“Yes.”
Derrick rolled his eyes as he rounded the desk. Not the reaction I’d hoped for.
“Time’s up.”
“What? You won’t let me explain?” I scooted to the other end of the room. If I had to make him chase me around the office, I would.
“I’m not interested in ghost stories. If you insist, Abrams will take your statement then escort you home.”
I stamped my foot, anger at his curt dismissal running through my veins. “I don’t need an escort home. I need you to listen. Just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. The world is filled with unexplainable things. If you would only open your eyes, you’d see them. And then, maybe, you’d have a shot at solving this case.”
He stalked closer. I backed up, bumping into the bookcase.
“You don’t listen, do you? This is a murder case. You may have built your living around tricking people into believing you have some mystical ability, but magic? Ghosts? There’s no place for them in this investigation, and there’s no place for you.”
“You’re wrong, Detective.” I jabbed my finger into his chest. This had become about so much more than eliminating my fines and claiming a reward. Principles were involved now. My reputation as a witch, and this damned desire to make him see me as something other than a con artist who dabbled in potions. “I can help solve this case because I have a link to the victim. A link no one in your investigation has. You need me.”
“Hardly.”
My patience spent, I blurted out my reasoning. “Ella’s ghost visited me last night, and I can prove it.
“How?” He crowded me against the bookcase, but I refused to back down until I’d finished.
“She was missing her shoe. A glass slipper. None of the reports have that information. If you didn’t find it at the crime scene then the killer must have taken it. Find the slipper, you’ll find your killer.”
I charged past him, clipping his arm with my shoulder. The man was infuriating. Vivian had been wrong. I didn’t need his help to investigate the case; I could solve it on my own, collect the reward, and shove it in his face. He’d take me seriously then. Maybe I’d buy the agency and use his office to grow fungus. Really smelly fungus.
A small part of me, the delusional part, had hoped he might be different, that he would see beyond what everyone else saw: the inept witch unable to rise to her true potential. If I was being honest with myself—which was rare but did happen—I wanted him to see me. Not the witch, just me.
“Tessa, wait.” Derrick placed his hand on my shoulder. The warm, solid touch and the pleading note in his voice made me pause, melting some of my anger like wax pooling in the bottom of a candlestick.
But it would take more than that.
My dramatic exit lasted two seconds before I crashed into a human-sized wall. The man steadied me as I craned my neck and stared into a pair of dark brown eyes. He smiled, and I swore, it was the most charming thing I’d ever seen. He had a clean-shaven face that accentuated the square cut of his jawline, and thick, jet-black hair that looked tousled from the wind. I could pay my debt with his coat alone. Dove-gray, it was made of the finest material, trimmed with gold thread on the cuffs and seams.
“Are you all right?” he asked, keeping his hands around my arms.
“Excuse me, Detective.” I heard Estelle, the silver-haired receptionist’s voice through the haze of the handsome man’s smile. “His Royal Highness is here to see you.”
Hold the horses and stay awhile. Prince Marcus of Ever was touching me—and then, just like that, he wasn’t.
Derrick seized my upper arm and tugged me out of the prince’s reach. I stumbled against his side, and he pressed his hand to the small of my back to keep me there. The move earned him a side-glare.
“Do you have to spoil everything?” I muttered.
“Yes.”
“Careful, Detective. Your dislike for me is showing again.”
“I don’t dislike you,” he snapped. His eyes closed, and he exhaled a long breath, looking like a man who’d reached his breaking point. Ialmostfelt bad.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?” the prince asked, quizzical.
“No, Your Highness. Miss Daniels was just leaving.” Derrick nudged me, but I dug my heels in. This was my chance. I might not have convinced Derrick, but the prince held a higher rank, and if I convinced him, Derrick would have to accept me.
“Actually, Your Highness,” I fumbled through a half-decent curtsy, “I’m here to offer my services with the Lockwood investigation.” I removed a small slip of paper from a satchel at my waist. It readDaniels Curses and Curesin ink that sparkled when caught by the light.
The prince accepted the card, and his thumb brushed the inside of my wrist. I frowned, not feeling the same intimate sensation as when Derrick had held me in the evidence room. What a shame. Prince Marcus seemed to actually like me.
