Chapter 15
15
Corrie lives on a street of detached homes in a newer estate, where almost every driveway contains a prestige model of car parked beside a family minivan. I marvel at how clean the sidewalks are compared to the town and how each home's greenery is neatly tended rather than growing wildly. I'm also happy that Kai's sporty hatchback is very much in keeping with the environment and offers us some camouflage.
Kai and Dale sit in the front, while I'm between Rowan and Leif in the rear seats. Grayson took the faster route from Kai's—across the fields at his supernatural speed—so he could scout around before we arrived.
"Which is Corrie's house?" I ask. Dale points at one with white wood around the Tudor-style windows, where rectangular hedgerows border the empty driveway. "Do the family not own cars?"
"Her dad works in the city on weekdays and stays. Corrie's mum's car isn't parked because she attends Pilates on Mondays."
"Pilates? How would you know her mother's social calendar?"
"Um. Because that's when me and Corrie have our few hours alone time in her house." He rubs the back of his neck. "Y'know?"
"No, I do not know."
"In her bedroom , Violet," says Leif.
"Oh. And is Corrie's bedroom at the front or rear of the property as there're no lights switched on." I point.
"Rear."
"Her window's above the shed," puts in Kai. "Useful if Dale needs a swift exit through the window."
"Swift exit? Wouldn't the front or back door offer a swifter route and hold less chance of injury?" I ask.
"In case Corrie's mum returns and Dale doesn't want her to see him sneaking from Corrie's room," says Rowan with a sigh. "Come on. This isn't relevant."
"Oh. Like boys in Holly's shows—how bizarre people do that in reality. Why not hide in the closet as people often do in such scenarios?"
"Huh?"
"Have you ever injured yourself, Dale? Suffered a splinter from the shed?"
"You're right, Kai," he mumbles to his friend. "She's crazy." He looks at me. "The shed is metal."
"Have you ever dented it?" I suggest, my curiosity continuing. "You're rather large."
"Again, Violet, irrelevant," Rowan says. "A girl's life could be in danger!"
"Did Corrie reply to your message?" asks Leif, and Dale shakes his head.
"Very well. I shall take Rowan to gain entry to the home, and you shall remain in the car," I inform the occupants.
"Wouldn't Corrie be more likely to let me inside?" asks Dale.
"I won't expose both of you to the possibility there's a witch in the house." I nod at the phone. "Send Corrie another message. Tell her you're coming over to visit because you're worried."
"I already did that."
"Then send another. Tell Corrie you're almost at her house."
Dale does as instructed, and I tap my fingers on the back of his seat while I await a response.
"Here." He turns the phone to me.
I'm not well I'll see you tomorrow
"She's home. Come on, Rowan. Leif, keep the mole on your person, and stay with these two in case they abscond."
"Abs-what?" asks Dale.
"Don't leave or call the police. If a witch is causing trouble, that's outside of human jurisdiction. If the invader is human, then you may call the authorities later." I look at Dale. "How long until her mother returns?"
"Around nine usually."
An hour.
"How do we even know someone's with Corrie?" asks Dale.
"One way to find out." I push at Rowan to open his door. "We're wasting time."
"Wait," he says and takes a furtive look around.
Once Rowan's happy that nobody is walking in the street, we leave the car and cross to Corrie's house. I scale the tall wooden gate beside the garage and jump down before opening it just enough for Rowan to sidle through and join me. A covered patio area at the rear overlooks a small rectangle of grass, with wood-paneled fences as tall as the gate penning us in.
"No lights switched on upstairs at the back either," whispers Rowan, then points at the staircase. "But there're some lit downstairs."
Grayson's lithe figure emerges from the edge of the gardens, and Rowan clutches his chest, swearing. "Don't do that."
He grins. "Reporting back to Detective Violet. Nothing suspicious, although a dog tried to chase me through a neighbor's garden."
"A large dog? Not noisy, I hope." I slant my head. No loud barking. Good.
"Rat dog. Yappy."
"Excuse me?"
He holds his hands a small distance apart. "Chihuahua? Could've squished it easily if needed."
"Grayson. That would not be helpful."
"Kidding." He jerks his chin. "Want me to climb up and try to open an upstairs window? I might be able to get in and take a look."
"Good plan. I can't sense who's inside the house. You try that, and we'll attempt to enter the traditional way."
Grayson nods and melds back into the dark.
Rowan and I make our way to the front of the house again. We're hidden from passersby due to the unlit porch, but Rowan shuffles from foot to foot as he presses the doorbell, eyes darting towards the sidewalk as we wait. Dale's car remains on the street, and the occupants still sit inside. Impressive—they followed instructions.
"Hello?" asks a disembodied voice, and I startle, spinning around.
"Remote doorbell." Rowan points at a silver contraption on the wall to the left of the entrance. "Has a camera too. Whoever is inside will see us."
"Right. I had no idea such a thing existed. We don't need a doorbell at my family's house, let alone an elaborate one." I chew my lip, watching the door. "Nobody visits us."
"I'll bet," mumbles Rowan. "I'm not keen on a return visit to your parents."
"That isn't an unusual response from the rare visitors to my home." I ring the doorbell again. "We need to speak to you, Corrie."
The girl doesn't answer the door, and no disembodied voice comes from the silver box. Ignoring me because I'm Violet Blackwood or because she's unable to answer?
"About the mole's eyes. We know where they are," I inform the box. Rowan hisses at me, and I whisper, "If the witch hears, they'll want to let us in. Leif has the mole with the correct eyes. Nobody will get a hold of the gems."
I'm about to speak again when Corrie's muffled voice comes from the other side of the door. "Do you have the eyes?" she asks. "Help me leave. He locked the door and took the keys, and I can't get past him to run through the back door."
I place a hand on the side of the door and shove. "Apologies for the broken lock."
Corrie stumbles back as I step inside with Rowan. "I never knew Alistair was a witch. I just thought he was weird," she whispers.
Alistair?
I'm in her mind in a heartbeat. A kitchen. A young guy with long hair. Threats. Human or supe? I take Corrie's arm. "Where's your unwanted guest?"
"This way."
The house smells overpoweringly of vanilla and berries from lit candles, and I drag a whimpering Corrie along the short, carpeted hallway where a door opens into a lounge room engulfed by cream leather sofas and a ridiculously large TV playing loudly on the wall.
Nobody.
"Where is this person?" I ask.
"Alistair waited in the kitchen to stay out of sight." Corrie clutches her hands together. "He says I can't leave the house until I tell him where the real eyes are. He won't listen to me. I sold him the eyes from the mole already!"
"What's Alistair threatening you with? Death?"
She squeaks in a way that reminds me of Holly. "No! Why would he kill me? Is that what Alistair does to people?"
"You're at home, Corrie, where Alistair would leave too many clues and would not escape a murder conviction. Now, if he'd found you somewhere that's less public?—"
"Violet!" interrupts Rowan.
Corrie's voice wobbles. "Alistair said that if I don't tell him where the eyes are, I'll 'regret it.' How can I do that if I sold them to him yesterday?"
Heavy footsteps interrupt us, and somebody walks into the room. "How long does it take to—" Alistair stops, stiffening like the dead mole.
I stare at him. Alistair's the same age as Corrie but looks completely different. A little like Holly and I are—bright and breezy versus dark and intense. He's dressed all in black, and his trench coat nearly scrapes the floor. The guy's long, straggly hair frames his pale face, and the faint hum of magic surrounds him, but it's diluted to almost nothing.
"Do your friends have my gems?" he demands. "How did these people get in?"
"Hello," I say brightly, stepping forward. "I'm Violet Blackwood. And you are?" Alistair recoils slightly, his bravado cracking under my gaze. "I presume by your reaction that you've heard about me."
"Why have you trapped Corrie in her home?" Rowan asks, stepping up beside me.
"I gave you the money back!" Corrie's voice trembles as she points to the kitchen counter, where a full white envelope rests beside the silver kettle. "I should never have let you into my home!"
"I'm not leaving until you give me the real eyes! These are fake." Alistair unfurls his hand, revealing two red glass beads similar to the ones Dale showed me. "I only wanted to frighten Corrie so she'd tell me where her thieving friends hid the eyes."
"I didn't," Corrie whines. "Those are the eyes from the mole. Why won't you listen to me?"
Alistair ignores Corrie and gestures. "I paid her and look what she did. Stole from me!"
"No. We only stole the mole and we're returning that to the museum," she continues, the whine growing in pitch.
I take the beads from him, turning them over in my palm. "Why do you want the mole's eyes, Alistair? Are you a Redridge? What's your full name?"
"Forget it. Doesn't matter." As the guy grabs the envelope and makes a break for the rear door, I slam magic into his mind, and he staggers forward before gripping the handle. Alistair shouts out as if the metal shocked him, and he turns back, cradling his palm. "Let me go. I've done nothing wrong."
The door slams open, knocking Alistair to one side, and Grayson blocks the doorway behind him, arms crossed. "That will be no to leaving."
"Nothing wrong?" asks Corrie. "You locked me in my house and threatened me!"
"Answer her question," Rowan says coldly. "What's your name?"
"I'm Alistair Smith," he blurts, his eyes huge as he looks at the hemia vampire's fingers now curled around his arm.
Rowan snorts. "Sure, it is."
"It's true," Corrie says quickly. "He's in my Physics class. Nobody speaks to him because he's freaking weird."
"Fine." I step closer, holding the glass beads up. How much does he know about the gems? The runes? "Do you know what's special about the mole's eyes? What are they used for?"