Heart of the Witch (28 page)

He whirled and strode swiftly toward Vanora. Ravyn tensed, afraid of what he might do to the older woman. But he just asked her a question, though his voice was soft and taunting. "Is it painful?"

In the dim light of the moon and the coven's candles, Ravyn could see several expressions flit across Vanora's face. First confusion, then shock, then something like despair.

"The cancer," Kayne continued. "Is it painful yet, or only a mild discomfort? It will be more painful as time goes on—you realize that, yes?"

A gasp rose from the coven members. Shock and grief slammed into Ravyn. Vanora had cancer? Surely not. But Ravyn could see the truth reflected in the elder's face.

Vanora didn't respond to him, and Kayne smiled, a slow and malevolent curl of his full lips. Then he returned to Ravyn and gazed down at her. She felt the commanding pull of his personality, his magnetic force.

"Your sister was a lesson you needed to learn. I can take anything from you. Your life, your
lover
." He spat the word with contempt. But Ravyn's concentration was on what he'd said about Sorina. Kayne had somehow been involved. Somehow he'd helped the lunatic Tin Man destroy her precious sister.

Rage and grief took hold of Ravyn, and she lunged for Kayne, but he caught her wrists in a powerful grip. "You cannot harm me. You cannot win. Come to me before all is lost."

As he stared down at her, the world around them went eerily silent. Then he released her and stepped back, lifting his arms to the sky.

Ravyn felt a scratching tickle at her bare feet, heard an unearthly scraping and looked down. Her legs went weak with fear. A multitude of scorpions, so thick she couldn't see the ground, swarmed around her. She choked out a gasp and stumbled back, kicking at the creatures, trying to free herself.

Kayne laughed—a booming, bloodcurdling sound—and waved his arms. The scorpions were gone as quickly as they had appeared. Ravyn stood there, shuddering, trying to gain control, angry at her weakness.

"I can get you and those you care about at any time, any place. Remember that, my love," Kayne said. And then he was gone.

Marvin's nose was sore, and he had a black eye, but after thinking about it, what had happened a few days ago was actually pretty freakin' awesome. Maybe he hadn't done a lot to help, but he'd been in the thick of things. That was a rush like none he'd never felt before.

The office was quiet. Nick wasn't in yet. He was either running down leads or sleeping off a hangover. Either way, the guy was super cool. Everything he did was
mega
super cool. And Marvin could see there was something brewing between him and Ravyn, the lucky bastard. The chick was sort of strange—weird in a sexy, wouldn't-want-to-meet-her-in-a-dark-alley kind of way. But he'd meet her in the bedroom. She was pretty damn hot.

Marvin peeked out the front window, making sure Nick's car wasn't in the parking lot. All clear.

He opened Nick's office door and stepped inside. Settling into Nick's chair, he leaned back and propped his feet up on the desk. He picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver in his deepest, most gravelly voice. "Lassiter here. Yeah, I took care of those perps. That's right,
perps
. There were five of them. Kicked their asses clear into tomorrow. Got a little cut up, two of 'em had knives, but I stitched up my wounds with nothing but a belt of whiskey for painkiller."

He grinned and put down the receiver. Nick had promised him he could help on a case, but after the stunt with Moses, that might not happen. He
had
to, though. How cool would it be to help solve the Tin Man case? Man, that dude was one bad hombre. Marvin shuddered. It would be super cool to help, but he wouldn't want to actually
catch
the guy. What Moses had done to him would probably seem like getting bitch-slapped by Britney Spears in comparison.

Marvin got up and swaggered around the office, stopping in front of the Pete Rose photo. Pretty tight, that Nick's hero was a fuck-up like Rose. Kicked out of baseball for gambling. Shit. Lassiter liked 'em damaged, didn't he?

Marvin needed a shot of whiskey and maybe a smoke. He didn't drink, had never touched a cigarette, but what the hell. Nick sure looked cool doing it.

He went back and plopped down in the chair again. "Let's see," he murmured. "Where does he keep the hard stuff?"

He opened the top left drawer. Nothing but a notepad and a few pens. He grabbed the drawer just underneath. He wasn't sure if he heard the blast first, or felt the impact, but the explosion blew him—chair and all—through the window, bloody shattered glass falling about him like rain.

Nick was on his way to the office when his cell phone rang. It was his old captain. Nick hadn't talked to the guy since he left the force.

"I need to see you," the captain said right away. "Can you swing by?"

"Right now?" Nick asked.

"It's urgent. Extremely."

Nick's curiosity made him turn the car around and head to the precinct.

Betty was once again at the front desk, and she gave Nick a friendly smile as he waited for her to let the captain know he'd arrived. After a matter of seconds, she buzzed Nick through, and he entered the captain's office. The blinds had been pulled down on the windows.

Captain Locke had always been a neat freak, maybe bordering on obsessive. His desk reflected that tendency, with the few stacks of paperwork on top arranged into precise piles, and a pencil holder with one capped ink pen and two recently sharpened pencils sticking out. His walls held framed commendations, each hanging ruler straight, and one photo of himself and Oklahoma country-music singers Vince Gill and Toby Keith at a celebrity golf tournament.

In the years since Nick had last seen him, Captain Locke had added a few pounds to his already large physique. With his thick dark hair and squinty eyes, he looked like a paler, more rotund version of Wayne Newton.

"Coffee?" Locke asked when Nick was seated in the chair across from him.

"I didn't like the way they made it when I worked here, and doubt if it's any better now."

"Okay. I'll get straight to the point. What do you know about witchcraft?"

Nick chuckled. "Witchcraft? You mean the religious kind, the
Bewitched
kind, or the broomstick and cauldron kind?"

Locke ignored his sarcasm. "Actual witchcraft. As in evil powers, spells and so forth."

"Nothing, except that it doesn't exist. Mind telling me why the hell you're asking?"

The captain blew out a breath and leaned forward, folding his arms on top of the desk. "Let me start from the beginning." Locke brushed a hand over his thick hair, not ruffling a strand. "A few months ago, we started hearing reports of cult activities in Wyldewood. Are you familiar with the town?"

Nick shook his head.

"It's just outside of Tulsa. Anyway, we didn't put much stock in it. Then, a few weeks ago, a woman came to us with quite a story. Wouldn't have believed a word of it, but she had video to back it up. She was a member of this cult. In the beginning she was a willing participant—she had a sexual relationship with the leader. After a while, she became suspicious he had other women, so she went to one of those online spy shops and got herself some concealed photography equipment and bugged his bedroom. What she got on tape was more than she bargained for, and it scared the bejesus out of her. So she bolted. Moved back here, came in with the tape. Now we're interested."

"What's on the tape?"

"It's something you just have to see."

"So show me."

"We'll get to that." Locke took a slurp of coffee from the "I hate Mondays" mug on his desk. "But first, I need to ask you some questions."

"Well, first let me ask you something. What does this have to do with me?"

"I'll get to that. And after I explain, I'm going to ask for your help."

Nick fought surprise. "With what?"

"We've formed an under-the-radar task force. This isn't something the general public should be aware of, at least not until we know all the details. Especially if it all turns out to be a hoax. I mean… we're talking about witches, for chrissakes. We'd be the laughingstock of the state—hell, the country! The task force is made up of a handful of undercovers. And we'd like you to head it up."

Nick grinned and shook his head. "You want me to head up a task force to hunt witches?"

"Put like that, it sounds crazy. But yes."

Nick leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. "Well, I'd love to help, but right now I'm busy chasing down vampires and werewolves. But I promise witches are next on the list."

The captain's face colored and he took another swig of coffee. "Always were a smart-ass," he muttered. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but if you'll hear me out…"

"I'm no longer on the force, yet you intend to put me in charge of a task force?"

Locke shrugged. "You know the department uses civilians from time to time. And you are a licensed PI. I'm well aware of how capable you are. I think you're the right man for the job."

"And if it goes south, your ass is covered. The blame goes on the drunken fuck-up."

A line of red climbed up Locke's neck into his face. "Not exactly a positive way of looking at it, but you got me. Pretty much the plan in a nutshell."

"Fine. Ask your questions and show your video so I can get the hell out of here."

"Does the name Kayne mean anything to you?"

Kayne? The only one he'd ever met or heard of with that name was the Fabio wannabe who'd come to see Ravyn. Nick tensed, his interest growing in spite of himself. "Why don't you just tell me exactly what this is about and what my connection is?"

"Kayne—whether that's a first or last name we have no idea, but it's all we have—is reputed to be the leader of this cult. We've had a tail on him. We know he visited the shop that belongs to the Tin Man survivor. We know you're on the Tin Man case. We know you've been hanging around the shop quite a bit. There're a lot of questions and a lot of loose ends."

Nick's relaxed pose immediately became alert, and he leaned forward in his chair. "You think I'm involved?" He clenched his fists between his knees, trying to keep a rein on his anger.

Locke gave him a sly look. "Would I ask you to head up the task force if I did?"

"I have no idea, but that sounded like an accusation. This is all so insane. I don't know where you're going with it. So just tell me what the hell is going on. Get to the point."

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it on tape," Locke admitted.

"Are you going to show me the goddamned thing or not?"

"I'd rather not, unless I know you're going to work with us."

"Then I guess we'll have to skip movie night." Nick stood. "Thanks for wasting my time."

"Will you at least think about it? I believe you'll see that it's to your advantage. You might say you have a personal stake in this."

Nick sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. This was getting ludicrous. "Would you just quit with your cloak-and-dagger bullshit and show me the goddamned tape? You're not going to get me otherwise."

Locke sighed and stood. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a DVD. "Okay. Follow me."