Gray witch, p.5
Gray Witch, page 5
Calixta Damaris, former High Queen of the Haelian Seas, and my grandmother.
As rough as my childhood had been, I had to wonder at Dad’s, if he was content with leaving his mother to spend eternity in a watery cage. Between that, and Aedan’s upbringing, I was pretty sure I should get my tubes tied before I risked adding to the catastrophe of being related to me.
“I’m not sure I do,” I admitted, “but I want to believe that.”
“We all do.” Clay tweaked my nose. “For your sake.”
“But I can’t.” I shifted forward in my seat. “What does that make me?”
Immediately, I began worrying the stone through my shirt, proving the compulsion on the pendant had a hold on me. Fantastic. It was burrowing into my subconscious, begging me to use it. The worst part? Not knowing if it was the tactile nature of the djinn’s former vessel urging me to rub it or simply the grimoire taunting me.
I didn’t want the grimoire digging its claws into me through prolonged exposure. The cage ought to contain it, but ought to was flimsy when it came to evil books bent on worldwide destruction seeping into your thoughts and influencing your actions.
“Until we know his motives,” Asa said, “it would be foolish to trust him fully.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be psyched to have your dad back.” Clay settled back. “Who wouldn’t be?”
“Yeah.” I allowed myself a breath to be grateful. “I only wish it wasn’t so complicated.”
“Eh.” Clay checked in on Colby. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
“Are you guys done yet?” Colby tossed off her headset before he could answer. “I have to tell you this.”
“What?” I glanced over my shoulder. “And it better not be another paid ad for Mystic Realms.”
“The Boo Brothers burned down a Waffle Iron.” Her antennae quivered as she read off her phone. “Looks like yesterday or the day before.”
“Heresy.” Clay pinned the back of his hand to his forehead. “To think, I used to admire them.”
“But—” she cut Clay’s hysterics short, “—they also kidnapped a customer. A teenager. Samuel Todd.” She glanced up at me. “They claimed he was a demon.”
“Like an actual daemon?” I tilted my head. “Or hellfire and brimstone demon?”
“Probably a human enjoying their pecan waffle demon,” Clay muttered. “This is sacrilege.”
There was a slight chance this wasn’t the Boos at all but imposters hoping to cash in on the sensation.
Fifteen years had little or no effect on a paranormal body, but it was significant to humans.
These guys weren’t in shape to pull the crazy stunts of their youth without popping ibuprofen like candy afterward. Even if they were fit, even if they were yoga enthusiasts, the wear and tear on a human was evident when they pitted themselves against creatures who lived the next best thing to forever.
Then again, maybe the fact they pegged humans as “demons” nine times out of ten was for that reason.
Easier to capture, easier to kill, easier to pat yourself on the back for ridding the world of evil later.
That would make them sociopaths, not folk heroes, but they were master spin doctors.
“This is not good.” I skimmed the first case to announce the Boos were back. “They’re on a roll.”
“More kidnappings?” Asa drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Or more arson?”
“Murders.” I rubbed my forehead. “Four of them so far, all of them public.”
“They want our attention,” Asa surmised. “They want us to come for them.”
“They do seem to be waving red flags in front of bulls,” I agreed. “But they’re not hanging around for the press. They’re not awarding interviews. They’re not printing T-shirts with their faces on them. They seem to be in hiding.” I rolled that around in my head. “That’s not like them. They lived for the spotlight.”
“Someone helped them disappear at the height of their popularity.” Clay made a thoughtful sound. “The Boos have paranormal benefactors. Makes sense they would step in to pull the Boos’ feet away from the fire before they all got burned. Maybe disappearing was the cost of the Boos’ freedom?”
“Then why allow them to stir up trouble again?” I shut my laptop. “Unless the Boos are rebelling?”
“Or they’re setting a trap,” Asa mused, forehead tight in thought.
“The benefactors or the Boos?”
“The benefactors were never identified,” he reminded me. “Their artifacts weren’t recovered either.”
The Boos, wherever they had gone, almost certainly took their hunting gear with them. I bet the director was more pissed about losing a potential treasure trove of black magic trifles than the Boos themselves.
“That reminds me.” I should have asked before now. “Where is the director?”
“Parish didn’t say.” Clay tapped his foot. “He pretended not to hear me when I asked that very thing.”
“You are highly ignorable.” A smile crept up on me. “I block you out five or six times a day, minimum.”
“The director strikes me as the type to make his stand behind impenetrable walls.”
“You’re not wrong,” I agreed with Asa. “He built the compound to protect himself, and his vision.”
Few things had tempted him out of the manor when I was a child, and I doubted that had changed much over the years. Then I had blamed it on his being a workaholic. Now I wondered if he was afraid to leave my father without his direct oversight. Perhaps even wary of leaving me for long periods in case Dad had recovered enough of his magic to summon me to him. With Dad escaped, and seeking revenge for Mom, the safest place for the director was in the facility he had built himself. So why abandon his stronghold?
“He’s also prideful.” As if Clay had to remind me. “He slipped when he let you see him vulnerable. You’re a mirror that reflects your parents’ actions back at him. Paranoia others noticed that weakness might have gotten the best of him. He might have gone hunting your father before your father comes hunting him.”
As much as I hated to admit it, “That would explain why Parish is in the driver’s seat.”
The director rarely handed over the keys, even to his second-in-command.
“For now, we focus on the Boos.” Asa squeezed my fingers. “Can you get a warning to your father?”
“I’m not sure.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “I couldn’t decide what to write, so I left the bottle at home.”
“Would any bottle work?” Colby wondered. “Gas stations still sell those old-fashioned Cokes.”
“Good thinking.” Clay high-fived her. “We can pick up a few the next time we stop for snacks.”
“If all else fails,” I pitched in, “Aedan can write the note and drop it in the creek for me.”
Really, that might be the safest option. I was pretty sure, given Dad anticipated Aedan acting as mailman for me, the bottle would accept him sending it bon voyage without a hiccup.
“I booked us rooms in Raymond, Mississippi.” Colby flitted to my shoulder. “It’s a short walk from the Amherst Inn to the Waffle Iron fire. The other Boo scenes are concentrated within a ten-mile radius.”
“We have to start somewhere.” I kissed her forehead. “Good work, smarty fuzz butt.”
As the most recent crime scene, evidence would be the freshest at the Waffle Iron.
“What did we ever do without you?” Clay gathered her in his wide palms, then he placed her beside him on the seat in front of her computer. “Oh, wait. That’s right. I did the grunt work.”
“I was the junior agent,” I reminded Clay. “I did the grunt work.”
A smile flirted with Asa’s lips, but he wasn’t as quick to throw Clay under the bus.
We really had to work on that.
Our hotel reminded me of a baking show gingerbread house that had collapsed on its way to the judges’ table. The architectural details were stunning, or would have been, twenty years ago. Rot, time, and the owners’ neglect had taken its toll on what had once been a true beauty.
“This isn’t the picture they use on their website,” Colby protested. “This place is a dump.”
“This place is a bed-and-breakfast.” Clay stepped out for a better look. “Not a mere hotel.”
“All hotels serve breakfast.” Her brow furrowed. “What’s the difference?”
“There will be floral sheets, busy wallpaper, and a musty smell that lingers long after you’ve gone.”
“That sounds icky.” She kept her spot in the SUV, away from prying eyes. “I’ll cancel the reservation.”
A pang struck me for no good reason, and I found myself swaying on the precipice of doom.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Clay told her. “Rue caught feelings about this place.”
“There’s probably some little old lady at the check-in counter, praying she earns enough to buy groceries and her prescriptions this month.” I shut my eyes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s just one night.”
“It’s very nice of you…” Asa leaned over to kiss my temple, “…to show kindness to strangers.” His warm lips slid to my jaw. “I’m sure the owner will appreciate your patronage.” His teeth scraped my chin. “The world ought to have more people like you in it.” His mouth claimed mine. “You’re a good person, Rue.”
“Don’t get too excited.” I withdrew to find Clay and Colby in see no smooches/hear no smooches poses. “I’m easily persuaded by a free homecooked breakfast. That’s all.” I crossed my arms. “I’m still evil.”
“Evil as a marshmallow,” Colby mumbled under her breath, squeaking when I approached the SUV.
“Take it back.” I jabbed a finger in her face to hide my real target. “I demand an apology.”
Careful not to hurt her, I tickled the spot where her wing joined her torso, and she exploded into giggles.
“Okay, okay.” She rolled out of reach. “I’m sorry that your heart is as squishy as s’mores filling.”
For show, I waggled my arm, groping the cushion for her.
“Lies,” I hissed. “My heart is stone.” I growled. “Granite even.”
“Maybe until you met Asa,” she cooed. “Now it’s all ooey-gooey.”
“Do you hear the disrespect coming out of her mouth?” I clutched my chest and slumped in my seat, her laughter contagious. “I’m going to the nearest chain hotel.” I snapped my fingers at Asa. “Right now.”
“I’m not eating stale cereal so you can make a point,” Clay weighed in. “I say you confess to being a softy and check us in. Then you can ask about the breakfast menu so I can be prepared with my order.”
“Traitors,” I grumbled, unable to hide my smile when I saw how much Asa was enjoying himself.
Clay blocked the backseat while Colby climbed into his jacket pocket and settled in. Then we braved the crumbling path up to the crooked front door, which swung open and hit me in the shoulder. A guy who might have been in high school greeted us wearing star-spangled wizard robes straight out of a cartoon, complete with a pointed hat sewn from the same midnight fabric.
“Welcome, weary travelers.” He opened his arms wide, bells tinkling on his sleeves. “Enter, if you dare.”
“This is the Amherst Inn, right?” I noted the scraggly white beard slipping down his face. “We have a reservation, but if this is the wrong place, we’re happy to go.” I took a step back. “We might anyway.”
“Markus,” a breathless girl chastised as she shoved him out of the way. “Stop harassing the guests.”
“I’m Trinity.” She beamed. From within her silver foam helmet. Which matched her silver foam armor. I noticed a sword, a real one, in her hand and took another healthy step back. “You’re at the right place.” She lifted a gauntleted hand at us. “You’ll have to forgive us. We have a LARPing thing.”
“LARPing.” I heard the faux-comprehending tone I used when Colby mentioned Mystic Realms. “Cool.”
“Live Action Role Playing,” Markus explained. “We act out scenes from our favorite books and games.”
A quiver in my hair told me Colby was bursting with excitement over the idea.
“That a big thing around here?” I decided to play clueless. Because I was. “LARPing?”
“There are sixty-one members in our club,” Trinity bragged. “We’re one of the biggest in the state.”
“We lost a few members last night, after the Waffle Iron incident,” Markus reminded her, then confided in us with a wink, “Some people lack the constitution for the wizarding business.”
The crimp of her lips told me she wasn’t impressed with him correcting her.
Either way, we might have lucked into a pair of eyewitnesses for us to cultivate.
“That sounds like a good spot for dinner.” Clay jumped in with both feet. “The food any good?”
Never one to miss a trick, Clay’s thoughts must have aligned with mine.
“They’re decent.” Markus straightened his beard with mixed results. “Mostly, they’re cheap.”
“You can’t eat there anyway.” Trinity led us to the check-in desk. “It burned to the ground.”
Usually content in the background, Asa stepped up beside me, and the girl almost started drooling.
“Has anyone ever told you…” she exhaled a dreamy sigh, “…you’ve got the bone structure to be an elf?”
A laugh caught in my throat, and Clay had to turn his head to hide his smile.
“Your hair is gorgeous.” She reached out. “Have you thought of bleaching—?”
Snatching her hand out of the air, I turned the move into an awkward handshake.
It was that or let the y’nai chop her off at the wrist for the insult of touching Asa’s braids.
“It’s been nice meeting you.” I released her. “Do you guys work here? Can you give us our keys?”
“Sure.” Trinity flushed bright red. “Our parents own the inn. We work here after school.”
“We slave away on weekends too,” Markus added glumly. “Obviously.”
Hard to believe it was still Saturday with everything we had seen and done already.
“Half days,” Trinity muttered, rubbing her thumb over the desktop. “We have twenty minutes left.”
“She’s sorry about the hair,” Markus told us when his sister kept her head down. “She’s very handsy.”
“I make wigs. For the other LARPers.” Excitement bubbled up in her. “Everyone wants to be a Legolas or a Thranduil, so I study men with long hair.” Her cheeks pinked. “Can I take some reference photos? Would you mind?”
Para photos in the hands of humans were a big no-no, but I wasn’t sure how to beg off her request.
“I’m a bit of a wig aficionado myself.” Clay removed his hair du jour with care. “I didn’t bring any super long ones, like you mean, but I have a shoulder-length wig in brown. I can let you inspect it later, if that sounds good to you. It’s handmade, and the stitching is phenomenal.”
“That would be amazing.” She bounced, and her visor thumped shut. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He resecured his hair. “We can meet here at the desk later tonight.”
Visor shoved up again, Trinity bit her lip. “I’m not sure if…”
“I’ll come too,” I volunteered, “if you’re concerned about being alone with a stranger.”
“Yes,” Clay said wryly, “because two strangers is so much better than one.”
“I’ll come three.” Markus quirked his lips at Trinity. “You have been promising to help me with my beard game.”
Delighted to have found like minds, Clay handed each of them one of his cards. “Happy to do it.”
“You’re with the FBI?” Markus’s jaw dropped open. “For real?”
“For real,” Clay lied. “Just call when you’re done with your thing, and we’ll set up a time.”
“Are all of you FBI?” Trinity looked straight at me. “Are you working a case?”
“We are all FBI,” I confirmed, “and we are working a case.”
“We should get unpacked.” Asa offered Trinity a tight smile. “Can we get our keys, please?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flamed again. “Yes.” She dropped our keycards twice. “Here.”
To keep Trinity a safe distance from Asa, Clay took the cards and passed one to Asa.
“You head on up.” Asa gave me the card. “I’ll grab our bags.”
Once he was out the door, Trinity goggled at me. “You’re together?”
“They’re engaged.” Clay’s eyes sparkled. “She just met her future father-in-law.”
Aware it would hurt me more than Clay if I smacked him, I had to settle for plotting revenge.
“That’s so romantic.” Trinity clasped her gauntleted hands. “Fighting crime together.”
That made us sound like superheroes, but we were antiheroes at best.
“Yes.” I gritted my teeth at Clay. “Very romantic.”
While they fell into a debate on real versus synthetic hair, I aimed for the staircase that curved up to the spacious second floor. On the landing, I paused to scan the ceiling, half expecting to find it cracked in two, but it was in good repair from this vantage. There weren’t many rooms, maybe four down each hall. I located mine and pushed in the door, braced for what Clay had described.
Minimalist furniture. Pale blueish-gray walls. Bright-white sheets. Modern bathroom.
I was still standing in the doorway, debating if toxic mold in the walls caused this hallucination, when Asa entered the room and set our suitcases on the brushed nickel racks near the closet. He glanced around, cocked an eyebrow, and pivoted to soak up my reaction as if he required confirmation as well.
“The interior doesn’t match the exterior.” I shut the door. “Why renovate the inside when the outside looks like one good storm would blow it over?”
Flames tickled the corner of my vision, and the daemon claimed Asa’s skin, sniffing and huffing the walls.
“Magic.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Smell like flowers.”
“A white witch cast a glamour in here?” I held out my palm and homed in my senses. “You’re right.”
Sure enough, there were traces of a glamour. It was old, very old, which had dulled the smell. Magic this settled into the bones of a building had been an ongoing project for a good decade or more. The owners must renew it every so often or else the illusion begins to fade. But which was real? Interior or exterior?
