Magical Murder Read online

  Magical Murder

  A Lyon Fox Mystery - Book 1

  Ann Denton

  Le Rue Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  A Personal Note from Lyon Fox

  The Lyon Fox Mysteries

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 Ann Denton

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Le Rue Publishing

  320 South Boston Avenue, Suite 1030

  Tulsa, OK 74103

  www.LeRuePublishing.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9985437-6-5

  To Jenn for her wedding.

  May you have the most amazing happily-ever-after of all time.

  Chapter 1

  “FML. No seriously. Eff my life. Felony investigations gets a hot new supervisor and we’re stuck with Grouchy McGrouch-Pants? Why do I still work here? Remind me."

  I eye our supervisor with distaste. A crotchety fat werewolf named Arnold, he runs the misdemeanor unit at the Tres Lunas District Attorney’s office—a quaint little magical community in Southern California. And he lives to make my life miserable. Case in point: he just dropped fourteen new files on my desk.

  “Bella’s out. Lyon, you get the new DUIs.” He ignores my death stare and tromps off. “Arraignments in ten.”

  “I’m a paralegal, not an attorney!” I call after him.

  “You’re whatever I need you to be,” he calls back, not even bothering to look.

  He shuffles over the tiled floor and the door to his office thumps closed. I stick my tongue out, but quickly withdraw it. The stale stench of sweat fills the paralegals’ room. Probably because they stuff about twenty of us in here. Ick.

  I hate that, technically, Arnold’s right. Night Court doesn’t have the same ridiculous hoops as human courts. There’s no stupid fill-in-the-bubble bar exam. There’s the hot seat. Learning on the fly.

  Since Bella’s out, the assignment means Grouchy not only gave me her cases, he’s also sending me down to handle tonight’s arraignments. Just a listing of accusations and setting the next court date. But still. Then I have to deal with the pile on my desk…

  “I’m quitting.”

  "I’d believe it if you didn’t say it four times a day.” My best friend, JR, leans forward over her desk adding a cover sheet to the new bite-and-run case she's filing. The only other paralegal in the office who’s not part were-animal and perpetually out on leave for one of her sick cubs—she’s my rock.

  I tug at JR's bun. She's all into the librarian look at work. Dark glasses, brown hair up, frumpy blouses. As if that will keep the guys here from staring at her massive rack. She’s half-nymph. Unfortunately for the guys, she’s the world’s most proper, sweet, and innocent nymph. No free-spirited hippie nymph stereotype for her. She’s been with the same satyr for two years. Love, she calls it. Crazy, I call it.

  "I'm gonna be here until noon again!" I grumble and lean against her desk, which, being a government issued piece of crap, squeaks in protest. JR, the consummate good-girl, ignores me and keeps working.

  I scoot my butt closer to her workspace in an attempt to annoy her. "I can always just move in with you. No more rent. No more need to work here." I flutter my eyelashes to ensure she knows I am not at all serious. Her place is the world’s tiniest apartment, which would never work for my…

  "Your books would never fit Ly-Ly," JR says as she swats my hip, and leans over to get a paper clip. She clips her file and then grabs a pen to initial her work.

  "Tell me you have to go downstairs to file that. Please." I'm jonesing for a coffee break.

  JR smiles, "I have to go downstairs to file this … after I get it signed by Grouchy McGrouch."

  I shudder. "You're on your own then. No way I'm going within fifteen feet of him."

  JR stands and straightens her pencil skirt. "No. Wait? You don’t like him?"

  I shove her playfully.

  She smiles. “Haven’t seen the new guy yet. But I hear he’s part dragon-shifter. Almost as good as a vamp.” JR raises an eyebrow.

  She likes to call me a vampophile. I’m a little obsessed. Which is why I took the job here. At Night Court. I have a little tiny, teensy bad-boy obsession. And seeing the hot tattooed gang-banger vampires day in and day out, even if they’re in cuffs (okay— I like them in the cuffs), just does something for me. It lets me live out a fantasy that can never ever be real. Because…

  I’m distracted as the hot new felony investigations supervisor walks by. He’s in a crisp blue suit and damn! That ass. He turns and I see his face.

  My jaw drops. Then so does the rest of my body. I’m crouched by JR’s desk, pawing at her legs. “Move. Move! Let me in there.” I shove her legs aside and crawl under her desk, bumping my head in the process.

  “What?” JR’s shock wears off as she bends to stare at me. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t! Don't look at me! Sit down! Sit down!"

  JR sits. She grimaces and talks like a bad ventriloquist through her teeth. "He's coming this way. What do you want me to do?"

  "Get rid of him!" I hide my face, as if that'll just make him go away. Unfortunately, my couple drops of fae blood don't come with cool powers. I can heal quickly, but who can’t? What I can't do is make myself disappear. Right now, I’m cursing my ancestors for that.

  I hear JR. “Hi,” she stands, and I can hear her smooth her skirt, imagine her holding out her hand.

  But then, there’s a long, awkward silence.

  I peek. And see dark green eyes staring at me. Black hair. A five o’clock shadow on a chiseled jaw. The new felony investigation supervisor has squatted down to see me hiding under my best friend’s desk. He’s smiling. I’m not.

  Did I forget to mention, he’s my ex?

  “Hi Bennett,” I try to brazen it out.

  “Hello, Lyon,” he says softly, trying hard not to laugh.

  I bristle. I hate being laughed at. Unless I’m making a joke. So, I decide I need to make one. “Haven’t they shown you where we put the confidential files?”

  “Under the desk?” He arches an eyebrow but plays along. “No, they skipped that in training.”

  “Government employees.” I roll my eyes. “Always skimping on something.”

  “Well. Are you done filing?” He bites his lip. And I want to smack him. Half because I used to bite that lip. And the damn memories it brings up make me kind of want to now.

  “I guess.”

  He offers a hand, which I refuse. “Feminist.” I offer as an excuse. But, really, I just don’t think I can handle touching his skin. Dragons run hot. And his hard, hot hands used to be my personal plaything. I shove back the memories and crawl out, realizing my suit is now a fur-covered nightmare. My pants look like hairy chaps. God, could this get any worse?

  JR,
always to the rescue (unless it comes to helping me hide under desks), hands me a lint roller. I take it, but I glare at her for the earlier betrayal. She shrugs and mouths, “He’s gorgeous.”

  Bennett sees and grins.

  I turn away from both of them and begin frantically rolling my pants. “Darn it.” It’s useless. Were hair clings like nothing else. And it’s scratchy. I sigh and set the lint roller on the desk. Great. With a wave and a “See ya!” I try to walk off.

  “Lyon Fox,” Bennett calls.

  I’ve always hated how my mom did that to me. Gave me two frickin’ animal names.

  I try to act like I don’t hear Bennett but he just keeps talking. “I’d like to talk. If you have a minute.”

  I turn around reluctantly. JR is nowhere to be seen. Traitor.

  “What?” I tug on a strand of blonde hair and start twisting it around my finger. Then I stop myself. I almost cross my arms, but then I realize that would look defensive. Or draw his attention to my boobs. Would that be better than the look he’s giving me right now? I’m still debating when he opens his mouth.

  “I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

  Oh no. He didn’t go there. Why couldn’t he just ignore the awkwardness like a normal person? Why does he want to talk everything out? This was part of why we broke up. This, and a premature declaration of love.

  “Weird? What would be weird?” I play dumb, batting my baby blues. “My ex taking a job at my office after he ran off and swore he never wanted to see me again? Why would that be weird?” I decide to do the boob thing. It’s a little bitchy to distract him like that. But you know, he started it.

  The boobs have their intended effect. His eyes dart down and his retort is derailed for a second.

  I smirk, about to turn and walk away again when his voice cuts through me. “That’s not how it went down and you know it. I didn’t take this job to spite you. I got tired of corporate security. The politics.”

  “Well, that makes sense. Corporate red tape sucks. Come on over to government. We’re way more efficient.”

  “I’m trying to have a serious conversation. I want you to know—”

  “Look. I don’t want to have this conversation. You do your work. I’ll do mine. I will probably never even see you. I work misdemeanors. Not homicides. So, don’t worry about me. I won’t be a problem for you.”

  “You’re hiding under desks.”

  “I was filing.” I grit my teeth.

  He’s tentative. He takes a breath before spitting out the next suggestion. I can tell it’s hard for him. He’s never been a confrontational guy. He’s gonna die in felonies. “Maybe we should have coffee. Clear the air. So things won’t be so tense.”

  My eyes widen. He can’t be serious. “I’m covered in fur. I have a bruise about to give me a brain bleed from that dang desk. I have to go downstairs. I cannot—no—I will not deal with this, you, right now.”

  Bennett sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay.” He sounds disappointed.

  This time, he walks away. And while I admire the view, I can’t help but feel a little twinge of regret. I stamp it out quickly and run to the ladies’ room, where we all have a stash of emergency suits. I can only handle one problem at a time. I need to be at court in five. Being covered in fur balls takes priority.

  Chapter 2

  I hate Arnold. I hate the tacky blue chevron suit I found. The only one in the emergency closet that came close to fitting me. The jacket is so tight I can’t button it. The skirt’s technically too short for court. And the sleeves have these awesome gold lamé cuffs built in. But it’s better than my dog hair monstrosity. So here I stand, cursing bosses, and hairy co-workers, exes who infiltrate your place of work, and bad fashion all at once.

  Until the accused are brought out. Suddenly my curses stop. Arnold doesn’t seem so bad. He’s a nice guy. A great guy. I could kiss him. Maybe. No. Never. But his evil machinations have turned out good for once.

  I greet the judge and the public defender. I try not to be obvious as my eyes scan over the pink jumpsuits. (Yeah. Pink. Someone somewhere thought it’d be a crime deterrent. Don’t think that theory panned out.) There are fourteen gorgeous vamps in the holding pen.

  DUI is a big problem in Tres Lunas. Only here, the crime’s a little different than most places. In a town full of magical creatures, there’s not so much driving. Our acronym stands for Drinking (those) Under the Influence. Really, it’s an anti-vamp law. Vamps like biting people who are high. Residual effects in the bloodstream or some yadda yadda training I had to sit through. The vamp advocates argue it’s a consensual arrangement. The City Council disagrees.

  Our nightly arrests would go down by half if they’d just change the law and only arrest those who bite non-consenting humans. But who’s gonna listen to a fae who doesn’t even have wings? Not my boss. Definitely not the City Council.

  The one benefit of our caseload is that I get to see a whole lineup of muscled, dark, misunderstood hotties. Like tonight. I don’t know if it was a bachelor party or what, but I can tell immediately the lineup is good.

  The third guy down the line winks at me. I try not to react, though I’m sure he can hear my pulse pick up. I scan the rest of the line, eyes bouncing over the two female defendants. Until I see him.

  I feel weak, jello-kneed adoration sweep over me. This vamp is a Viking. Blonde hair to his shoulders. Bright blue eyes. Bulging arms sleeved in tattoos. And my kryptonite. Dimples. Smiling right at me.

  That is one hot vamp. I inhale sharply, jealous of whoever he bit. I have to talk myself out of throwing twenty extra charges on him just so he’ll be locked up in the dungeon for the next ten years. Having him chained and at my mercy is so tempting…

  Damn. I need a date.

  I swing my gaze back to Judge Ruddy. He shakes his head, flaming red hair waving back and forth, nose ring glinting. I give him a “So sue me, they’re hot!” shrug back and set my case files on the table in front of me.

  As courtrooms go, this one’s not bad. Black marble. Tall and intimidating ceiling. The bench is about twelve feet high. So even trolls have to crane their necks up to see the judge. Good intimidation factor. But the kicker is the base of the judge’s bench. There’s a crack at the bottom where neon lights give a fire and brimstone feel. Like the judge has the power to open the gates of hell. It woulda scared the crap outta me as a kid.

  Ruddy’s Irish lilt rings out over the courtroom, bringing it into session. “Good evenin’ ya miscreants. We’re here to read tha charges against ya. Then we’ll be settin’ a date for your pretty faces to come back an’ tell me a truth or a lie.”

  He reads off the docket of names but I don’t get to hear Hot Vamp’s name because Shelia, an overeager defense attorney, comes up and starts whispering in my ear.

  “Heard you got fresh blood in felonies.”

  I grimace, not wanting the reminder about Bennett. I change the subject and whisper back. “Are you going to Saffron’s campaign meeting?”

  Shelia smacks her hair wrap and nods. “Yeah, right after my hair appointment.” She’s a gorgon, so her hair is an endless source of frustration for her. “I need another round of sedatives for these suckers. You wouldn’t believe the tangles when they get wild.” She tucks an escaped snake back into her wrap and then looks up at Ruddy.

  Shit. He’s done with the roll call. Which means we need to get these clowns arraigned so we can all get back to real work. Ruddy starts rattling off dates on the calendar, and I have to pay close attention because sometimes his accent is hard to follow. How a leprechaun ever got elected is beyond me. He’s smart as shit. But he’s got a mouth full of the mumbles.

  We get dates for status conferences set, and those lucky vamps who have the gold to bond out toss it in Ruddy’s pot. Clang. Clang-clang-clang. Unfortunately, Hot Vamp is one of those with gold. So I won’t get to visit my friends down at the dungeon tonight for donuts and a long hard session of staring.

  O
h geez. What’s wrong with me? I’m borderline pathetic. Okay. Okay. More than borderline. Maybe a toe over.

  The vamps file out and I turn to leave but Ruddy stops me. “We’ve got one more Ms. Foxy.”

  I grit my teeth and smile. That wasn’t a slip of the tongue. But I don’t want to tick off the judge. Not yet, anyway. Wait ‘til it’s worth it.

  I wait next to Sheila as the bailiff brings up the next prisoner from the dungeon. I’m expecting some kind of big bad. A troll who smashed up a gnome hill or something. But what I get isn’t what I expect. Jerry, the bailiff, escorts a tiny seventy-year-old woman into the courtroom. She has pin-curls like a fifties prima donna and coke bottle thick glasses.

  “Your Honor. Is this a joke?”

  “Nah. Tisn’t. Didna’ wanna give the others ideas. So, we left this for last. It’s a bit of shame that is.” He turns to the defendant. “Tabitha Blue, ye stand accused of Shifting Voyeurism. Ye canna watch the fellas as they shift, even be it through a crystal ball miles away. It’s illegal, lass. An’ I think you know it, being as this is your fourth offense.”

  My jaw drops. This little old lady? She’s spying on shape shifters?

  I mean, I come across a lot of crazy stuff as a paralegal. Like, it’s illegal for a gorgon like Sheila to do her own hair. A witch wearing her boots to bed is charged with a 9.301. Making an ugly face at a troll is a violation of penal code 7.91 Instigating Violence.

  But this is the first time I’ve seen someone in for getting off on watching shifters change. I wonder if she likes to watch them turn into humans or turn into animals?