Gray witch, p.7
Gray Witch, page 7
“Odd that Mrs. Amherst brought it to work with her,” I mused. “That has to be a health code violation.”
“According to Wilbur, the cat was a sphynx.”
“One of those naked cats that look like a rotisserie chicken?”
“Yes.” Asa did a poor job of hiding his amusement. “Breed is beside the point.”
“Okay, okay.” I got sidetracked by that mental picture. “You were saying?”
“The current Mrs. Amherst is allergic, so they dumped the cat at the restaurant in the hopes it would become a mouser. It must have found a way in, maybe during the panic, and it couldn’t get out again.”
Locals must have recognized the cat as the former Mrs. Amherst’s pet and cobbled together the memorial.
“Did he have the inside track on the Boo Brothers?” Clay butted in. “Did he actually see them?”
“He did,” Asa allowed, his brow pinched. “He identified them from a photo I showed him.”
“What am I missing here?” I reached out and poked him. “You sound like you’re stumped.”
“Was that a dryad joke?” Clay snickered then smoothed his features. “If so, it’s in poor taste.”
“Which is why you’re laughing.”
“Which is why I’m laughing,” he agreed. “Anyway, Ace, out with it.”
“Wilbur claims the Boos were…dead.”
“Revenants again?” If so, I wanted to nope right out of this case. “Those are so icky.”
“No.” Asa pushed around his ice cream. “Not ghosts either.”
“They were definitely full of enough hate and fervor to get stuck on Earth with unfinished business,” I mused, “but if they’re not ghosts or revenants, then what are they?”
“There’s a full spectrum between ghost and revenant,” Clay pointed out. “Poltergeists, zombies, vengeful spirits, wendigos.” He pursed his lips. “Do vampires fall between the two? Dead like ghosts, but still feasting on the living, like revenants?”
“Vampires are more undead than unalive.”
“What?” Clay twisted his mouth into a corkscrew. “Did you hear yourself just then?”
Ignoring him, a favorite hobby, I added to the pile of questions. “Why are the Boos here of all places?”
As far as we could prove, they had never stepped foot in Raymond during their lives.
“They were born in Maine, so there’s no familial connection.” Clay checked their file on his phone. “They have no living relatives on record. They crusaded down the East Coast into the Southwest, but there’s no mention of this town in their exploits.”
“Then either their deaths were connected to Raymond,” I surmised, “or someone raised them here.”
Given their MIA status for the last decade and change, we couldn’t afford to rule out the possibility they sought refuge here. Though, if they were dead, we might never learn what made them pick this town to disappear in. For all we knew, they keeled over while passing through on their way someplace else.
“Assuming the burial site is here,” Asa wondered, “what happens if the black witch decides they want to take their toys and leave? I can’t imagine them going through the hassle if they can’t use the Boos for more than a ten-square-mile radius.”
“You would need an object imbued with meaning to a particular person to raise their spirit.” I could only speculate so far without knowing what, exactly, the Boos had become. “A token with sentimental value, or a button off the shirt they wore when they died. Something along those lines. It stands to reason if they were attached to an item, it could act as an anchor. Move it and move them.”
“We need to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Amherst.” Asa tossed his trash. “Find out what they know about the Boos and the black witch.” He took my hand and helped me stand. “Clay can question the kids tonight.”
We had already encountered a white witch family and a dryad, so it stood to reason there were more creatures here than met the eye. Paranormals who were not in the Black Hat database. Assuming none posed an imminent threat, I would leave it that way. But if we located a practicing black witch, one dabbling in the realm of necromancy, I saw no choice but to add a pin to the map for the protection of everyone here.
And if we did have a black witch with an affinity for the dead on our hands, we had problems.
Necromancers had cornered that market, and they would kill to protect their monopoly. There was good money in bringing humans back from the dead as vampires. Even more in resuscitating pets who crossed the Rainbow Bridge before their owners were ready to let them go. All it took was cold, hard cash.
Semi-famous or not, ghosts like the Boos didn’t make bank. Exorcisms paid peanuts, so did seances, but still. Just because necromancers didn’t want to do those jobs didn’t mean they would take kindly to learning someone else was doing them for free.
Oy.
If we were right, this had all the hallmarks of an inter-factions incident.
For all our sakes, I really hoped we were wrong.
5
Anxiety had been nipping my heels since I left Colby behind at the inn, and soon the nips turned to sharp bites I could no longer ignore. She had yet to check in, and Clay had a wig to unbox for the Amherst kids, so I nudged the guys into returning to the inn before my tendency to helicopter parent caused me to takeoff.
>How’s it going?
Okay, fine, so maybe my rotors were whirling too fast to stop cold turkey.
>>This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.
A pang shot through me as it hit home she would never participate in a group activity like that one.
>I’m glad you’re having fun.
Thumbs poised above the keys, I debated ordering her back to the room until we got a lead on the Boos, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. She might never experience this again, and we would be back there in ten.
>>Can I stay out a little longer? They’re about to summon the undead.
A chill of foreboding prickled the skin on my arms, but I forced myself to remain strong.
>Thirty minutes.
That was all I could allow her without breaking into hives.
>>Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I glared at my hand until it cooperated and put away the phone to prevent me from hovering via texts.
Sure.
Yeah.
Blame my hand. Not my heart. Which ached and feared for her in equal measure.
A blip of time later, I stood on the lawn in front of the inn, puzzling over the purpose of the glamour. The Amhersts might have tried camouflage to hide from the black witch, hoping they would keep on driving. I hated to tell them, leaving a fresh magical signature behind was akin to loading cheese in a mouse trap.
“We need to ward our rooms.” I studied the building, searching for cracks in the illusion. “Since this is the Amhersts’ home, they’ll notice the casting. We need to get in contact with the parents ASAP and explain we’re not in cahoots with the black witch so they don’t panic.”
Asa’s shoulder brushed mine. “How sure are you they know about the other witch?”
“If a baby gazelle is sharing a pen with a hungry lion,” I drawled, “do you think it will notice?”
The allusion left me salivating, and I hated the instinctive hunger that rose in me every time I thought about the taste of fresh meat, the pull as it tore away in my teeth, and the boost of power that followed.
I’m not that person. I’m better now. I’m not going to break. I am stronger than my weakness.
Without a word, Asa slid his hand into mine and squeezed my fingers in solidarity.
Here I was, imagining punching my fist through the chests of our hosts, and he was worried about me.
He really must be in love.
“I’ll go ahead and call Trinity.” Clay whipped out his phone. “You told Colby thirty minutes, right?”
“Yeah.” I packed away those thoughts. “That leaves me twenty to ward our rooms.”
If the kids were practicing too, they might get a tingle as I worked my magic. I didn’t want to spook them before I got a chance to speak to their parents and assure them I hadn’t come for a family meal deal.
I hadn’t gotten that vibe off the kids, but I had been wrong before. The biggest reason white witches were facing extinction was their elders’ refusal to train the next generation. Unless they unlocked their power, they weren’t a tempting target for people like me.
People like I used to be.
Asa walked ahead, but I touched Clay’s arm to hold him back. “Thanks.”
“For what?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “My sudden urge to talk wigs? As if I need a reason?”
“For ensuring Colby doesn’t miss a thing.” I hooked my arm through his. “This is a big deal for her.”
Head resting on his shoulder, we strolled into the inn, and I set to work protecting us in our beds.
“Incoming,” Clay called, nineteen minutes on the dot later. “Moth at three o’clock.”
Since they were roomies now, Clay had left their window open to make it easier for Colby to return.
“Does that mean you’re heading down?” I crossed the hall. “Do you need help with anything?”
“You promised to chaperone, remember?” He held two wig boxes tucked against his chest. “Let’s go.”
Asa appeared in the doorway to our room, his shirt unbuttoned, and I heaved a sigh.
I might have sneaked in soundproofing while I was at it, but we wouldn’t get to use it yet.
Pity.
Heedless of the possibility of being spotted, Colby sailed through Clay’s window to smack me in the face.
“Oomph.” I staggered back, peeling her spastic body off me. “What’s wrong?”
“Rue.” She ducked into the neck of my shirt and hid there. “They did it.”
Cradling her through the fabric, I held on while approaching the window. “What did they do?”
Not since that first year had she been so shaken that she retreated into my shirt to hide from the world.
“Who are they?” Clay braced a hand on the sash and stared below us. “The LARPers?”
“Y-y-yes.” She quivered against me. “They s-s-summoned the undead, like in Mystic Realms, b-b-but the Boos came.”
“The Amherst kids,” I said slowly, making sure I understood, “summoned the Boo Brothers?”
With the sun overhead? How was that possible? It wasn’t, I decided, without a firm anchor.
Say, their bones.
“The Amhersts cast a spell, but it was a real spell, and the Boos showed up, and they played paper, rock, scissors, and the winner ate him.” Her feet tucked into the space between us, tickling my stomach. “He swallowed him. Whole. Like a snake with a mouse.” She sobbed against my chest. “It was supposed to be pretend, but it was real. It was all real. He’s dead, Rue.”
“Do you mean Markus?” I cast about for anyone else she might have meant. “Talk to me, sweetie.”
“Sam.” She peered out of my shirt. “His name was Sam.”
Sam.
Why did that ring a bell?
“As in Samuel Todd.” I pinned down the name. “The teen kidnapped from the Waffle Iron, the one the Boos claimed was a demon.”
“The Amhersts are on their way.” Her eyes pleaded with me. “We need to leave before they get back.”
Had she not just reported a murder, I would have left with no more questions asked, but we didn’t have that luxury. We had to investigate her claims to make sense of them, and we had to act like nothing was wrong if we wanted the Amhersts to incriminate themselves.
Forget cultivating them as witnesses. Thanks to Colby, we had found our killers.
Abandoning me, she glided onto the bed and wrapped herself in the green blanket Asa had knit her.
“We have to go downstairs.” I slammed the window shut. “It will look suspicious otherwise.”
“I’ll stay with you.” Asa sat beside Colby. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Snuggling against his hip, she buried herself in her blanket, breaking my heart clean down the middle.
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” I told her, then warned Asa, “Keep an eye out and your phone close.”
“Be careful.” He stroked her back. “Make your excuses and break away if anything is suspect.”
“Come on.” Clay picked up the wig boxes I hadn’t noticed him set down. “I hear voices.”
Out in the hall, the door shut behind us, I regained my composure and watched Clay do the same.
Voices drifted up the stairs as Markus and Trinity talked about dinner, some movie, random kid things.
Certain they weren’t going to confess to murder where they might be overheard, we started down.
“Business is slow this week.” Trinity rounded the check-in counter. “We may need to advertise—”
“Hey.” Markus cut her off with a grin that looked natural, not forced. “Are those the wigs?”
“They are indeed.” Clay clutched them to his chest when Trinity swooped in. “But first, would you like to join us for linner? We had ice cream in town, but we’re starving. You do have pizza delivery here, right?”
Ah, linner. The meal between lunch and dinner. One of his favorite excuses to sneak in an extra meal. He wouldn’t hear me complain. I enjoyed the ice cream, but my belly was convinced I had room for more.
“That would be awesome.” Markus stole a notepad off the counter. “Give me your order, and I’ll call down to Marco’s. They can charge it to us, and we’ll add it to your tab.”
“Sounds good.” Clay rattled off our usuals then glanced around. “Where do you want to do this?”
“This way.” Trinity indicated for us to follow. “My craft room is back here.”
The room was narrow but long. Plenty of space for a crafter. Based on the dated bolts of fabrics hung on the wall, I figured she took it over after her grandmother passed and had yet to clear out the reminders. A table had been built across the rear wall. A yellowed sewing machine took pride of place, but hairclips, wigs, and shears littered the remaining surface. The floor would have been at home in a barber shop. One that didn’t require sweeping between customers. Like, ever.
Clearly, she enjoyed the creative process more than the tidying up afterward.
“Let me clean a space.” She flipped on several longneck lamps. “I don’t want to get them grubby.”
This kid showed zero signs of remorse for what she helped do, and no fear of getting caught either.
“Will your parents mind if we feed you?” I leaned against the wall. “Should we ask permission first?”
We really needed to feel them out, decide if they had any idea what their kids were up to in the woods.
“We’re not supposed to tell anyone.” She paused in her tidying. “Since you’re FBI, it should be okay.”
To draw her eye, Clay shifted the boxes in a subtle prompt to get on with it before she got distracted.
“They’re not here,” she explained. “They left Markus and me in charge until they get back.”
“Where did they go?” I kept it light. “A romantic weekend getaway?”
“No.” She measured me. “They’re settling the insurance claim on the Waffle Iron.”
“Your parents owned it?” Clay, who was the better actor, faked surprise. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“It’s all anyone is talking about.” Her fingers twitched on a lace cap. “We’re tired of the questions.”
“Markus made it sound like the food wasn’t that great,” Clay teased. “Who was the bad cook?”
“Mom.” A faint bitterness shone through. “I’m surprised the place didn’t burn down sooner.”
Had I imagined the faint wistfulness in her tone? Hard to tell with her distracted air.
“I need to use the restroom.” I shoved off the wall. “Be back in a minute.”
“Down the hall and to your right.” Trinity fell on Clay’s wigs like a kid at Christmas. “Next to the check-in desk.”
Ready with a lie about being lost if I bumped into anyone, I cracked open as many doors as I could, wary Markus would catch me.
The downstairs rooms were lived in, a tad messy, and dotted with family photos. This must be where the Amhersts lived, which meant anything good was going to be here.
Choosing a room at random, I let myself in with a tiny spark of magic only to discover I had found the master bedroom. Neat as a pin, it fit the story the teens told us. I searched under the parents’ bed and in their closet. I checked their bathroom and the linen closet. The latter held an elaborate shrine to Hecate, complete with a kneeling bench before her statue.
Most witches, black arts or white craft, prayed for her blessings. She was the goddess of the night, of the moon, of ghosts, and of necromancy. That might sound grim, but she was also the goddess of witchcraft.
To disrupt a sacred place of another witch was in poor taste, so I looked and kept my hands to myself.
Everything was as I expected it to be. Nothing scandalous. Nothing hinting at black magic use.
Though a light coating of dust made me question whether this was another remnant of the late Mrs. Amherst.
There was nothing for me to do but try another room and hope I had better luck there.
I shut the closet, making sure I left everything as I found it, then exited the bedroom.
“Oof.” I bounced off Markus and hit the wall. “Hey, I’m glad I bumped into you.”
His gaze flitted behind me to his parents’ door, but I was striving hard for innocence.
“Trinity gave me directions to the bathroom.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “That wasn’t it.”
“No.” A hard light entered his eyes. “It wasn’t.”
“Sorry about that.” I flashed him a smile that showed too many teeth. “I’m terrible with directions.”
“No problem,” he was quick to assure me. “It happens all the time.”
The obvious lie in his voice set my teeth on edge, but we both pretended everything was hunky-dory.
Markus wasn’t the smooth liar his sister was, and I sensed he had a nasty temper eager to ignite despite his wide smiles, easy jokes, and good-natured attitude. He wasn’t the actor in the family, for sure, but he’d fooled me at first. The mask wasn’t fitting as well as it had earlier. If I had to guess, I would blame the high of his recent kill for exposing his true face now.
