Miranda Amaro-Bott

It takes a moment longer than it should to compose themself on this one, silently grateful all over again for the gift that this case is, to help solve something so strange and uphold the reputation the club has, while also having plenty of beauty to look at, too. They do not need two working eyes to admire Hawk and Glimmer, and it seems that Hawk is admiring Miranda and them in turn, which makes them grin a little. Even if this is all that comes from the case, along with a solution, it is a nice feeling to be admired, especially given how painful things have been lately. This makes them feel almost normal.

They listen closely, though, focusing on the dancer’s words as Miranda questions them, and they are not surprised to hear that he seems to have no better idea than Belladonna of what could have been going on. The description of the Doe, at least, gives a better picture. Rich, no surprise, certainly the type full of shame for something that need not be seen as shameful. A very good target, for someone who would want a great deal of money, without the risk of someone publicly admitting it was him that it was stolen from. A smart move, by whoever it is who was doing this, they think. It does not help them much, though.

“Did you notice anything strange on that night about him, or about what happened before or after the dance?” they ask, with a slight frown.

“I know it’s not helpful, but nothing seemed off. It was just like any other night with him,” Hawk says, shaking his head slightly. “Happened just like it always does, he came in, went to the back, one of the servers came and got me, he was already there waiting when I made it to the back. We talked for a few minutes, then I gave him his dance like usual, and he left the room.”

They believe that he believes all of that. The thing is, though, that something feels wrong, almost as if Hawk’s energy is just a little off as he’s talking about that night and what he remembers. It is a strange feeling, one that they are not quite sure how to take. It does not seem to be that he is lying––they do not think that’s something that they could tell––but just that there’s something not quite right about what he is saying, but they do not know why.

“You do not remember anything odd about that dance?”

“No, just the normal sort of routine I do for him, nothing special, nothing weird. I keep going over it in my head, but I can’t come up with anything. He seemed fine the whole time, and nothing out of the ordinary went on throughout the night,” Hawk explains.

The beginning of an idea is forming. They wish they had a deck of tarot cards with them, but in the absence of some physical anchor for energy, they think they might have another way, as odd as it might sound. But before they show their hand, figuratively and literally, they want to know if Glimmer’s story is any different.

“Was it much of the same for you, Glimmer? Two of the Does often requested dances with you, da?”

.

As pleasant as Hawk is to look at, Miranda can’t help but be a little let down about his story. From what she could tell, Hawk didn’t seem to be lying to them, which meant they were left with very little to run with here. If Hawk didn’t notice anything strange, then it was very likely none of the other dancers did either. He was the werewolf out of the group after all, someone whose senses she felt would likely be sharper than all of the other dancers at the club. 

When Eden turns to look at Glimmer, she’s taken aback when she sees what face Glimmer has fallen on. Don’t get her wrong, it was still a very good looking one, but much more “accountant” in nature than the sexpot they’d previously appeared as earlier on the club’s stage.

“I’m afraid so,” they sigh as they look between Eden and Miranda, “Both Doe 2 and 4 were mine, but no matter how much I think back to both of those nights, nothing seemed off about them.” 

Thinking back to the case file, Miranda recalls it’d been Glimmer that the Illinois aurors saw as the most likely suspect for this crime. But from what she can see, they seemed no more likely to do this than any of the other dancers. Even now, they seem like they’re being just as genuine as Hawk was when they claim to not remember anything. 

“Is there anything similar about the two nights, outside of the usual?” She asks them, grasping for straws. 

“Outside of the normal? Not really,” they reply as they slip a pair of glasses on, “both requested very different morphs, so my dance routine differed, but other than that, no. The only thing I can think of is that they both came into the private room at around 10:30.” 

“I think that was around the time mine came in too,” Hawk speaks up. 

He can tell instantly by the look on her face that she isn’t offended, that she’s amused by the whole thing, which, okay, a little embarrassing still but better that than the alternative, seeing as she’d be well within her rights to stop on his foot with those ridiculously sharp heels of hers and apparate back on her own, leaving him to fend for himself getting back to Port Steward and to the office, and so he coughs out a laugh, rolling his eyes a little as she teases him. 

     “Alright, alright,” he sighs, taking her hand so they can apparate back. He’s still not looking forward to that part, but it least it seem like it might be the last, or at least second to last time he has to do this today, if their plan works out and they can actually figure out who purchased the phone and why they might have wanted to modify it so that ghosts could talk through it. And it feels nice, in some small way, joking with Miranda, even at his own expense. He hadn’t exactly expected to make friends starting this job, and maybe they aren’t all the way there yet, but it at least feels like a step in the right direction, to be able to laugh with your new coworker.

Maybe third time is a charm, with apparating—when they land in front of the office he feels queasy, but he manages to stay on his feet, keep the contents of his mostly-empty stomach in, only gets a little dizzy, the pressure headache fading fairly quickly as they make their way back into the office. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that sensation, but it’ll certainly make this job easier if he doesn’t have to vomit every time he needs to go somewhere that isn’t within walking distance. 

     “Okay, give me… five minutes or so to get this data loaded onto my computer,” he says, holding up the memory stick to show her, as they make their way inside. “I’d print out a list of names for you, but we don’t have a printer in here yet, so you’ll have to read them on the screen, but hopefully it won’t be too long.” 

He grabs her chair from her desk as they pass it and pulls it over to his own, lets her get settled or do whatever else she needs to do while he gets to work pulling up the data from the store’s records, importing it into a spreadsheet and narrowing down the data from there to just the people who had returned phones within the thirty day window before the Lovells bought their haunted phone—and ends up with a list just under two dozen names long, which give the wealth of data he’d pulled initially, feels much more manageable to go through. 

     “Here,” he says, pushing his chair back a little so she can lean in and see the screen. “These are the names that could have returned out mystery phone. You want to take a look through them, figure out where we should start?” 

When they get back to the office, she gives him a small but amused nod in thanks. “Quite the chivalrous little devil, aren’t you, darling?” She teases before taking a seat next to him. Crossing one leg over the other she waits patiently as Tavi gets to work on collecting what information they needed. Once he does get the list of names, she supposes they’ll then be left to the rather arduous task of tracking down each individual, then confronting them in some shape or form to see if they could be the ones responsible for the cellphone and why. 

The why was what still perplexed her about this entire thing though. At that point she was quite confident that the Lovells had nothing to do with the phone being tampered with, but that seemed to make the mystery only that much more bizarre. Why someone would make a cellphone connected to the “other side” came with plenty of motives, but why then return that phone to a no-maj store was what was truly baffling to her. 

It’s as she’s wracking her brain about this very notion when Tavi speaks up, declaring he’d managed to collect the list of names of potential suspects. Leaning forward, she glances at the list, none of the names in particular stand out to her- that is until her eyes meet the last name on the last.  “Juanita Navarro,” she reads aloud, the name sounding even more familiar to her as she says it. Tilting her head to the side, she stares at the name longer, but it’s not until Eden passes by does it finally hit her just where she knows the name from. 

“Oh!” She declares, perking up as she does. “Juanita Navarro, Navarro’s Palmistry and Divination Shop! She’s a co-owner I do believe.” She’d been to the shop once on a whim one day as she was exploring Port Steward, and found it to be quite the charming little place. She’d met Juanita’s mother, Alma that day, but she did remember the older woman telling her that her daughter Juanita helped her run the shop. Miranda had no clue just why Juanita would enchant a phone only to return it, but she was the best lead they had. 

“We should talk to her first,” she adds, “it could coincidence that her name is on this list considering her profession, but it seems almost too much of one, don’t you think?” 

     “Believe me,” he answers, automatically, with half a laugh, at her suggestion. “My bed is not as comfortable as this, and my place isn’t half as interesting, no matter how good the timezone sounds. You won’t be able to have any fun at all, the decor’s so bad it’ll bore you right to sleep the moment you get there.” 

He knows, as he’s saying it, that it’s a deflection, an excuse. Like a kind of verbal slight of hand, he’s learned that if you talk enough, you can direct people’s attention, distract them from the information they want to know by giving them information they don’t want to know, or information close enough to what they do want to know. It’s true, that he thinks Miranda would be terribly bored by his apartment, but the reason he hasn’t already invited her back to his place is bigger than just that, more instinctive, all tied up in all the reasons he’s inclined to let people believe whatever they want to about him. 

But looking at her, looking at the scattering of light freckles across her face, usually concealed, but now on display, adding a character and a softness to her face that he know she’d rather not show people and yet, which he can see right here in the morning light as he looks at her, clear as day, he regrets saying it, just a little, regrets feeling like he’s hiding anything from her, even when it isn’t a secret as much as it is an utterly ordinary fact of life, half-incongruous with the version of himself she knows. 

     “But, if you really want to,” he adds, after a moment, lifting a hand to her cheek, running his thumb soft across her skin for a moment. “I could be convinced.” He lets his thumb drift across her lower lip for a moment before leaning in to kiss her again, soft, a little drawn out, before going on. “Boring or not, we do seem to do an alright job of making our own fun, don’t we?” 

She should not be surprised that when she even brings up the idea of going back to his place, its met with an immediate deflection. After all, on the few but increasing times she had tried to pull some kind of information about out of him regarding his own life she’d been given similar responses. None of that though subdues the dull ache of self doubt that begins to flare up again at his words. She hated this position she’d put herself in, one that involved her opening herself up a bit more than she was used too, all the while receiving very little in return. This was why she tried not to do things like this and get so attached to any one individual. It made her into someone she didn’t like, someone so far removed from the cool and confident Miranda Amaro-Bott she preferred to be. 

When his hand moves to her cheek, she forces a soft smile to spread across her lips, intent on hiding the small war she’d been fighting in her own head. When his lips fall onto her’s she kisses him back, but has no intention to take the topic any further. She’d rather not set herself up to play a game she felt she was likely to lose again, where the reward of her earning any additional information or piece to the mysterious puzzle that was Tobias Whitney would always be just out of reach. 

This would simply have to be enough, she tries to convince herself. And while it normally would be more than enough for her, somehow it feels like a rather hard pill to swallow this time around. 

“We do,” she confirms with a small nod before leaning forward to kiss him again, preferring to shift her attention elsewhere. Shifting her weight, she deepens the kiss as she makes the move to straddle him. It’s just as she leans up to do so though that a sharp tapping sound erupts from what sounds to the window to her living room, echoing in through her open bedroom door. 

She recognizes it immediately to be the tapping sound of what was likely a delivery owl at the window, and so chooses to ignore it. She’s not sure who would be sending her anything on a Saturday morning, but whatever it was the owl could simply leave on the fire escape. Continuing with her previous plan, she brings her leg down on the other side of Tobias, when once again the owl begins tapping her window, this time far harder than it had before. 

They would be glad to stay and talk with Belladonna for the rest of the evening, but they are fairly certain there is not much more they can get from her on the case just now, until they can speak to the dancers themselves. Everything she has said, though, makes them feel that this crime wasn’t committed by any of the dancers, or even Belladonna. Her devastation at the news seems to be wholly genuine, and somehow they think they would have a feeling if she was lying to them about any of what she has said. 

They are still not exactly sure how much has changed with their Sight, having been cautious since returning, after such a terrible prophecy coming to fruition so horribly, to try to use their Sight casually to fully understand what has changed, but this case seems the chance. And something in their gut tells them that if something were wrong with her story, they might get the feeling of it, in the same way that before they have been able to get a feeling by touching something their subject touched.

Either way, though, they are glad that Miranda seems to be thinking the same way, as she asks Belladonna where the dancers might be at this moment. And with that, it seems that their next step is clear. Eden thanks Belladonna along with Miranda, giving her a brilliant smile, promising to speak again, later, before they let Miranda start to lead them backstage. 

“Da, I agree. I do not think that a dancer would try something so risky. Good, and bad, I think; it creates the problem of our culprit potentially not even being in the club. But I would rather that, than see these dancers’ reputations hit,” they nod, as they head backstage.

It only takes a second to find the dressing room, following the sound of voices down the hall. The door is open, but they knock anyway, before peeking in, and they find themself speechless for the second time since stepping foot in the club. Because both of the dancers inside, Glimmer, sitting in front of a mirror, playing with their appearance, and the other, likely Hawk, lounging on a plush couch in the corner, are both gorgeous. Before they can remember themself, Hawk notices them, and stops mid-sentence, frowning at them for a second, before recognition dawns on his face.

“You two must be the aurors, right? I’m Hawk, this is Glimmer. You can come in, if you want. I promise it’s more comfortable than the doorway,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice.

.

When they reach the dressing room, Miranda is pleased to see the beauty of the club’s owner was only just a taste of what other visual delights there were to be found at the Sirens’ Lounge. Just by Belladonna’s description of Hawk alone, she assumed he’d be rather built- but “built” didn’t even quite describe the adonis currently lounging on the couch ahead of them. Glimmer too was a sight to behold, but for now she focuses her attention on the white-haired man in front of them, figuring she’d have plenty of time to take in Glimmer when they talked to them next. 

“Right you are, darling,” Miranda smiles, which soon turns into a smirk when Hawk steals a long look at both her and Eden. “I’m Officer Miranda Amaro-Bott, and this is my partner, Officer Eden Blue. We were hoping to ask you some questions about these missing memory episodes.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Hawk nods, sitting up a little as he does so, “I’ll warn you though, I doubt either of us will be much help for you. We’ve all been wracking our brains for weeks trying to figure out what’s going on in the club, and none of us have noticed anything out of the ordinary during the nights this all happened.” 

“That’s alright, anything will be of help, I assure you,” she replies, although it does worry her just how seemingly little the staff seemed to know of this crime. A strip club was an easy place for things to go unnoticed, what with the loud and dark atmosphere, as well as the crowd. She wouldn’t be all that surprised that they hadn’t seen anything, even though she hoped otherwise. 

“Do you think you could tell us a little about Doe #3? According to our case report you’re the only dancer they ever frequented.” She adds.

“Ah, “Doe #3″, right,” he lets out a small sigh, “I forgot they’re all still staying anonymous. Well your reports are right, Three comes in here about twice a week, although it can vary every now and then. Sometimes he’s here religiously, other times it can be up to a month before I see him again. My guess is he starts dating someone, then whenever that ends he’s back here.” 

“Do you know him very well?” She asks, thinking it may help to get a better idea of just the kind of people these Does were. 

When he’d been locked in a dungeon in Scotland daydreaming about being rescued, about returning to normal life, implausible and misguided fantasies about going home and everything going back to normal, all the things he’d taken advantage of before becoming a literal prisoner of war that he would swear never to take advantage of again, he hadn’t imagined anything like this, anything like falling asleep in Miranda’s bed with an unexpected regularity, waking up next to her more mornings than not. 

He wouldn’t have thought she’d tolerate it, would have expected she’d get bored much faster than that, would have thought he’d get bored sooner or later, though now it seems utterly unimaginable that he’d ever get bored when Miranda was involved. Needless to say, every time he wakes up here it takes him a moment to realize that he’s actually waking up and not just finding himself in another pleasant dream, the weight of her head on his bare chest, the light scratch of her long nails across his skin.

He lets out a quiet hum. It’s quiet and warm, in her bed, the pillowcase smelling lightly of her familiar perfume. How could he ever get bored of this? How could he ever force himself to get out of bed, when being here was so damn good? 

     “A million galleons couldn’t convince me to move right now,” he says, voice low and a little scratchy still with sleep, turning his head a little to press his lips to the top of her head, not even kissing, just resting there lazily.

The light scratch to his voice, triggers a warm smile to stretch across her lips, as she snuggles in a little closer. A month ago she’d have been completely mortified by a situation like this, a situation that involved waking up next to someone so often it became habit, and before she even had the chance to throw on her usual beauty charms at that. When she shifts her head to look up at Tobias, her face is uncharacteristically bare, and the lack of beauty charms has revealed a few of her imperfections, such as a small scar that marked the middle of her chin, and the stretch of freckles that lightly dotted her nose and cheeks. 

If she let herself think too much on just what this all meant, him getting anything close to comfortable in this routine of their’s, and seeing her face as it looked now, she knows she’d want to cut and run. And for once she doesn’t want to run, not when she’d felt like such a large part of her life had involved running in some shape or form for the last year. She’d grown exhausted of running, so much so that this- whatever it was, almost seemed dangerously close to something she needed. 

Need was a scary thought, especially when needing eventually meant losing, like what seemed to happen so often when it came to her. 

Wishing to shake away such nasty thoughts though, she leans up to kiss him lazily, taking her time as she does so. 

“Watch yourself, love,” she grins as she pulls back, “that very nearly sounded like a challenge. And we both know how good I am at those.” 

She looks at the phone skeptically as she takes it, like she’s not entirely sure how to hold it. It reminds him for a minute of when he’d gotten his mom a cell phone for the first time and she’d been so confused as to how to use it that it had sat, unused, in the kitchen junk drawer for three months, battery dead until he came home for Christmas and explained it all to her again. 

     “Nah, I’ve already got one,” he says, and honestly, even if he hadn’t had a fairly new phone he probably wouldn’t have wanted this one, half because he still felt weirdly like it was stolen and he was going to get caught owning a stolen phone once someone eventually noticed that the one they’d returned in its place was just a magic compound mirror, and half because it really was a pretty basic model, exactly the kind of thing that would be perfect for an old wix like Delmar but wasn’t exactly the kind of phone he wanted. “Just got a new one like a month ago.” 

He shrugs. If she doesn’t want it, she doesn’t want it; he can give it to someone else, or bring it back to the store with a little apology note some other time to get it off his conscience. But it seems like a shame that she doesn’t have anyone she’d like to call, the mention of her ex-husband a little peek behind the curtain of her life. 

     “You could always call me,” he suggests, and he really does just mean it as a friendly little comment, because Miranda’s just as new as he is and this may be her world more than it is his, but she seems like the type who could use a friend or two. But as soon as it’s out of his mouth, he realizes that that’s not at all what it sounds like. “I mean—” he starts, fumbling quickly to cover for himself before she can be creeped out by what definitely sounds like her coworker hitting on her at work. “I don’t mean, like, that, I just—you know, friends call each other and…” he feels like he’s digging himself even deeper into this hole here, so he just grimaces miserably for a second and says, “I swear I’m not hitting on you, I have a girlfriend.” 

She let’s her thumb run across the small little seahorse charm, as they continue to walk down the sidewalk, and away from the mall. Perhaps it wasn’t necessarily true that Bertie was the only person she’d have known that could have a cellphone. A couple of her siblings, she’s certain, would have one, but she hadn’t spoken to any of them in decades. Miranda Amaro the no-maj was a far flung thing of the past, and her family had become a part of it. They were faces frozen in time now, part of a history that she would rather prefer not to make part of her present. 

She’s nearly persuaded herself to give Tavi back the phone, figuring he was more likely to know someone else that’d use it than her. That is until he voices his offer, and it’s quite possibly most the adorable thing that’s happened to her in the last few weeks. She knows right away just what he means, but the temptation to tease him relentlessly for it is far too appealing. 

“Right, you have a girlfriend,” she looks over at him far too amused by the situation, “is that what you tell everyone you try to hit on? You know, darling, if you needed a reason to talk to me, giving me a free mobile phone is certainly going above and beyond, but I suppose I could hold on to it,” she adds with a smirk. 

Just what on earth her and Tavi would talk about outside the office, she hasn’t a clue, but the offer is sweet, and she wasn’t in any position to decline it. 

After they reach a private stretch of alley, she holds out her had for Tavi to take in order to apparate, “Don’t worry, dear, I promise I won’t tell your girlfriend,” she grins as she looks down at her hand, still extended out towards him. “It’ll be our little secret.” 

He takes the bag from her as they leave the store, and he’s relieved to be leaving the store itself. Sure, they were law enforcement, but he couldn’t help feeling a little like they’d just walked into a phone store and stolen a brand new phone, not to mention data theft and…. well, there’s no point in dwelling on it, really. They got what they came here for: the data they need to figure out who owned the phone before the Lovell’s bought it, who might have carved tiny runes into its hardware so that ghosts could call it and give out their last words from beyond the grave.

     “Well, I’ve got all their sales data, from the past month saved, so I just have to get it back to the office, pull it up on my computer, and then we can take a look at the list of returns, see if any of the names on the list are wix or anyone who would have had the know-how of how to do this, or had any reason to do it, I guess.”

As he talks, he opens up the box the phone had come in, pulling it out as they walk out of the mall and back in the direction of the out-of-the-way section of the parking lot they’d apparated to, presumably to apparate again, back to headquarters. He powers the phone on, slides the leather case onto it, hooks on the little seahorse charm Miranda had picked out in the store in place, and then hands the phone to her.

     “Here,” he says. “Might as well not let a new phone go to waste, right? They’re way better now than they were in ‘88.”  

She can practically feel her eyes glazing over as Tavi begins describing the process of what they’d need to do next. It wasn’t his fault at all, the poor dear, it was more so the fact that Miranda had done such a thorough job of cutting herself off from the no-maj world, that any such talk of it always made her attention pull elsewhere. 

When they reach the parking lot, her brows shoot up at the offered phone. She’d picked out the accessories for it, so she supposes she should have known it’d eventually be going to her, but that didn’t make the whole thing any less surprising. “Are you sure you don’t want it, darling?” She asks as she examines the phone a little more closely. She had a basic knowledge of how it worked, but even then she wasn’t sure just how much she’d use it. “I mean, it is a rather cute little thing, but I wouldn’t have anyone to call. The only person I know that owns a phone is my ex-husband, and his voice is one I’d much rather not hear again.” 

She despised how much room Bertie still seemed to take up in her head, but his presence was unavoidably in this particular conversation. Cellphones had come a long way since 1988, she knew because she was the one to buy Bertie his first back then. 

It would be very, very easy to get distracted here, especially as Belladonna goes on, and there’s the offer of personal questions. They may not have known Miranda for long, but they like to think that she is a friend they know fairly well, especially after recent endeavors, and Eden cannot recall once seeing her something like starstruck, anything other than commanding in her own way. Between Belladonna herself, and the clear affect that she was having on both of them, Eden cannot help the probably too wide grin on their lips, considering the dozens of ways all of this could go for them, once they had solved the case, of course.

Luckily, though, Miranda is able to concentrate better than them, and leads her down the path of questioning expertly, with new information coming up almost immediately hearing that one of the dancers is who found the first Doe in question. They do not think that necessarily incriminates Hawk, but it does make them more keen to speak with him, to see if he noticed anything himself when he discovered their J. Doe #1.

And maybe they are also more interested in speaking with him because of the stories that Belladonna tease about Hawk’s famous arms. Now that is another possibility they would like to explore. For now, though, they focus as Belladonna goes on. 

“Not all that much, unfortunately. They all had about the same story; remembered coming in, going and getting their money exchanged, nothing seemed odd about it, even remembers going into the back for a dance, no problem, then nothing,” she explains with a wave of her free hand. “Now, I know that sounds awfully suspicious, but it’s happened no matter who the various Does have gone to for a private dance, and I trust each of my dancers with my life, and my money. None of them would do anything like that, when they’re already making fortunes as it is.”

Even without having spoken to any of the dancers, they are inclined to believe her on that, too. It seems like a needlessly risky scam to run when any one of them could be see as the prime suspect given their connections to the Does. But only time well tell if that instinct is correct.

“That is very strange indeed. Have any of the dancers mentioned noticing anything strange during these dances that happened before the apparent thefts and missing memories?” Eden asks.

“We’ve been over it all a dozen times, and no one seems to have noticed anything. I’ll tell you, we’ve just been devastated about this; it hurts all of us as much as it hurts those Does. Our reputation is on the line, but also our dancers’ safety. And all of my dancers are smart enough not only not to pull something like this, but to notice it, which is why we’re all at a loss.”

The more Miranda listens to Belladonna speak, the more she seems certain that whatever was going on here wasn’t due to a dancer or the club owner herself. The witch was right, pulling off such a crime no matter how seamlessly it seemed to have been done, still put the club at risk. The money stolen during the various crimes was extraordinary, but was it enough for one of the dancers to throw away everything for such a risky move? 

They were going to have to speak to some of the dancers to get a better idea of just how someone could have pulled this off, even if she didn’t quite like the idea of leaving Belladonna’s company yet. 

Looking over to Eden, she gives them the chance to ask any other questions they may have before she turns back to the club owner. 

“Could you tell us where we could find Hawk and some of the other dancers connected to the J. Does?” She asks, hoping that by this time of day most of them were already in the club, or at the very least not too far away. 

“Hawk and Glimmer should be backstage,” she replies, “and then of course Angel and Coral, our two resident sirens, are probably in the swimming pool out back. They usually spend the day out there before using a portkey in the swimming pool that links back to their tank in the club.” 

As much as she’d love to check out the sirens first, she knows Hawk is the most logical direction to head to next. After giving Eden another moment to speak to Belladonna she thanks the witch with a wide grin and a handshake before leading Eden towards backstage. 

“Well that was rather illuminating, darling, wasn’t it,” she smiles, arm still looped around Eden’s as they make their way through the club. “I must say I don’t think I like any of the dancers for this little caper, but I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.” 

Over a month had now passed since Scotland, and while the world around her seemed to be quaking under a series of events that seemed to rattle both MACUSA and the wixen world as a whole, Miranda’s own life seemed to be settling. A very scary word, no doubt, and one she would normally run at the very thought of. A settled life usually meant monotony and boredom for the witch. Yet here she was, settled into such a life where her apartment still felt too small to her, her job was actually far more exhilarating than she ever remembered it being, and she’d found herself in the middle of a routine with a wix she probably wouldn’t have spent more than a night or two with before the world ended. 

But a routine it had well become in the last few weeks, one that left her that morning curled up in her sheets, and slowly waking up to the warmth of another at her back, as the sun just starts to filter in through her curtains. Turning herself around she moves to face the still sleeping wix beside her, and she can’t help but snuggle herself in to his side, hoping to steal a little bit more of his warmth and the pleasant quiet of that morning for a while longer. She could very well scold her former self for ever even thinking of running away from something like this. Although she knows it was the very act of losing everything to make her better appreciate the security of something like this. Just what exactly “this” even was she never bothered to try to label, enjoying far too much what it was. 

Miranda is like a hurricane, and he instantly feels bad for unleashing her on this poor kid who can’t hardly be older than 19 or 20, clearly just trying to do his job and follow whatever laundry list of rules he’s been given by some manager. He’d barely survived a summer in customer service himself before decisively setting himself up on the internship pathway instead of the summer job one, at least partly because of customers just like who Miranda is very successfully pretending to be. He really does hope they won’t get this kid in trouble, but there isn’t an easier way to do this.

He hands back, until Miranda has successfully marched the kid back into the storeroom, and then makes a break for the register where, sure enough, there’s a computer with some pretty standard looking sales software. He takes a second to browse through the records, but the volume is definitely too much to sift through with what appears to be a pretty clumsy search system, so he just plugs the flash drive in and finds a way to export the raw data onto it so he can look at it all back at the office. Really, though, the part of his brain that spent a handful of years designing software not all that unlike this: they could really use some better optimization here.

Just as the export completes, he hears the clacking of Miranda’s heels moving back towards the storeroom door, so he pulls the drive and slips it into his pocket and takes a few quick steps to the display closest to the register, busies himself with looking at a display of some tacky, brightly colored cases and charms for the phones.

     “Oh, honey,” he says, trying not to sound too awkward, remembering the quick cover story Miranda had come up with for then both of them a moment before she entered the store. “Did you get it all sorted out? I’m sorry, sir, I hope she didn’t give you too much trouble.”

He glances down at the display in front of him again. They’re, unavoidably, about to cheat this kid out of an entire cell phone with this phony exchange, and even though he knows a place like Sprint can afford to take the loss, he still feels bad for the kid. He can afford to drop a few dollars on a legit purchase to shove some of that guilt off.

      “Look how nice these charms are. Do you want to get one, for the phone?” 

She tries to buy Tavi as much time as she possibly can as the young sales clerk leads her back into the storeroom. She’s not entirely sure just how long Tavi would even need doing what he briefly explained to her, but she figures buying him more time than he needed was better than not enough. In order to do just that she orders the young clerk to open up a box of phones that hadn’t even been opened itself yet. When the boy tries to tell her there’s another open box full of brand new phones, she continues on her rant about how the store had deceived her before, until finally the clerk reluctantly grabs a box cutter and begins the process of opening up a new box and retrieving a new phone for her. 

When all is said and done, and she can’t think of anything else to make the process any slower or more stalled than it already was, she makes an effort to clack her heels particular hard against the store’s linoleum floors hoping it would be enough to warn Tavi of their incoming presence. 

When they finally reach the main part of the store, Tavi looks pleased, which she can only guess means he was able to do whatever it was he needed to do. Following his lead, she joins him back at the counter, before giving his arm a lat swat at his comment. “The customer is always right, darling,” she replies with a sugary sweet smile before her eye catches the little display he’s looking at. 

She’s not quite sure why on earth a phone would need a charm in the literal sense, but she does have to admit the little trinkets are quite darling. If she had a phone she’d certainly glamour it up with every sort of accessory she could find. “Oh, yes, we should absolutely get one,” she beams as her eyes dance over the small array of charms. There was far too many choices, and normally she’d be there for a good bit of time fussing over the decision, but with a case to still solve, she picks up a charm she thought went well with her bracelet- a little seahorse with a turquoise rhinestone eye, and then a pink leather carrying case just for the hell of it. 

Dropping both items on the counter, she momentarily looks a little mournfully at the old phone where it still sat. While part of her did feel bad the boy was losing out on an honest sale, she was really going to miss that compact she’d transfigured to take the place of the old phone too. 

Once the sale is said and done, she leads Tavi back out the store and waits until they’re out of earshot before she speaks again. 

“So then did you find out who owned that mysterious little phone before our lovely Mr. Lovell? I have to admit, I am quite intrigued to see just who is behind this peculiar little mystery.” 

Hades kind of thinks that Miranda is some kind of genius, because this little play worked better than he could have imagined. Her instincts were good, and her plan had worked perfectly. Within moments, Gabrielle had confessed to the crime that they’d both correctly assumed Drake Landess would  have never committed. 

Hades listens with rapt attention as the situation is explained to them, the story unfolding quickly. It all makes a certain kind of sense, he supposes, but he can never imagine what must have been going on in her head to make her do something like this. He’d do a lot for the people he loved, but he would never ever hurt someone to protect them, not if it could be helped, and certainly not for a reason as petty as this. Her reasons almost make it worse, because people may not have been hurt physically, but the psychological damage of what happened to them would linger for a long time. She had taken something that offered people peace, and used to it make them live through hell instead. 

Hades makes a small sound, disappointed in her, and shares a glance with Miranda that expresses how terrible he finds all of this. He frowns slightly when he looks back at Gabby, and lets out a sigh. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you back to MACUSA for further questioning. Whatever your intentions might have been, however you may not have wanted to hurt people, tainting with potions in the way you did is a rather serious crime.” 

Drake looks stricken, where he stands, shaking his head. “Can’t you go easy on her?” He asks, as if he’s entirely conflicted about everything that’s happening here. “She’s not… she wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose.”

And Hades feels bad for him, almost, this man who had been seen as the clear suspect in something that his girlfriend had done. He wishes that there was a way to make all of this easier, but there’s no option here but to bring her in. This isn’t a kid who made some harmless mistake, this isn’t the kind of suspect you just let walk away at the end of the day. Gabby would have to come with them to MACUSA, give her full confession, and face the consequences.

Hades can be slow sometimes, he knows that. It often takes him a second to track what everyone else has already realised about a situation. Outside of his own little sparks of instinct, it can be difficult to realise when other people have made decisions and need him to go along with them. He knows that sometimes it takes him a second to catch up –– and he almost opens his mouth to ask Miranda why exactly they need to bring Landess in, when it seems so unlikely that he was the person who did this.

But he listens to what Miranda is saying, and she looks over at him in search of his agreement, and he considers the girlfriends strange behaviour. And he realises what Miranda is thinking, that the woman in front of them may be the one who had committed these crimes, but without proof they’ll likely have to depend on her actually saying something about it. She was clearly clever, clearly sharp as a knife, and she clearly cared a lot about what people thought of Drake. She was defensive of him in ways that would be sweet, if she hadn’t potentially poisioned several people with tainted potions just to try and get revenge for him, or prove some kind of point. 

He starts to nod only a moment after Miranda looks at him, putting a serious look in his face as he glances back at the couple. “I’m afraid it’s the only option, here. We’ll need to question Mr. Landess extensively. Unless there’s some concrete proof that he couldn’t have done this, but for we just have too much evidence that he may be involved.” He sounds like he’s sorry, he sounds like he wishes that there was another way, that there’s a lot of compassion in his chest. And he does almost feel bad, because Landess clearly didn’t do this, and the look in his eyes is something scared, as if he just now realised that he might be in serious trouble here, that there were two aurors at his door asking him about a fairly serious crime. 

“But if you’re willing to come with us without a fight, Mr. Landess, we can promise we’ll treat you very well during your interrogation.” 

Drake puts his hands to his head, runs his fingers through his lovely, lovely hair. God, he’s so damn handsome that HQ almost gets distracted again. But he looks so upset as well, that it’s hard to focus on it. “Oh god,” He says, “What the hell man, I swear I didn’t do it.” 

“I’m sorry,” HQ says again, “But we really need ––” 

“He didn’t do it!” The girlfriend says, quick and a little frantic, and there’s a weird kind of anger behind his eyes. “Shit, I can prove it. He’s obviously not capable of that, of any of it, even if he wanted to! He’s not as good at it as I am.” 

The little scene before her plays out absolutely beautifully, Miranda thinks to herself, very proud of how HQ was able to play along so well with her. Drake clearly wasn’t their culprit here, he just didn’t have the skills to brew something to the degree that had been for these potions to be tainted in the way they were. His girlfriend on the other hand, seemed like she just might have that skill if her word was anything to go by. 

“Gabby....”, Drake sighs, seemingly having put the pieces of this puzzle together himself. 

“Babe, I couldn’t let them keep walking over you like that,” she replies, the stone cold expression on her face faltering to something much more softer, “I had to give you the payback you deserve.” 

“So you tainted the potions, Miss....” Miranda speaks up, before Drake’s girlfriend- Gabby answers her. 

“Knight, Gabrielle Knight,” the woman answers with a defeated sigh. “And yes, I did. It was after Drake was let go after the third shop. I was so mad, he’d been working his ass off, studying every night, trying to make sure he did a good job. And for what? Just for these assholes who think they’re better than everyone else to fire him because he wasn’t learning at the pace they wanted him to?” 

Miranda does feel a little bad for the couple, both for the handsome but aloof Drake, and for Gabby, who seemed to care rather deeply for him. None of that though, made up for the fact that several people were made to suffer terrible nightmares and psychological trauma due to her nasty draught. 

“You couldn’t think of any better way to do it than through poisoning innocent people?” Miranda asks still a bit stunned by it all. She’d certainly been in love a few times in her life, but she could never imagine going to these lengths to secure her paramour a job. 

The grin on their face doesn’t falter as she takes their arm and they start towards the club. They had been so very worried about being back out on the field, especially on a case without Hadrian, but already they are feeling a little more at ease. Touch has always been a grounding force for them, after all, it makes them feel safe, makes them feel real, especially now, after cruel touch had been used against them on the Nashville case. And they do believe that she is right that they will solve this case, the strange mystery of it all. They wish that they knew memory charms better, or at least that they could speak with the victims, as she said, but they think they will still manage. “Da, they need not be so embarrassed, but I do enjoy a challenge, every now and then,” they nod as they head inside.

And it’s beautiful and loud, even without the crowds filling the seats, and the haze of night hanging in the air. All the better, one of the dancers is practicing an intricate routine, spinning around the pole in the center of the stage, with skill and precision, with a beautiful display of wandless magic, to boot. They are in awe already, and it sounds like Miranda is, too.

Before they can guess, though, a deep, sonorous voice draws their attention. They turn around, and see a gorgeous woman, deep voice complimenting her beauty perfectly, and it is impossible not to stare. This is someone who knows how to command attention, someone who knows she is good at all she does. This must be Belladonna Monroe.

“Ah, you are the intrepid leader, da? It is a true pleasure to meet you, I am Eden Blue, this is Miranda Amaro-Bott, we are ready to do all we can to get to the bottom of your troubles. You have a stunning establishment, and even more stunning beauty, but I am certain you know both of those things already,” they grin, unable to keep themself from a little flirting.

“Well aren’t you both just charming? I am the intrepid leader, as you say. I didn’t realize the aurors hired with the same criteria I do, beauty and skill. We have quite the problem before us, I hope you are as skilled as our dancers.”

“We will not let you down. It would be a shame for something like this to get in the way of the cultural event you have created here. May we ask you a few questions about what you know, before we start?”

.

Belladonna Monroe is everything Miranda could ever aspire to be in life and more, she thinks to herself, completely enamored with the force of a woman standing before them. Her white suit almost seems to glow as she stands there in the darkly lit club, but then again, as Miranda takes another look at it, it is glowing, a soft halo forming around it as the woman looks between the two of them, leaning on a cane that looked more for show than purpose as she does so. 

“You two can ask me anything you like, personal or case related,” she hums with a smile, and for the first time in Miranda’s life she’s found herself speechless, her arm still wrapped around Eden’s as she looks up in awe at Belladonna. 

“We can save the personal questions for later, darling,” she manages to reply, hopefully without any waver to her usual confidence as she does so. “Sticking to the dreadfully boring business questions first though, do you think you could tell us a little bit about the nights that these missing memory events occurred?” 

“Certainly,” Belladonna replies, “well J.Doe #1 as they like to call themself, was attacked about a month and a half back. Hawk was the one to actually have found them. He goes back in that alley for his smoke breaks and came across the poor thing passed out on a heap of trash bags. It was after close, around 3am I would say.” 

“Oh, that is dreadful,” Miranda replies, face twisting into a cringe as she pictures the scene. Knowing Hawk was the dancer that found Doe #1 was certainly a new piece of information, which wasn’t too surprising given how little information the Does had given MACUSA in the first place. “What happened after Hawk found them?” 

“Oh, well Hawk picked them up, and brought them back in here. They came-to soon after- I mean who wouldn’t, I’ve been carried around by Hawk on more than one occasion and I can tell you, those arms would pull anyone out of the deepest of comas.” 

As much as Miranda would love to inquire more about Hawk, his arms, and the events leading up to him carrying Belladonna not once- but multiple times, she knows she has to keep her focus. 

He takes the receipt, glancing over it for a moment as she attempts to formulate a plan. She seemed like she’d do well with the displeased customer act but they were unlikely to figure out who had tampered with the phone before returning it that way, and asking straight out seemed out of the question; a Sprint store was certain to have a decent level of customer privacy regulations. 

     “I think most places like this are working off digitized records. We used them for electronics purchases when I worked at Best Buy, you log the device’s registration number along with the customer information so you’ve got a repair history and things like that in case something goes wrong.” He glances at the receipt, and there’s a registration number there, for the phone, twelve digits he quickly commits to memory. “Even if they don’t do that, the computer will have a transaction history, returns included. In theory, if I can see their records I can see who might’ve owned it before, but I can’t imagine some kid just letting me check out their records for long enough to try to find it.” 

He reaches into his pockets, digs out a flash drive, looks at it for a second.

     “But… if you could distract him long enough for just a minute or two, I might be able to clone the records so I can take a closer look at them back at the office…” 

She nods along quickly as they near the phone store within the mall, only half listening to Tavi given the fact she barely knew half of what he was talking about. Based on what she does pick up though, it seems like he’s willing to give her suggestion a try. 

“Oh, I certainly will be able to distract him,” she hums with a grin, “why, I’m almost offended you would even question my ability to do so.” 

Just before they reach the store’s door, she reaches into her clutch and pulls out her compact, discretely giving the item a little tap with her wand, she transfigures it to look similar enough to Delmar’s phone. She just needs one last thing to pull off her little show, which was the receipt still in Tavi’s hand. Shooting him a small grin, she plucks it from his hand, and after a moment to prepare herself, she enters the store, in full fury. 

She almost feels bad when her eyes land on the near child standing by the counter. He looked younger than little June Norwood, but then again, she figures that’ll probably make all of this that much easier, even if she would feel more bad about it later. 

Strutting up to the counter the boy stood at, she practically slams the phone down, before leveling him a look that instantly makes him cower. 

“I would like to know the meaning of this,” she spits as she points to the phone on the counter, “I paid top dollar for what was supposed to be a brand new phone. And do you know what my husband discovered when he opened it up??” She demands, as she stares down at the young store clerk. He seems to be hesitant on whether or not he was supposed to answer the question himself, so she answers it for him. 

“He discovered it was worn! To the point it even had scratches on it! Now I don’t know what kind of “store” you all are running here, but I expect that when I pay the brand new price for a phone, that I indeed receive a brand new phone. Not... this disgusting thing,” she grimaces as she looks down at the thing like it had personally offended her. 

“Ma’am I-I assure you if you paid full price you got a brand new phone, or you know a phone that someone returned after the first week,” the boy stammers out as he looks up at her nervously. And oh, she does feel bad for him, especially with how easy he was making this for her. 

“A phone someone returned after the first week?! Oh great,” she scoffs, “now I’m going to have to wash all our sheets for head lice as well.” 

“N-no ma’am, I’m sure it’s fine. Here, we can replace the phone with an honest to god brand new one- no problem,” he replies, seemingly hoping to get this conversation over sooner rather than later. Which she doesn’t blame him, she was being an absolute terror. 

“Oh, you are definitely replacing the phone with a new one,” she counters, “but you are going to take me back to that store room, and show me you taking it out of the box brand new. I will not be tricked again by this joke you call a store.” 

“M-ma’am, there are rules we can’t-” he begins, his shoulders slumped as he looks up at her, pleading. 

“You are going to do it, or I’ll have my friend at the Sun post an expose revealing all the dirty deeds this store of your’s has done,” she replies, and morgana she really hopes that does it, because she was getting quite tired of this conversation too. 

“I.... Okay fine...” the boy sighs, “just like be careful back there.” 

He’s abandoned all pretense of drinking his own drink at this point, fully resigned to let her steal sip after sip from his hand until the glass has been drained. No problem with that, when the drinks are free and it gives him an excuse to watch her lips as she takes a sip, to think distantly about kissing her and seeing if she tastes more like grenadine or like champagne now. 

     “Wait,” he says, mock-serious, furrowing his brow as if in confusion as she goes on—he can tell from her smirk what she isn’t saying, but it’s more fun to play along than it is to call her on it. “You arranged a threesome with the Russian? I arranged a threesome with the Russian. I know they’re impressive and all, and who am I to question their stamina, but two in one night just seems like an ineffective use of time.”

In all honesty, he can’t imagine a better end this evening than just that, ducking out for a while to entertain himself with both Miranda and Eden, coming back for one last drink or two and finding Sol again before the night gets too late. Not just for someone sober to apparate him home, but because he doesn’t seen enough of Sol anymore, wants to get another chance to talk to him while they’ve got the time, see how everything on the 67th floor was going now that he actually had cases again and couldn’t spend all his time bothering Sol at work. 

     “Surely there’s a more efficient solution here.” 

She can’t help but laugh when he speaks, she’s not quite sure that she believes him, but its certainly an amusing thought. The two of them often seemed to be of the same mind, although she’s not so sure they’re so much of the same mind, that they both happened to plan an evening that similar without consulting about it first. 

“Oh, there definitely is a more efficient solution,” she nods as she beams up at him, “you can cancel your’s and schedule it for some other time. I’ve technically known the Russian for longer, so I’d say if either of us get first dibs, it’s me, dear.” 

She’s certain he knows that she’s teasing him, which is why she makes no effort to reveal her hand. Instead, she finishes his drink for him, before setting it down on the bar top. “Now, come on,” she grins as she extends her hand for him to take, “I do believe you owe me a dance before I head off for the evening.”