To: Hazel Rosenbloom (281-XXX-XX90)
From: Ezra Evans (352-XXX-XX16)
September 26, 2021, 9:43 pm
Where are you? Get home now. Everyone is worried.
September 26, 2021, 11:43 pm
Answer the fucking phone
September 27, 2021, 1:04 pm
I’m sorry. Just let us know you’re ok. Please.
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Agent Julian Quinn lets the transcript of text messages fall idly down to the table as he absentmindedly twists the gold ring on his pinky finger. He watches the screen with a frown.
He’s fairly certain Ezra Evans is innocent in this, but Ezra’s nervousness isn’t doing him any favors. While Quinn watches on video link, down the hall, in a cramped gray room, Agent Herman, head of the Missing Persons Unit at the Bureau, is asking Ezra thinly veiled leading questions about the circumstances leading up to Hazel Rosenbloom’s disappearance.
The Bureau is an organization that investigates crimes involving supernatural phenomena and people. Not to be confused with the Federal Bureau of Investigation (though if the magically disinclined made a few assumptions, no one at the Bureau would particularly mind; some things are best kept in the shadows after all), the organization has headquarters around the world. Their jurisdiction extends to all magical races and every agent is sworn to protect those who are mischief-born or mischief-bred.
So, with Hazel Rosenbloom nowhere to be found, the Bureau has decided to make a few inquiries.
Or rather, the Bureau scrambled to throw together a task force when Quinn brought up the fact that Hazel Rosenbloom is the niece of a prominent member of the Council, the governing body that oversees the Bureau, and it would do them all well to take this seriously.
The truth of the matter is that Hazel Rosenbloom has been missing for less than twenty-four hours and under any other circumstances, wouldn’t be considered worthy of an investigation just yet. Agent Quinn escalated Hazel’s disappearance to a full investigation when his friend, Ezra, called him—much to the consternation of Agent Herman. Quinn has no affiliations with the Missing Persons Unit, a fact that Herman keeps harping on about.
Technically, they don’t even work for the same division. MPU is its own department, while Quinn is with the Serious Crimes Division. Regardless, he would rather insult a colleague than find Hazel Rosenbloom’s case on his desk as head of the Suspicious Deaths Squad.
Quinn once again frowns at the fact that Ezra is only making himself look guilty.
It makes sense to bring in the fiancé, of course. As a centuries-old vampire and a Bureau agent with two hundred years of service so far, Quinn has seen enough to know that when a beautiful young woman goes missing, it’s best to start with the significant other.
And, yet this case isn’t like most.
For one, Ezra was with Quinn when Hazel went missing. As far as alibis go, a Bureau agent is quite a good one. Although he can’t recall exactly how he and Ezra met (at a party, maybe, through a friend-of-a-friend), Quinn knows Ezra well enough to know that meeting up for drinks, albeit at Ezra’s insistence, was not some ploy to fabricate an alibi for himself.
And yet, Agent Herman doesn’t seem particularly interested in the fact that Ezra has an alibi.
Then again, getting Herman to take the investigation seriously so early on took an inordinate amount of charm on Quinn’s part. He doesn’t rightly feel he can criticize the witch for finally doing what he requested.
Herman hunches over the table, leveling Ezra with a look that is undoubtedly supposed to be intimidating. Quinn almost scoffs at the display.
“When was the last time you saw Hazel?” Herman is asking Ezra.
“Two nights ago.”
“Can you tell us about that interaction?”
“It was fine. A little tense, but fine. Nothing we haven’t faced before.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Tense? Did you argue?”
“You could call it that.”
“And what did you argue about?”
“About…” He runs his hands through his hair again. “About our relationship.”
“Did she break up with you?”
“No. Yes. I mean, our relationship was ending, but it was mutual.”
“She’s a pretty girl. That must have hurt. Her, leaving you.”
Ezra shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that. Our relationship had ended. I was ready to move on.”
Herman latches onto this. He straightens up in his chair. “Move on? Bit quick to start another relationship. Was there someone else? An affair, perhaps?”
Ezra shakes his head. “It wasn’t an affair.”
Quinn feels a sinking feeling in his chest as he listens to his friend’s words. An affair would complicate things. An affair means motive.
A knock on the door takes Quinn’s attention from the interview, and he looks over at one of Herman’s agents, a young witch Quinn met only a few hours ago, though it feels like days. He can’t remember their name and he can feel his attention wavering. His teeth feel sharp and he knows he needs to eat soon.
“Magi-Tech’s found some security footage relating to the Rosenbloom case,” says the agent. “Should I interrupt—?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’ll take a look. Herman should be done with this interview soon anyway.”
The agent nods and leads Quinn back to the MPU office. “Do you think it was the fiance?” they ask casually.
“No,” he says.
“But isn’t it usually the—”
“It’s not Ezra,” he says firmly, sitting down at the desk he co-opted a few hours ago.
“Then who do you think did it?”
“I think we don’t have enough information yet,” Quinn says evenly.
The agent nods and seems to take the hint. They stand back while Quinn clicks the play button and a grainy, black-and-white image blinks onto the screen. The footage was secured from a traffic light at the intersection of Hemlock and Applewood. The view just captures the sidewalk on the south side of the road, where an attractive feminine figure walks into view.
“Magi-Tech followed any security cameras they could find from the diner and down a couple of streets before they caught this view,” says the agent. “Based on the timestamp and location, Hazel had only left the diner a few minutes before…”
The feminine figure—quite obviously Hazel now, as her face is in full view, slightly upturned as if she knows she will be caught on the traffic camera and has no qualms with it—suddenly disappears.
One second she is there, and the next, she is simply gone.
“They thought it was a glitch and maybe she got into that car that’s just there,” says the agent, pointing to the white car that is pulling up behind Hazel. “But the footage doesn’t seem to have been tampered with.”
Quinn makes an indifferent hum in the back of his throat. “Have Magi-Tech processed the scene yet?”
“Yeah, they found some portal residue, but haven’t given us the full breakdown yet. I’ve started looking into Hazel’s background to see if she has any connections with demons.”
“No need,” says Herman, walking into the office. “We’ve got a confession.” He tosses the file down on the desk with a satisfied smile. “Done and dusted.”
Quinn arches an eyebrow.
“Evans admits to having an affair with the sister. Harriet or whatever her name is.” Herman replies, settling into his chair. It creaks beneath his weight. “He tells Hazel and she kicks him out. She’s cut and run, Quinn.”
Harvest, Quinn thinks. He met her a few months ago, at Hazel and Ezra’s engagement party. He can’t imagine the slim, prim and proper, quiet sister indulging in a tawdry affair with her future brother-in-law.
Then again, mortals do tend to make the messiest mistakes.
“What about the footage?” asks Quinn, motioning toward the screen, where a fuzzy Hazel walks and disappears on a loop.
Herman leans over Quinn’s shoulder to watch the screen. “She got a demon to help her skip town. There’s some funny business with the car right there,” he says with a smug smile. “Case closed.”
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November 2022
The wind picks up around Harvest, scattering leaves from the nearby oak tree. It’s a wild wind but benevolent still. Gusts that strong usually bring some wayward spirit with them, an unexpected houseguest or a stray cat. Last week’s missing wallet even. But Ezra Evans?
No, this is not a benevolent wind, Harvest thinks with a grimace.
She had been so focused on a recently received message from an attractive colleague (it’s been a while since she’s dated anyone and she’s fairly certain he’s flirting), that she hadn’t seen Ezra at first, as he stood next to her door, hands in pockets as he leans against the door frame.
She thinks briefly of snapping a quick unsee spell around her and imagines the energy settling on her shoulders, tangling in her hair even though it is so short it doesn’t even get tangled on its own. But the sound of her car door closing has already brought his attention to her and she lets the spell fall onto a nearby leaf.
Probably for the best. It’s been a while since she’s used magic like that and it would probably give her spell-burn. An ex-boyfriend isn’t worth the pain.
His smile is gentle, but his gaze is just as piercing as she remembers. It’s been a year since she’s last seen him though, and she feels as if she’s lived a lifetime since then. She makes a mental note of the differences, cataloging the time in various sums and quantities.
How many inches she’s cut off her hair since they parted ways (seven) and how many hours of Bureau agent training she has sat through since she told him they weren’t going to work out as a couple (one hundred and sixty).
How many bottles of wine she’s consumed trying to convince herself that Hazel’s disappearance isn’t her fault (the number doesn’t bear thinking).
How many messages she’s sent into the ether, hoping her words find their way to Hazel despite the radio silence (how many days are in a year again?).
Ezra still looks the same, though.
Same messy hair, same rakish smile that makes her stomach flip, same worn leather jacket with a Tabitha’s Diner pin affixed to the lapel. He feels the same too, she thinks as she stands next to him, bent over her bag as she searches for her keys. Not physically, of course. She’s not touching him, and, for the moment, has no plans on doing so, but the air between them feels the same. The angles they create standing next to each other form a familiar shape. It’s a place she had forgotten—the space next to him—but it still feels like something she wants. The weight of guilt settles against her ribs, coupled with an overwhelming sense of loneliness.
Keys located, she finally looks up at him.
“I miss you,” he says. “Can we talk?”
The loneliness wins out.
She nods and lets him inside the apartment.