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“What can we do about it?” I asked and felt my anger at the detective Inspector seep away. “More to the point, should we do anything?”
Thomas looked at me with incredulity written all over his face. “You’re telling me, we find the body of a young man dumped unceremoniously on our doorstep and you’re not going to look into it?”
I sighed. “I didn’t say that. I’m just... I just wonder if we should get involved. This is a murder investigation in the human world. Who knows what trouble it could bring? Don’t we have enough of our plates looking into the curse?”
Thomas reached out and pulled me into a hug. “That’s all the more reason for us to take the case. You’ve been fretting about the curse since the day Rhoslyn mentioned it. I know you’re desperate to find out the truth about what happened to your nana, but I honestly think there’s only one person who can help you with that.”
“Mam.” I threaded my arms around Thomas’s waist and listened to his heartbeat along with his words.
“Yes, your mam.” Thomas sighed. “Maybe we should find out who really killed Lee Page before Owens decides to charge us with murder. I don’t think he’s going to be looking beyond us, at least for the time being. After that... after that, we could hop on a plane and visit your mam. It would be hard for her to slam the phone down if you show up in person.”
“She could always slam the door in my face.”
“And we could always bash it down.”
I laughed. “I can see that going down well. ‘Hi, Mam, sorry about the door, this is Thomas by the way. Love of my life.’” I sighed. “You really think Owens will try to pin this murder on us?”
“There’s not a doubt in my mind. I don’t think he’ll be successful, but by the time he realises he’s barking up the wrong tree, whoever did kill Lee Page could be long gone.”
Thomas was right, and I couldn’t understand my reluctance to take the case. It was as though I had a nagging voice at the back of my mind screaming at me to stay out of it, that only trouble would follow. That body was dumped in our forest and it made me wonder if we were connected; was it a message, a warning of some sort? I hadn’t felt the heavy rolling of my stomach and sluggish thumping in my chest since I saw Thomas lying prostrate on the ground during the Platt case. The vision of him laying there still haunted my dreams. For a second, I hadn’t known if he was alive or dead. His wards had released the magical trap set by Rachel Platt, creating a backlash that knocked Thomas for six, shattered my heart, and sent my mind screaming. Maybe everything would set me on edge from now on?
Maybe it was related to the curse?
As soon as the thought surfaced in my head, I knew Thomas was doubly right. I was too focused on this stupid curse that it was clouding my judgement on everything else. Even if Owens wasn’t hell bent on pinning the murder on us, I somehow felt we owed it to Lee Page to find out the truth of what happened to him. We could, I knew that, and as we may be the only ones who could, we should. I didn’t want his murder to remain unsolved.
“Okay,” I said after taking one last whiff of Thomas’s delicious scent and pushing away. “A human murder case probably isn’t that different to a supernatural one. So, where do we start?”
Thomas rubbed my arms and smiled. “There’s my girl,” he said. “We start the same place we always start.”
“Where’s that?”
“The kitchen. I’m starving and you must be, too. There’s no way we can solve a murder, supernatural or otherwise, on an empty stomach.”
“There’s my boy,” I said laughing. “Always getting his priorities straight.”
“Too right. Omelette sound good?”
“Omelette sounds great.”
Thomas busied himself preparing a salad and making a cheese and mushroom omelette while I sat at the kitchen table. I pulled the hair I’d taken from the body out of my shoe, placed it carefully in a tupperware box and settled back to watch Thomas at work.
I could barely remember a time before he came into my life, bringing his good food and healthy living with him. Like any teenager out on their own in the world, despite my ability at cooking — I am a witch. Binding ingredients, making a brew, and creating concoctions is in my blood — I found myself living on takeout pizza and curry. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with a breakfast wrap once in a while, but every day can get a little tiresome. As the mouth-watering scent of food filled the air, my tummy grumbled with impatience and I realised how hungry I was. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was now almost ten at night.
I looked through the window. The gibbous moon cast a silver sheen over trees being whipped back and forth by a gathering wind, and I marvelled at the ability of the new windows to block out the howling sound I knew to be building outside.
“Looks like the weather’s turning for the worst,” I said.
“Forecast isn’t great for the winter,” Thomas answered absently while he flipped the omelette.
I scoffed. Weather forecasters! Any fool watching squirrels frantically storing their food and moving their nests higher up the trees could tell you the winter was going to be a bad one. What was the old proverb Nana used to recite: “Swallows fly high, clear blue sky; Swallows fly low, rain we shall know.” Animals don’t need fancy computers or weather models, they sense the change in the air pressure, read the signs.
I thanked Thomas as he placed a plate overflowing with a colourful salad and mouth-watering omelette in front of me.
“Feeling better?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“How could I not?” I tucked in, moaning in pleasure at the gooey, melted yumminess. “Cheese makes everything better.”
Thomas chuckled and we ate in silence for a few minutes. As soon as we had finished, Thomas cleared the plates, stacked them in the dishwasher, and poured us both a glass of water.
“Now,” he said, sitting and patting his stomach. “My tummy’s full, so my brain can think about more than eating. What’s the plan?”
I nodded to the single hair in the tupperware box in the middle of the table. “It seems my research this morning might not have been entirely in vain.”
“How so?”
“I am pretty sure, I saw a spell in one of Nana’s books about viewing another person’s memory.”
“Like when you entered Gwen’s mind to retrieve her memories?”
“Sort of, but not quite so intrusive. From the notes, it sounds more like the projection of a strong memory rather than actually entering someone’s mind. Kind of like psychometry, which enables psychics to pick up information from an object closely connected to a person.”
Thomas picked up the tupperware and turned it around, looking at the hair inside. “It’s such a small connection. Do you think you’ll get anything useful out of it?”
“It isn’t much. I’ll give you that.” I sighed and took the box from his hands. “Nana’s spell didn’t say anything about the person whose memories you need to access being alive or dead, and... and it used blood not hair.”
Thomas shuddered. “Can you imagine the field day Owens would have is he found drops of the victim's blood in our possession?”
“We’d already be up on charges,” I agreed. “Though, I’m not sure the hair is any better. Still, it’s all we have, and there won’t be anything left of it to find after I’ve worked the magic.”
Thomas downed his glass of water. “Alright then,” he said. “Unless there is anything you need me for in relation to the spell, I’ll start with some more mundane activities and see what I can learn about the victim.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Look him up on social media, of course.”
“Of course.” This time, I shuddered. Computers and I didn’t mix, but from the little I knew about social media, that was a blessing more than a curse.
