Under a Spell

“Haven’t the police already done that?”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah, but maybe there is something we can see that they didn’t. You know, maybe take an Underworld kind of look at some overworld kind of evidence.”

It sounded good and supernaturally detective-like when I said it out loud, even though I really had no idea what Will and I could possibly find that the entire SFPD couldn’t—magically veiled or otherwise.

I just knew we had to do more.

Will looked over my shoulder and poked Cathy’s picture. “Isn’t that like the pin that we found?”

I pulled the photo closer to me. There was a little lock-shaped pin—key and all—attached to Cathy’s collar. “Lock and Key pin.”

Will sipped his coffee. “Coincidence?”

“Probably. It’s a big club. Everyone wants to be in it.” I brushed my fingertips over the photo of the pin. “All the popular girls already are.”

“So, our two girls were in the same club. Maybe we should figure out who else is in the club.”

I closed Cathy’s file and sighed. “Why bother? It’s an academic club. People aren’t killing to get in. And we already know the girls knew each other—they went to school together and it’s a small school. Everyone knows everyone. I just think we might be wasting our time.”

“You don’t think it’s worth our time?”

I stomped my foot, getting frustrated. “I feel like we’re not doing enough to help Alyssa. Actually, we’re not doing anything! At least the police are out there actually looking for her. I’m teaching a bunch of over-privileged stuffed bras about things they’ll never care about.”

“Seriously, love. Move on. High school is over. And how do you know what the police are doing? Talk to Alex?”

It was nearly imperceptible, but something flashed in Will’s eyes when he said Alex’s name. Something that clearly indicated how much he loathed him.

“No. Sampson told me.” I didn’t want to tell Will about Alex and my last conversation. About the fact that I had speed-dialed Alex twice since and twice gotten his voice mail. I was thrilled to see he called me back while I was in the shower, then crushed to hear his sterile, “I’ll come out and pick up the uniform if you can’t drop it by.” No hello, no good-bye, just a click at the end of the message.

“And he said someone is coming by today to pick up the clothes we found in the Dumpster.”

Will picked up the plastic bag, giving the uniform a cursory look before he laid it on my desk just as the first morning bell rang. He stepped into the hallway and I heard the first chirps of adoring greetings from the girls.

“Good morning Mr. Sherman.”

“Hi, Mr. Sherman.”

“Oh my God, is that a Mercy uniform?”

My eyes widened as Fallon appeared in the doorway, then made a beeline for my desk, snatching up the bags.

“It’s all burnt. Where—oh my God—is this what was on fire in the Dumpster? Is it Alyssa’s?”

I leaned a hip against the desk, crossed my arms in front of my chest. “What would make you think this belongs to Alyssa?”

Fallon suddenly seemed to realize that it was me, the repugnant substitute teacher, in her presence. She looked up, narrowed her eyes, and held her lips in something akin to a smile—or a sneer.

“Because Alyssa always wrote on her shoes.” She held the bagged sneaker out toward me; I snatched it out of her hand.

“Were you good friends with Alyssa?”

Fallon matched my stance, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She kicked out a hip. “Am I a suspect or something?”

I shrugged, trying desperately to maintain my cool. “It was just a question.”

Fallon shrugged back. “We knew each other.”

“Is there a reason you’re sitting in Alyssa’s desk all of the sudden?”

Fallon seemed taken aback for a short second. Then she blinked, iceberg coolness floating over her once again. “I just sat down in an empty seat.”

The second bell rang and Fallon cocked her head, listening until it ended. “This was fun. I’ll see you in sixth.” She gave me a little finger wave and flipped on her heel, her skirt and her thick black ponytail swaying behind her.

When the lunch bell rang, my last class practically toppled over each other trying to put distance between me and their Mercy skirts. I tried not to take it personally and tucked my head into Will’s classroom, where every desk was still filled, each girl in rapt, awed attention. Not a single mascaraed eyelash blinked. Not a single pair of pursed, newly lipsticked lips parted. The silent air was thick with baby animal magnetism. I saw Will pacing in front of the chalkboard and groaned, then yipped when my cell phone vibrated wildly against my hip.

“Uh, Sophie Lawson,” I whispered into it.

“Sophie, it’s Officer Romero. You have some evidence for the Alyssa Rand case?”

My previous uselessness broke into a wave of validation and I actually smiled. I slipped into the ladies’ room, doing a quick check for feet under the stalls as any good detective who was consulted by a major police force would. “Yeah. Did Alex tell you about the theory? I think I might actually have a little more to add if you want me to come by—”

Romero coughed lightly. “I’m here at Mercy to pick up some bagged evidence. Al—Detective Grace—sent me to pick it up. Do you have it?”

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. “What?”

“I’m in the front of the building by the main doors.”

I blinked, still struggling to catch my breath. I knew Romero. Romero knew me. Romero even know about me—well, as much as he could know without his life being threatened. I believe I was listed on his Rolodex as Sophie Lawson, Call When Weird/Unexplainable Things Happen. And now he was acting like he didn’t know me. Like we hadn’t stood shoulder to shoulder on a crime scene just a few months ago. He was suddenly all business.

Just like Alex had been.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Let me just go back to the classroom and I’ll meet you. Right out front.”

Romero was in full uniform, pacing the steps outside the main door. He gave me a curt nod when he saw me and held out his arm. I held the uniform against my chest.

“Alex sent you?” I asked him.

“Yes.” He gave me one more curt nod and avoided my eyes.

I put a hand on his arm and finally, he looked at me, discomfort all over his face.

“Is everything okay, Romero? You know, it’s actually lunch hour here if you want to grab a sandwich across the street or something. We could talk.” I tried a cheerful smile. “My treat.”

“Actually, Ms. Law—”

“Sophie.”

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Detective Grace asked me to get the evidence and come right back to the station.”

I hung back and popped out a hip. “Did you guys come up on a big lead or something?”

“Look, Sophie, you know I can’t talk about an active case with a civilian.”

“That never stopped you before. And we both know I’m not just a civilian. I work with Alex.”

Romero looked at me then, a flash of hopefulness going through his eyes. “So you’re back?”

“Back from where? I didn’t go anywhere.”

His cheeks went red.

“Romero, tell me what’s going on.”

He held up his hand. “Look, I don’t want to get involved. I’m just doing my job. Alex sent me here to get the evidence from you and come back to the station. He said I’m not supposed to talk to any civilians about the case —”

I opened my mouth, but Romero rushed on.