She took her time circling the still-unfilled grave, its perimeter outlined by yellow caution tape, thinking that there was a clue the police could have missed, never mind if the murders actually happened decades ago.
But there was nothing.
She circled the grave a few more times, trying to look at it from the eyes of a human detective, a user of magic, a vampire's pet...she tried everything, but nothing jumped out.
Okay then.
Zari crouched down and slowly ran her fingers over the soil. She used to have to wait for a vision to come to her, but three years of impossibly hard work under her mentor, Lady Soleil, had changed that.
She closed her eyes.
Come on, now.
Come on.
But all she got was just dirt under her nails.
Shit.
She had been hoping it wouldn't come to this, but if this was what it took to figure out the mystery behind the missing thirteenth body...
Very well.
After taking a slow, deep breath, Zari ducked under the caution tape and jumped into the grave. Goosebumps popped all over her skin, and she gave her arms another brisk rub down.
Part of the job, Zari. Just part of the job.
And so she made herself lie down and tried not to think of the fact that just last night, a dozen corpses had been buried on the very same ground she was lying on—-
Wait a sec.
"Do you smell it, too?"
"Oh my God!" Zari nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Martin suddenly lying next to her. He was the newest ghost to make his home with her instead of moving on, and just like Elsa, he also had this unfortunate habit of popping out of nowhere and scaring the daylight out of her.
She forced herself to meet his gaze with its empty eye sockets, which she knew she'd eventually get used to, just like how she had become used to Elsa's not-exactly-calming appearance.
"So, um..." Zari was about to give the dead boy the same talk she gave all the other ghosts about the need for advance warning when she recalled his earlier words. "Martin..." She pushed herself up to a sitting position, and Martin did the same thing. "That smell you mentioned..." She sniffed the air, just to be sure it was still the same scent she had noticed, and it was.
Something fruity, but also somewhat smoky...
"So you also smell it?" Martin asked.
"Do you know what it is?"
"I grew up around it," the boy told her. "My mom's a weak one."
Zari tried making sense of the boy's words. "Do you mean she's sick?"
Martin shook his head. "No, no, not that. I mean, my mom's a weak one. It's like a religion..."
A religion?
His mother had a religion that made her a...
Oh.
"A Wiccan," Zari realized out loud.
The boy nodded eagerly. "Yes! My mother's a Wiccan, and she uses this plant all the time. She calls 'em the devil's apples."
The Warden in the Bad Place
Chapter Six
MIDDLEMARCH SHOOK HIS head disapprovingly when the revolving doors started spinning at six in the morning. Only one person could be crazy enough to come this early to work, and just as expected, a diminutive blonde soon came walking inside the lobby.
"You really need to get a life, kid."
"Last time I checked," Zari quipped, "I'm still alive." She could still feel Middlemarch glowering at her as she headed for the French doors and tried not to sigh. She got it, really. Even she knew eighty-hour work weeks weren't sustainable, and she'd be more than happy to take an extended leave of absence once her Master returned.
But until then...
Zari dumped her trench coat on the library table and marched towards the shelves. B for Botany, Zari thought as she started browsing for titles. In moments, she had about twenty pounds worth of leatherbound textbooks in her arms and had given herself a good bicep workout by the time she got back to her table.
She flipped the first book open as soon as she was seated, skipped all the way to D, and her eyes widened. The devil's apples, according to the 17th century witch whose lessons she was now reading, were apparently another name for mandrakes, and contrary to what J.K. Rowling wanted everyone to believe, they were definitely not the kind of plant anyone would want growing in their Vegepods.
Mandrakes, like human bodies, may be male or female. And also just like mortal flesh, mandrakes may be turned into cocoons from which demons gradually build their strength until they are able to break into the human realm.
The witch wrote a lot more after that, but only one word jumped out at her—-
Demon.
Zari nearly muttered out an expletive. She should've known, should've seen this coming miles away. Of course a demon had to be involved, and she had a feeling that things were just going to get worse from here if she didn't do something—-
Beep.
The customized ring alert had Zari's lips tightening, and she momentarily pushed aside all thoughts of missing demons and dead bodies and started tapping all over her trench coat until she found which pocket had her phone. She had assigned that ringtone to the Board, and Zari's brows shot up when she clicked the message open.
Your immediate presence is requested in the Dialogue Room.
Those rumors that Micah told her about must've been worse than Zari thought. It was unheard of for a Board member to speak directly to a trapper, and especially one like her who had only been with AGNEX for a little over a year.
On her way down to B3, a shuffling sound had Zari absently looking over her shoulder—-
Shit!
She almost tumbled down the rest of the steps.
What the hell was Elsa doing out here, haunting the stairwell of her workplace?
Zari had her answer a moment later, with the ghost suddenly shooting towards her, and the hairs behind her neck stood up as Elsa's icy cold breath fanned her ear.
"Bad place, Zari," Elsa whispered in a singsong voice. "Bad place."
THE DIALOGUE ROOM WAS what trappers privately called the greatest misnomer in history, since dialogue rarely took place within its cold, damp walls. In reality, it was a dungeon-like chamber where trappers were "questioned" about their alleged violations and, if proven guilty, tortured accordingly.
Even though the agency's rulebook clearly stated that all she would get was a warning on her first invitation, Zari still had her guard up when she entered the chamber and saw the robed warden seated on the head of the table.
He appeared to be anywhere between his seventies and infinity, had cold, beady eyes, and a gauntness that was made all the more noticeable by the green veins running all over his too-pale skin.
"Sit down, Ms. Baltimore."
She did as asked and took her seat at the foot of the table. "Thank you, warden."
"I assume you know why you have been invited to present yourself?"
"My superior has spoken to me about the Board's understandable concerns." Zari picked her words with care. "And I have, as suggested, applied for one of the paid cases—-"
"Then why is it," the warden asked, "were you still seen last night at the crime scene of your previous assignment?"
It was the one question that Zari hadn't been expecting, and she launched into an apology without hesitation. "I am very sorry, warden." Appeal to emotion was always a great time-stalling tactic, and Zari silently thanked her mentor for all those hours they had spent working on her poker face and making sure she was capable of lying to save her life (literally). "Micah did say I was to prioritize paid cases to show my loyalty to the agency." Pointless recounting was the next second best strategy, and by the end of it, Zari had found herself a plausible excuse.