Curse It (A Peg Darrow Novel Book 1), page 12
"That must have been awful for you." I told her empathizing with the embarrassment all the while knowing that Violet had probably saved her life. There were few men in the world who could be described as gods and make young girls drop all sense of reason. Vampires were one of them. No doubt Ivy met one that night and had been glamoured. Fortunately, it sounded like Violet hadn’t been.
Was she immune? There were rumors some witches were, but I never believed it. It would make sense though, since her business dealings with Fane appeared to be a legit partnership, unlike the typical blood-slave relationship that I’d witnessed in the past.
Ivy continued, bringing me out of my train of thought. "Embarrassing really, I felt like an idiot. She apologized later, but it was never the same after that.” She checked her watch. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I can’t be late for work."
"Okay, is there anything else you can think of?"
"Not off the top of my head. I really do need to go. I manage a hotel, and I'm on graveyard tonight."
I opened my Jeep door, set the box down, and reached for my wallet to pull another card out. "Here, I know my number is in your phone, but a backup never hurts. Please call me with any little detail you can think of; the killer may have had a history with Violet. If you hear from Imogen, please have her contact me. Violet didn't seem to have many friends, and any information Imogen could share would be great."
Ivy grabbed the card from my hand. "I will. Despite losing touch with Vi, I loved that girl like family. I could have gotten over any hurt feelings, if she’d only come to me."
I reached out and hugged Ivy. She stiffened before relaxing into my embrace. Pulling away, she said, "Thanks, I needed that."
"No problem," I murmured, a little surprised at my own behavior. Touchy-feely was not my normal modus operandi. Since I’d taken on this case, an unexpected well of compassion had bubbled forth, apparently my new reaction to dealing with upset people was to hug them. My previous response would have been to stealthily leave the room.
She turned back to her car, lifting her hand to wave as she left. I manhandled the box off my seat and over to the passenger side. Stifling a yawn, I fumbled the keys into the ignition. It was going to be a long drive home.
With the help of classic rock, Diet Pepsi, and NPR, I managed to get home without killing anything. Not even the jackrabbit with a death wish, thirty miles outside of Tucson. Back home, I took the box to my kitchen table and examined it. Thank gods Deval was picking up his chest, otherwise I was afraid I would become known as that weird witch who collected boxes. Witch and weird were fairly synonymous, without the addition of any odd collections.
I picked up the hunk of wood, looking it over with more attention to detail. Then I shook it because that was what any professional would do with evidence. On the verge of rolling my eyes at my own behavior, I heard a telltale rattle. There was definitely something inside. The wood surrounding the mystery contents was completely solid. It brought to mind a puzzle box. I sucked at puzzles.
After another thorough inspection, I shrugged. An idea occurred to me, one I considered before deciding why the hell not? I sent a surge of power through my palms and into the box. At first, nothing happened. Then the carvings erupted in a flash of eye-searing light and a metal thorn shot out of the center like a piston. Great, now I knew what the box was, but had no idea how to open the fucker.
11
My phone rang at six in the morning, which sucked because I planned on sleeping until nine. On the bright side, it wasn't Pammy's ring tone. Instead the Mesa Public Schools’ automated caller offered me a sub position for the day. I didn't want to go in. I had so much to do. On the other hand, if I did sub, I could make an extra hundred bucks.
I didn't know when, or if, I was going to solve the case. I needed to take money where I could get it. Since I planned on spending most of the day investigating via social media, it might work. On the few occasions I had been offered a sub position, the teacher had left me with a video to play for the kids.
Mind made up, I accepted the job before I could change my mind. Not that I didn't want to teach, but sleep deprivation hurt my soul. Job accepted, I got up and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. I didn't bother washing my hair. Middle school students didn't care if my hair rocked a two-hour blow out or a messy bun. Plus, I was just sane enough not to care if children thought I looked like a hag.
I headed to the school in a simple business casual outfit with my trusty laptop by my side. It should be relatively easy money. Even if the kids were total deviants, come two-thirty, they were no longer my problem. So, when I entered the front office and showed the receptionist my ID, I ignored the look she gave me. It seemed every school receptionist in the state knew my heritage.
Directed to another building, I found out that I would, in fact, be showing a video to the Biology classes, all day. The next few hours passed as expected. The kids came in, and upon seeing me sitting up front with Ms. Darrow printed neatly on the white board behind me, became instantly ecstatic. Students were rarely well behaved for a sub. At best they would be rowdy, at worst downright evil.
The morning group fell into the former, thank gods. So, while the video on organisms and cells droned on during first hour, I busted out my laptop and did what any person with a moderate amount of computer knowledge did, I stalked. Not like scary stalker, just perused around what was there for the taking. Violet, unfortunately, had a private Facebook account.
With limited access, I did the best I could. By the end of first hour, all I knew was Violet and I had one mutual friend on Facebook, not surprising given the small witch population. Unfortunately, I didn't recognize our mutual friend beyond remembering we bonded over cat memes while drinking at a party, and then decided we would become best friends. That meant we never spoke again. But I didn't un-friend the woman because everyone was a voyeur at heart.
During times like these, I wished for the skills of a master computer hacker. Sadly, my wardrobe didn’t contain a Guy Fawkes mask. Next best option was to discreetly text Pammy under the desk, asking for her assistance.
The children's stage whispers raised a notch. An authoritative glare didn’t make them pipe down, so I used the only other weapon in my arsenal. "Your teacher implied there would a quiz on this material tomorrow."
A collective groan sounded through the classroom, drowning out the narrator's monotone explanation of single-cell reproduction. For the last ten minutes of class, the students were blessedly quiet, partly because of the threat, and partly because I kept my eyes on them. It would be awhile before I heard back from Pammy. The students were less eager to talk when I actually paid attention.
The bell rang, and they shuffled out as a new group shuffled in, and the process repeated. I spent the second hour looking at more accessible social media. From Twitter I learned Violet was fond of retweeting random scientific facts and inspirational quotations. Ugh, my least favorite kind of twitter feed.
Beyond that, I couldn't find anything of interest. I joined the students and watched the video. For an education film, it was actually fairly well done, dry yes, but still gave a very good overview. This class contained a lot of honor students, so the misbehaving was kept to a minimum. The bell rang and just as my eyes were beginning to glaze over.
The day droned on and after watching the video three times, at the end of the fourth hour I wanted to take a nap or shoot myself. What was dry and boring became unbearable. My phone vibrated before the next class began. I thanked the mysterious beings upstairs that Pammy came through. Violet's login and password were mine. I don't know how she did it, and the little air of mystery suited Pammy's reputation.
Pammy’s weren’t the only messages I received. Deval texted looking for updates. I let him know I was teaching and would call him after class. His texts got sharper. Apparently the jackass had a problem with me moonlighting. I turned off my phone. With only two more periods left, I wanted to use my time to dig up some dirt on Facebook, not placate a goblin who thought he was my boss.
Despite Violet's login information, I didn't find much. She didn't instant message with anyone, and rarely posted beyond the typical holiday wishes, the occasional vacation pic, and, of course, the sharing of random viral Internet gems. Two years back, I finally found a post where a woman tagged her for Throwback Thursday, otherwise known as, look how thin and drunk we used to be. Better yet, the woman went as far as to mention her new work in the caption.
The woman worked as a realtor and had many listings suitable for her old college buddy. Given Violet's lack of response, I was fairly sure she hadn’t encouraged the woman. Which meant she either didn't want a sales pitch on her page, or she didn't want to give the woman her business. The time frame felt right though, maybe the woman would have some information that I wanted.
Violet lacked close confidants, and according to Ivy, that started around college. Until I got a hold of Imogen, Jessica the Realtor became a good option for information. If Violet cursed anyone, it had to be during the time when she was isolated. A move to a different city for school certainly fit that bill. A young woman learning life's ups and downs was likely to place a curse on someone without thinking about the repercussions.
Not that fifty-year-old witches didn't do the same, but in my limited experience, I typically found that the older, and therefore wiser, a witch was, the less likely they would curse out of spite or anger. It might come back to bite them in the ass. The young and passionate, on the other hand, were more than willing to take the risk.
I would have emailed Jessica to set up a meeting, but the last two hours went decidedly downhill. I had to monitor the crap out of the students, who had gotten bolder as the day went on. I ended up sending two students to the principal for fighting before the day ended. I packed up at the end of the last period, I’d accomplished quite a bit I thought as I straightened my shoulders. I’d made a relatively easy hundred bucks, and the next steps for looking into Violet's murder were set.
Outside, the Arizona sunshine heated my skin despite the brisk November air. Between the laptop bag, a tote, various notebooks, and my half-full travel mug, I had a hard time reaching into my purse to grab the keys to my Jeep.
"Need some assistance?" From behind me, a deep voice sounded.
I dropped the coffee mug and tote, barely keeping my laptop bag slung over my shoulder as the lid came off, dowsing the bottom of my dress pants in lukewarm coffee. I swung around, nearly whacking Deval with the purse clenched in my shaking hand. Not sure whether the shakes came from being frightened or furious, I went with fury.
Glaring at him, I reached down to gather the mug and the tote that escaped all but a few drops of coffee. It appeared my pants were more of a coffee magnet. "What the hell are you doing here?" I hissed in a stage whisper. Teachers and parents were starting to throw curious glances our way.
"You haven't responded to my texts in three hours. I would think that solving a murder would place higher on your priorities list than babysitting pre-adolescents." The way he said pre-adolescents came across as “sniveling brats.”
"Listen here, bub," I pointed my finger into his chest, "not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouth, or in your case, an actual silver mine. If I want to pay the bills and feed my cat, I need to take work where I can find it."
"I hardly think your cat is any danger of starving."
My eyes rolled and what started out as curious glares from our unintended audience turned into full-on speculation. I probably shouldn't have pointed at Deval. "I'm not having this conversation here. If you want to talk, meet me at Starbucks."
Deval gave me a look that indicated he would be fine continuing the conversation here. I pointedly fished my keys out of my purse and awkwardly unlocked the door. He didn't attempt to help me or make any comments as I slammed the door. I didn't bother to wait for him to find whatever sleek black vehicle he brought on his mission to intimidate me.
I left at a reasonable speed for a school zone, so that no one would be able to add anything to the already awkward moment in the school parking lot. All I needed was for parents and teachers to crow about how I had an inappropriate thug on school property. I didn't know where the nearest Starbucks was, but this was America, I assumed there would be one within a mile. My assumption proved correct.
Since Deval didn't ask where the nearest Starbucks was, I assumed he would figure it out. By the time my soy chai latte was ready, he came through the door. Ignoring him, I walked straight to a table in the corner. The coffee joint was blessedly free of the usual crowds.
Deval followed. I hoped for meekly, but that word wasn’t in his vocabulary and certainly not in his posture. He sat down with me without ordering any coffee.
"Aren't you going to get something to drink?" I snapped.
"I'm not in the mood for coffee."
Great, he was a masochist as well as the dick that made me look bad at my place of employment. "Peachy, what was so important you couldn't wait a few hours for me to call you back?"
He folded his arms and gave me what I supposed was his stern look. "The fact you are out working on something besides the murder and theft at hand disturbs me. You indicated in the parking lot you were tight on money. Yet I have offered to pay you. You should be able to see that I find this troubling and unprofessional."
I took a sip of the chai latte, as I gathered my thoughts before responding. It was still scalding, but my regular coffee-drinking created a tolerance. The smooth spicy flavor calmed my angry thoughts and when I lifted my eyes to meet the jackass goblin's, I didn't want to maim him, only throttle him. "Deval, taking money from you would be a conflict of interest. We discussed this. I do not work for you."
He made a steeple with his hands. "A technicality, you still need to be focused on the task at hand. What if this man murders again?"
"If I recall correctly, your main concern has nothing to do with a witch's murder but with someone stealing from you. Which is it? Are you mad I'm not out searching for your thief, or are you genuinely concerned that a witch was killed?"
An emotion passed over his face that I couldn't read. "Of course, I am concerned about the witch's death. I am not so old that I am without empathy. However, my priorities will always be to my people. This theft has larger implications than you could possibly understand."
I rubbed my temples. "You’re right, I couldn't understand the implications because you won't tell me. For all I know, this murder had nothing to do with Violet being a witch and everything to do with you being a goblin."
"She’s not associated with my people, so that is doubtful," he said dryly.
"Yeah, well, the million dollar box might suggest otherwise. Listen, I'm doing the best I can with the information I have. I wasn't just sitting in school all day. I found a college buddy of Violet's, and I'm going to follow up with her as soon as this powwow is over. Get off my back. I don't need a babysitter or a cattle prod."
"Time will tell if that's true or not. I will be by tonight to pick up my property," he said as he rose from his chair.
"Great.” I met his eyes. “Do me a favor, and knock this time."
He quirked his eyebrow and gave me a ghost of a smile. I couldn't be sure whether that meant he would knock or wouldn't. If he didn't, I planned to zap him good and risk the consequences.
Comfortably ensconced in my Jeep, I emailed Jessica from my phone, indicating I was interested in buying a new home. Total lie, but bait was bait. Twenty minutes later I arrived home, checked my phone, and was unsurprised by her quick reply. People in sales were cutthroat in their ability to spin bullshit for money. I scheduled a lunch date for noon tomorrow in one of the pricier Scottsdale restaurants because I mistakenly let her pick the location.
Plans set, I got ready for bed, stacking the books Alice lent me in a high pile on the scarred nightstand next to my bed. I flipped through the books, large yawns escaping me every few minutes. Sleep called to me, but with Deval’s impending visit to pick up his safe, I wasn’t in the mood to give in. Last time he’d visited when I was sleeping hadn’t worked out well for me.
I considered grabbing my laptop to see if I’d missed anything online. It would probably be a waste of time since Violet wasn’t into advertising her life via social media. Not a bad life choice, but I wished she’d been a little more in tune with her generation. On the other hand, the less crap I needed to dig through, the better. Finding her murderer was already like hunting a needle in a haystack, no sense in piling on extra hay.
Around nine o'clock, I gave up on Deval. For a man eager to reclaim his treasure, he was being lax in his duties. For a minute, worry snuck in that perhaps some harm had come to him, but remembering who he was made the thought an improbability. Sleep was no longer singing to me, it was screaming in a voice I couldn’t ignore.
Sleep came deeply and easily, as did the dreams. Deep in my dreams something called to me. At least I thought they were dreams, until I stubbed my toe on my doorframe. As quickly as the sharp sense of alertness from the pain came, it went. Again the siren song crooned to me from somewhere beyond the room. A reassuring mixture of a deep toned, warm stringed instruments played in my head. Warmth invaded my body, giving my mind a fuzzy sense of peace.
