Chapter 17 Declan
DECLAN
“Can you hear me through this thing?” I whispered as I stood in line.
“I can,” Veronica said, her voice tiny and electronic through the earpiece. It was human tech, but it did the job well.
“Good.”
“Has anyone spoken to you yet?” Veronica asked.
I rubbed my face to cover my mouth. “Not yet.”
Ahead of me, a group of five male witches in heavy winter coats stepped up and announced which coven they were from. The doorman glanced down at a thick book, flipping the pages until he found what he was looking for.
“You’re good. Head on in,” he said.
The young men moved forward, vanishing into the temple. My turn. I hoped our plan worked.
“Coven affiliation?” The guy was skinny, but there was something about the way he held himself that told me he knew how to handle any situation—the same simmering capability you saw in Special Ops agents.
“Beach Grove,” I said, using all the authority and confidence I had. It was hard given the fact that my voice sounded different than usual due to the glamour spell.
He frowned and flipped through the leatherbound book. He’d gone through nearly fifteen pages before stopping. He leaned in and frowned before looking at me again.
“That’s…that’s a Florida coven, sir,” he said. “You realize this is Chicago?”
I chuckled, my new double chin bobbing as I did. Ariella had been a bit of a dick, and her spell gave me the appearance of a balding, short, and stocky man about sixty pounds overweight.
“I’m in town visiting some friends. A member of my coven told me this was going on nearby. I was so relieved. I hate to miss these things if I can help it.”
“That sounded really good,” Veronica said in my ear.
The man shook his head and chuckled. “Okay then. None of that crazy Florida Man bullshit, and we’ll be fine.”
I burst out laughing, a heavy belly laugh that sounded nothing like me. “Understood. You don’t have any gator shifters in there, do you?”
He threw his head back and laughed at my joke. That sealed it. I was in.
“Not that I’ve seen. You have a good night, sir.”
He waved me in and addressed the person behind me.
As we’d assumed, there was additional security.
At a table just inside the door, three witches—a woman and two men—were searching bags.
The woman took the bags and waved her hand across them before handing them to the second man, who physically looked inside.
The third witch stood off to the side patting people down.
This was going to be the most dangerous part of getting in.
“Over here, sir,” the pat-down guard said, waving me toward him.
“Of course,” I said, stepping forward. “I heard you all have had a few issues up here lately?”
He nodded and crouched, patting around my ankles. I needed to time this right. My heart thrummed as I pushed the small capsule from under my tongue to the side of my cheek.
“Been having a good night?” I asked. “See the Cubs play this afternoon?”
The guard gave a low, disgusted chuckle. “If you can call what they did on the field playing. We aren’t gonna sniff the playoffs this year.”
He moved up, running his fingers along my belt, inches away from where my gun sat. It was now or never. I had to pray I got this right, and that Veronica’s potion making was better than her spell casting.
“Name’s Art Bryant,” I said, sticking my hand out to him, subtly turning my back toward the other guards and guests.
The guy frowned at my hand, but being a normal person, decided it was better to shake than offend. As he did, I moved the capsule between my teeth and bit down. An acrid flavor filled my mouth, and I held my breath. Veronica assured me inhalation was the only way this potion worked.
“Uh…nice to meet you too. I guess. Now if I can—”
His words were cut off as I blew a breath out over his face.
A colorless cloud of vapor flooded out of my mouth and across his face.
He flinched back but not before taking a breath, sucking the potion into his lungs.
He didn’t even cough. Instead, he simply stared back at me blankly.
I should have about five seconds to imprint a memory.
“You already finished frisking me,” I whispered, still pumping his hand like we were old friends. “You found nothing. We’re joking about sports.”
He blinked very slowly, then again a bit faster. I belted out another of my fake laughs.
“You’ve got that right,” I said. “Damned shortstop needs to be traded.”
“Huh?” he said, still blinking dumbly, then he started laughing. “Oh! Yeah. Yeah, he does. Maybe this offseason we’ll get one worth a damn. All right, sir. You’re good to go.”
“Thanks. Have a good one,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief as I walked past the security checkpoint.
“Did it work?” Veronica asked, her voice breathless with worry and excitement.
“It did,” I murmured. “That was close, though.”
“We knew it would be, but it was this or trying to break in like some sort of cat burglar,” she said. “And no offense, you’ve got the build of a linebacker, not a gymnast, okay?”
“I thought you liked my figure.”
“Oh, it’s very nice. Uh, well, usually. Right now? I’m not a huge fan. I’m kinda glad this glamour only works for a few hours.”
I chuckled to myself and followed the crowd into the ballroom.
Pulling up short, I gazed toward the ceiling, surprised by what I saw.
A massive banner billowed in the faint breeze of the air-conditioning system.
On it, a picture of a regal man with his arms crossed.
Dark, flawless skin and graying hair in long dreadlocks, small golden bands adorned the hair every few inches, jeweled rings on his fingers.
Below it, written in flowing script, were the words: In Memory of Balthazar Freedman.
Teacher, Historian, Beloved Uncle, and Brother.
“What’s wrong?” Veronica asked in my ear. “You got really quiet.”
“Nothing,” I muttered, not wanting her to know about this. Veronica had loved Balthazar. This would break her heart.
“Do you remember all the names of people who work and go to school there?”
“Pretty sure I’ve got it,” I whispered.
I’d spent the days leading up to this memorizing names and descriptions.
I was fairly sure I’d gotten most of them down, though I’d been a bit surprised by the number of students and staff.
The Freedman Coven and the academy attached to it had to be the largest within five hundred miles.
No wonder Balthazar was such a famous witch.
“Speaking of,” I said. “I spotted some of our friends from our last little foray into the academy.”
Across from me, a group of staff members were talking. Two were familiar. Two men, one white-bearded and another with a single braid down his back. I recalled them chasing us through the mansion. The one with the beard was named Karmody, but I wasn’t sure about the other’s name.
“What’s the name of the professor with the long black hair in a braid?” I whispered.
“Professor LeGault,” Veronica said.
“I guess we might as well get this party started,” I said.
“What are you going to do?”
“Wing it,” I said.
“Oh, shit.”
“Good evening,” I bellowed, stepping up to the group. Four others were in their little circle.
“Art Bryant.” I thrust my hand out toward Professor Karmody. “From the Beach Grove Coven.”
Karmody took my hand hesitantly. “Uh…yes?”
“Karmody, right?” I said, pointing at the man. “Lawrence Karmody?”
The man looked even more confused and shared a bewildered look with his group.
“That’s correct,” he said, taking his hand back. “Do I know you, friend?”
“We’ve never had the pleasure,” I said, putting a hand to my chest. “But your work at the Freedman Academy has been magnificent to hear about. Your reputation precedes you.”
That had the intended effect. A grin spread across his face, and his shoulders pulled back as he pushed his chest out.
“I’m flattered,” he said. “I didn’t realize folks as far away as…uh…where were you from again?”
“The land of palm trees, gators, and emerald waters. The Florida gulf.” I pointed up to the massive picture of Balthazar, adopting a sorrowful tone. “I’m very sorry to hear about your dean and high priest.”
The group grew somber.
“He was a great man,” LeGault said, swinging his braid over his shoulder. A metal band with a bright ruby was clasped at the bottom of the braid.
“It’s a shame.” That was the truth. I’d never met the man, but from what Veronica told me, he was a good person. Just, honest, kind, and brilliant. As far as I could tell, the world was worse off without him.
“Any word on who the culprit might be?” I said, snatching a glass of champagne off a tray that levitated past us.
The whole group shared a loaded look before Karmody spoke.
“We do have a suspect, possibly two,” he explained. “We believe the two worked together to commit the foul crime.”
“Interesting,” I said, taking a sip. It appeared I’d been added to the list of assumed murderers.
I shook my head in disgust and decided to play my hand.
“I don’t understand it. A great man like that?
Who would want to hurt him? I mean, would you hurt him?
Or you?” I asked, pointing first at Karmody, then at LeGault.
The question was obviously rhetorical and asked in a way that put no emphasis or belief in them being actual suspects, but their answer would be real. My gift would tell me what to believe.
“Of course not,” Karmody said, true sadness in his tone.
True.
“Right,” LeGault said. “I can’t see why anyone would want Balthazar dead. As you said, I would never have a reason to hurt him. I wouldn’t have touched the man in violence even if he told me to.”
True. Well, that took two names off the suspect list.
After a few more minutes of small talk, I excused myself. I needed to work this room.
“Well?” Veronica’s voice said in my ear.
I had to stifle a flinch of surprise. During my talk with the group, I’d almost forgotten she was listening.