Hexes and Hemlines Read Online Free

crime scene investigation?
    I sat in the driver’s seat without starting the engine, studying the exterior of Malachi Zazi’s apartment building. Based on the architectural details, I was guessing it had been built in the 1910s or 1920s, a symphony of red brick and cream-colored cement. Cornices and handcrafted details swooped out from the façade in a bold blend of Art Deco and Art Nouveau styles. The top of the building was asymmetrical, with terraces and spires and Gothic-inspired gargoyles protruding from all sides. It was decidedly odd. Unique. Gorgeous.
    Like all aged structures, it retained traces of the human lives that had passed through and dwelt within its walls over the years, but I sensed nothing untoward in its halls and stairwells. Of course, I had not felt much beyond the norm in Malachi Zazi’s apartment, either, though my eyes told me otherwise. It was odd. Exceedingly odd.
    This must be how regular people feel, I thought. They move through life without tuning in to each vibration, every wisp or echo of those who had come and gone.
    Must be peaceful. Too bad I couldn’t just relax and enjoy.
    I did feel one strange sensation—as though I were being watched. I glanced around.
    A young blond woman pushed a stroller toward the double doors; the uniformed doorman, graying and portly, hurried to help her out, exchanging pleasantries. An elderly fellow strolled into the building, a newspaper tucked under his arm and a black beret perched on his bald head. The driver of a FedEx van pulled up, double-parked, jumped down with two large packages, and handed them over to the doorman. Two uniformed cops came out of the elevator, passed through the lobby, and headed down the street.
    Other than the presence of the police, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
    Behind me, the cat mewed, a raspy squeak that made me think of a cartoon character with a pack-a-day habit. I turned to find it staring at me. The guileless look in its huge headlamp eyes reminded me of the way Oscar tended to gaze at me . . . especially in the air of confident expectation, certain that I would take care of whatever and whoever needed to be taken care of.
    My stomach fluttered. It was tough, living up to that kind of belief. It made a witch more afraid than ever to fail, to let everyone down. Since I’d become more open about my witchcraft, and had helped resolve a couple of local demonic situations, I’d been feeling the pressure. Not long ago I would have blown town at the first sign of trouble. But now that I was making my home in San Francisco, flight was no longer an option.
    “You are special, m’hija,” I remembered my grandmother Graciela telling me.
    I flashed back to a sunny afternoon, sitting at her kitchen table back in Jarod, Texas, sipping a frosty glass of her special ginger-spiked sweet tea.
    “I say this with a heavy heart because such power is bound to be misunderstood. And with great power comes great responsibility. Me entiendes , Lily? Understand? You must be very careful. Learn all you can about your power, about the other world. But use it rarely, and only when you are certain—certain, alma mia , absolutely certain that it is necessary. What have I taught you? The one thing above all?”
    “All things must be in balance,” I said.
    “All things must be in balance,” she repeated solemnly. “You must never forget that, Lilita. No te olvides . If you do, the consequences will be terrible.”
    I nodded and finished my tea. “Could we go try to turn the yellow daisies purple now?”
    “Seguro que si,” Graciela replied with an indulgent smile. “But of course.”
    I was only now beginning to understand what my grandmother meant, to grasp just how powerful a witch I was. There weren’t all that many of us. I had spent much of my life hiding from that fact, avoiding other people and the responsibility their ordinary human selves engendered in supernatural folks like me. Unfortunately, I still didn’t feel in