at me through his glasses, his youthful eyes holding my gaze.

“Hell no,” I said fervently.

“Then, a spell.” He went back to mixing. “You won’t find a spell in any grimoire announcing it is for the benefit of interrogating FBI agents. You have to think laterally.”

“Okay, what does this spell do?”

“It makes a man relax and let down his guard.”

“I could just get him drunk.”

“King?” Trevalyan shook his head. “He’s too disciplined. He wouldn’t let himself get drunk enough to lose his sense of discretion. Not unless he was alone and the door was locked. This spell gets around that. You give it time to work, then you bring the conversation around to where you want it and by then, all you have to do is ask the questions. He’ll spill his guts.”

“Even if he doesn’t want to?”

“He won’t care.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Oh, he’ll care then. But that’s tomorrow.” Trevalyan used a silver spoon to drop spoonfuls of the spell ingredients into a tiny leather pouch on a long string. He tightened the strings of the pouch and held it out to me.

“There has to be another way,” I said. “I don’t want King coming after me tomorrow and grilling me the way he has Harper.”

Trevalyan put the pouch on the block in front of me. “What is your real objection? Does it have something to do with the fact that you haven’t practiced spellcasting in well over a week? And even then, you were reluctant.”

I picked up the pouch. “I don’t have time for this now.”

“Then when?”

I shook the pouch at him. “This feels like cheating. It’s an unfair advantage.”

Trevalyan crossed his arms. “It’s survival. You think King has any qualms about using all the authority and power he has as an agent to do whatever the hell he wants?”

“Agents have restraints.” My tone was sullen because Trevalyan had a point. “The Constitution, for a start.”

“Firbolgs don’t care about constraints. Demons don’t. If Stonebrunch decides that Haigton is a blight on the world, what are you going to do? Tell him you have a constitutional right to live in peace here, so go away?”

“Well, I do have that right.”

Trevalyan closed my fingers over the pouch. “You’ll understand, eventually. For now, go spy for us.”

·

I felt ridiculous and hyper-self-conscious as I walked into the bar. The hex bag under my shirt had sharp corners that dug into my breasts as it swung like a pendulum as I walked. Perhaps I should put on a red, low-cut dress and sashay my way over to King. I was wearing jeans but felt like I had a sign on my forehead announcing my intentions. A red dress would do the same thing, but with greater effect.

The bar was a noisy, busy place, tonight. And I was delighted to see Hirom working at the bar. He looked pale, with red in his cheeks, which was normal for him. He was moving with his usual efficiency.

Broch was also behind the bar and both of them were needed to keep up with the demand. They moved around each other easily because of the platform Hirom used to raise himself up to a height that let him deal with customers. Broch, who was at least a couple of inches over six feet, moved up and down the bar behind the platform. He could lean to put drinks on the bar without effort.

I glanced around the room not just to locate Axel King, but also to see who was in the bar. Our locals table had the Reserved sign on it once more, and no one had ignored the sign. I spotted all our guests, including the new ones I had yet to meet and catalogue.

Plus, there were strangers in the bar. They were all human in appearance, even if that human appearance was odd. I counted a number of dryads, who were easy to identify. The others…they could range anywhere from werewolves to witches, and everything in between. The more I learned about the supernatural world, the more I realized how much I didn’t know. It felt as though I was learning about species who were more than fairytales every week.

King and his people were at their usual table. They had squashed themselves in around one table, instead of sprawling over two. I wondered if they’d voluntarily given up the second table, or if someone had asked them to hand it over.

I stopped by the bar briefly. “Don’t kill yourself, Hirom,” I told him as he stepped past where I was standing and reached for a whisky glass.

Hirom nodded. “Might stay in bed in the morning, boss. But all hands, tonight.”

“Do that,” I told him. I nodded at Broch, who nodded back.

Then I moved over to the back end of the bar, where Axel King was sitting. He was already watching me.

I was going to have to raise my voice to be heard. I leaned closer. “Could I speak with you?”

King considered, then picked up his glass. He was drinking beer, and the foam had thinned out to a ring around the glass. He’d been drinking that glass for a while.

No, he wasn’t going to let himself lose control.

He got to his feet and lifted the glass in a “after you” gesture.

I shrugged. The dining room would at least have the virtue of being quiet enough to hear each other speak. Right now, I would have preferred a smaller room with a closable door. Why did this place not have an office? Had my mother considered her tiny desk in the apartment to be good enough?

I settled at the table we had used before. King’s people returned the tables to their normal position for each meal, and I appreciated that. The sideboard against the kitchen wall was in shadows cast by the edge of the archway. The tall steel warming frame and trays of cutlery glinted.

I weighed up turning on the lights, but that would make it too impersonal. We had sat in the gloom last time. It would do, now.

King did the same thing as before. He picked the chair two up from mine, pulled it all the way out from underneath the table and turned it sideways.

He sat, placed his beer glass on the table, and looked at me expectantly.

“You’ve been here nearly a week,” I said. Just talk, give the hex time to work .

King frowned. “You object to taking our money?”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I told him. “I’ll talk to Mooney about settling up the last couple of days.” I’d stopped insisting on cash in advance. I hesitated. “It’s not that I object to the money, but you might have noticed that we’re a bit busy right now. One more overnight guest, and we’ll be at capacity.”

“I’d noticed,” King said. “It’s a bit strange that a place like this, in the middle of nowhere, could do so much business.”

“It’s the time of year. There is an old feast day coming up that Haigton is known for as a great place to see in the day.”

“Beltane?” King asked.

I could feel my lips parting in surprise. “You know Celtic history?”

“I heard some of the people in the bar talking about it. Bonfires, dancing and drinking. Spirits and ghosts. As if there isn’t enough of that at Halloween…” He shrugged.

“You don’t believe in magic, Agent King?” I used a teasing tone.

King snorted. “Do you?” He glanced around the room, and I realized he was taking in the hotel and the whole town. “This place…it’s a throwback. For the gullible, it would be easy to believe.”

I laughed. “I stopped believing in fairies when I was six.”

“That’s specific. What happened?”

I realized that he was asking me the questions, and that wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “My father told me Santa Claus wasn’t real. I was upset for a week, because I figured out that if grownups were lying about Santa Claus then they were lying about the tooth fairy and everything else, too.” I shook my head to mentally reset. “Do you have any idea how long you think you’ll be staying?”

King seemed to weigh up his answer. “You know what annoys me the most about modern TV?”

“You’ll have to tell me. I don’t watch TV.” I didn’t have a TV. And neither Ghaliya nor I missed it. If we wanted to watch something, Ghaliya could play it on her laptop.

“You’re not missing anything,” King said.

“That’s what’s wrong with modern TV? Everything?”

“It’s the bullshit parading as truth.”

The mild curse seemed shocking coming from him. Was the hex already working, lowering his guard?

“Isn’t that what fiction is about?” I asked carefully. “It’s fiction , not fact.”

“Fiction should reflect fact, or what’s the point?” He shook his head. “It drives me crazy. Characters get DNA results in thirty minutes. Do you know how long it takes to get DNA results?”

“Days?” I guessed.

“Used to be. We can do it in two hours now, but that’s for internal use. And you have to know someone to get moved to the top of the list. While the rest of us have to wait like civilians do.”

“You’re hanging out in Haigton to avoid TV?” I asked.

He wagged a finger at me. “Investigators on TV. It’s hysterical. They never sit down. Have you noticed that?”

I shook my head.

“They bounce from one conveniently found clue to the next. And while they’re racing to the next witness, they’re figuring out the whole crime in their heads.”

“That’s not the way it happens? I’m shocked.”

King paused and sent me a searing glance. In that light, his blue eyes seemed almost colorless, and they gleamed. “Most cases, there’s a lot of thinking time. You learn something new, then you have to fit it into what you already know. And that requires reflection. Staring at walls, or out windows.” He picked up his beer and sipped. “I’ve been getting a lot of thinking time in, this week. And we’ve been short on it for too long. You can’t dive deep into motives when you’re trying to figure out where the nearest breakfast joint is.”

“You’re on the road a lot.”

“Almost too much.”

“You’re relaxing here, just like the rest of my guests.” I smiled at him. “Your wife must love that.” It was a direct, personal question. I was testing him. He’d given me a long, winding answer to a simple question about how long they were going to stay—and I still didn’t have a straight answer. Was that the hex working? Because I didn’t think that an FBI agent, even one who was off duty and enjoying time to think, would speak casually to a woman he didn’t know well.

King gave a soft chuffing laugh. I could hear the sarcasm in it. “ Wives ,” he corrected me.

“It happens. Divorce, I mean.” And I touched my own chest.

“Not in five years, it shouldn’t.” He said it almost to himself.

“You divorced after five years? I’ve seen marriages collapse inside a few days. You’re not unusual.”

He shook his head. “Two marriages, two kids, two divorces. Make that four divorces. My kids have forgotten how to make phone calls.”

I could hear the bitterness. It was barely showing beneath the matter-of-fact tone he was using. But it was there, and I recognized it. “Is that because you’re on the road so much?”

He was watching the bubbles in his beer rise. It was as if I wasn’t there and he was speaking to himself. “Marcy will tell you I’m a workaholic. Taylor said I would rather solve cases than deal with emotions. Her email said that. She was already gone by the time I got home.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt like that was the only thing to say. Anything else would be advice or commiseration and I didn’t know him well enough to commiserate, even if I did recognize the pain. This was the man investigating Harper and by extension, he was a threat to the whole town.

The hex bag under my shirt hung heavy and warm against my skin.

King shook his head, dismissing my “sorry.” He stirred and put his other ankle on his knee and gripped it. “You’re strong,” he said. “Not the fold-in-the-middle-type.”

“I’m actually not,” I assured him. “It’s just the circumstances that make it seem that way.” And this town.

“No,” King said, his tone flat. “Most people, looking at you, would think you’re just another middle-aged woman. But you’re not that at all. You’re smart and you’re good at dodging my questions. I can’t tell if you’re hiding something or if you’re just better at reading people than me.”

I held still for a moment, letting my spiking heartbeat calm. “You resent me for that?”

King considered. “Nope,” he said at last. “It’s interesting.”

I decided that the hex was working, and said, “Where was Calloway’s body found?” I spoke softly, casually, as if it was an idle question that naturally followed on from the last one.

“Now, that’s not interesting. The Serene Maple Hotel. Who comes up with names like that?”

“Fairies?” I suggested.

He didn’t laugh. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

My heartrate spiked again. I held still.

“You were asking questions at the diner.”

I relaxed a little. “Harper didn’t do it. You know that. I know that. If you’re not going to look for other suspects, I have to.”

“Why look for suspects when I have a perfectly good one already?”

“But you know she didn’t do it,” I pointed out.

“I don’t know that for sure.” He bounced his foot. “Nothing about this town makes sense. Harper’s records are spotty. Everyone else seems to be off the grid. Records don’t add up. They keep shifting. Giving a different reading every time you study them. Even your daughter has a chunk of history missing.”

I swallowed.

“Yours are the only ones that are perfectly normal. Even boring. But I’ve watched you. And I know that there’s more to you than that.”

My heart was screaming now. The hex was working far too well. How could I shut him up? I didn’t want to hear any more.

But King was on a roll. “There’s a couple of wiccans in the bar, talking about their grimoires.” He rolled his eyes. “Everything here says magic, but that’s bullshit. It’s just shit that people can’t explain. Magic fills in the gap. Or they’re wish-fulfilling to paper over their desperate little lives. Because a witch with powers who has to hide her true nature from the rest of the world and appear to be a mousy secretary by day…that’s something a weak mind can hold onto, isn’t it?”

I drew in a breath to answer, but King drove on. “There’s something about this town. I’ll figure it out. Sooner or later.” He sounded happy about that prospect.

King wasn’t staying in town because the town wanted him to. He wasn’t staying for the chance to spend some quality thinking time, either. He was staying because he wanted to solve the puzzle. Had the town built that compulsion in him? Suggested it, and King had grabbed the idea and run with it?

Unnerved, I got to my feet. “I’ll arrange another three days’ accommodation with Mooney. Have a good evening, Agent King.”

“So far, so good,” he told me with a weird, cheerful tone.

I got out of there before he started talking again. Whatever he said, it would be something he didn’t want me to hear. And I didn’t want King to hate me in the morning.

Whatever it took, we had to find Calloway’s killer and shove King and his agents out of Haigton. Preferably before Beltane, because that night would hand him way too many clues about the true nature of Haigton and the people who lived here.