8. Cheribelle #3
“They have that natural ability, yes. But a lot of magic users can make an artificial glamour. After the assassin saw a healer and got a solid meal in him, he told our security guys that this glamour is a powerful one made by a conglomerate of meteorshine and moondust traffickers. The rest of the black market enjoys the umbrella of their protections.”
“Meteorshine and moondust?” I repeated, letting out a low whistle.
I didn’t really judge people for what they did in their free time, but those substances were powerful enough to affect even an alpha bear shifter in full rut and were insanely addictive.
I’d never even tried this stuff, and I never would, not even if someone told me it could perfectly manage my ADHD and turn me into a model citizen.
Some things just weren’t worth the risk.
“And people know about this? Why does the law allow this to be here?”
“Because there’s money involved in this, a lot of money, and money corrupts. My father had his flaws, but he was adamant against either of those coming into our community. We have an entire force dedicated to keeping it off the streets. Now that he’s gone...”
My brain zoomed off, forming connections, as it so often did when learning new information. “You never mentioned that before.”
“Believe it or not, it’s not exactly something that comes up in polite conversation.”
“I get that, but what if someone in the trade is trying to hurt your family? Like a kingpin or something?”
Paul nodded. “I considered that. If anyone would have easy access to a bunch of assassins, it would be one of the people at the top.”
“So, this isn’t just about trying to find out about the bounty,” I said. “You’re hoping we pick up a thread that will either rule out or point us toward one of these mafiosos.”
“Yes, I am. Didn’t wanna jinx it by saying it out loud.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll cross all my fingers and my toes.” I directed my attention back toward the derelict building. All my giddiness and excitement about being on a real case and feeling like a real detective withered as the stakes once again reasserted themselves in my mind.
This isn’t a game. There are actual lives at stake. It’s time for me to be serious.
At least as serious as I could be. Which, given the adrenaline and chances for improv no doubt coming up, was not exactly as serious as the situation called for.
“Here goes nothing.”
Taking a deep breath, I walked to the rusted side door with four thick pieces of wood nailed across it. It screamed fuck off and go away , but I ignored that and marched right up to it.
I couldn’t say exactly when it happened, but one moment it was a rotted thing from a horror game, the next it just... wasn’t. I blinked, taking a step back, then another, before it reverted to what I saw originally.
Glamours are freaky.
“Uncanny, isn’t it?” Paul asked, glancing over his shoulder at me again.
“That’s one way to put it,” I said, shaking my head. I marched right up to the door and knocked.
Ow, my knuckles! Knuckles are joints formed by the metacarpal bone meeting the phalanges!
Why do I know so much about hands????
I didn’t have time to linger on that query, however, because a small panel of metal screeched to the side, revealing a pair of slit-pupiled eyes staring at us.
“Password?” came a gruff voice on the other side. If I had to guess, the guard had to be some sort of basilisk. Yet another magical entity I had never met before. Man, I really needed to get more involved in my own community.
“ Oblitus sed vivit,” Paul answered, which was a relief for me since I had no fucking idea about any password. My mind automatically translated the phrase, like it often did whenever I heard a multilingual tag I recognized.
Forgotten but alive.
Huh. That certainly seemed to pack a whole lot of meaning. Yet another rabbit hole for me to fall into later, but for now, I managed to keep my mind on track.
For the most part.
“Fuck off,” was the only reply before the sentry slot slammed shut.
“Was my pronunciation off?”
The slot opened again. “That was yesterday’s password, fuckhead. What’s today’s password?”
I debated trying to slam into the door to get the drop on whoever was behind it, but that wasn’t a good idea. The door had enough weight to it; I wouldn’t want to fight with it if I was in the middle of a chase. That would have whoever was pursuing me catching up in an instant, no doubt.
“You can’t be serious, can you?” I said, pouring the charm on, like I got why a possible basilisk might be a bit aggro to us conventional-looking folks.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he was there because he had chosen to be a part of the lawless, underground world we were about to enter, or if, as someone who clearly didn’t blend in very well with humans like oracles, shifters, and many witches could, he had no choice.
Not the thing to worry about right now, brain. Solve the murder and save the VanMarches, then you can get your activism on all you want.
I had heard many times throughout my life that I was too sensitive, or preachy, or clearly meant to be short-statured because I longed for the soapbox. In reality, I simply had a very stark sense of right and wrong and the inability to shut up about it—or even stop thinking about it.
That was the plight of always thinking. There were a lot of seconds in the day to fill up, and by golly, did my mind view that as a challenge it wouldn’t back down from.
“Yeah, I’m serious, and I don’t like guys in suits.”
“I’m not wearing a suit,” Paul countered with a slight growl in his voice. I really shouldn’t have found it so appealing. Never thought of myself as a furry, but maybe I should expand my horizons…
“Not physically, no. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a guy in a suit.”
Paul’s growl grew louder, and as much as I’d have liked to explore the new feeling I was having, it wasn’t really the time.
Maybe once I’m home, me and my Hitachi can have a long conversation about it…
“Hey,” I murmured, placing my hand on his chest. Uh-oh, that wasn’t the best move to keep my mind on track because holy crap, Paul was solid in a way that was far too appealing to me. It was like he was carved out of fucking marble and hot to the touch too! “Let’s go.”
“But—”
I gave him a meaningful look, hoping he caught my drift. “I said, let’s go.”
Thankfully, he got it and fell into lockstep with me as I turned and walked along the side of the building.
We were silent, dead silent, and most of my processing power was going toward making sure no one was following us.
But as far as I could tell, we were the only ones outside the building.
By the time we got to the back, I was certain there was no way the guard at the door could see us, so I quickly darted to the side and began to look for any sort of entrance.
That was the downside of having such tiny peepholes for a lookout. Sure, it offered some reliable protection, but it sure made for a narrow field of view.
“What are you doing?” Paul whispered, his voice barely audible. It was considerate of him to talk even that loud though, because I was sure he was used to dealing with other people who had enhanced senses.
“Getting us in,” I said matter-of-factly as my gaze landed on another door.
It looked just as heavy as the one we were turned away from, but as I cautiously approached it, I was relieved to see it had no guard. Good.
“Someone’s going to hear if I break that thing down,” Paul murmured, waves of cerulean concern spreading out from him.
“Who said anything about breaking it down?”
I knelt in front of the knob, then reached into my boot for a thin metal tool that might be of use. With that and a bobby pin from the messy bun I’d thrown my hair into, I started to pick the lock.
“What are you doing?” he asked again.
“Exactly what it looks like.”
“Are you telling me you’re really picking the lock?”
“I’m not telling you I’m doing anything,” I shot back primly. “I’m just doing it.”
Paul made a sound that was a mix of bafflement and amusement, and I wished I could turn to see exactly what that looked like, but I had to concentrate. I wasn’t exactly a veteran when it came to picking locks, more a casual enjoyer.
“Why would an oracle know how to pick a lock?”
“Eh, I got bored as a teen.”
A few moments later, I finally heard the sound I was waiting for. I turned the knob and opened the door slightly. It made a far louder squeak than I would have preferred, so I froze and held my breath, listening for any cries of intrusion or thundering footsteps.
When I only heard silence, I tucked my tension wrench back in my boot and slipped the bent bobby pin in my pocket—it might be useful later. What purpose it could possibly have, I didn’t really know, but it was better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.
“And we’re in,” I said, gently pushing the door open the rest of the way.
“Incredible.” Paul shook his head, and boy, did the compliment make my stomach do a few flips. I always was a sucker for well-meant praise. “But one second.”
“What—” My voice caught in my throat as Paul pulled his turtleneck over his head, revealing a simple white undershirt underneath. I would like to say I wasn’t staring, but that would be a lie, and I was already doing enough of that, wasn’t I?
It wasn’t like the dude was a hulking MCU star like Thor or Captain America. He lacked all that extra bulk bodybuilders fought for. Instead, it was more like he was deliberately carved from stone, each muscle and tendon etched with artistic skill that took a lifetime to hone.
“How are you so in shape?” I asked, trying to play it off casually. I was also trying not to swallow hard. Look, I’d seen and interacted with plenty of extremely attractive people in my life, but there was just something about the wolf shifter that seemed so… so…
Compelling.