Not surprising. Most witches disliked warlocks. Yet more hierarchy. Witches were naturally talented magic users with a genetic predisposition for accessing the magic fields of theworld. Magic came easy to them, and at times they didn’t even need to speak the spells they used, instead relying on mental and spiritual manipulation of the energies. Sorcerers—humans or creatures who accessed their abilities through heavy use of ritual, study, and practice—were a close second. Warlocks, however, were a darker breed. They gained their powers through pacts with higher beings. Interdimensional chaos gods, earth realm deities, or demons.
“What about the students in the school? No vendettas? Any anger?” I said, probing for clues to start building a suspect list.
“No one hated Balthazar. We loved him,” Veronica said, then made a pained expression. “Maybeloveis a strong word. He didn’t let many people in. The guy was sort of insular, especially since most of his family died. His only remaining relative was Wendy, and he was extremely protectiveof her. I can’t think of anyone who would want to do this.”
The earnestness in her voice and the sincerity in her eyes was like a breath of fresh air. I’d spent the better part of two decades in the dark alleys of the magical world. Supernatural creatures were just as bad, if not worse, than humans about lying and deceit. Each and every interview and interrogation tended to become these winding paths of half-truths, fabrications, deceptions, and exaggerations. Nothing was more frustrating than trying to get the truth out of some mischief maker like a leprechaun or gremlin, or a shifter who had a secret that might hurt their pack. I could tell when they were lying, but I couldn’tforcethe truth from them.
It was refreshing to deal with someone who was as open and honest as Veronica was. At least I already knew I wouldn’t need to worry about her trying to hide anything from me.
“I think we can look into some of his personal and professional dealings,” I said. “Maybe there’s someone in his past you wouldn’t know about. An old colleague or student from the past? Hell, maybe a jaded romantic partner? There’s a hundred different ways this could go.”
“Does that mean you’llofficiallytake the case?” Veronica asked.
I heaved a sigh. “I guess I will.”
An unfamiliar tension filled my chest, and though I hadn’t felt it in so long, I recognized it for what it was.Excitement. I was actually excited to dive back into this world. Before Veronica had so rudely and abruptly awoken me, I’d have told anyone, including my long-dead mother, that I’d never take another case. I enjoyed my solitude, enjoyed the quiet life. I’d set aside enough money to be comfortable for the rest of my life. Now, though? Now, it was like life had been breathed back into me. Strange.
Veronica put her hands to her mouth. “Oh my gods, that’s amazing. Thank you. Thank you, Mr. McClintoc?—”
“Call me Declan,” I said, holding a hand up. “I can’t stand thatmistershit.”
“Sorry.” She flashed me a shy smile. “Declan. Thank you.”
“Are you hungry or anything?” I said, again noticing how small she was.
“I’m fine,” she said, but as soon as the words left her mouth, her stomach rumbled.
I smirked. “Come on. Let me get you something.”
She followed me out of the office and into the part of the building that served as my home. I’d lived here for years, yet it wasn’tuntil the moment this woman stepped into my tiny kitchen that I realized how small and spartan everything was.
“Youlivehere?” she asked, glancing around. “It’s so small. For such a big guy, I’d have thought you’d like more space.”
“Yeah,” I grunted and shoved two pieces of bread into the toaster. “Well, it serves its purpose.”
I’d never felt embarrassed about my living situation, but at that moment, I was a little ashamed of it. The place looked more like a starter apartment for a nineteen-year-old college kid rather than the home of a forty-one-year-old retiree. It was clean, of course. I mopped and swept, and there were no flies buzzing around the trash can or any dirty plates in the sink. Other than some dust and spiderwebs in my office, the place was passable, but it still shamed me more than it should have.
“That’s pretty, though,” she said, pointing to the fig tree by the window.
“That’s my baby,” I said absently, pulling a jar of strawberry jam and a stick of butter from the fridge. “It’s basically the closest thing I have to a friend.”
She gave me an odd look, like she was both confused and sad at the same time. I ignored it.
When the toast popped up, I slathered them with butter and jam, then pushed the plate toward her. She snatched up the first and devoured it in four bites.
“Thanks,” she murmured through a full mouth.
Veronica truly was one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen. She had that sexy librarian thing going on with the curly hair and the glasses. Though, like the ones that had belongedto Wendy, hers had no lenses either. Was that some kind of uniform thing for the academy? Weird, if so.
She took a bite of the second piece of toast, which left a small smear of jam on her lip. For half a second, I imagined sliding my finger across it. The more carnal side of my mindalsoimagined sliding that finger into her mouth and letting her suck it off.
Down boy, I chided myself.Don’t ever mix business with pleasure. Ever.
When she finished, I took the plate to the sink and nodded toward the door. “We can get started tomorrow. Until then, I’m going to try and take a nap, maybe steal back some of the sleep I lost. You head on home and come back later in the morning.”
She leapt to her feet. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” I said, unable to hide the weariness in my voice.
