Of Murders and Mages

  Contents

  Dedication

  Also By

  Back Cover

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeern

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Author's Note

  Author's Bio

  Copyright

  To my amazing editor Jodi Henley who held me hand through countless rewrites.

  Nikki Haverstock’s Amazon Author page with all her books

  https://www.amazon.com/Nikki-Haverstock/e/B014GIZH0Y

  Target Practice Mysteries

  Death on the Range

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B014GDO5C0

  Death at the Summit

  www.amazon.com/dp/B016CX2RZO/

  Death at the Trade Show

  www.amazon.com/dp/B017HWLGNS/

  Death Indoors

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01C0NTKRI

  Death in the Casino

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01EPE1KEQ

  Death from Abroad

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XZ96GM2

  Target Practice Mysteries 1-5 (includes the first 5 books in the series)

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MXEHMY8

  Reality TV Cozy Mysteries

  Lights, Camera, Murder

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GQRGDCY

  Crossover Murder

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N51U14G/

  Three ways that Ella's life is totally messed up:

  __ her new coworker is as cranky as he is attractive

  __ a mischievous cat has decided she needs a familiar

  __ she just found out she's a witch who can read the emotional hologram of a magical death (and isn't that a mouthful)

  And oh yeah, there's five dead bodies, and no one knows how they are connected. Now she’s drawn into a madcap investigation at the casino where she's managed to snag a job. She must navigate learning her new mage abilities, a topless burlesque show, a jealous girlfriend, gamblers of all varieties, and magical chocolate cake, all while not setting herself or others on fire before the murderer makes her the next victim.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  I pushed the elevator button for our floor with enough force to hurt my finger. I never should have agreed to take a trip with Norman. I thought it would be a fun weekend in Rambler, Nevada—or as they liked to advertise it, “Vegas if they had never gone family-friendly.” I had never been that fond of Norman, but I couldn’t turn down a free trip. But after a few days trapped with him, I didn’t even want to look at him. Even the sound of his breathing through his mouth made me want to rip my skin off.

  The elevator doors opened, and I surged into the hallway, heading toward our room. In twelve hours, I would be home and would never see him again. Quickly, I realized that this wasn’t our floor but appeared to be under construction and dark. Why hadn’t I noticed before I exited?

  “Ethel, this isn’t our floor,” Norman said behind me, his mouth hanging open.

  “Obviously not, Einstein.” I huffed. The bare structure of support beams dotted the floor where there were rooms on our floors. A missing window to my right was covered in thin plastic that flapped in the wind.

  “The elevator’s gone.”

  “Well, push the button and get us to our room. I just want to pack and go to bed.” I couldn’t even stand to look in Norman’s direction as my eyes adjusted to the dark floor.

  “No, the entire thing is gone—no door, no button, nothing.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” A chill passed over me, and I rubbed my arms and shook my head. Perhaps the third glass of wine had been a bad idea, as it churned in my stomach and threatened to come back up.

  “Momma?” a thin, hesitant voice cut through the darkness.

  It had been more than thirty years since I had heard that voice. My son’s voice, my only child, my baby. He had died of whooping cough and couldn’t be here.

  “Momma!”

  It was his voice and cut straight through me. It was coming from the open window. I plowed through the construction rubble, something digging into my shin, but I felt no pain. I could hear my son’s breathing in my ears and smell his toddler hair. He was here and real.

  “Where are you going?” Norman shouted behind me, his voice thin and unreal, as if I were hearing it underwater.

  I shoved the plastic aside from the window, the sparkling neon lights of Rambler in front of me and a chilly wind whipping around me. I extended a hand, and firm in my grip was my son’s chubby hand. The lights and wind around me died to nothing.

  “Momma, come!” His voice was stronger now. He was healthy and vibrant and his voice still twisted my heart. He tugged on my hand.

  I braced a foot on the window and pushed up then took a step toward him, feeling weightless. His tiny cuddly body filled my arms, and I buried my face in his neck. His giggles filled my ears as wind raced by.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Miss Ramono?”

  I covered my yawn as I arched my back and stretched my neck side to side. For the past month, I had been tormented by exhausting and disturbing dreams I could barely remember in the morning. This was my first freelance job, and I was determined to knock it out of the park. I turned around to address whoever was interrupting my work.

  “I’m in the middle—” I managed to hide my gasp at the towering man filling the doorframe of the small office the casino had provided for me. He had light-brown hair cropped close and icy-blue eyes that were narrowed in a suspicious squint. His wide shoulders filled the doorframe, and he radiated an animalistic energy that pushed the walls in close around me.

  “They want to know if you are any relation to Ramono the Bull.” His deep, gravelly voice dragged out the words. He was younger than I initially thought. The scowl etched into his face aged him, but when he relaxed briefly, his skin was smooth except for the five-o’clock shadow.

  “Yes, he was my father.” A deep wave of sorrow passed through me as the past tense twisted in my stomach. Even three years later, I could barely say he was gone without tearing up.

  “Don’t lie.” The angry giant in the doorway narrowed his eyes again.

  Of course, if I thought a man was handsome, he was guaranteed to be a jerk. “I wouldn’t lie. James Ramono the third was my father.”

  “He didn’t have a daughter, only a son.”

  Anger flared in my chest. It was a familiar friend and comfort after the pain of missing my father. It must have shown in my face because the man’s glare disappeared, and his face went unreadable as I stood. “Then I must be a man because my father only had one child, and it’s me. Now, the casino is paying me good money to work by the hour, and I don’t intend to waste my time arguing about my deceased father. Is there anything else you need?”

  I was letting my emotions get away from me. My therapist would have advised that I count to five or take a deep, slow breath, but it felt good to rip into this douchewaffle that was questioning my own knowledge of my father. My cheeks were hot, and a trickle of sweat ran down my back.

  The ma
n’s eyes widened briefly, and he nodded before leaving the room without another word. The door stood open behind him.

  I took a moment to breathe in over a count of five, hold the breath, then let it out slowly over another count of five, and my temperature started to drop. It had been a bizarre encounter, but that was Rambler. A city I was still struggling to understand since I moved into Dad’s loft after his murder.

  Closing the door, as required by my contract since I was inspecting very important financial statements, I pushed aside all thoughts of my father. I turned back to the desk I had been given and jumped.

  There on the seat was that darn cat. She was gigantic, the size of a medium dog, and had green eyes just like mine. “Not you again. Shoo! Go on!” I opened the door and gestured, but she just blinked at me and lay in the seat, crossing her front paws.

  She had been bothering me all morning. Twice I had gone to the bathroom, carefully locking the door behind me as instructed, only to find her on my chair when I returned. She must be sneaking in when I opened the door. Anywhere else on earth, it would be weird to find a cat in a workplace, but not Rambler, Nevada. These gigantic, long-legged cats were a status symbol here, and more than one important person in town had one that followed them around like dogs. It was another thing that gave Rambler character.

  I carefully picked up the cat and slowly moved toward the door. The cats were well-known to hate everyone but their owners. Tourists were warned not to try and pet them if they valued their skin intact. I didn’t want to end up clawed to pieces, so I edged toward the door on my tiptoes. My hands vibrated as the cat purred and rubbed her head against me.

  “Good kitty. Nice kitty.” I placed her in the hallway and shut the door. I had never seen one of these cats for sale or rescue. There must be some high-price buy-in to get one, like a Birkin bag or McLaren car. It was surprising enough to see one alone, but I had no time to think about it as I turned to face my desk.

  The cat stared at me from the chair.

  I stared for a few seconds, trying to work out how she had gotten past me, before I walked over and scooped her up again. “Sneaky little bugger. Come on.” I opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and placed the cat gently on the floor. We locked eyes as I stepped back into the room and slowly started closing the door.

  A little chill ran down my back. The intelligence behind those green eyes was unsettling. The cat’s eyes narrowed as the door clicked shut, as though she were contemplating her next move.

  I sat back down and returned my attention to the financial sheets in front of me. When auditing a company, I liked to spend the first day just looking around. Oftentimes, something would jump out at me or seem off even if I didn’t know why. When I worked for the state auditor’s office, my coworkers teased me that I had financial voodoo, but the truth was that I was just good at my job and proud of it.

  This was my first solo gig auditing for a company that hired me themselves, and I needed to be twice as observant. No cats could distract me.

  A sharp meow punctured the silence.

  I spun around, and there in the middle of the room was that darn smug cat. I could have sworn it was smiling at me, gloating. The door was still shut.

  “Son of a—how did you get back in here?” I grabbed her with a soft but firm hand, but unlike the last two times, she squirmed and wiggled before sinking her sharp teeth into the meaty webbing between my left index finger and thumb.

  I gritted my teeth together and growled. The pain sent an icy chill up my arm, freezing it in place before spreading through my entire body, followed closely by another chill that transformed the sharp agony into a dull ache then only a light tingling. I stepped into the hallway and fought to move my arm. The cat finally unclenched its jaw and jumped to the floor, where it turned and licked its lips. She sat up primly and wrapped her tail around her body, though the last inch of tail twitched with delight.

  “What are you doing?” The man had returned and was glaring again.

  I returned the look, my patience completely gone. “Dancing the cha-cha.” I rubbed my left hand, which felt both hot and cold and had the pins-and-needles sensation. I flexed the fingers, and everything seemed to work, though the hand was stiff.

  “You shouldn’t be touching Patagonia.”

  “Is that her name? Awfully innocent name for a spawn of Satan.”

  Patagonia purred loudly enough for it to fill the hallway. The corners of her mouth pulled into a grin, revealing tiny pointed fangs, one of which was still tinged pink with blood from my hand. Her right eye briefly closed in a wink at me. I shook my head. The chronic insomnia and the adrenaline from the cat’s attack were making me see things.

  “How do you know Patagonia is a female?”

  That was a good question. I was completely sure the second I had seen her that she was a she, but why? I shrugged it off. I must have caught a view of the cat’s rear end at some point. People had often accused me of knowing things I shouldn’t, but I was just observant. I was a firm believer that if you paid attention, you could pick up on things without realizing it.

  “The lack of fuzzy balls gave her away.”

  He snorted, and one corner of his mouth might have twitched into a shadow of smile. “If you are done with your dancing, Miss Olivia Santini would like you to come to her office to talk.”

  “About what?”

  He shrugged. “Please lock the door and follow me.”

  My palms were sweaty as I gathered up the few things I had unpacked from my messenger bag. I had only been here less than four hours, and being fired was the only reason I could think of for the owner of the casino to ask me to come to her office.

  I locked the door and followed him to her office. Olivia had run this casino, The Golden Pyramid, and several others since her father committed suicide this year. Even before then, she was influential in Rambler, with her hands in a lot of projects.

  As the elevator doors closed, Patagonia snaked through them and curled up at my feet. “Should she be here?” I pointed down at the cat, who looked up and meowed loudly. I rubbed at my hand, which suddenly started throbbing again.

  “She’s fine.” He stared straight ahead at the doors until they opened, and he exited into a hall.

  I stuck out my tongue at his back and followed. I adjusted the strap on my messenger bag nervously. I couldn’t imagine why Olivia Santini would want to meet with me. The first thought I had had was that she wanted to give me bad news, but why her personally? Surely the woman who hired me last week could have called me up and fired me.

  What if it was related to Patagonia the cat? Perhaps the video cameras caught me wrestling her into the hallway, though the timing didn’t seem correct since the jerk had shown up so quickly. Perhaps I was jumping the gun thinking of him as a jerk. I tended to make knee-jerk reactions.

  “I don’t have all day.” He stood at an open door and tapped a foot.

  My knee-jerk reactions were usually right. I swept through the door.

  “Ouch!” he said behind me.

  I turned, and he was clutching his calf and glaring at Patagonia. She blinked and licked her paw.

  I giggled and gave the cat a long look, wondering if perhaps she was smarter than the average cat. We were in a large room. A lady at a desk looked me over. She had tightly rolled short black hair, like a nest of curls. She took off her glasses, stood, and opened a door beside her desk. She leaned in for a few seconds before gesturing me over. “Miss Santini will see you, Miss Ramono. Vin, she would like you to join them as well.”

  So the jerk had a name. I turned around and caught his scowl as he gave his calf one last rub. As he walked over, he had a noticeable limp.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I stepped into the office and braced myself for whatever was coming. The office was at the top of the casino and had a wonderful view of the Avenue, Rambler’s equivalent of the Vegas Strip. The office was tastefully appointed with a small sitting area, a large desk, a mixture of plott
ed plants, and an impressive number of bookcases. Standing behind the desk was Olivia Santini.

  The pictures I had seen of her online or in the local paper did not do her justice. She had the striking beauty of a movie star. I knew she was in her early forties, but she didn’t have a wrinkle in sight, not even tiny ones around the corners of her eyes. Her smooth black hair was pulled up into ponytail that made my unruly curly hair feel wild as it tried to escape from my bun. Nothing could contain the wildness of my exceedingly long red hair.

  She came around the desk and extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Romono. I’m Olivia Santini.”

  I shook her smooth, strong hand. “Please call me Gabriella or just Ella for short.”

  She gestured to a love seat and sat opposite in a wingback chair. “And call me Olivia.” She looked to the door. “Vin, please join us.”

  I peeked over my shoulder. Vin’s facial expression was blank, but the muscles in his jaw were flexing as he came over to sit in a chair next to Olivia. He perched on the edge of the chair, and it creaked under his formidable frame. The delicate design that fit her so well looked like a toy under him.

  I ducked my head to hide a snicker and startled when I saw Patagonia had silently jumped onto the love seat next to me.

  “Patagonia bit her,” Vin said.

  Olivia arched an eyebrow at him then turned and smiled at me. “Really? May I see?”

  “Oh, it was barely a—holy crap.” Dark-violet lines radiated from the two puncture wounds and laced up under the cuff of my long-sleeve shirt. Frantically, I unbuttoned the cuff and shoved the sleeve up to my elbow, where the lines continued to weave and lace over my entire forearm.

  Olivia squealed. “How exciting!”

  Vin groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I looked at my right hand then down at my chest, where the violet lines continued and seemed to darken. “I’ve been poisoned! I’m dying.” I spotted an envelope opener on the desk. “Cut my arm off before it can spread!” I stood, and my head swam. Falling to my knees, I flailed for the opener before my sight went black and I pitched forward.