Candy cane conspiracy, p.10
Candy Cane Conspiracy, page 10
“Did they claim them?”
“Claim” was an interesting way to describe their larcenous behavior. I needed to remember that they had an entire society filled with history and beliefs about which I knew absolutely nothing. I’d always known they didn’t have a human understanding of ownership, but I hadn’t thought much beyond that.
“I meant to have a look, but I was in such a rush after being late that I forgot to peek out of my window and check.”
“They like romance novels,” Sylvester offered in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Ha! I know. I have no idea why though.”
“Ah. They call them human fairy tales. I think they like happy endings, but I’ve heard a few mention that they provide good insight into human motivations.”
Well, that was perhaps flawed, but who was I to say the best way to learn about human-to-human interactions?
“You’ve had a lot of dealings with fairies?”
“Some. Nothing like my studies here in this world, but I’ve spent some time with a few over the years. We do come from the same world.”
I smothered a yawn. “Do you know what they meant when they said I wasn’t hunter and I wasn’t a champion?”
I blinked sleepily a few times before I realized that Sylvester hadn’t replied. “Sylvester?”
“Apologies, I was considering the question. Demon hunters have the ability to track beings who originate from my world. But I also suspect—”
“What?” I was like…like…magical border patrol?
“Demon hunter magic facilitates the tracking of demons. You know that.”
“I do know that.” My response was snappish, likely because Sylvester sounded way too matter of fact with his pronouncement. “I didn’t know that everything dinging my radar was from beyond the veil.”
“Ah.” He paused. “Minidevils, dragons, fairies, they’re all from my world.”
“Right. But…” I considered other creatures I’d encountered who’d set off my radar. “Elves?”
“Also.”
“Phoenixes?”
“Yes.”
“Gnomes?” Though I’d only ever seen one from afar, technically he had registered on my creature radar.
“Definitely.”
I covered my face with my hands. Speech somewhat muffled, I asked, “Witches and wizards?”
“Humans of this world who have somehow absorbed magic from beyond the veil.” Maybe he sensed that his words weren’t giving me any kind of comfort, because he clarified, “Witches and wizards are not from my world, only the magic they use. Do you sense them, as well?”
I removed my hands from my face and sighed. “No. In all the months since I’ve gained this new ability, it never once crossed my mind that every ping on my magical radar was created by someone or something that isn’t from this world.”
“I fail to understand why this is a significant discovery.”
Poor Sylvester. He wouldn’t understand. Maybe his world didn’t have border disputes. And I’d bet he hadn’t been raised at the knee of a woman like Aunt Griselda who talked about sticking it to The Man. I kind of was The Man, in this scenario.
Except no, I wasn’t. Because I wasn’t a demon hunter/border patrol agent/immigration enforcement. I’d specifically opted not to even consider such silliness. I was no hunter—of people or demons or devils or fairies.
“Just having a small identity crisis over here. It’s too complicated to explain. And, honestly, it’s ridiculous. It’s not like the type of magic I have defines me as a person.” I groaned. “Which is exactly what you were trying to say before with my whole freak-out over not being a witch. You said something about how I decided whether I was part witch or all witch. Something like that.”
“You are a witch.” Again with that matter-of-fact tone, except this time I didn’t want to thump him for it. “Unless and until you decide otherwise, you’re a witch.”
He made it sound so simple when it didn’t seem at all that way to me.
Not when I could do witchy magic like intuiting Magic Beans’ patrons’ deepest drink desires, transporting magically across town, creating a protective circle, and so many other small magicks I’d learned as a child.
And yes I could also do nonwitchy, demon-hunter magic like track people and creatures from beyond the veil.
I got to choose. I might have hunter magic, but that didn’t mean I hunted. I had witch magic, and I chose to use it every time I crafted a delicious beverage.
Finally, I said, “Exactly right, Sylvester. I am a witch. I’m not a hunter. And that whole question of being a champion, well, that remains to be seen, because I don’t know what that is.” Even as I spoke, I had a vision in my head of a knight in full armor galloping on a muscular horse. Not a horse, a unicorn. A dappled gray unicorn with a black mane and tail and a dark horn.
It was oddly similar to the experience I’d had with the Wizard of Oz imagery conjured by the fairies yesterday when they’d spoken of Devon getting his house.
“About the fairies’ reference to a champion, I might have a few ideas. I want to do some research before we discuss it, and I won’t have access to the right books until the movers arrive with my things. But after the case?”
“After the case,” I agreed as Sylvester pulled into Silver Stripe’s parking lot. “Dinner and discussion. Ah, are we just going to park here? Where everyone can see us?”
“Who’s everyone?” Sylvester shifted the Tahoe into park.
There wasn’t a single car in the lot. Not only that, there were no lights. It was weird. And not really safe, if employees happened to be working late in the winter.
“Okay, there’s no one here, and it’s pitch black—but what about cameras?” Because no way could we just mosey on into the parking lot and walk up to the front door of this place.
“No cameras. I checked when we were here earlier.” He paused with his hand on the door. “It would have been handy if they did, because they might have caught the killer on tape.”
Darn it. That hadn’t even occurred to me. Good thing I’m just the extra set of hands, aka liaison, aka second investigator.
“So we really are just going to walk in the front door?”
“That’s exactly right.” Sylvester exited the car, leaving me to either follow or get left behind.
13
Just walk in through the front door. No big deal.
Right.
I should have known that was too good to be true. The Simmses might not have opted for a mundane security system, but they sure as heck had gone all out with the magical variety. I thought we’d spotted it before we’d triggered the thing, but given the fact it could have silently alerted its creator with us never knowing, I couldn’t be sure. The borders weren’t quite as distinct as I’d have liked.
As for dismantling it, well… “I’ve got this.”
“You can deactivate it?” Sylvester asked. He sounded impressed. Too bad I was going to burst that bubble. Deactivation implied the ability to once again activate it on our way out, and that wasn’t going to be possible.
“No such luck. But I can definitely take it apart down to its constituent parts.” I squinted, using a little magic to once again get a good look at the construction.
“Now that is a clever trick for an investigator.”
I grinned. “And a kid who used to break into the local magical supply shop. There was a boy involved. Two actually. Don’t ask.”
In fact, it had been two brothers, and they’d both picked on my sister. They both worked at the supply shop on the weekends. I’d go in and make a huge mess that I knew they’d be responsible for cleaning, but only when they teased Tish. The two little jerks had actually grown up to be pretty nice guys. Eventually, they’d fessed up to liking her, and one had even dated Tish for a little while.
I’d forgotten all about that.
“I can try to deactivate it, but I’m equally likely to set it off. Your option is best.”
“Alrighty then. I’ll get to it.” It took me a minute. In my youth, I could have done it in a third the time, but I was rusty.
“Nicely done. I think this particular skill might tie into your ability to make such exceptional drinks.”
I eyed him curiously. I wasn’t sure how deconstructing an alarm and creating tasty, drinkable treats were connected, but anything was possible. I’d just found out the pranking squirrels in my neighborhood were in fact childlike protectors of peeping Tom victims.
“You have a fine eye for detail, a steady hand in a stressful situation, and an intuitive feel for the interconnectivity of the magical things around you.”
I pointed a finger at him. “You’ve never seen me make a drink.”
“Incorrect. I’ve seen you make two.” He scanned the area in front of Silver Stripe for any tendrils that might still be active.
“I got them all. I double-checked.”
He offered me his arm. It was cute, like an old-fashioned gentleman escort. It probably had something to do with keeping me close in case of booby traps—but it was still adorably sweet. My sense of well-being, manufactured by combination of good company and my recent alarm deconstruction, vanished when we walked inside. Once past the entryway, the manufacturing machinery was visible, and it was clear that our care had been in vain.
“I guess we tripped the alarm after all.” My glib comment fell flat.
Sylvester and I were surrounded by the chaos of an interrupted workday. At two twenty-nine in the morning, it appeared as though every station on the manufacturing floor had been in operation and halted at a moment’s notice. Candy in various stages of completion was everywhere.
“The website didn’t mention a night shift.” And I recalled specifically that the hours of operation were listed on the site.
“Because there is no night shift. Unlike you, I wasn’t suffering the onset of a migraine when Scott Simms ended the tour with a brief description of Silver Stripe’s workforce.” His sharp gaze swung to me. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. I’ve been here like seven seconds.” Except, that wasn’t entirely true. Now that Sylvester mentioned it, the sweet peppermint scent of the candy was making my head unhappy. I wrinkled my nose. No headache, but the precursor to one.
“More like a few minutes. Still, how exactly are you feeling?”
I sighed. “Like if I stay, I’ll be throwing up the small amount of coffee I drank earlier. It seems to be worse this time. Probably because there’s so much candy out.”
“I don’t think it’s the peppermint making you sick.”
“Oh, that’s right. Your theory is that the building has it out for me.”
He quirked his eyebrows. “Not exactly, but close enough.”
“Well, just in case we’re both right, let’s make this quick.” When it looked like Sylvester was going to protest, I said, “If it gets too bad I’ll head outside immediately, but us standing here gabbing about it is just wasting precious time.”
“Right.” His tone was agreeable enough, but he didn’t look thrilled. “Where do you want to go?”
“You’re the investigator.”
“And you’re the witch with a dash of intuition magic and a physical reaction to the building. Lead on.”
Fair enough.
My head was telling me the office, which was where all of the business records would be kept, whether digital or paper, and also where the crime occurred.
My gut was saying something else altogether.
I headed to the employee break room.
Who were these mysterious employees who didn’t drive and could literally disappear in the blink of an eye? That was the question most pressing in my mind, and the employee break room seemed the most sensible place to find out more about this invisible workforce.
“Is there any way to power this equipment with magic?” Seemed like a good question to ask before I started hunting for candymakers who didn’t exist. “I’m thinking not, because it’s not a fully mechanized process.”
Sylvester held open the door to the break room for me. “If it were a fully automated process, there’d be no reason to power it with magic. But I agree. With the way the process is set up into various stations, they’d need at a minimum workers who move the candy through the stations.”
“Then where the heck are they?” I wandered over to the coffeepot as Sylvester examined the lockers. “And whoever they are, they don’t drink coffee.”
The coffeepot was clean and the heating element on the drip machine was stone cold.
The fridge was next. No one worked all night long without coffee or food breaks. I opened the door to find neatly labeled containers. I checked the few items that remained and found names on sticky notes, then pulled up the Silver Strip website. I’d bookmarked the employee page, so it only took a moment to match the labeled food in the fridge with names on the website.
“They don’t eat. They don’t drink coffee. And they disappear in a wink when the magical alarm outside is triggered.” I groaned. “Why did we have to set the alarm off?”
Sylvester knelt next to the lockers. As he examined the floor, he said, “I don’t think it would have mattered either way. Even without the alarm, we wouldn’t have surprised them. We still had to open the front door, pass through the entryway, and open another set of doors to the manufacturing floor. All of that is greater in duration than a wink.”
“You’re right. What are you looking at?”
He joined me in the middle of the room. “Evidence.” He extended his hand so that I could make out the few specks of glitter stuck to his fingers.
“That could mean anything—or nothing.” Contrary to my words, I immediately moved to investigate the area where Sylvester had found the glitter. As I knelt next to the lockers, I said, “Could be from Christmas decorations.”
“That they’ve already taken down, even though it’s three days till Christmas?”
He had a point.
I found a few more pieces glinting in the artificial light of the break room. “Anyone else that you know of have a glitter obsession besides our fairy friends?” I touched a finger to a few specks, then examined them more closely.
Silver, but that wasn’t so strange. Glitter was frequently silver. Except this wasn’t just silver glitter; it was the exact variety the furry fairy crew preferred. I recognized the particular opacity, size, and shape of the individual pieces as the same brand that I bought for them.
“No. They’re the only beings I know with a sparkly obsession. How’s your head?”
“Good enough to have a look around the office.” Though I could definitely feel a headache on the horizon.
We spent just a few minutes rummaging through the three desks in the Simmses’ shared office space, but there wasn’t anything that immediately jumped out as odd or suspicious.
Sylvester touched my elbow. “Let’s get out of here. Before I have to put you in a magical sleep just to get you home.”
I was feeling a bit clammy. Probably was looking nice and pasty white about now, as well.
As soon as we were out of the building, I felt immediately better. Cold, because I’d broken out in a fine sweat while inside and the wind was blowing through the parking lot, but otherwise just fine.
Once we were in the car with the engine running and the heat blasting, Sylvester flicked on the interior light and had a good look at me. “Your color’s come back.”
“Yeah, I’m good. It’s like flipping a switch. As soon as I’m out of there, I’m okay. I swear I don’t have environmental allergies that would cause this.”
“Oh, you have an allergy.” His tone was grim. “I’m starting to get an idea what the cause might be.”
“You think my reaction is something to do with the Simmses’ candy-making process.”
“I think it’s connected.” He flicked the interior light off and put the Tahoe in reverse. “You’d never heard of the pact before today, right?”
“I think you mean yesterday, but that’s right.” I removed my puffer jacket. It was heating up quickly inside the car.
“I think the Simmses are using magical labor to create their candy. Fairy labor.”
He was probably right. Minimally, it was possible, but add in the “sparklies” and my intuition, and it was looking good that they were.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. When the fairies weren’t in their camouflage squirrel disguises, they looked like children. And yet, they weren’t children. If they were old enough to work—and all signs pointed to an emphatic yes—it was really up to them how they spent their time, including who they worked for and what sorts of jobs they took. Also, there were worse things than making candy.
“If they are, why didn’t Scott say as much? We asked about their employees, and they only mentioned their human workforce.”
“Why do employers ever hide workers from the authorities?”
I frowned. “Employing fairies isn’t illegal. Not that I know anything about fairies working, but elves have jobs. I’m sure that it’s not a problem.”
“Fairies can certainly choose to work. That’s not the issue; I’ve read your International Witch and Warlock Code of Conduct. No, I don’t think the Simmses’ concern is with violating witch law. I do think it’s possible the Simmses have trapped a group of fairies in an unfair contract. And if it’s a blood contract—”
“Oh my gosh, you said before. If the fairies break a blood contract, they’d be sent back.” I couldn’t help remembering the appalled expressions of Fiery, Tubby, and Fluffy when we’d even hinted that we suspected them of killing Devon. Not because the murder itself was so appalling to them—Devon, after all, had been a “bad witch”—but because committing a murder was a violation of the pact.
“An unfair contract would explain why your fairies used such vivid negative imagery when Devon’s death came up.”
“They’re not my fairies. As for vivid negative imagery, that’s one way to describe a house landing atop a witch.” I rubbed my arms, suddenly chilled. I always hated the way witches were portrayed in that movie. Not much room for nuance and all that green skin. “Wait. But if the fairies didn’t like the contract, why not just say as much? The Simmses obviously want to keep it all quiet.”
