Page 45 of Wicche Hunt

Hernández quickly looked over the railing to watch the tentacle slap the water.

“It’s good to see you, Charlie. Herbert, you’re looking quite dapper today.” The starfish really were looking fully recovered after the deck fire a few weeks ago. I glanced around for a tennis ball but didn’t see it. “Wilbur, where are you?” I grumbled.

Greetings complete, I emptied the honey bottle first and then drew up a jet of seawater, catching it in the plastic bear. Hands wet, my body reset after kissing Declan, I returned the bottle to my backpack and slipped on a pair of gloves. Flicking my fingers, I locked the door and then followed Detective Hernández to her car.

She drove us away from the city, toward the hills and forest.

“Which school?” The road was narrow, and I was seeing fewer and fewer buildings.

“Cypress Academy.”

Huh. “My mom wanted to send me there.”

Detective Hernández looked over and then back at the road. “Wow. Okay. Horse stables, a polo field, Olympic-sized swimming pool, cutting edge tech in every room, a French chef in the kitchen. Senators and Fortune 500 CEOs went to school there. I assume that means you come from serious money.”

“Yes and no. Mom would have had to ask my grandparents for the tuition. She was worried about protecting me.” I turned to Hernández. “I’m quite valuable to the family, you know. If Mom said the only way to keep me safe was this Richie Rich school, the grandparents and aunts and uncles would have had to chip in.”

Hernández glanced over again. “And they would have resented you for it.”

Rubbing my forehead, I said, “They already resented me. If I’d cost them money too?” I shook my head. “No. I told my mom that wasn’t the school for me. It didn’t feel safe. She believed me and I went to the local public school.”

I fiddled with the straps on my backpack. “I think I had a cousin go there, though. Once Mom had told them what an excellent school it was, one of her brothers or sisters had to actually send their child there—something Mom couldn’t do—just to show her and the rest of the family that they were better.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I slouched in the seat. “There’s so much competition and jealousy in my family. We’re an old and powerful line of wicches. Our names are whispered with apprehension and fear in the wicching community. Mom is the most powerful of her generation and she was the one who bore me, the first seer in a couple hundred years. She’s been on the Corey Council since she was a teenager.”

The road had widened, taking on a more stately feel as we wended our way through the woods. “Mom’s siblings and cousins—I’m not sure how to explain this. She was always the special one. Even if you love someone, it can be hard to deal with favoritism. My mom works her ass off and no one feels duty more acutely than her, but growing up surrounded by resentment can make you brittle.

“And then, in a family that prizes our wicche blood, the fact that she bore a half fae daughter and isstillthe favorite? They never outwardly went against her—she and Gran are magical titans—but the whispers amped up and became meaner.”

“I would imagine,” Hernández began, “that the mixed blood child took a lot of grief herself.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “It’s all the same thing, isn’t it? Like my mom, I’ve been shown favoritism in the family, even though no one even knows who my father is, other than fae. It can be hard for people who follow all the rules and expect a reward only to find that people who ignored the rules were the ones rewarded. For a certain kind of person, one who keeps track of every infraction, that can be tough to accept.”

She pulled through tall wrought iron gates. “Families can be rough. Someday, I’ll tell you all about mine.”

We’ll pulled up to a small guard house. Hernández stopped and showed her ID to the uniformed guard.

“Detective, you can go through. I’ll alert the headmaster you’ve returned.”

Hernández nodded and continued down the drive. The trees opened and there stood the very impressive Cypress Academy.

“Holy crap,” I muttered. “This place is ridiculous.” The Gothic Victorian mansion seemed to go on forever. The pitched roofs, the ornate gables, the canted bay windows, the octagonal turrets on the end of each wing; it was an architectural masterpiece. Three stories high, red brick with a charcoal gray trim, it seemed to be aiming for powerful and elegant. And while I agreed those descriptors served, it was also ominous and vaguely threatening. I appreciated its beauty, but I didn’t want to go in.

NINETEEN

I Can Punch People I’m Not Dating, Though, Right?

Hernández parked next to a patrol car. As we got out, a pinched-faced man with dark eyes, a receding hairline, and a considerable stick up his butt came down the marble stairs from the oversized double doors.

“Really, Officer. I thought we were through. I don’t appreciate having police cars in front of my school.” He stood with his hands on his hips, taking up space with his Wonder Woman pose.

I ducked my head, not wanting to laugh in his face. He looked like his next move was to tell on us.

“Mr. Whitmore, need I remind you that a colleague is dead? It’s my job to investigate.” Hernández walked up the stairs.

“I thought we’d decided it was an accident,” he said, stepping in front of her.

“Sir, I understand this can be difficult for a man used to being in charge, but this isn’t your decision. I’mDetectiveHernández, not Officer. This is my case and I’ll be investigating until I’m sure of what happened. Now, if you could excuse me, I need to study the crime scene.”

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