Taking Charge
MORGANA
I f you’ve never watched a hellhound try to look smug, imagine a Doberman that just stole a steak.
That’s exactly the vibe coming off the coroner’s assistant as he looms over Iggy, who’s parked in the dead center of the front row with his hands raised like a felon at a traffic stop.
“No messing with the scene,” the hellhound says as he glares at my sneaky mage.
Iggy shrugs, aiming for nonchalance, but the tilt of his chin is pure ego. “I was only trying to help.”
“Don’t,” the hound says, his expression dark. “Or I’ll bring that blowhard back in, and you’ll regret it.”
Hopefully, he doesn’t catch Jax’s people snooping about wherever the fuck they are.
My brow furrows as I stare at Rialto Beauregard’s body, dead on the stage, with the banshee coroner conducting a symphony of forensics.
The crime scene techs swarm the boards like flies, collecting fibers, swabbing stains, pointing and whispering and making a big production of not looking at us in the audience.
They definitely think Slade and Lucas are guilty, but I guess that comes with their jobs.
I’d bet the percentage of people who discover the body also being the killer is pretty high.
Kaspar is perched on the back of his chair next to Liam, picking at his thumbnail with a silver key and making periodic, deliberate eye contact with the detective in charge.
He’s not being an ass at the moment, but the tension is radiating from the dragon in waves.
He thinks we’re going to need The Serpent without a doubt, and I suppose he’s probably right.
Detective Kowalski is in deep consultation with his sergeant at the back of the house, their voices echoing in the empty space like a bored podcast. I catch snippets: ‘High profile,’ ‘campus liability,’ ‘separate the perps.’ Kowalski is pointedly not looking at the body on stage or at me, which is disturbing.
I’m still the fucking Dean of this damn place whether he likes it or not.
I turn to Jackson, who’s the only one in our party capable of looking bored and wolfish at the same time. He’s got a legal pad on his lap and a pen tucked behind his ear, but he’s tapping out something frantic on his phone with both thumbs.
“Anything from Eli?” I ask, my voice low. I have zero faith in the acoustics of this place, and negative faith in the privacy of the campus security mics. We never confirmed what the cameras in here are capable of, and I don’t trust the idiot canine guards as far as I could throw them.
Our lawyer shakes his head, grimacing. “He’s working on it,” he says. “This isn’t like calling for a pizza delivery, you know. Are you getting nervous? That doesn’t seem like you.”
I almost laugh. “You haven’t seen me when people I care about are in trouble,” I say. “I can’t believe this fucker is treating me like this. Hera knows he wouldn’t be screwing with Magnus like this. But I can’t go at him like I want to because I think it will make it worse for Lucas and Slade.”
He considers, then gives me a knowing, sneaky smile.
“Given the company you keep? Not at all. He should kiss your feet and theirs, too. You’re sitting with Fae royalty, a gangster’s kid, and a billionaire heir to a global conglomerate.
That’s not even including the professor down there.
His family has mega-pull in the magic community in these parts.
It’s baffling, especially since he knows I’m representing them. ”
Channing snorts from two seats down. “He has to have someone paying him to be this obstructive. There’s no other explanation, Morgana.”
Liam nods, looking at me seriously. “I agree, Maschula . That’s been bothering me since he brought the cub into the station. It just feels off, but I haven’t been able to penetrate whatever defenses they’ve put on him.”
I frown. “You’ve been probing him with magic? Shit, Li, what if someone figures it out?”
The Prince grins. “I’d like to see them try.”
Kaspar clears his throat, pointing to the front of the theater. “Unlike the wayward prof down there.”
We turn our attention to Iggy, and I sigh. He’s now trying to negotiate with the hellhound. I don’t know why he thinks it will work, but I guess we’ll find out.
“Listen,” Iggy says, “I wanted to know what the weapon was. There’s nothing on the stage, so?—”
“So it can’t be a knife,” the assistant interrupts, glaring, “which is what Dr. Balor thinks because she’s a professional. Leave us alone to work.”
Iggy flops back in his seat, arms crossed, and glares up at the stage like he expects the corpse to offer some moral support. I know he’s not accustomed to being told ‘no,’ but I don’t think he’s going to convince anyone that he should be part of the search.
“He tried,” Kaspar says under his breath, “but subtlety isn’t his color.”
The dragon is right.
I scan the rest of the house for Kendrick and Rainier, who are theoretically doing a sweep of the rest of the theater. They’re ghosts—not a trace of them anywhere, just like he said. Maybe the assistant won’t find them, after all.
“We’ve been here for four hours,” I mutter to Jax. “If they’d found anything up there that implicated the boys, they’d have dragged us all downtown by now.”
Jackson taps his pen on the notepad. “They don’t have a murder weapon or a motive.” His tone makes it clear which of these is the real problem. “You know the only reason they haven’t charged anyone is they’re hoping one of them will slip up and hand them a case.”
That’s why I want Lucas and Slade to keep quiet up there.
He looks at the stage where Slade and Lucas are still frozen in their assigned positions: Lucas near the edge, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head down; Slade dead center, hands loose at his sides, staring straight ahead as he watches the forensics team work on the body.
“Of all the places to do a murder,” Jackson says, “this is a real bitch for plausible deniability. Though, I guess your bear beau didn’t have it any better.”
Channing scoffs, loud enough for the coroner to glance up. “It’s only a murder if they prove intent. Maybe it was an accident. He could have stabbed himself with something. He was tinkering with those generative spells… maybe one went sideways. No one really knows what magic they were trained on.”
Kaspar raises an eyebrow. “They’re not going to buy that, Channing. They want a suspect, not a story.”
I feel the pressure rising in my temples.
If there’s any upside to today, it’s the novelty of being stuck in a room with all your mates and possible mates, none of whom are actively fighting each other for once.
For that, I’m grateful, at least. What comes after this circus will be harder, and we’ll need to stick together to get through it.
“Kendrick and Rainier will find something if there’s anything to find,” Channing whispers. “And Foley is a mastermind, Morgana. Trust Jax has the best people you’ve ever seen. I know because I’ve been around them so much lately.”
I nod, but I can’t shake the sense that today is a prelude and not a finale. Even Jackson’s calm has an edge to it. When I glance up at the balcony, I catch a flicker of movement—maybe the sweepers, maybe something else.
“Why do you trust them so much?” I ask Channing quietly.
She shrugs. “Because I’ve been working with them like you asked. I’ve seen them accomplish a lot, even if it’s not stuff Jackson needs to report to you. And I hear what they’re doing for other cases, too. When you add Eli to the mix, it makes their team even stronger. Believe me, it’s astounding.”
Kaspar snorts, not unkindly. “Says the woman who totally isn’t involved with any of them.”
Channing gasps, giving the dragon a dirty look. “Shut up, Kaspar. No one asked for your opinion, especially regarding my private life.”
Way to go, Channing.
Grinning to myself, I check my phone for the hundredth time. I keep hoping that whatever Eli is doing to get The Serpent involved will happen and I’ll get some sort of coded message or something. That’s probably ridiculous, but I have no idea how this works.
Iggy finally scoots up the aisle to join us, still radiating wounded dignity. “I don’t think they’re going to tell me anything. That hound is a real stickler for the rules, and his boss won’t even look at me. Can you imagine? I’m a Briarton .”
“The nerve of her,” I deadpan. “I can’t believe she didn’t fall at your feet when you announced that lineage.”
He glances at the stage and shudders. “I love my job, but if I die at this place, I’m haunting whoever the fuck killed me for the rest of eternity. Not a soul in this department could find their ass with both hands, a map, and a locator spell.”
I can’t disagree—if I hadn’t tracked Magnus down in Europe, they never would have caught me.
Jackson’s phone buzzes, and he checks it, face going tight. “Kendrick. He says they found something, but he’s not saying what. Just that it’s... not subtle.”
Channing’s eyebrows arch. “Not subtle how?”
“He didn’t say, but they’re on their way back.”
I close my eyes for half a second, because it’s all I can do.
When I open them, Lucas is looking at me from the edge of the stage, and I realize he’s been watching this whole time.
I try to give him a reassuring smile, but it probably looks more like a wince.
I want to tell him it’s going to be fine, that the facts will matter, that the system still has a place for us in it.
But it would be a lie, and he’d know it.
Instead, I sigh and wait for the next act.
When Dr. Balor rises and stands on the apron of the stage, raising her arms for silence, it feels like a final curtain call.
It’s nothing like the ones Rialto got when he was alive, I’m sure, but this is the last one he’s getting.
Her voice—when she unleashes it—cuts the theater in half as it rings out.
“That will be all for now,” she says, chin high. “Witnesses are excused from the stage. We no longer need them in place to process.”
Her hellhound assistant hustles over to usher Lucas and Slade toward the wings. Lucas doesn’t break stride, but Slade’s face is white as printer paper, and the way his eyes keep flicking from the corpse to the fire exit suggests he’d rather be anywhere else.
This is going to haunt them for a while, I think.
Detective Kowalski stirs from his huddle at the back of the house and blunders down the aisle, all splayed hands and fake urgency. “Where do you two think you’re going?” he bellows, as if the previous two hours had not been one uninterrupted stream of waiting around for the coroner’s say-so.
“Bathrooms?” Lucas asks.
Jax stands, looking at the slob as he says, “They need a break, Detective. They’re not in custody.”
“Yet,” Kowalski mutters. “I just don’t want anyone wandering off. Sergeant, monitor them.”
The quiet shifter intercepts Lucas and Slade at the foot of the stairs as directed without a word. Slade points toward a door at the other side of the theater and the officer nods. My siren leads the way with the bear and the escort in tow, and I sigh in relief.
My blood pressure spikes at Kowalski’s tone. It’s not just that he thinks my mates are guilty—it’s that he’s not even subtle about it. “Was it necessary to assign a chaperone for a bathroom break?” I say, too crisp.
Kowalski looks down his nose at me, a feat considering he’s half a foot shorter. “Until I get a cause of death, I’m not taking chances.” He glances at Jackson, who’s already on his feet. “You need John, too, counselor?”
Jackson gives him a toothy, leonine smile. “Might as well. If you’re this worried about their bladder control, I’m even more curious about the state’s case.”
The detective grunts and slumps into a seat, immediately scrolling through his phone with the intense focus of someone avoiding eye contact with reality.
Dr. Balor is already back at the body, muttering orders to her team in a sibilant whisper.
I see the hellhound assistant slinking up the aisle, shooting a dirty look at Iggy before vanishing into the corridor.
For a second, I envy the certainty of everyone who still thinks this is a normal day in academia.
Channing leans over, voice low. “You want me to tail them? Make sure that guy doesn't try to talk to them?”
I shake my head. “Jackson’s got it.”
Kaspar, who has been staring at the detective with unblinking intensity, finally says, “You realize, if they had actual evidence, those two would be in holding cells right now. You need to breathe, Morgana.”
“That’s what you all keep saying.”
There’s a long lull where the only sound is the distant echo of water pipes and the click of heels as Balor’s people work. After a minute, Channing slides her phone across the armrest. On the screen is a message from Kendrick: Found it. Hallway behind the orchestra pit. Looks like a plant.
Are they fucking kidding me with this shit?
I don’t have time to parse it before the sergeant returns with Lucas and Slade in tow, Jackson trailing behind and talking over his shoulder. “—and if you want to make this official, you know my client has a right to leave, unless you’re charging him.”
The sergeant barely glances at him. “I think we’re done here for now.”
“They’re letting us go,” Lucas says, as he comes up to us. He looks like he’s aged ten years in as many minutes.
“Unless they change their minds,” Slade says.
I frown. The message from Kendrick seemed to indicate that we were in for a very long night at the station. What changed?
Jackson returns to our little huddle, arms crossed. “They’re rattled. Whatever Balor’s team found, it’s not what they were expecting. Rain is following up because Kendrick is on… the other thing.”
“Do you think what he did was enough?” Channing asks.
Jackson shrugs. “Depends if the detective is more scared of the truth or his own boss.”
I look at the stage again, at the empty shape of a man who’s not coming back to explain himself. The next move is ours, but for the first time all day, it feels like maybe the board isn’t tilted entirely against us.
However, if it is… there are worse people to fight the system with.