“You’re with Bounty?” Jax sat on the opposite side of the table in a dingy interrogation room. It was my first time on the other side of the table… it turns out the view isn’t that different.
“Temporarily.” I inclined my head.
“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” His voice was gruff, and he busied himself shuffling papers. I caught a glimpse of a photo of the dead girl back at the abandoned house. Banks sat on my lap, his presence comforting.
“I don’t want back in. I like it in Assjacket. I like running Kabloom. I like hanging with Aunt Tilly, and I like the townsfolk. It’s home.” And I yearned to return.
“Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?”
The corners of my mouth turned down. “No one.”
He still hadn’t looked up, the pages in front of him demanding his unwavering attention. The silence stretched. If he thought I’d cave, he thought wrong. I’d spent three months in silence. This was nothing.
He shook his head and sighed. “So tell me, Midnight, what brings you to New Orleans?”
“An assignment.”
“Which is?”
“Classified.” It wasn’t, but I didn’t appreciate being interrogated. Nor did I like the way he looked at me, as if he thought I might have killed the young witch.
“Try again. I happen to know that Bounty is working on Bibi Rosenberg’s case.”
“If you already know that, then why ask?”
“Is the shotgun SIA issue?” He continued, ignoring my barb.
I grimaced. “Hardly. You think they’d let me keep anything SIA issue?” Plus, SIA weapons were high tech. The shotgun was your run-of-the-mill shotgun. It was the pellets that made it… special. As for my other weapons, New Orleans PD didn’t know the half of it. I’d handed over the limited tools Bounty had provided at the front desk. The only thing they had going for them was that they were spelled. The innocuous-looking tape measure, pepper shaker, mousetrap, and toothpicks were, in fact, a set of cuffs, a flashlight, a crossbow, and arrows. The shotgun was all mine.
“Tell me what happened back at the house.”
I leaned back in my chair and absently stroked Banks' fur. “I caught sight of the witch on the corner of Devereux and Giraud. Or more accurately, I caught sight of her bloody footprints and followed the trail.”
“The report says her feet were shredded,” he said.
I’d really like to get a look at that report and see what else it said. “Totally. No witch is going to keep walking and mutilate her feet like that. Not unless she was hexed or possessed. Or possibly under the influence of black magic.”
“So you followed.”
“Correct. I followed.” I’d hoped the injured witch would lead me to whoever had hexed her. She hadn’t. She’d been running. And judging by the state of her feet, she’d been running all night. My guess is she’d known about the hex, had tried to outrun it, and failed.
“And she went into the abandoned house on Lever Street?”
I nodded. “Banks and I followed her inside.” I frowned, recalling the witch and her conviction someone was stealing her magic.
“What? What is it?” Jax leaned forward, elbows on the table.
I rolled one shoulder. “I don’t like to speculate.” Another lie.
“I’m sure you have a theory.”
I remained tight-lipped. What I needed was to get out of here and back on the street, find out who was behind the deaths, then my assignment would be over, and I’d be back home in Assjacket.
I leaned forward and rested one arm on the table. “Listen, Detective. We both know why I’m here. Bounty brought me in to find out who killed Bibi Rosenberg. I take it she died in similar circumstances?” Bounty hadn’t provided anything useful, like a file on Bibi, or cause of death other than it was unlawful. NOPD, on the other hand, would have all of that info readily available.
“You may be working with Bounty, but that doesn’t mean you’re cleared to share information with.” He stonewalled me.
“Oh, that’s right, I remember how NOPD works. You let others do all the work, then swoop in and take the credit.”
He stiffened, jaw working, eyes flashing. Opening the file, he slapped an eight by ten photo in front of me. I looked at it. Not the girl I’d found. Not Elsa LeBlanc. But the girl in the picture had died the same way. The handprint on her neck was identical. This had to be Bibi Rosenberg.
“You tell me what we’re dealing with here,” Jax ground out.
“What you’re dealing with, Detective, is blood magic. Darker than black magic. But you already know that. Why am I really here?”
He closed the file and leaned back in his chair, studying me for the longest of moments before saying, “you know why.”
Man, if I knew why I wouldn’t be asking. “Is there something you want me to know, Detective? Because if not, I’ve got places to be, murders to solve.”
“It’s been brought to my attention that you’re a parolee.” I stiffened at the insinuation dripping from his words. The edge of contempt that I was a lawbreaker, untrustworthy.
“That’s a witch matter. Nothing to do with the NOPD… or SIA.” I tacked on.
“Yet Bounty hired you. They have a reputation for hiring rebels.”
I smirked. “Is that what you think? That I’m a rebel?” Have to say, I wasn’t that upset. Being a rebel had a nice ring to it. I wondered if a jacket came with the title?
I relaxed a little, letting my eyes drift over Detective Jax Lincoln and his smokin’ good looks. The NOPD had nothing to hold me on, and it appeared they weren’t interested in working with me either. Which meant I was here so he could settle his curiosity. My SIA past, my current status as a parolee from the witches’ pokey, and my new role as a magic bounty hunter. I have to admit, on paper, I looked suspicious as hell. I wouldn’t trust me either.
“What?” His voice had lost its edge, and the way he looked at me, all soft and warm, like honey on a summer day, triggered a memory so deep I thought I’d buried it forever.
“Don’t look at me like that.” The words were throatier than I intended and filled with need. Thoughts of how his skin would feel under my touch, how it would feel to taste him, his lips on mine, how his stubble would scrape in the most delicious way, danced through my mind, unheeded and totally unexpected.
I shot up from my chair, sending Banks flying. Jax’s hand shot across the table and clasped my wrist, grip unyielding. “Sit. We’re not done here,” he growled, all softness gone.
“Charge me, or let me go,” I demanded, clicking my fingers for Banks, who jumped up onto the table at my command. I bent my head, resting my forehead against his. “Sorry, boy,” I whispered, “didn’t mean to startle you.”
Jax pushed back his chair, the legs scraping on the floor, setting my already frazzled nerves on edge. Scooping Banks up, I headed out the door. He didn’t stop me.
Stopping by the front desk, I retrieved my weapons. “Detective Lincoln said you’re free to go,” the officer said, “but not to leave New Orleans without checking in with him first.”
“He did, huh?” I sniffed, stuffing the tape measure, pepper shaker, mousetrap, and toothpicks into my pockets. “I’ll be sure to try to remember to do that.” The sarcasm fell thick and heavy, my meaning unmistakable. I had no intention of reporting to Detective Jax Lincoln. Now or ever. Raising two fingers to my brow in salute, I spun on my heel and stalked away. There was no sign of Pace or Perry as I pushed open the double doors and stepped into the night, Banks trotting by my side.
“Where to?” he asked once we were clear of the precinct.
“Retrace the witch's steps. We tracked her to the house. We know that’s where the trail ends. I want to know where it began.”
The night breeze whipped my hair back from my face, and I glanced up at the sky, catching a fleeting glimpse of the moon before it disappeared behind clouds. The air was hot and heavy with the promise of an impending storm. The waxing gibbous moon powering up for the full moon on Halloween. I couldn’t shake the heavy sense of foreboding pressing down on me.
Somewhere in New Orleans, a witch was harvesting magic, using blood magic to… what? I could only draw one conclusion, I just hoped I was wrong, for the witch responsible? I was pretty sure she was planning on raising the dead. It all fit, right down to the timing, All Hallows Eve when the veil between worlds was thin.
“Rain’s coming,” I said, moving fast along the sidewalk, taking refuge in the shadows. “Her footprints will be washed away.”
“You think we have a tail?” Banks asked, trotting ahead, blending as one with the darkness, sensing my need to stay hidden.
“If I were Jax, I’d have me followed,” I said. “They have nothing to hold me on, so… they let me walk out.”
“You think they let you go so you can solve this case for them? And then they get the credit?”
Banks didn’t see my shrug in the darkness, but it had crossed my mind that it was a possibility. Not that I cared. I didn’t need the recognition. Those days were long gone.
A surge of disquiet shot up my spine as I was reminded yet again that Baba Yaga had forced me into this situation. I bemoaned the fact—silently in my head—as we hurried along the dark streets of New Orleans.
The crime scene was a long way from the precinct. I hadn’t realized how far until I’d had to make my way back on foot. My knees twinged with every step, reminding me that I was too old for this shit. Running around after rogue paranormals was no longer my job, and ever since I’d left the SIA, I’d let my physical training slip. Heck, I didn’t need my burning lungs to tell me that. The spare tire I carried around my belly was proof enough, not to mention my once lean limbs now jiggled with every step.
“You doing okay?” Banks asked, no doubt hearing my wheezing breath as I fell further and further behind.
“Any idea where the jeep is?” I panted, dripping in sweat.
“It’s further than the house. But not by far. We’re almost there.”
Almost there turned out to be another fifteen minutes. My brisk power walk had slowed to nearly a crawl. Banks powered on ahead and then turned back, no doubt thinking something had happened to me. Nothing other than getting old and unfit, unfortunately.
Eventually, we turned down the street where we’d followed Elsa LeBlanc. Police tape stretched across the front fence of the abandoned house, warning people to stay away. Banks and I darted to the opposite side of the street, crouching beneath the overhang of a big old oak tree, hidden by the branches and darkness. While I caught my breath, we watched the house and waited. Nothing. No movement. No witches searching for their friend. The breeze had dropped, thunder boomed in the distance, the air eerily still and thick.
“Let’s go.” I straightened and hobbled out from beneath the tree. Banks picked up the blood trail, nose to the ground. Minutes later, we reached the intersection of Devereux and Giraud, where we’d first come across the bloody footprints. And there was my jeep, parked right where I’d left it.
“Hallelujah,” I cried, limping toward it.
Climbing inside, I sat for a moment in blessed relief. Banks had taken up his usual position in the passenger seat, paws on the window as he looked outside.
“Can’t see anyone following us,” he said.
“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there.” Although we were talking about NOPD officers, not SIA. If a cop was on our tail, I’m pretty sure both Banks and I would have noticed.
“Where to?” Banks asked. He lowered his paws from the window and sat, washing his face.
“When I reanimated Elsa, she said she’d been at Rhalanise Bayou.”
Banks paused, paw in the air, mid-lick. “Yeah, yeah. What are you thinking? Grab a sample of her blood and a map of Rhalanise Bayou.” He resumed licking.
I nodded. “Locator spell. It’s a long shot. She’s deceased, it may not give us a reading. Or at least an accurate one.”
I slid out of the car, opening the back door to the worn duffle bag on the floor. Rummaging inside, I found a vial. “This should do it.” Then, using my pepper shaker flashlight, I rounded the car and squatted by one of the bloody footprints. Still so much blood. The witch had come a long way for her feet to be in that condition. Scraping up as much blood as I could, I sealed the vial and slid it in my pocket.
“Let’s go check in to the hotel Aunt Tilly booked. I need privacy to do the spell.”
“And a shower,” Banks muttered.
“What?” I lifted my arm and took a sniff of my pit, rearing back at the odor. “And a shower,” I agreed.