My heels tapped against the linoleum, echoing down the aisle. With every step, the flickering lights overhead seemed to debate whether they had enough energy to stay lit.
Still, the missing case tugged at me. It was a subtle pull low in my chest, equal parts curiosity and dread.
I ran my finger along a row of cabinets, scanning the gleaming labels—121, 122, 123. The hum in the air deepened, faintly musical, like carolers in the distance. The blanket drooped off my shoulder, and I tugged it close, telling myselfthe sounds were just the building settling, and not a motley crew of dead carolers haunting the basement.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I yelped.
The sound echoed off the cabinets, and my heart thumped against my ribs as I fumbled for the screen.Sage.Of course.
I swiped to answer, and her cheerful face flickered into view, haloed in pixelated light. Beside her, a man in a knit sweater, with his arm draped over her shoulder, gave me a wave.
“Hey, Val.”
“Hi, Leo.” I returned a mock salute. “How’s married life? Please tell me you’re planning to send me free lift tickets this season.”
He grinned. “You know you’re always welcome at the ski lodge. But I may have to put you to work. The assistant I hired after you just retired, and now I’m fielding interviews.”
I leaned a hip against a cabinet. “I might apply. I’m a wizard with a spreadsheet, no magic needed. Which is good, because my résumé lacks a certain… shall we say, enchantment these days.”
Sage scrunched her nose, her voice breaking up over the tricky cell service in the basement.
“Val? Why do you look like you’re standing inside a horror movie?”
My gaze roamed the shadowy aisle. “Oh, that. I went into the agency's basement alone, something you should never do. It’s horror movie 101, and clearly I’m not suited to be the Final Girl.”
Leo laughed, leaning into the camera. “I hope you brought a hockey stick.”
I shook my head. “No, the killer brings the hockey stick. All I have is this cozy fleece. I’ll just drape it over the killer and run back to the elevator.”
Sage shook her head, her long curls bouncing. “You’re not making it to the sequel.” Then she sighed, pouting into the camera. “I still can’t believe you finally moved east, and I relocated back home to Coldspell.” She lowered her voice like we were sharing a secret. “How’s everything with your villainous boss-slash-husband? Should I conjure a coastal blizzard and force him to walk home in the snow, uphill, both ways?”
“He's notthatvillainous. He shoveled the curb outside the agency the other day when someone slipped. Executives don't usually do that,” I said automatically, then winced. Since when did I defend Grant Delaney's honor?
Sage looked at me like I'd grown antlers.
“Anyway, we bored each other with the most brutal small talk in the elevator this morning. It's our favorite game—seeing who can care the least. I think he's winning."
I kicked off my heels and flexed my feet, trying to ignore the odd sting in my chest that said maybe I didn't want him to be so good at not caring.
"So yeah, I might not survive long enough to tell Santa what I really want this year: a magical annulment. Do you think the man in the red suit has a high-powered divorce lawyer on retainer?”
Leo chuckled. “I think asking for a train set is more his speed.”
“Pity.”
The picture froze, then resumedwith a flicker.
“Cell service down there is awful,” Sage said. “Seriously, why are you in the archive? Don’t we have interns to go down into the spooky underbelly of the agency?”
“I’m choosing my first cold case,” I said, moving between the rows. “I let fate pick, and the universe gave me Case One-twenty-eight, except it doesn’t exist in the log.”
“Wait. What?”
“Yeah, it’s strange.”
The call stuttered again; Sage’s voice came in fragments, but I didn’t hear anything as my gaze locked on a narrow drawer wedged between two rusted cabinets. Its label glimmered faintly: Case 128 – Silverpine Inn, Level Five Haunting.
