The Girl and the Clock Tower Murder: Pandemonium Mysteries, #2

Chapter 1

T hanks, Evelina, Mahogany said. She grabbed the to-go cups and white paper bag holding two slices of coffee cake. Despite her best efforts, she had become a regular at Hot Brews, the best café in Pandemonium. Until recently, Mahogany would have cringed at the thought of being part of anything regular. Most of her life she’d shied away from groups, including potential friends, but Evelina would have none of it. She had stuck with it until Mahogany had relented, shedding her lone-wolf persona.

Much to her surprise, friendship had proved to be a high point in Mahogany’s sheltered life. Until a few months ago, she had taken on the world alone, except for Bazgul, her demon familiar. Now she found herself with a small group of budding friends.

My pleasure. Are we still on for tonight? Evelina asked, raising her voice over the din of conversation, clinking plates, and grumbled, pre-caffeinated hellos. The lovely blond tossed her golden hair over her shoulder as she spoke, revealing the slight point to the tops of her ears common to Fae Folk. Her violet eyes glinted in the bright morning sun streaming through the café‘s picture windows. The heat from the espresso machine had colored her pale cheeks pink. She pulled a small bone-shaped dog biscuit from a jar on the counter and held it out to Bazgul. The lesser demon, who preferred the shape of a tarantula, sat perched on Mahogany’s shoulder. With a chirp that revealed his delight, Bazgul took the offered treat in his large mandibles, gobbling it in one bite.

You bet. I’ll see you at seven. A mixture of excitement and apprehension mingled in Mahogany’s stomach. She and Evelina had a standing game night at Tony’s house.

Tony. Tony Applegate.

Mahogany’s mind drifted to thoughts of her crush. Tony’s golden skin, hazel eyes, and well-toned abs. She had pined for him since their first meeting when he had gallantly saved her smoothie from hitting the café floor. However, it wasn’t just his looks that had caught her attention. The attraction was more, something almost indescribable. Yet, Tony didn’t seem fazed at all, and Mahogany feared he had friend zoned her indefinitely.

About a month ago, she had tried to ask Tony out on a date. ‘Tried’ being the operative word. He had turned up at Diabolical Delights with Evelina in tow. The pair had run into each other on Tony’s way to the ice cream shop, and he had insisted she join them. Not exactly the ideal first date with a crush, and crush it was. From their first meeting, Mahogany had felt drawn to Tony. Not just drawn but hooked. Like a fish on a line. Every time she saw him, a pain grabbed her chest and jerked her towards him. If she didn’t live in a magical town with mythical beings, she might have thought she had a medical condition. But magic worked in strange ways, and she knew something deeper was a foot. She just didn't know what.

Evelina had apologized profusely afterward for getting roped into her date. But really, what could Mahogany do? Tony just wasn’t into her. It was a simple fact. She just wished she could shake her crush. Shortly after the Diabolical Delights dating debacle, Tony, had become distant; he spoke less, his intoxicating smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and his general easy-going manner was subdued and sullen.

She shook her head, clearing away thoughts of Tony, and caught sight of her ghostly reflection in the building’s large front window. Her usually vibrant, fuchsia-colored curls needed a revamping, having faded to a color akin to puce, reminding Mahogany less of hot pink flowers and more of antacid. Perhaps she could fit in a quick salon visit. Dimitri at Gothmother’s would work his magic, restoring Mahogany’s kinky hair to its full glory.

As her dark fingers grazed the café door, a young police officer pulled it open.

Thank you, Mahogany said, tipping her head in greeting.

No problem, Spider-Girl, the officer said.

A pinched expression, more sneer than smile, pulled at his lips. He shrank behind the door, placing it between himself and the dark-skinned woman with the enormous spider.

Mahogany smirked at the officer—as if a little glass and steel could stop Bazgul if he attacked. On her shoulder, Bazgul chittered and nodded his fuzzy, many-eyed head. The sneer froze on the officer’s face, and his cheeks blanched. He shrank back against the outer wall of the café as Mahogany and Bazgul exited.

Mahogany giggled. Bazgul, play nice with the humans.

Bazgul nuzzled Mahogany’s cheek, chittering again.

I get it. Easy pickings. That’s what he gets for calling me, ‘girl.’ I know black doesn’t crack, but I don’t look like a child.

Mahogany sighed, taking in the fresh autumn air as she started toward home. The scent of the ocean drifted on a light breeze. Green still clung to the leaves, but soon they would change their dress to the fierier palette of autumn. The morning sun raked in at a lovely angle, soaking the small town of Pandemonium, Oregon, in a golden glow.

A few storefronts down the street, she passed by Back Masking, the record shop where Tony worked. A twinge worked on her chest, alerting her that Tony was somewhere inside, although the closed sign still hung on the door. Oh Bazgul, why do crushes suck so hard? she said with a sigh.

Bazgul placed the fuzzy tip of one of his eight legs on Mahogany’s cheek and made low clicking noises.

I know you could hide the body where no one would ever find it. However, I think we can come to a resolution without disappearing him.

A gaggle of dirty Hippies passed by in a cloud of patchouli, body odor, and mildew. Culturally appropriated, matted dreadlocks clung to their scalps in thick chunks. Grime caked their patchwork clothes as if they’d slept directly on the ground. Trustafarians out for a spin with daddy’s credit card, Mahogany thought, holding her breath.

Check out the chick with the pet spider, one said, smacking another in the chest with the flat of his hand.

Wicked, said the other. A cloud of fragrant smoke erupted from his mouth like a dragon with indigestion before he passed the home-rolled cigarette to another in the group.

Mahogany winced and started across the street. The heel of one of her favorite turquoise cowboy boots caught the curb, sending her reeling. A few drops of coffee escaped one of the plastic lids and dribbled down the cup’s side.

During her daring escape from a rampaging murderer, Mahogany had shimmied out a second-story window and down a rope made of bedsheets. The rope had been about six feet shy of the waiting alley, and she had jumped, damaging her favorite pair of boots on the landing, not to mention breaking her tail bone.

Mahogany wasn’t sure why she was so attached to the footwear. The thought of replacing them made her sad in a nostalgic sort of way. She knew it was silly, but she couldn’t deny the impending dread. She had ignored the loose heel and carried on as if she wasn’t wearing a death trap on her feet.

Are you a Pandemonium resident?

The voice pulled Mahogany’s attention, stopping her short. On the wide sidewalk in front of Haughty Hemlock stood the willow-thin Whit Briteba, a clipboard grasped in a wrinkled hand. Tufts of unruly, thinning white hair stood hither and nigh about his head. A brightly colored striped waistcoat encased his angular, pencil-shaped torso. A delicate gold chain arched across the vest’s front, disappearing into a pocket where, Mahogany guessed, a watch ticked away the minutes.

Sign our petition to have the clock tower chime changed, so it’s quiet from seven in the evening to seven in the morning, Whit called to innocent passersby, hurrying on their way to work.

Next to the man stood his wife, the much younger Lilac Delldini. Lilac wore a blue and white ruffled top and black headband, appearing more youthful than her forty-seven years. In her lace gloved hands, she grasped a large stack of fliers, which she held out to those who avoided her gaze, engrossed in their coffees or phones.

Mahogany rolled her eyes and headed in their direction.

Ah, Mahogany, Whit said. One of his shaggy white eyebrows shot up and reached for its wild brethren atop his head. Are you ready to see reason?

Whit Briteba was the town’s busybody. Well, one of them at any rate. He always had his paws coiled in the inner workings of Pandemonium. When they weren’t meddling, he and his wife ran a designer men’s clothing shop in town, charging outrageous prices for their gaudy attire. The current outfit he’d shoehorned himself into was no doubt one of their creations.

You ask me that every morning, Whit, and every morning I shoot you down, Mahogany said, the corner of her mouth cocked into a snarky smile like a fedora on a bro en route to a jazz club.

You’re one of the few holdouts. Whit shook his head and clucked his tongue. Get on board or get out.

Mahogany sighed and glanced through Haughty Hemlock’s plate window to Neema inside. The older woman stood with hands on her ample hips, scowling at Whit with an expression one would give a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of one’s shoe.

I would if I could. She raised her hands indicating the to-go cups and coffee cake she carried. But as you see, my hands are full. She turned on her wobbly boot heel and headed into the apothecary.

That man, Neema said, taking her coffee from Mahogany. I keep telling him to take his crusade elsewhere, but he refuses. It’s affecting business. I even signed the damned thing, and he still won’t leave. She pursed her full lips at Whit and Lilac. I’ve had to tend to things magically, and I hate stooping like that.

I don’t know what you’re referring to, but here, Mahogany said and handed Neema the white pastry bags, this will help.

Coffee cake? Did Evelina bake it? Neema plucked a slice of rich cake from the bag, took a grateful bite, and closed her eyes in appreciation.

Does it matter? Mahogany joined Neema in reveling in their morning treat. Enchanted baked goods always hit the spot.

Fairy food also could manipulate humans into doing things they would not usually do. Yet that didn’t stop the initiated from enjoying the pastries from Hot Brews. So what if you found yourself in the town square clucking like a chicken?

True, but Evelina takes extra care. She has genuine talent.

Neema headed behind the glass display counter and sat on a high stool, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. A patch of white at the front signaled it was time to touch up her dye job.

They finished breakfast and got to work readying the store. Mahogany flipped the closed sign to open and glimpsed a pale hand holding the curtain back in the shop across the street.

I’ll be right back. Mahogany grabbed something from behind the counter and headed toward the pale hand.

Humbaba, the statuary shop, wasn’t yet open, so Mahogany knocked on the smoky glass door. An unseen hand slid the bolt on the door, and Mahogany swung it open.

Sorry to bother you. I have something for Euryale. Mahogany took a tentative step into the dark shop. Shadowy amalgams loomed on the deep wooden shelves, forming beasts from uncharted worlds. Mahogany shivered and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Something scraped the floor behind her, and Mahogany jumped. Turning, she found the younger of the Gorgon sisters, Euryale. The tall, imposing mythical woman’s red, scaly skin looked even more painful than usual.

You have something for me? Euryale’s words dripped with suspicion like venom from a viper’s fangs.

I made you some cream to ease your pain, Mahogany said, holding out the tin.

Euryale recoiled and took a step back, a sneer pulling at her lips.

Mahogany froze at the Gorgon’s reaction. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. After your help with the murders this summer. She offered the tin again, her movement slower this time.

The Gorgon regarded the tin but didn’t reach for it; her features were impossible to read in the dim light.

Apprehension tugged at Mahogany’s insides. This was stupid. She should never have crossed the street, and she had no business mixing herbs. After all, what could she, a human, possibly accomplish to counteract a curse plaguing someone for centuries?

I made it a couple of days ago on impulse. It was like the herbs were speaking to me in this weird, high-pitched humming. A pinch of this. A dab of that. Kind of like a sixth sense. Neema does not know I made it. I sneaked into the apothecary when she was sleeping and just started grabbing herbs. Beelzebub knows what she’d say if she knew. The result is this. She was babbling.

As Euryale listened to Mahogany’s verbal expulsion, her pinched expression slacked slightly, and she took the tin, holding it far from her face as if it might spit acid.

For my skin?

Mahogany nodded and smiled, hoping to reassure the immortal being before her.

No one’s ever given me a gift before. Euryale opened the tin and sniffed the contents.

Well, this can be your first. Mahogany glanced around the dusty store, an awkward discomfort spoiling her resolve. I should get back. She hooked her thumb at Haughty Hemlock across the street.

Euryale peered from the billowy white cream poking out of the tin to Mahogany. "Se efcharistó fíle mou."

"Se efcharistó fíle mou?" Mahogany raised an eyebrow, trying to parrot back what she’d heard.

"Thank you, my friend. Se efcharistó fíle mou."

Oh, you’re welcome. Our-yay elcome-way, Mahogany replied, thrusting the door outward, eager to leave Humbaba and its creepy lawn ornaments. As her boot touched the sidewalk, she collided with a woman towing a giant suitcase behind her.

Oh, I’m so sorry, Mahogany said, and helped steady the woman.

The woman who appeared to be Sandra Oh’s younger sister smiled. Her long, black hair fell to her waist in a dark, meandering river.

That’s all right, she said. You can make up for it by pointing me to, she checked the paper in her free hand, Tipsy O’Lush’s? Such an odd name.

Mahogany eyed the woman’s large suitcase. Of course. Head to the end of the street. Left at the park. Tipsy’s will be on your left.

Thank you so much. The woman headed off with a smile.

The clock tower is part of our collective history! To change even one piece is a slap in the face to our ancestors!

Mahogany turned toward the angry commotion. A second, much shorter man screamed into Whit’s face. A low top hat sat at a jaunty angle on the little man’s wizened head. Mahogany recognized this new figure as the Clock Tower Committee president, Matt Hader.

Whit leaned back as spittle flew from Matt’s lips and into his face. You always were quite the thespian, Matt. Whit pulled a bright blue handkerchief speckled with red hearts from his pocket and mopped his face. The clock is a nuisance. It should be torn down. You’re lucky I’m only petitioning to have the chimes changed. Whit poked Matt in the chest, the blue and red hanky swinging like a declaration of war.

You wouldn’t dare! Matt bellowed. The Guild of Myth and Magic will never stand for it. Why, this behavior is next to treason. Matt grabbed his top hat and adjusted it on his head. And you! He shot around Whit. I know you’re sending it to scare me off, but it won’t work!

Whit cocked a look over his shoulder. Lilac stood immobile under Matt’s furious gaze. She clutched the fliers to her chest like a shield.

Matt raised a finger, pointing in her direction. I hear it at night. Its jaws that bite and claws that scratch. See its flaming eyes. Its shadow snakes by the window at night.

Whit, seeming to regain himself, turned back to Matt. Now, that’s enough of that. He placed his hands on Matt’s shoulders and shoved.

The smaller man careened backwards, his arms cartwheeling before he lost his footing, landing hard on the dusty sidewalk. His top hat, jarred loose by the fall, popped off Matt’s head and skittered to a dusty halt several feet away.

Mahogany sighed as she observed the grownup tantrum. She gazed around and noted a small crowd gathering to watch the spectacle unfold. Behind where Whit and Matt argued, Neema stood in Haughty Hemlock’s doorway. A glower of murderous proportions hung on her face. When Matt hit the ground, Neema squared her shoulders and advanced on Whit.

Fine. If I must, Mahogany said under her breath and rushed across the street, her boot heel giving a wobble as she went. The last thing anyone needed was Neema getting involved, least of all Whit, who, Mahogany guessed, would receive the full measure of her wrath.

Okay, break it up, Mahogany said as she approached.

Neither Whit, Matt, nor Neema paid Mahogany any heed. Only when the tall, angular Whit advanced on the smaller, rounder Matt as he sat prone on the sidewalk, did the pale-haired Lilac step in.

She placed an alabaster hand on her husband’s arm. Now, now, dear. I think that’s quite enough. It’s clear that Matt is confused.

Whit flinched under Lilac’s touch, as if pinched, then smiled down at Lilac, his face softening.

You’re right, my love. Whit placed his clipboard under an arm and stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket. Placing an arm in Lilac’s, together they strode away.

There, there, Neema said, helping Matt to his feet. Why don’t you come in for a nice cup of tea?

Tea? Matt blinked several times. His righteous anger appeared to quell. I always have room for tea.

That’s the spirit, Neema said, and led him into the apothecary.

Mahogany stooped and gathered Matt’s mislaid hat and waved it at the assembled crowd of morning shoppers. All right, folks. Nothing to see here. Move along. Move along.

A disappointed murmur ruffled its way through the onlookers as they dispersed. Mahogany glowered after them before entering Haughty Hemlock.

Chapter 2

M ahogany, put the kettle on, and get the cookies, Neema said over her shoulder. She led Matt into the kitchen and sat him at the table.

Matt looked like a bullied child at recess. His white hair stood in untidy peaks around his head. Dust clung to the sleeves of his purple suit jacket, and his shoulders slumped as if a thousand-pound weight hung from them. He sat, staring blankly at the tabletop.

Mahogany filled the kettle and placed it on the stove before retrieving the cookie tin. She leaned against the counter, playing with her pentagram necklace, and regarded Neema and Matt.

Neema placed a hand on Matt’s arm. Are you all right? That was quite a tussle.

Matt offered a wan smile and prised his gaze from the table. It was, wasn’t it? He leaned back into the chair, raking his hands over his face. I just don’t know anymore.

What don’t you know? Neema asked, her usually sharp-edged voice soothing.

With a heavy sigh, Matt dropped his hands and stared at the ceiling, seeming to collect his thoughts. What’s real? I’ve been in such a fog. As if ‘I have one foot through the looking glass’, he said, repeating the adage. He leveled his gaze at Neema, and she squeezed his arm.

Neema glanced at Mahogany, her expression dark. For the uninitiated, Pandemonium was the first stop through the looking glass. But to those familiar with magic, the term meant things were getting downright strange. Scary even.

Well, Neema said, giving Matt’s arm a reassuring pat, I assure you, this is real.

The kettle started its insistent whistle, and Mahogany filled the teapot. She slipped a knit cozy over it, grabbed three mugs and the cookie tin, and carried everything to the table.

What sort of things, Matt? Can you describe them? Mahogany asked, sliding the teapot onto the table and distributing the mugs. Neema shot her a warning expression as if to say, tread lightly, but Mahogany ignored her. You mentioned a snaking figure and snapping jaws.

Matt blinked, his ruddy complexion paling and spoke.

‘And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came!’

Matt paused then banged the table with this open palm, sending his empty mug rattling. Neema sat back, her face stricken, and Mahogany jumped.

A frown darkened Matt’s face. Apologies. I haven’t been sleeping well.

Neema sat forward. That’s all right, Matt. Take it slow.

He heaved a heavy sigh. I…I’m not sure. It’s there, but then it’s gone. Just at the corner of my eye. His gaze darted between Neema and Mahogany. It was there. I know it was.

Neema pressed her full lips into a thin line as she poured the tea. Here, this will help. She waved her hand over the tea, muttering under her breath before pushing it over to Matt.

He took the mug nodding his thanks and sipped the steaming liquid. Almost immediately, his posture relaxed, and he settled back into the chair like someone who’d walked for days without stopping to rest.

When did it start? Mahogany pressed.

Neema’s expression soured further. She passed Mahogany her mug, and the warning in her eyes turned to an impending lecture.

Oh, I’m not sure exactly. Two, maybe three weeks ago. Matt took a thoughtful sip of his tea, his head tilting.

Mahogany tapped the silver pentagram charm on her necklace and pursed her lips at Matt. Did anything happen around the time you started seeing things?

Neema thrust a cookie at Mahogany. I don’t see the importance of these details. Here, eat this. Her tone hinting that her future lecture was on the verge of becoming a full-on rant.

Mahogany took the cookie and set it on a napkin. She trained her gaze on Matt. He stared off into the distance, his head still cocked at an angle.

Anything at all? Mahogany pressed.

Matt seemed to regain himself and gave Mahogany a weak smile, heavy with secrets. Nothing, he said finally. Nothing whatsoever.

He’s hiding something.

Mahogany stood at the sink, filling the dishwasher. After they had finished their tea, Matt had taken his leave. He still looked a bit ragged, but the enchanted tea had calmed his senses. Neema had offered to escort him home, worry lingering in her dark eyes, but he’d begged her off, claiming he needed to think and take in some air.

Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Matt’s always been eccentric. I’m sure he’s just under stress with the clock tower fundraiser coming up. Neema brushed cookie crumbs from the tabletop into her open hand. I don’t like how you pushed him to talk. Couldn’t you see the man was distraught?

The annual clock tower fundraiser was a big to do, but Matt hadn’t mentioned it as a source of stress. Mahogany shook her pale pink curls.

Wherever is bothering him trumps the fundraiser. He didn’t even mention it. It’s like he’s completely forgotten about it.

Neema waggled a finger at Mahogany. You’re doing it again.

Mahogany’s shoulders tightened. Doing what? she asked, her tone defensive.

You know what. She moved into the kitchen and brushed the crumbs into the garbage. You’re prying. Remember what that got you last time? You had to sit on an inflatable doughnut for weeks.

Mahogany’s tailbone gave a twinge at the mention of the inflatable doughnut.

I am simply trying to figure out what’s up with Matt. You can’t believe what he said to Whit was normal? Blaming him for some creature lurking around at night. Matt may be eccentric, but he’s not crazy. He sounds like he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Mahogany turned off the water and dried her hands, casting a skeptical eye at Neema.

Neema rested a hip against the counter, seeming to consider Mahogany’s words.

You might have a point. We’ll check in on him tomorrow. Maybe bring him a picnic lunch and a little company. Monitor him. She pushed herself away from the counter and grabbed a pen and paper. I’ll make a list for Hot Brews. A light tap on the apothecary door made Neema’s attention snap to the grinning cat clock over the kitchen door. My ten o’clock is here. She glanced at the paper and pen.

I’ll call Evelina and have her put something together. Mahogany took the notepad and pen from Neema and shooed her into Haughty Hemlock.

Make sure she puts some coffee cake into the mix, Neema said over her shoulder.

You got it, Mahogany said, but her mind was already off tasty confections and diving into Matt’s slithering monster.

Chapter 3

I brought Rabbit Rabbit, Mahogany said, carrying the card game in front of her like a shield. It had been several days since she’d seen Tony, and her heart gave a painful twinge at the sight of him. On her shoulder, Bazgul tensed and uttered a low rumble, reminding Mahogany of the distant thunder of an impending storm.

Tony gave a tight smile, casting a wary eye at Bazgul, and ushered them inside.

Evelina squealed when she saw the card game in Mahogany’s hands. I love this one! Where did you find it? She grabbed the box and gave Mahogany a quick hug. I’ll get it set up. There’s pizza in the kitchen and cider in the fridge. Oh, and I got your message. The picnic basket will be ready tomorrow afternoon, complete with extra coffee cake.

You’re amazing, Mahogany said, dropping her backpack next to the front door before slipping off her shoes. Poisoned Pen had a couple of copies. Cam helped me pick it out.

Well, it wasn’t Ace. He wouldn’t know a good game if it sat on his face and wiggled, Evelina scoffed over her shoulder. Cam is such a geek. Ace only wants to take your money.

Mahogany smiled, thinking of the odd pair who co-owned Poisoned Pen, Pandemonium’s bookstore. Ace was tall, thin, wolfishly handsome, and a bit of a bad boy. Cam was the prototypical geek–round in the belly, rumpled of dress, and couldn’t grow a beard if his life depended on it. But ask him about comic books, games, or role-playing, and you best strap in for the long haul.

What’s this? Evelina asked. She held up a slip of blue paper. It was stuck to the box.

Mahogany glanced at Evelina. Oh, that’s this new thing Cam and Ace are trying out. They’re delivering book orders to residents. I guess if they can’t make it to the store.

Evelina’s upper lip arched in a snarl. "If there comes a time that I can’t make it to a bookstore to make my purchases, please set me adrift in a boat and shoot flaming arrows at me like a Viking warrior. If I can’t shop