Chapter 7

When I was a kid, I used to play this game called Mousetrap. Loved that game. The point was to construct this Rube Goldberg-esque contraption out of a bunch of miscellaneous parts including but not limited to gears, ramps, and a bathtub. When the machine was completed, one of the players turned a crank and set the contraption in motion. A metal ball raced down the track, knocking over things and causing controlled chaos, until a plastic cage dropped from a pole and trapped a little plastic mouse.

Dash’s warning was the crank. Serena was the mouse. And the students? They were the machine.

Still clutching the cactus, Serena bolted up the aisle.

Dylan looked from Serena to me and back again, then took off after Serena. Their shoulder clipped the dangling projector and turned it on, sending a beam of light rotating across the sea of faces like a miniature lighthouse.

The light hit the guy with telekinesis directly in the eyes. When he flung his arm up to block the light, everything in a five-foot radius of him went flying.

That had two immediate repercussions.

First, a pen flew across the room with the accuracy of an Olympic archer and smacked into an outlet, immediately shorting out the circuit and plunging the windowless room into darkness.

At the same time, a cell phone smacked into Agent Hothand’s head.

Cuttlefish Boy lit up the room like a multicolored strobe light and flames shot from the agent’s hands and across the room.

People yelled and cursed as they dove for cover. Flames passed over Dylan’s head and they screamed.

At the sound of Dylan’s scream, the cactus in Serena’s arms grew faster than Audrey Two, spreading spikey arms across the floor. The rapid growth looked demonic in the waves of multicolored strobe light.

Serena hurled the cactus away and it continued to grow as it arced to the floor.

One of the plant’s arms wrapped itself around the ankle of an older woman who until then had been knitting peacefully in the second to last row. The woman stabbed the cactus with a knitting needle as balls of yarn flew from a bag near her feet. She pointed at Serena with her other needle and the yarn zoomed toward her.

A ball of light shot up to the ceiling, illuminating the sight of Serena dangling two feet off the ground, tangled in a web of wool and cactus spines.

And then, when without any help from me or Dash, it was over.

It took an arborist and a maintenance man with big-ass scissors an hour to free Serena.

Once freed, SPAM EMTs whisked Serena away to the infirmary to be treated for cactus spine-related injuries. Dash went with them to keep an eye on her, while I went in search of whatever information I could find on Serena in the files.

When Dash texted me to say she’d been cleared for questioning, I hurried to the infirmary. Before anyone else could take possession of Serena, I hustled her out the door and towards the one room I knew would be empty and didn’t have a security camera.

The paint on the heavy metal doors was scratched and pitted, and the mesh in the one safety glass window barely let any light through. Inside, the room’s cinderblock walls were painted in multiple layers of institutional green that also covered outlets, wall, switches, and the corpses of spiders in equal measure.

I caught Serena’s gaze and pointed at a chipped chair. “Take a seat.”

Dash looked around and nodded. “I didn’t know SPAM had interrogation rooms.”

“They don’t. This is the break room.” I pointed at the repurposed printer stand we used as a coffee cart. It held an eighties-era Mr. Coffee half-full of a light brown liquid, a cylindrical red-and-white container of powder coffee creamer, a collection of sugar packets stolen from various fast food places, and a stack of plain white Styrofoam cups. “Want some coffee?”

He physically recoiled with a horrified expression on his face.

“I’ll take that as a no.” After ten years in the Army and another seven in various law enforcement agencies, I wasn’t picky as to how I got my caffeine fix. The coffee was still warm, so I poured myself a cup and dumped some of the creamer in it. I could feel Dash’s disgusted stare and rolled my eyes. “It’s not that bad.” The first sip tasted like regret. Shit.

Under the guise of taking a second sip, I let the dishwater disguised as coffee dribble back into the cup. Dash’s mouth moved as he fought to keep a straight face, the jerk. I sat the cup back on the table. “This is all your fault. You will tell me where you got that coffee this morning eventually.”

Christ, was it really still the same day? I was exhausted and the day wasn’t over yet.

“I’d like some coffee.” Serena’s voice was small, as if she was scared to draw attention to herself. For a second, I was tempted to let her have some of the coffee, but it would probably fall under the cruel and unusual category of punishment.

Dash leaned in close enough that I could smell his cologne. His breath brushed across my earlobe. “This is off the record, I assume?”

I nodded. Letting the tension build was step number one in any interrogation, so I took my time fixing another cup of coffee I wouldn’t drink. Silently, I took a seat across from her and laid the file with her name on it between us. I started the recording app on my phone and placed it on the table. “Do I have your consent to record this conversation?”

Serena shrank back in her chair. “Am I under arrest?”

“Not at the moment. Do you consent to being recorded?”

She nodded.

“You have to say it.”

“Yes. I consent. And just to be clear, I’m not under arrest?”

Dash answered for me. “Should you be?”

Serena startled and looked around the room to see who had spoken.

Dash stood with his back and one foot against the wall. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets, that damn trench coat hung around him like a cape. He’d tilted the fedora down over his forehead, and his dark eyes shone out from the shadow. He tossed the 8-Ball from hand to hand.

He looked every inch the jaded private investigator from the old movies we’d watched together back when we were barely out of our teens. Right that second, I knew that even if he didn’t want me, I’d never be able to walk away from Dashiell Bucur again.

Serena glared at him. “Who even are you?”

He gave her his shark smile. “I’m an investigator. Special Agent Dean hired me to help find out who is trying to kill him.” His raised eyebrow challenged her to draw her own conclusions about her role in this drama.

“I’m not trying to kill him! I love him!” Serena’s face was a study in anguish.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “You don’t love me. You’ve only known me for three days. We’ve exchanged maybe four sentences.”

She reached across the table, but I yanked my hand back before she could grab it. “It’s my power! To know when people are soulmates. And you’re mine. We’re soulmates!”

I opened the folder and rifled through the papers for effect. I already knew what was in it. “According to your records, your power is to cause accidents to people you are attracted to. There’s nothing about soulmates tied to it.”

“I didn’t tell them everything. A girl has to have some secrets.”

Dash took a step away from the wall. “Really? So when you look at Agent Dean right now, you can see who his soulmate is?” Serena started to speak and Dean shushed her. “Don’t even start with the bullshit that it’s you because we both know that’s not true.”

When she glared daggers at him and he simply smiled back. She leaned back with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine.”

It was time to get this interview back on track so I could get home. The pain pills had worn off a long time ago and lunch was nothing but a memory. Hangry Harlan was not a patient Harlan. I picked up the papers and tapped the edges against the table to straighten them. “Whether or not you can sense ‘soulmates,’ Agent Brown, is irrelevant. What is relevant is the fact that either you lied about the extent of your powers or they have recently increased somehow.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“Again, you’re not under arrest. I’m just trying to figure out what is going on and how culpable you are.” A thought occurred to me then, and I looked up and caught Dash’s eye. I dropped my eyes to the 8-Ball and back, then shook out my wrist as if it bothered me.

Dash nodded.

“Serena, are you trying to kill me?”

“No!” She was near tears.

Dash checked the 8-Ball and shook his head no. So someone else was behind the murder attempts. Fabulous. I ran a hand through my hair and leaned heavily against the chair back.

“I swear! I just want to take care of you. I’m an excellent nurse.” She nervously fingered her necklace, sliding the pendant back and forth along the chain.

Time was running out on this conversation. Soon Serena would remember that this wasn’t an official interrogation, and I—we—didn’t have anything concrete to charge her with.

Something about her necklace caught my attention, and I leaned forward to get a closer look at it. “May I?”

Her hand closed over the pendant. “My necklace? Why?”

“It’s very interesting. Turquoise?”

“Yeah. And silver.” Her fingers were still wrapped around the pendant. From the quick glance I’d managed, it looked to be a coyote or wolf with its nose pointed up like it was howling at the moon.

That got Dash’s attention and he sauntered over to the table. “Where did you get it?”

Serena bit her lower lip and looked down. Her fingers traced the pattern of old coffee-cup rings on the tabletop. “I-I don’t remember.”

Dash whispered to the 8-Ball, checked it, then shook his head. “She’s lying.”

No shit, Sherlock. No need to consult the ball for that. She was one of the worst liars I’d ever met.

Serena sighed and crossed her arms, then started tapping on her chest where the necklace hung. When she realized what she was doing, she dropped her hand. “Fine. It’s not like I can get in more trouble, I guess. I got it from a seller in the Blackish Market.”

I paused in my note taking. “The black market?”

“Blackish.” She emphasized the suffix.

I leaned back in my chair and rotated my pen over my fingers. Dash turned a snort of laugher into a cough. He’d watched me practice the move for hours on endless watches. “Pretend I’m new to the city and don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She rolled her eyes. Wasn’t she a gem? No wonder she needed some extra help with getting someone to like her. At least I was probably safe from her in the future. I’m sure I was not her favorite person right now.

Dash answered for her, picking his words carefully. “It’s a market for items and services that...how to put it?... That aren’t suitable for the usual distribution chains.”

“Stolen?”

“No,” Serena said emphatically.

Dash wiggled his hand in a yes-and-no gesture. “Not necessarily. But that’s not the point. It’s where people can guy goods that are, for want of a better term, imbued with certain properties, among other things.”

Since I’d been with SPAM, I’d heard rumors about people who could put charms or curses on material objects, but so far, they hadn’t found hard proof that it could be done. That didn’t mean they didn’t exist. “Such as?”

Dash raised one eyebrow. “Such as bad luck charm you can slip into your enemy’s pocket, love charms, or, say, a magic necklace that amplifies someone’s power. It’s also a great place to get lunch. The food trucks are amazing.”

“Right?” Serena interjected. “And the Fair-Trade chocolate is, like, hella delicious.”

I was achy and beyond exhausted. All I wanted to do was finish this damn interview so I could go home, take the highest medically approved dosage of painkillers I could, then sleep for twelve hours. “So, you went to the market to find something to make you stronger?”

“No. I went for some artichokes. While I was looking for the booth, this old guy called me over. Said he had something that could make the person I liked like me back.”

“A love charm? Like Axel’s power?” That sound unethical if not illegal.

She nodded. “That’s what I thought. But, well, I guess that isn’t what it did, was it?”

I lifted my cast and gave her a grin with no humor in it. “Not exactly, no. I’d say it did exactly what you asked for. It amplified your power, turning what were normally minor injuries into potential death threats.”

“I’m so, so, sorry. Really. I never wanted to kill you. Usually, it’s just a sprained ankle, or a bad cold.” To her credit, she did sound legitimately contrite.

“So, the electric eel in the bathtub was special for me?” Lucky me.

“The what?” Her eyes practically bulged from their sockets.

“Eel.” Fatigue weighed down my bones and was making it hard to think. I was stick-a-fork-in-me done with this whole mess. Exhaustion dragged my eyelids down. Out of habit, I reached for the coffee cup.

Dash swiped it off the table before I could. “Nothing’s worth drinking that.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, Dash’s hand warm on my shoulder. “I got this. Serena, lets wrap this up. What did this seller look like? And where was he located in the market?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Old? Dark skin, like weirdly dark. Bald. Lots of wrinkles, maybe? I didn’t get a good look at him. Now that I think about it, is was like I couldn’t get a good look at him. Like my eyes kept slipping away.”

That was a relatively common illusion power, a misdirection rather than real invisibility. I made a note to check the records for any information related to people with that power, for what it was worth. People with powers registered voluntarily for all kinds of reasons. If they wished to be part of the civilian response team, or if they were looking to mentor or be mentored by someone with similar powers. Also, any supe who got arrested got their powers catalogued, even if they were irrelevant to the crime. Medical personal often needed to know what they were dealing with as well. With the proper paperwork and a pinch of luck, SPAM had access to all of those records.

“Okay. Okay.” I pulled my phone towards me and stopped the recording. “That’s all I need.”

“Really?” Serena looked between me and Dash. “So, what’s going to happen to me?”

I answered her. “Legally? I don’t know. That’s up to SPAM. You should probably get a lawyer. More importantly, you’re going to need to learn to control your power.”

She sat up straight. “Do you think I could? I don’t mean to hurt anybody! Do you think I like it? Can you imagine what middle school was like? Hell. It was hell. I hurt everyone I liked even a little bit, which, for your information, was a fucking lot of people. Apparently, my subconscious is a huge slut.”

“Romantic,” Dash interjected. “Not slutty.”

We both turned to look at him.

Always one for the drama. Instead of answering the question, he pulled a Mounds bar out of his pocket and slowly peeled back the wrapper. “You’re panromantic. There’s no such thing as a slut, anyway. It’s just a way people attempt to control other people’s behaviors.” He took a substantial bite of the candy bar. When he saw we were still staring at him, he stopped midchew. “What?” He pointed the bitten candy bar at us. “You think I haven’t been called a slut more than once?”

Serena groaned dramatically and banged her head on the table. As the seconds ticked by and she stayed face down, I started to wonder if I should say something. I looked at Dash, raised my eyebrows, and tilted my head in Serena’s direction. He shrugged.

Crap. What if she was crying? “Serena?” No answer except the heaving of her back. Was she crying now?

Unsure of what to do, I tentatively reached for her, yanking my hand away just in time as she suddenly sat up.

“I’ve never been in a relationship, you know. Hard to be in a relationship with someone when the more I like someone, the more they get hurt. It sucks. I was just a kid, you know? Maybe I read too much hurt/comfort fanfic when I was teen. So sue me. I thought having someone fall in love with you as you’re nursing them back to health was so romantic. All those hours talking and bonding, all those sponge baths and massages...” She trailed off, staring into middle distance.

“Yes. Well.” Dash laughed as I jogged the papers again and put them back in the folder. “That’s actually good news.”

Serena pulled her gaze back to me. “How so?”

“Because it sounds like the power developed in response to your desires. That’s not uncommon. Which means it always was under your control. You just have to learn how to do it consciously.”

“How?” There was a gleam of hope in her expression.

“There are different ways. Teaching control, helping people fine-tune their powers is not exactly my area of expertise, but I’m familiar with it. SPAM has people who do exactly that. I’ll make sure you get put in touch with one of them. I’m just spitballing here, but your power might have more to do with fulfilling your desires rather than hurting people. It’s just kind of...stuck in that mode.”

The door opened and two agents I didn’t know entered. “Agent Brown, come with us, please.”

Dash put his hand on the back of Serena’s neck and said something to her. His hand trailed across her neck as she stood and then, hands in his pockets, he watched her leave. As soon as the door closed, he turned to me. With a shit-eating grin, he pulled her necklace out of his pocket. “I thought you might want this.”