Missing Magic (2 page)

And so, that night, as soon as the moon had
risen, she’d headed over to his place, knowing he wouldn’t be home.
Saturday nights, Mick worked as a D.J. at a gay bar downtown.

She’d known he wouldn’t be home. And she
still had his key – he hadn’t asked for it back. Yet.

Parking several houses down, she strolled up
the sidewalk towards his place. As a cop, she knew she’d arouse
less suspicion if she acted as though she had every right to be
there.

From the street, the place appeared deserted.
Not a single light illuminated any of the windows.

“You’d think as a cop, Mick would at least
have a security system,” Dee groused under her breath. This had
been a running argument between them for years. Still, Mick’s
distaste for alarms of all kinds would make her job as snoop a lot
easier.

She slipped around the side of the house. A
light came on above the garage. Motion sensors. She froze, holding
her breath.

No movement from inside. Exhaling in a loud
puff of relief, she rolled her tense neck, trying to relax. Amazing
how she, who normally spent her life on the right side of the law,
was entering Mick’s house uninvited. How ironic that now, since
she’d been unjustly accused of all sorts of illegal activity, she
actually
was
doing something illegal.

Sort of.

Mick had always told her she was welcome to
drop by any time. Previously, she’d enjoyed Carte Blanc at his
place. She patted her pocket and told herself it wasn’t really
breaking and entering if she had a key.

Still, she hated having to resort to dodging
motion- sensor lights and scurrying like a criminal in the
shadows.

Another bulb flashed on. Cursing under her
breath, Dee froze. When had Mick installed that spotlight on the
side of the house? Last time she’d been out here, only a week or so
ago, he’d had the usual front and back porch lights, nothing
more.

Gradually, the bulb went off, plunging her
back into darkness. She had to move outside the perimeter of the
sensor to keep it from flaring to life again, so she skirted the
edge of the unfenced yard, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

Next time she’d be more careful.

Next time
? As if she planned on
searching Mick’s house more than once? She didn’t even know what
she was looking to find, other than why he of all people, had
turned against her.

The scent of fresh cut lawn brought back
memories of cookouts and Sunday afternoon walk-fests. Together, two
orphans had formed the family they’d never had – and family always
stuck together, didn’t they?

Quietly, she let herself into the back door,
wincing as the motion bulb flashed on.

Heart pounding, she waited until the light
clicked back off before moving. She took deep breaths, trying to
steady her nerves. No matter what anyone else might say, she wasn’t
a criminal.

Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light in
the kitchen, she steeled herself to methodically search the house
she knew as well as her own.

What kind of clues she was looking for, she
wasn’t certain. Anything out of the ordinary, she supposed. If
she’d found something suggesting Mick had been taken over by pod
people from outer space, she wouldn’t have been surprised. Not with
the way her life had been going.

Of course, she found nothing of the sort. The
kitchen was neat as a pin, giving no hints. Neither the den nor the
dining room yielding anything either. Out of habit she doubled back
and checked the inside of the refrigerator. A half empty bottle of
Chardonnay, a hunk of Brie, and a bowl of tossed salad were the
only occupants.

So like Mick.

Smiling faintly, she made her way down the
hall into the bedroom. At the doorway, she stopped cold.

What the—?

Unlike the rest of the house, Mick’s bedroom
looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Clothes were strewn
all around, on the bed, the desk and the chair, the dresser, and
worse – the floor. Mick’s open closet door revealed empty hangers
and shirts hanging cockeyed.

This was wrong. Very wrong.

Of all the things Mick was most careful with,
his designer clothes ranked right up there. The man’s closet had
always been a source of wonder to Dee. He’d organized the shirts by
fabric and color and season. The shoes- she glanced at the closet
bottom and barely suppressed a hiss – had always been arranged in
boxes, by color and descending date of purchase.

Though she loved shoes and her own collection
was impressive, Mick’s organizational skills had her beat.

Not now. Now the shoes, like the clothes,
were piled willy-nilly in an unorganized heap, out of their
boxes.

The Mick she knew and loved would never have
let brown leather be scuffed by black. And the suede – she
shuddered. All right, her first clue that something was out of the
ordinary here. But what did this mean?

And the smell… sniffing, she followed her
nose into his bathroom. The overpowering scent of Mick’s many,
expensive colognes, all mixed together, made her cough and
sneeze.

What had happened in here?

Flipping on the light switch, she saw Mick –
or someone – had smashed every single bottle of cologne into the
bathtub. Shards of glass decorated the white ceramic tub with
deadly glitters. The jumble of scents would have hidden the stink
of anything, including a decomposing body.

The cop in her began looking for exactly
that. She checked the linen closet and the commode room, finding
nothing. No body here.

A search of both the guest bedroom and Mick’s
exercise room yielded no cadavers.

She breathed a bit easier, wondering at her
paranoia. At least Mick wasn’t dead.

Still, something definitely was wrong.

She just didn’t know what.

The Mick she’d known for over ten years would
never have let his bedroom and bathroom remain in such awful
disarray.

Back in the living room, she turned a slow
circle, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The dim lighting
made seeing difficult, and since this room faced the street, she
didn’t dare turn on a lamp.

Every book, every frame photo, ever bit of
bric-a-brac, seemed perfectly in place.

But wait – she leaned closer. Was that… dust?
When she ran her finger across the top of the coffee table, she
left a trail. Dust. The one thing Mick went ballistic over.

Around the station, the guys jokingly called
him Mister Clean.

Everyone loved Mick though. Despite his
almost feminine beauty and unbelievable good-luck, he was warm and
caring, a cop who followed the rules yet somehow still managed to
see the good in everyone. He had about him a sense of other-worldly
courtliness, as though he’d been born in the wrong place and time.
Dee had always envied this in her friend. Knowing she was ordinary,
she secretly hoped some of his specialness would rub off on
her.

So far, her little foray into crime had
revealed three things – a dusty living room, a bedroom that looked
like it belonged to a drunken fraternity student, and a bathtub
full of cologne. All of this meant… what? Pressing the tiny button
to light up her watch dial, she saw she’d been inside Mick’s house
a little over twenty minutes.

She blew her breath out in frustration. All
she’d learned so far confirmed what she’d already known – something
was badly wrong in Mick’s life. After seeing his house, if she
didn’t know better, she’d think he was the one whose life had gone
down the toilet rather than hers.

About to leave, she paused. One other place –
she’d nearly forgotten to search the garage. The place was a
monument to organization. Mick had hired carpenters to build a
workbench along the length of one wall. Tools he never used were
hung on pegboard hooks, arranged by color, size, and intended
use.

A wall lined with metal shelves held an array
of household cleansers, paints, and other assorted items.

In the left bay, Mick’s prize possession, a
fully restored 1967 Corvette Stingray occupied center stage. Mick
only drove the car once a week and then annually in South Worth’s
annual Fourth of July parade. The rest of the time, the Corvette
was kept highly polished and well covered.

If the garage was out of order, she’d know
Mick had gone off the deep end.

And then what?

Walking through the small laundry room, she
swallowed and opened the door to the garage.

Squinting, she inhaled. Normal garage smell.
That was good. Since there were no windows in the big, automatic
door, she wondered if she dared flick on the light.

A scratching sound from the other side of
Mick’s car convinced her. If a rat had somehow gotten in here, the
last thing she wanted to do was stumble over it. A brave cop she
might be, but not when it came to rats. Rats ranked right up there
with spiders and snakes.

One, two… light on.

Blinking at the sudden brightness, she saw
the Corvette was still parked in its normal spot, still covered
with the custom-made, blue cover.

The workbench, normally a pristine area more
for show than actual work, was another story. Tools were scattered
haphazardly, some of them covered with grease and dirt. The remains
of a half-eaten sandwich which looked to be days, possibly weeks
old, sat next to an empty bottle of… Budweiser?

Mick rarely drank beer. On the few occasions
when he did, he preferred exotic dark beer from Germany. Jack, his
significant other, had been known to indulge occasionally, but he
only drank light beer.

Then whose? She moved around the bench,
inspecting the mess, touching nothing, when another sound made her
spin.

Rat. She didn’t want to find it, scare it, or
kill it. All she wanted was to avoid the furry beast. As long as
the rodent left her alone, she could safely promise she’d do the
same.

Shuddering, she checked the floor. So far, so
good. No sign of animal droppings. With a quick glance at the metal
shelving, she determined nothing was out of place there. The only
abnormality she noticed was the stacked cases of motor oil. Mick
had always kept some on hand for the Vette, but he’d gone overboard
this time. There had to be seven or eight cases stacked on the
floor in front of the covered car. What else? She needed to finish
her inspection of the garage and get out.

The car. Mick’s baby. She had to check the
car.

At first glance, the Corvette was still
tightly covered. A closer inspection revealed the tarp was askew,
one corner of the front end folded up, revealing part of the shiny,
chrome bumper.

Gingerly, she lifted the cover the rest of
the way. Glossy paint, freshly waxed. The car, at least, remained
exactly as it’d been the last time she’d seen it.

Was that good? Or bad? She still didn’t know
what to make of her discoveries.

Tucking the final edge into place, Dee bent
low to tug the last part down.

And met the gaze of the strangely dressed man
crouched on the floor on the other side of the car.

CAUGHT! PRINCE Cenrick of Rune froze,
wondering if he should start talking or prepare to fight.

But then, judging from the demeanor he’d
observed as she’d stealthily searched Mick’s house, the slender,
auburn-haired woman had as little right to be there as he.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”
She gazed steadily at him, her voice cool and flat. Despite his
size, she exhibited no fear. Rather, she’d rocked back on her heels
and appeared ready to fight.

Rising from his crouch, Cenrick eyed the
human woman and did a rapid threat assessment. He saw no visible
weapon, though metal shovels and tools hung on the wall, easily
within her reach. But, if she wasn’t aware he was Fae, she’d have
no reason to reach for those. And, in his experience, women rarely
acted as warriors, despite their bluster.

He judged her low risk.

“I might ask you the same question,” he
said.

“You don’t belong here. Breaking and entering
is against the law.”

He tilted his head, studying her. She was
beautiful, in the earthy way of human women. Even in this dim
light, her hair gleamed with hints of fire and her eyes were the
color of amber. He gave her a hint of a smile, extending the
proverbial olive branch. “Then you have broken the law as
well.”

Glaring, she acknowledged the truth of his
comment with a dip of her chin. “True. We’re both trespassing. But
Mick is my friend. I’m here because I’m worried about him. Your
turn. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Opening his mouth to speak, suddenly the room
began spinning. What the—? Bracing his hand against a wooden
workbench, he took a deep breath to steady himself. His legs felt
weak, as though they could give out on him at any moment. “I…”
Blinking, he struggled to focus on her question. “Mick’s my distant
cousin. We’re worried about him too.”

“Your cousin?” Her skeptical tone told him
she didn’t believe him. “What kind of cousin sneaks around and
hides in the garage?”

How to explain? Keeping his gaze on her face
while the ground dipped under him. Clearing his suddenly dry
throat, he tried to think. From somewhere, he dredged up a
combination of words, stringing them together into a coherent
sentence.

Since Fae couldn’t lie, he countered her
question with one of his own. “You claim to be his friend, yet
you’re doing the same thing. Skulking around without permission.
How well do you actually know Mick?”

“Well enough to doubt that you’re family.
I’ve known him a long time and he’s never mentioned you, not
once.”

“We haven’t seen each other in years.”

“You’re not his cousin.” She crossed her
arms. “I know all about Mick’s lifestyle, so you don’t have to
pretend. Are you one of his… friends? You look like his type.”