Paris Murder: An Inept Witches Mystery Read online

  Ingrid snorted and then said, “I am certain we don’t have muscles. Also, WHY didn’t we go to St. Maarten’s again? Why am I not lolling about in blue waves with a pineapple and rum drink in my hand instead of being chased about ancient tunnels hiding from maybe-vampires, maybe-monsters, possibly just human traffickers?”

  Emily smiled, the shadows of the flashlight making her seem like an over-contoured skeleton. She nudged Ingrid until Ingrid turned her head. Emily’s face was momentarily serious, “Do you feel like what we’re doing is epically stupid?”

  “You mean trying to find our own way out? Or when we put on our epically stupid crowns and we crawled down the manhole cover?” Ingrid opened her bag and pulled out the chocolate bar that she’d stored away. She broke it in half and gave one of the pieces to Emily.

  “Yes,” Emily said. “I feel…”

  “Jinxed? Like how you do before a hex hits you? The way you do when Hazel gives you the evil eye during one of the coven events?”

  “Worse than that,” Emily said, laying her head on Ingrid’s shoulder. They’d been through a lot together. The death of Ingrid’s first husband, the murder of Emily’s husband, and then they’d stumbled into two more murders. They’d traveled a lot and created a store and a home in the same building. This wasn’t the worst experience they’d been through and Ingrid had to believe it wouldn’t be the last.

  They were both watching the way Fiona was crying into Lucie’s shoulder. Those two should have seemed like Ingrid and Emily in college, but they didn’t. Ingrid assumed it was because they weren’t nearly sarcastic enough and they hadn’t set anyone on fire despite the incredible incentive to do so. Of course they weren’t witches, but there was something else off about them. Maybe Ingrid wanted to think of them as similar to her but couldn’t imagine herself as a college student anymore.

  Emily nodded towards the elderly couple saying, “The old guy is going to have a heart attack before we leave, and then his wife won’t leave him. We’ll have to leave the old people behind until they die. That will haunt us for our lives forever. And I thought we were done being haunted.”

  “My money is on the arrogant professor dying a horrible death. Em…do you think….monsters…..” Ingrid sighed and looked around for Gabe.

  Yet again he was forging ahead, trying to find a way that would take them all out. She wished he would just find any exit, weasel through some hole in the wall that would never let her hips through. He could go get help, the professional types could get the rest of them out.

  But no, he wouldn’t leave Bernard and Betty 2. What was it about old people that edged everyone close to death? Of course, Betty 2 would probably clobber Gabe before she let them leave her behind. And poor Gabe. Ingrid wasn’t sure what it was that made him the leader, but despite having been in Paris for only a day, he was. And he flinched every time Fiona or Lucie burst into tears as if he had been the one who had forced them on this cursed tour and then gotten them lost.

  Ingrid looked over at Fiona and saw how she was patting Lucie’s shoulder. They’d changed places and with Lucie’s face tucked onto Fiona’s shoulder. Fiona didn’t seem scared, she seemed irritated. It was, of course, the play of the light. Because the dude backpacker didn’t seem scared either. He seemed to think he was on some sort of epic adventure that would make the best snapchat post ever and that was idiotic.

  “Em, I think we snuck into this death pit like stupid idiots. I think we have reached new levels of stupidity for which Hazel will never allow us to forget. And if I had thought we had a chance in hell of being found, I would have sat down where we were and refused to leave the place Abel left us. But…”

  “But…” Emily trailed off, staring at the wall across from them.

  “What do you feel?”

  “Why does it matter what I think?” Emily asked, avoiding replying, as she took a lackluster bite of the chocolate. She paused, held up her finger as Ingrid guessed the chocolate melted. Once she swallowed, she said, “At least if we die that was the last flavor in my mouth.”

  “I’m buying so much of this chocolate that I’ll have to leave my clothes behind,” Ingrid said, smiling more out of reflex than because she was amused. “And I didn’t say think. I said feel.”

  “Why does it matter what I feel?”

  “Because you aren’t me, you stupid dove. I have the potential to be a pretty good witch, if I were to work my behind off. We all know that isn’t going to happen.”

  “I’m not a better witch than you,” Emily said defensively.

  “I’m not talking about your abilities now. I’m talking about your potential,” Ingrid said. She took a bite of her own chocolate bar and wished it didn’t taste like sawdust. She felt as if the tunnel were pressing in on her, making her take in a little less oxygen with each breath.

  “Shut up, hooker,” Emily said. “I don’t have hidden skills and we’re gonna die. Get over it.”

  “Well at least we’re together,” Ingrid said. She wasn’t so much scared as hating the feeling of being suffocated. The truth was it was hard to believe that two, even crappy, witches would die in the catacombs. Especially given that Hazel, their coven leader, was incredibly powerful. She seemed to know when her coven was in danger, always aware of them somehow. If they were really in trouble trouble, they’d probably find a witch inexplicably showing up to help them.

  “I’m not too worried about dying a slow agonizing death,” Emily said as if her thoughts were following the same. “But I am concerned.”

  “I think, my best dove, that you might be feeling your skills. That power of yours. That extraordinary sense.”

  “Shut up,” Emily said dryly. And then with a bit more feeling, she added, “You know we don’t have any skills.”

  Her tone said that if they had been somewhere safe, Emily might have punched Ingrid. Emily might have thrown something. But here. Now. She kept her head on her friend’s shoulder and hoped they’d live to leave nasty bruises on each other’s biceps in the future.

  “I know my skills are…they’re nothing to write about. But it wasn’t me having blackouts from not using magic.” Hazel had all but promised Emily that she’d suffer a terrible fate that included a burnout of all her magic if she didn’t start using it on a regular basis. Emily’d humored her and had been gradually getting stronger. Of course, her magic seemed mostly fueled by rage or hot men. But whatever. It kept her from being the victim of some sort of supernatural torture.

  “You use magic,” Emily said.

  “You and I both know that your potential is scary,” Ingrid said. She took another bite of her chocolate and glanced around for Gabe. Fiona was staring towards an entrance that Gabe had not gone down. Maybe she should scope it out herself. Everyone in this group, herself and Emily included, were letting Gabe do all the work of getting out. Someone should be with him. She or Emily or the professor. Either Fiona or Lucie were capable of scouting ahead too and then making their way back. Gabe had explained what to do, mostly to shut the professor and his ridiculous stories up, not because he actually expected them carry their weight and scout an exit.

  Ingrid huffed before she said, “What you think matters because you have those secret skills, but I also know you well enough to know we’re at that part in the Scooby-Doo episode where the old lady is telling us to get out of town because horrible things are going to happen. And they never get in their cute little van and leave. Never. And, here we are, stupid enough not to have left. Except, this time, monsters are real. They’re real, they’re scary, and we’ve stumbled into their home.”

  “What is scary is this group of people,” Emily said. “Remember when dickhead died?”

  “Of course,” Ingrid said, shivering as she thought about finding Emily’s husband’s body. It seemed worse thinking about it down here in these haunted tunnels. She’d just weaseled her way into Gabe’s attention and then that stupid body showed up. Emily and Dickhead had been separated, and their marriage trouble had made
Emily the main suspect.

  “They thought I did it,” Emily said, as if the ‘they’ weren’t Gabe. “The real suspects were family. Because we were obvious. We were there. We had emotion and motive.”

  Gabe had entered this part of the tunnel again, and Ingrid felt an instant flood or relief. His gaze met hers and he nodded once to tell her he was all right. Waving off the others who started to crowd him, he came over to Ingrid and Emily just in time to hear what Emily was saying.

  “What are you saying?” Ingrid asked, taking Gabe’s hand and glancing at him to make sure he was ok. He had a wide scratch on his face, but it didn’t look too bad. Nothing that a little first aid wouldn’t fix up. And some of her beauty magic. She was super gifted in the art of cosmetic magic.

  Ingrid took his hand, pulling him to her to examine his scratch closely. “What’s the motive for dumping us in here? You think that Abel was some sort of psychopath? I think those are pretty rare.”

  “They are,” Gabe said, looking around. He was examining the group and Ingrid realized he’d already come to this conclusion. He was already suspicious of those who were with them.

  “You think that one of us was the target? Why?”

  “I think that if someone knew Abel and knew he’d dumped us, they’d be speaking up about being betrayed.”

  “What if Abel was the target? What if something happened to him?” Emily asked.

  Ingrid followed a moment later, “We’re here illegally. Someone engineered this. And if it wasn’t Abel, it was one of the others.”

  She hated that she was thinking that if she was going to die in the catacombs, she’d rather someone just off her than leave her to a long, slow death. She felt the specter of death like a gothic heroine and that made Ingrid angry. She might be hopeless at useful magic or any other useful life skills, but she could be capable when she wanted. Except now. Right now, she felt helpless. Without Gabe, she’d never have had a chance to get out of this…death trap. Without Emily, Ingrid might not even be so calm. But, she didn’t feel like she was in danger, so why did she feel death’s presence so strongly?

  “I think we have a conspirator among us,” Emily said. “I think that one of these folks is party to this somehow or the intended victim.”

  Ingrid looked around examining exhausted face after exhausted face. Emily’s theory just might explain why Ingrid felt like death was coming for them. If she was feeling the threat, then what must Emily be feeling? Then she asked the question she knew Emily must have already considered, “But what about those who went with the other group. We are split in half.”

  Emily shifted as if she were uncomfortable, and she probably was, but Ingrid knew her friend better than that. “I don’t think I would feel so jinxed. We should never have come in here. We should have taken the traditional tour and moved on. We should have gone to visit Bastille or Notre Dame. But I wanted to be done.”

  “This isn’t your fault,” Ingrid said. It was Emily’s fault they were on a stupid, illegal tour, but only because she’d found it. It was Ingrid’s fault and Gabe’s fault that they’d gone along with the tour. Abel, if he was alive however, was fully responsible for them being lost. And if there was a killer among them, responsible for that feeling of death—well, the only person who deserved credit for that was the murderer.

  Gabe nodded as he took a drink of water and opened Ingrid’s bag. He examined it carefully, took out a packet of nuts and said, “This handbag of food isn’t normal.”

  “Ingrid isn’t normal,” Emily said instantly. “Someone should slap some sense into her. I can do it, as her oldest friend.”

  “Shut your stupid face, hooker,” Ingrid replied. “I’m not the one operating off of rusty witchy intuition and fear of my auntie.”

  “As if you didn’t just ask me what I feel,” Emily said sarcastically.

  Fiona and Lucie moved closer and said, “How much longer are we staying here?”

  There was a distinct, accusatory whine to Lucie’s voice which brought out all the anger Ingrid was capable of feeling, but Emily grabbed Ingrid’s wrist and shook her head.

  “Why?” Gabe asked as he ate a nut. He had his feet out as if they hurt, but Ingrid wasn’t sure they’d been moving long enough for Gabe to be hurting. She, on the other hand, ached.

  “We all don’t have a girlfriend packing a bag of weird snacks,” the French disdain in Fiona’s accent was coming through strong and clear. “I’m hungry and tired and want to go home.”

  “Feel free,” Gabe said. “I’ll be resting for a bit longer and then Ingrid, Emily, and I will be making our way down that tunnel.”

  “That leads to one of the pools,” Fiona said. Lucie looked back and forth between Fiona and Gabe, breath heaving, eyes panicked. Her anxiety was making Ingrid want to slap her or maybe that was Lucie’s general personality. Given that Emily was much more violent than Ingrid, she could only guess what Emily was planning.

  Ingrid paused then because Gabe was looking at Fiona in the same way he’d looked at Ingrid a time or two. Usually when he was interviewing her about some crime he knew she hadn’t done but had to cover his bases.

  “How do you know where the pools are?” Emily asked with narrowed eyes. Her hands were fisted, so Ingrid suspected that Fiona was one solid knock from being left behind.

  “I followed Gabe,” she said sarcastically. “while you were scouting. Geri and I both did. I am antsy and need to get out of here. Don’t you feel like the walls are closing in on you? If we’re down here much longer, we aren’t going to make it. It’s a wonder that Bernard and Judith haven’t collapsed yet.”

  Yes, Ingrid thought, yes she did feel the walls closing in. It seemed to be happening even now. Closer and closer, the air was becoming heaving and hurting her lungs like shards. Also was Judith Betty 2? And who was this Geri? The professor? The backpacker?

  “I didn’t see them leave,” Emily said, still eyeing Fiona as if she were a criminal. But that might have been because she was horrible.

  “You didn’t have to see us leave for us to have left,” Fiona said sarcastically. “We followed Gabe’s light for a while. Then we came back.”

  Ingrid shrugged. She hadn’t seen anything, but she was examining the perfect manicure and winged liner of Fiona. That girl was pure princess. Scouting ahead didn’t seem like something she’d do. Ingrid and Emily tended to be stupidly spoiled in their salon and nail care, but she didn’t think that they came off as so very snarky and helpless. But Ingrid had also caught Fiona examining Gabe’s perfect behind and shoulders more than once. Maybe that was why she’d been channeling her inner girl scout. Had she been looking for the chance to throw herself at Gabe’s feet?

  “So what? You didn’t see me go. I had to use the facilities,” she said. “We’ve all disappeared.”

  “What do you mean pools?” Ingrid asked, the rest of the conversation suddenly coming back to her. They couldn’t mean like…dead people water? Could they? No surely. But Gabe avoided her gaze the second she searched his face.

  He calmly replied, without looking at her, “We’ll have to move through some water. It looks like it goes pretty deep, but we can swim it.”

  “Oh no,” she said shaking her head. “No. Let’s go another way. There’s another way. You said there were miles and miles of tunnels. We can die in a different part of them.”

  “The other tunnels just go and go and go. I looked, Ingrid, I promise.”

  “I don’t want to swim where they put bodies.”

  “There aren’t any bodies around here,” Gabe said gently. “But there’s graffiti on the other side.”

  Ingrid put her head between her knees. Swim? Swim in this?

  “Why don’t we just take a break,” Gabe said. “We’ll rest up, gather up as a group, and talk about things?”

  “We’ve been resting,” Fiona said. “It’s time to get moving.”

  Ingrid felt that instant flash of rage again. She was going to slowly and completely slaughter th
is girl. First Fiona ogled Gabe and now she wasn’t giving him time to rest.

  “Fiona,” Lucie said, “Gabe just got back. He needs to rest, too. And I…I don’t know if I can go through the pools.”

  Fiona tossed her disdainful glance upon the group and actually stomped her foot. Ingrid laughed, she couldn’t help it, even as Fiona said, “Fine. Rest. Let’s die a slow, nasty death.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go that way,” Lucie suggested. “Maybe we should try one of the other tunnels.”

  Gabe sighed and said, “We’ll talk about it as a group. But I couldn’t find any sign of people the other ways.”

  “But those signs don’t mean anything,” Lucie said. “They could be super old. They could be left by someone who swam over and swam back. They,” she started hyperventilating and Fiona slapped her, hard.

  “Pull it together,” Fiona snarled.

  “Any direction is a risk,” Gabe didn’t move to stop the other two from fighting, and why should he? It wasn’t his job to make everyone play nice.

  “Leave while Gabe rests,” Ingrid ordered. Her voice was cold and firm, and Lucie backed up while Fiona shot Ingrid a dagger glance.

  “Why don’t,” Emily inserted smoothly, “you guys go check your preferred route, and we’ll wait to see what you have to say.”

  “I…” Fiona started.

  “We can do it,” Lucie whined. “We have to find another way. And, at least we’ll be moving. Maybe we’ll find some good markers on how to get out. Maybe we’ll find an exit. It’s better than just sitting here. Or swimming out.”

  Gabe leaned his head against the wall and took in long breaths. Ingrid wasn’t sure how long they’d been there. Had it been a day? Just a few hours? She wanted to curl up into Gabe, making him her mattress, but she wanted him to be comfortable too. She didn’t know how to scout a way out of a place like this. She had zero chance of making it without him. Which, she thought, was both true in these tunnels and more and more in her daily life.