Page 51 of An Amateur Witch's Guide to Murder
“That’s such a good question I wish I had an answer to,” Mateo says, ignoring Ophelia’s displeased attention from a side chair. She’d hated this plan, but there hadn’t been an alternative, so here they are with a guy he barely knows in hopes of threatening another guy.
“Like … you don’t remember what happened, or?” Ethan asks.
“More like a magical mishap I don’t understand,” Mateo tries, knowing these are shit explanations but he’d rather not do a life-story dump right now.
“A … spell? Backfired?” Ethan tries to guess.
Ophelia’s flat voice says, “Magical show-and-tell has to happen later. Topher’s in jail and if we’re going to do something about it, we have to do it quick.”
Mateo gives Ophelia what would be a pained look on a human face but probably just looks like he’s threatening her. They’re asking a lot of Ethan, so rushing him isn’t going to help. “I can explain some of it later. It’s not going to be as informative as anyone would hope. But right now, we need to find Christopher. You’ve seen Topher. A man like that can’t be in jail.”
Ethan looks between Ophelia and Mateo, even peers at Quincy like he needs the assurance that at least some of the people in the room are still people. He spends some time nervously wiping his mouth before asking. “How do I know you’re not evil?”
Such a fair question. Mateo’s full eldritch horror meetsFreddy Kruegershadow creature … and it’s only their second bad date. He’s not even dressed cool. Ethan’s got nothing to hold on to.
“I promise I’m not evil, I just want to help Topher,” Mateo pleads while trying not to open his mouth. Nothing undercuts anI’m not evildeclaration like a mouth full of shark teeth.
Ethan nods once.
Then again.
Slips out his phone and dials.
And really sells it.
A potential client who’s loaded. Hush hush on the details—obvious code for super illegal. Feigns a deep desire for Christopher’s advice. Promises a cut after ego stroking that borders on flirting, impossible to follow math, and mysterious investment words.Optimizeis said upward of sixteen times but he’ll never know what was optimized. Money, he guesses.
Absolutely debased behavior that neither Ethan nor Christopher seems uncomfortable about. Begs the question: What the hell do brokers even do?
He hadn’t thought it would work, because Christopher’s son is in jail for murdering his wife, but the scumbag takes the bait with zero emotional distress. A meetup is arranged, client details too salacious for phone conversations to be had in the privacy of Christopher’s house.
They have a plan. Good cop/bad cop. A classic. Though Ophelia is going to have to play out of character as good cop.
It’s a group effort to get Mateo out of the hotel room. Quincy gets his car, Ophelia takes the lead in case she has to dissuade any interested parties from the elevator door to the curb, and Ethan takes the rear. Which just means he follows briskly while looking completely freaked out.
If anyone notices, they don’t have time to react before they’re all in the car and racing to Christopher’s house. Mateo rides on his back, in the furthest row of seats so Ethan doesn’t have to sit beside him. The mask is in place to hide his teeth, but he has to keep wiping at the black shit coming out of his eyes and it’s easier to do that without glasses or gloves. Ethan’s watching, though he’s trying to be discreet about it.
Bet he didn’t think the goth he was trying to get into bed was a straight-up horror show.
Oops. One glib thought too far, and Mateo’s reeling again. It’s not like he super cares what Ethan thinks. Except. Kind of it sucks that he’s scared. A correct reaction to this nightmare persona, for sure. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because Mateo’s here to collect paychecks, not new people to damn alongside him.
The ride is silent except for the low-key tunes coming out of the stereo. Eventually, Quincy pulls over and Mateo sits up, giving his cheeks one last wipe before putting the shades back on.
“You’re not actually going to hurt him, right?” Ethan asks. It’s nice that Ethan can hate the guy and be concerned about the actions of the demon he’s helping into his house.
“No. No. Totally not,” Mateo says in what feels like too much defense. The idea of hurting Christopher is very appealing, which is why he’s been carefully not thinking about it since theeat himslip.
They gauge the range of Christopher’s front-door peephole, and then stand off to one side as Ethan approaches the door. The man looks like he’s suffering a hernia, uncomfortable, stilted steps toward the door. He tosses Mateo a brief wild-eyed look that makes Mateo feel really bad for getting him tangled in this mess, and then hits the doorbell.
A long wait, Ethan unconsciously backing up one step and then two. When the door swings open, he reaches some limit, turns, and flees.
Which is mad confusing to Christopher, who stares after Ethan, lips parted in question before thinking to step forward, maybe call after his retreating form. But Mateo and Ophelia sidestep in front of him.
Christopher’s still in his suit from work, though the tie and jacket are gone. Booze is heavy in the air. Whiskey. Rich guys and their whiskey. His eyes are bloodshot, and if Mateo didn’t know he was a dick, he’d think he’d been crying.
Those red eyes widen, the beginning of a fear that’s hard for the man to register properly with Mateo’s mask, glasses, hat, and gloves obscuring so much. The door starts to slam, some base sense of self-preservation rocketing Christopher’s arms into action before his brain sorts anything out. But Mateo steps forward and catches it. It’s not strength that makes Christopherjump back. It’s an animal part of the brain noticing the very wrong proportions to the thing approaching him.
“We need to talk,” Mateo says, taking advantage of Christopher’s confusion and shoving the door all the way open. Moment of truth. The house is warded, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to enter this time. He’d been distinctly less of a full-ass demon twenty-four hours ago.
