A Familiar Sense of Dead Read online

  “Motion to adjourn,” said Cass casually.

  “Yay,” the Council unenthusiastically chorused.

  “Call a janitor to clean up that mess!” barked Circe.

  “No need!” said Hazel, apologetically. She stooped down, scooped up the heap, and stuffed it back into the paper bag in her satchel.

  “And Miss Bennet,” said Cass. “If you ever find yourself in the vicinity of Harmony House. Stop in and meet the coven. Your Gammy used to be a card-carrying member.”

  Hazel nodded and smiled, then hurried from the gym, the Council’s gaze following her the entire way.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hazel stepped outside, her head abuzz. She fidgeted with the badge affixed to her shirt. As best she could tell, it was absent of any pin or clasping mechanism and there was no discernable way to remove it. To test, she gave it a good tug, but it stayed fixed. She wondered what the shelf-life for magical Krazy Glue was.

  “It looks good on you,” said Alex as he stepped out of the gym behind her. “I was hoping you’d still be here. Welcome to the ranks.”

  “Thanks for covering for me in there. It was exceptional of you.”

  He looked uncomfortable for a moment, and shifted on his feet, at a loss for words. Clearly the man dealt poorly with compliments. She could respect that. Her Gammy had always said that people who dealt with compliments poorly usually hadn’t been looking for them in the first place.

  “Just try to be more careful,” he said. “Not everyone here is going to give you an easy time.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she said. “I’ve already had a run-in with an angry troll and his merry pranksters.”

  “Ah yes, Oddlump. He’s a gem. But I was referring to your partner.”

  “Hey now, Alex,” said Cordelia Strange, sauntering from the school doors as she lit a cigarette with a bizarre-looking lighter. “Don’t go breaking a young lady’s heart.”

  “Cordelia,” he said curtly. “You have good timing. I was helping your partner here understand the expectations that come with being a Wand of the Council. I’m sure you could use the refresher.”

  Cordelia gasped in mock offense, and in that moment, Hazel saw her resemblance with Circe, the eyes dark as storm clouds, roiling and ready to spit lightning. But she bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, the storm has passed. She smiled curtly. “It’s good there’s a Boy Scout here to keep us walking the straight and narrow.”

  Alex glowered.

  “Do I get a sidearm?” asked Hazel, trying to lighten the mood. “Or at least a taser?”

  “Wands of the Council don’t need sidearms,” he said. “We have this.” He pointed at his head. “And this.” He reached into his sweater and withdrew his wand, relatively plain and rustic-looking thing, like a stick that somebody had mindfully whittled smooth. “A Wand of the Council is only as powerful as the strength of their craft and the tenacity of their spirit.”

  Cordelia burst out laughing. “That was super macho, Alex. Did you read it under the cap of an Old Spice bottle? Maybe the bathroom stall at the Hiss and Vinegar?”

  “Agent Willoughby said it to me before he retired,” Alex said wistfully.

  “Sounds like something ol’ Willoughby would have said,” she commented as she stepped up to him, pushing the tip of Alex’s wand with a single finger. “But you should tuck that thing away—you could put out a girl’s eye.”

  Alex blushed and tucked the wand back into his sweater. “I’d love to stand around and chat, but I have matters to attend to and you have a murderer to catch and a reputation to salvage.” He looked to Cordelia, who winked at and then saluted him. Alex tried his best to ignore her as he hurried off down the street.

  “God, he is so hot,” Cordelia growled. “I just want to make him break all the rules.”

  “He seems . . . nice,” said Hazel, though she wasn’t sure she would say he was exactly her type. Maybe out in LA he would have been—but there was something about that too coiffed, too well-dressed pretty boy that seemed repellent to her now. Chet Morgan, her most recent (and, she swore, her last) Hollywood beaux had been the straw that had dropkicked the camel’s back. “He worked undercover at the farm to track down a warlock,” she said, in defense of Alex.

  “Exactly,” she said. “The lapdog of the Council.”

  “And what about you?” asked Hazel. “Not the Council’s pet?”

  “Ha!” she scoffed. “You don’t earn one of these things by being the favorite.” She jangled the bracelet on her wrist.

  “What is it?” Hazel asked, moving in to inspect the bracelet. It was crafted of some dark metal, cast with intricate designs and sigils and inset with gems that seemed to throb with a deep light.

  “A dampener,” she said. “It turns out you can get punished for thinking outside the box.”

  Hazel was tempted to ask the backstory on that one, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Instead, she nodded sympathetically.

  “And what about you?” Cordelia asked. “Do you really cast without a wand?”

  “I guess,” Hazel said. Honestly, she really wasn’t sure. She had cast spells with all manner of objects: a hairpin, a paintbrush, a hairbrush. Focuses her Gammy had called them. Bennett-family wisdom had led her to believe that a wand was merely an unnecessary prop.

  “That’s weird as all hell, just so you know,” said Cordelia. She considered Hazel for a moment, but then shrugged.

  “It is?”

  “I’ve never heard of a witch being able to cast so much as a fishing line without a wand.

  But weird as hell just happens to be my jam, so we’re cool. Whether you cast with a wand or not, I hope you’re ready to do all the heavy lifting because you could give me a hundred wands and I’m not casting so much as a tracing spell.” She crushed the last of her cigarette beneath her combat boots. “Let’s get going. This murder isn’t going to solve itself, and the sooner we solve it, the sooner I can get back to flying instead of walking like a peasant.”

  Hazel, jaw agape, watched Cordelia go. Was Cordelia Strange just a spoiled-rich brat looking to get back in mommy’s good graces? Or was she the irreverent rebel Hazel first took her for? Either way, Cordelia Strange needed Hazel just as much as Hazel needed her.

  “Wait a minute,” Hazel said, her temper rising. “I may be the outsider here, but I’m more than just your lackey. This investigation is coming into my backyard too, and in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the resident expert on the so-called mundane world. So if you think I’m here to play second fiddle, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

  Cordelia stared at her in silence, then finally cracked a grin. “Awesome,” she said. “I was afraid you were some kind of a pushover. We’re going to get along just fine.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Cordelia ignored Hazel’s concern. “I can’t even begin to tackle this case until I’ve had a drink.”

  “A drink? It’s midafternoon.”

  Cordelia took a slow drag from her cigarette, looking at Hazel with mild horror. “Oh god. Please don’t say you’re some teetotaling, sweater-set wearing, goody-two-shoes.”

  Even though Hazel didn’t think there was anything wrong with any of those things, Hazel couldn’t help but feel offended. “No!” she blurted out.

  Alex’s warning about Cordelia still swirled in her head. She was in a public position again, in the public eye to some degree, and people were watching. The cameras were on, and rehearsal was over. She had to stay in character. And she was pretty sure that drinking on the job was not in character for a Wand of the Council.

  “Relax. I meant coffee,” said Cordelia, stamping her cigarette out. “You do drink that, don’t you?”

  “Coffee! Do I!” gasped Hazel, suddenly forgetting all of her indignation. “My kingdom for a cup!” She’d been pining for a proper cup of coffee ever since she’d come back to the farm. It turned out Larkhaven lacked a proper café, and her mother’s strange aversion to a
ppliances prevented Hazel from taking matters into her own hands.

  “Then right this way,” said Cordelia. She took Hazel back to Common Place and stopped before the cute brownstone shop called the Brewhaha Café. Hazel and Clancy had passed it on their way in.

  “Last chance for a brewski,” Cordelia said, nodding toward the Hiss and Vinegar. Hazel examined the tavern with a little more care, and she saw that it was a little rundown, the windowpanes grimy, the sign hanging crookedly.

  “Errr, I’m going to have to pass.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Cordelia, shrugging. “Coffee it is.”

  Hazel beamed. At last, a good cup of coffee, to think she only had to step through an interdimensional portal to obtain it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The interior of the Brewhaha was cute, furnished as it was with pillowy armchairs and well-stocked bookcases, giving it a strong living-room vibe. Delicate glass Edison bulbs floated through the air, unmoored from any outlet or fixture, each housing a tiny ball of light similar to the ones Hazel now produced with her light spells.

  On the far wall stood a service counter flanked by display racks piled with baked goods and breads. Hazel hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment. She’d taken a sandwich from Bennett Manor, but she almost feared looking into the zippered pouch of her satchel to see what had become of the cannoli apocalypse inside.

  Cordelia approached the counter and rang a bell. A moment later a woman appeared out back, pushing through a set of saloon doors. Hazel was immediately struck with her exotic beauty. Her skin was as green as summer foliage, and her hair, the color of loam, was piled atop her head in an impossible—yet artful—tangle, and her eyes were devoid of pupils, just serene blue, like the surface of a pristine mountain lake. Hazel had never seen somebody so strikingly beautiful, and for a moment it literally took her breath away.

  “Hey, Siv!” said Cordelia.

  “It’s Cordelia the Deal!” said the green woman. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Official business,” Cordelia responded importantly, thumbing the lapels of her leather coat. “Mind if we occupy the loft?”

  “For the Sultana of Quark, anything,” said Siv, curtsying as she pinched the hem of an imaginary gown.

  “Who’s your friend?” Siv asked, smiling at Hazel.

  “This is Hazel Bennett. She’s new around town.”

  “And already a Wand?” Siv asked, clearly impressed. “What can I get the new all-star?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” said Hazel, hesitating. How much variation was there between coffee in the mundane and magical worlds. She turned to Cordelia. “Order for me.”

  “We’ll have two double cappuccinos with butterfly milk,” said Cordelia.

  “Butterfly . . . milk . . .” said Hazel, trying to register the phrase.

  “What?” asked Cordelia. “Are you intolerant?”

  “Sorry, I’m wrestling with a disturbing visual,” she said. “Butterflies aren’t mammals . . .”

  “Neither are almonds, but I hear that doesn’t stop you on the other side of the Postern.”

  “Fair enough. But what is butterfly milk?”

  It was the barista that answered her question, talking over her shoulder as she got to work, scooping espresso beans into a grinder.

  “Butterfly milk is neither butterfly nor milk,” said Siv. “It’s powdered fae chrysalis, but you can’t market that to the general public. Hence butterfly milk. I’ll bring your drinks up to you guys so you can get started.”

  Cordelia smirked. “And how about a plate of goodies. You can surprise us.”

  “You got it, Deal.”

  “Thanks, Siv.”

  Cordelia climbed a set of metal stairs in the corner that spiraled up into the ceiling. At the top, was a gorgeous tearoom with near floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over Common Place.

  “This is amazing,” Hazel said. “I would never leave if I lived close by. Do you come here often?”

  “Daily. I live next door.”

  “At the bar?”

  Cordelia smirked. “Above it.” She pointed to the second-story window over the bar, and Hazel saw the windows were girded with cute curtains and a few suncatchers hung on the panes. A cute touch that, in its own small way, helped to lift The Hiss and Vinegar out of its mire.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got,” said Cordelia, changing subjects. “Evidence-wise.”

  Hazel set her satchel on the table and pulled it open, cautiously. It looked like the mess had stayed contained in the zippered compartment. She grabbed the items she had taken from the pawnshop—the statuette, the medicine case, the ledger—and dumped them on the table. “Just a few,” she said.

  Hrk.

  Hazel snapped to attention, looking at Cordelia, who was leaning far back in her seat, her hand pressed to her mouth and her face turning a Siv-shade of green.

  Hrk. Cordelia dry heaved again.

  “Are you okay?”

  Cordelia only shook her head in tight microspasms, pointing wildly at the bag. “Stench.”

  “Oooh.” Hazel had been dealing with the peppermint all day and had almost acclimated to the pungent aroma seeping from the bag. “Peppermint!”

  Hrrrk.

  Hazel pulled the satchel closed, the stench of the ill-timed holiday cheer contained for the moment. “Sorry. Not a fan of peppermint I take it?”

  Cordelia just shot her a look over the back of her hand. Cordelia and everyone else, apparently.

  Hazel took it as a sign of encouragement and slid the book across the table to her. “It smells,” Cordelia muttered, but she cautiously reached out and flipped the cover open. “So it’s a business log. Big deal.”

  “It is a big deal,” Hazel said. “It’s a potential record of everyone Silas has interacted with recently.”

  “There are just too many addresses here. We can’t go knocking on every door in Quark.”

  “I mean, we could.”

  “I’m not canvassing like some sort of beggar,” said Cordelia. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

  There it was again—that entitled side of Cordelia that she kept hidden beneath dyed hair and leather. But she did have a point. The list of sales and pawns was quite lengthy, and Hazel had no idea how long it would take the two of them to run through it.

  “So how do we narrow it down?” asked Hazel. Her mind started buzzing with all the evidence she’d seen so far—the slew of literature and items in Silas’s backroom dealing with magical treatments, the appearance of the werespider, and then the discussion of riven at the council meeting. “There’s a common thread in all of this,” she said slowly. She reached across the table, flipped the book around, and opened it from the back.

  “This book has a secret to tell, and Clancy showed me how to open it.”

  Cordelia suddenly soured. “Did you say Clancy?”

  Hazel nodded. “Do you know him?”

  “Yay tall, covered in dark fur and too many parts, and filled entirely with spite?”

  Hazel didn’t like the characterization of Clancy as being filled with nothing but spite. But considering he had abandoned her to the machinations of Quark, she could get on board with that description at the moment. “Yeah, that sounds like the Clancy I know. How do you know him?”

  “A few years ago, we were working together,” she said. A look of recognition crossed her face. “Doesn’t he have a long history with the Bennett clan?”

  “His family does, yes,” she said. “His father was my Gammy’s familiar, and if we can figure it out, he’s supposed to be mine.”

  Cordelia gave her a peculiar look, then shook her head and chuckled. “No wand and no familiar,” she said slowly. “And you say you’re a witch?”

  “In training,” said Hazel, hedging her bets and Cordelia’s expectations.

  Cordelia looked at her intensely. “You’re something of an enigma, Hazel Bennett. I like that.”

  Hazel cleared her throa
t uncomfortably. “Speaking of enigmas. We have a heck of a one to solve here. I think, given the direction the Council has prescribed to us, it’s likely that whoever this werespider is—they are trying to cure themselves and were working with Silas to do it. They were keeping it on the down-low. Look. No names. No signatures. Just transactions. We need to figure out who this was—and maybe we can find our killer. And I’d say we have a fairly strong idea of where to start.” She slid the wooden medicine box across the table. “Perhaps we should pay a visit to Dr. Winkworth?”

  Cordelia nodded slowly. “That makes sense. Silas MacGregor has done this sort of work before,” said Cordelia finally. “He has helped the riven in the past. Or tried to help them, I should say.”

  “Other werecreatures?” asked Hazel incredulously.

  “Riven are more than just werecreatures,” Cordelia explained. “In the same way baked goods is a broad category, so is the state of being riven. To be riven means to be divided somehow. It can be literally cut in half, like Silas MacGregor. Or it can be somewhere in between.”

  “How do you know so much about riven?” asked Hazel. The Council seemed to have indicated that knowledge about riven was circumstantial at best.

  “Ask Clancy next time you see him,” said Cordelia.

  The statement hung in the air for a moment before being interrupted by the patter of footsteps on the metal staircase. Siv appeared, carrying a serving tray with two cups and a mound of baked goods. She set the cup down a little too hard next to Cordelia, and some of the cappuccino sloshed over the side and onto the book.

  “Oh my god!” Siv exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

  Hazel whisked the book off the table and tipped it to dribble the coffee off the pages. Something fell from the book and clattered across the table. Hazel retrieved it—a thin stone disc with the image of a water well engraved on it.