Heat of the Moment (28 page)

“Poof,” I repeated.

“Then you opened the door and she took off.” He shook his head. “She shouldn't have been able to run like that either.”

“You'd be surprised what wild animals can do. Deer heal so quickly that blood trails seem to disappear less than a mile from impact.” Much to the chagrin of deer hunters everywhere. Deer didn't actually heal
that
quickly, but within a week, yeah. “They wouldn't survive out there if they didn't heal fast.”

“This was freaky fast.”

I spread my hands. “Whatever you say.”

His face flushed, and his fingers curled tight in frustration, but without the evidence, he had nothing.

“Don't you have school?” I urged him out the door. “I'll see you later.”

“Later,” he repeated, as if in a daze.

“Office hours.”

“Oh, right. Sure.” He left.

“Phew!” I threw the lock on the back door, ducked the crime scene tape, and ran upstairs. I probably shouldn't have until I was given the all clear, but tough. I jumped into the shower, rustled up new clothes, and returned to the pickup.

The best coffee in town, after my mother's, could be found at Bean and Gone. No Starbucks in Three Harbors. Yet.

I parked just as Raye and a gorgeous man who must be her fianc
é
exited the coffee shop and headed for the Harborside Motel, conveniently located right next door.

“Raye!”

She turned, in her hands a tray with four cups. The man, Bobby she'd called him, had four cups too. At the sight of me, he bobbled them.

“Wow. She really does look like you,
cher
.” His accent was both Southern and foreign. His skin was the shade of summer sand, his hair as black as Raye's. Both those things only made his eyes shine more blue.

“This is Bobby Doucet,” Raye said.

I nodded, smiled. He did too.

“You spoke to your parents?”

“Yeah.”

“You were adopted?”

“No.”

Now she bobbled her tray. If this continued, there wouldn't be any coffee left, though neither of them had spilled a drop from what I could see. Magic or luck?

“That's impossible,” Raye said.

“Not really.”

I hadn't been adopted, I'd been … substituted. Quickly I explained all I'd learned.

Raye glanced at her fianc
é
. “That explains why you didn't find any record of another abandoned baby in the area.”

“You're a New Orleans detective?”

“I was. I accepted the job of chief of police in New Bergin when the last chief retired recently.”

“Convenient.”

“The town hadn't had a murder in eons. Chief Johnson wasn't equipped to handle several in a week.”

“Who is?”

“Me,” Bobby said. “New Orleans isn't exactly a murder-free zone.”

“You'd know.” I didn't. The farthest away I'd ever been—unless I counted Scotland—was Milwaukee. Also not a murder-free zone, though probably not as hopping in that area—or any other—as New Orleans.

“Your parents' story explains why there was no mention of your being found,” Bobby said. “But where is your other sister?”

“Don't ask me. I'm still getting used to her.” I pointed at Raye. “You mentioned you found me by magic. How'd that work?”

“I cast a spell to find Henry once, saw you. He filled me in on the rest.”

“Couldn't you do the same to find her?”

“I tried, but I got nothing. Maybe the two of us together—”

“We have murderers to catch first,” Bobby interrupted.

“Homicide cops,” Raye said. “Always about the murders.”

“We're funny that way.”

My lips twitched. I liked him. I liked her. I felt like I'd known them both a lot longer than I had.

“Want some coffee?” Bobby asked.

“God, yes.”

“We've got extras. Join us.”

“Eight cups for two people?”

“A few more than two,” he said.

The door opened without either one of them touching it, and for an instant I thought Raye had done it—she'd opened mine—then I caught sight of three figures inside.

“It's time you met the gang,” Raye said.

“I don't—” I suddenly took several quick steps forward, as if pushed or pulled, over the threshold and into the room. I hadn't meant to.

“Raye.” Bobby shut the door.

“Sorry.” I didn't know if she was talking to him or to me. “This is my sister, Becca.” She set her tray of coffee on the dresser.

A tall man, with salt-and-pepper hair and a dark, crisp suit, led with his hand. “I'm Nic Franklin.”

“FBI,” Raye said. “Though I'm sure you could tell.”

I shook his hand. “Why would I be able to tell?”

“No one dresses like that on purpose,” said the tiny woman just behind. If not for the white streak in her dark hair, and the crinkles at the corners of her eyes I'd have thought she was a teenager.

“I'm Cassandra,” she said.

“Are you in the FBI too?”

“I'm a voodoo priestess.”

I laughed. No one else did.

“Anyone want to explain why we need a voodoo priestess?” I glanced at Cassandra. “No offense.”

“None taken. I'm a witch expert.”

“Sure you are.”

“I employ only the best of the best,” said the ancient fellow sitting stiffly in a desk chair in the most shadowed corner of the room.

“Edward Mandenauer,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Your German accent kind of gave it away.”

Even though he was sitting I could tell that he was over six feet tall and far too thin. His eyes were a faded blue and his white hair had the muted hue of the once blond.

“In this neighborhood I am not the only one with such an accent.”

Germans did love Wisconsin more than the next immigrant. Might be because the deep, dark, Grimm-like forests reminded them of home.

“Probably not,” I agreed. “But you are the only one wearing bullets like a fashion statement before eight in the morning.”

Raye coughed to cover a laugh, and Edward shot her a glare.

Franklin handed him a cup of coffee. “She has a point, sir.”

“Is there a reason you shot Pru with a silver bullet?”

“She is a wolf with human eyes. That is reason enough.”

“Don't do it again.”

“Why would I? She did not explode; she is clean.”

“She almost died.”

“Yet still she lives.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“According to your lovely sister, your mother the wolf is fine. You have healed her.” He indicated the nearest corner. “And your ghostly papa tells us that she is free.”

“Henry's here?”

Raye tilted her head. “He says you're beautiful. He's sorry. He loves you.”

I wasn't sure what to say back. I couldn't see him. I didn't love him. I didn't even know him.

“Don't worry about it,” Raye said. “He understands. He's just glad we're okay.”

“You will not be okay for much longer.” Edward took a sip of coffee and made a face, set the cup on the dresser, swallowed. “You must stop the crazy woman before she raises the equally insane hunter of witches.”

“Works for me,” I said. “How?”

“Let's discuss.” Nic Franklin waved at an empty chair.

I took it and the nearest coffee.

“Mistress June must be staying somewhere, and a woman that tall is a little hard to miss.”

“It's a tourist town,” I said. “There are probably a hundred rooms she could be holed up in.”

“I'll start canvassing.”

“That doesn't even take into account the privately rented cabins in the forest where I'd think she would be more likely to lurk.”

Franklin cursed.

“It's a waste of time to search for her,” Cassandra said. “She's not dumb. She won't make it easy. Eventually, she's going to come to us.” She glanced at Raye, then at me. “Or probably to one of you.”

“She knows about us?”

“We're not sure what she knows,” Franklin said. “She tried to kill Raye, on an altar, beneath the moon in order to raise Roland. But she didn't indicate that she knew Raye was one of the Taggart sisters. Now…” He waved a hand up and down to indicate me. “She's probably figured it out.”

Dizziness washed over me, whether at the acceptance that one of the triplets born four hundred years ago was me, or the idea of being killed because of it, I had no idea.

“Wouldn't Roland want to kill us himself?” I asked.

“As he's a serial killer, and an asshole, probably.” Raye spread her hands. “Though I don't know how, or even if, he's communicating with his minions.”

“What should we do?”

“I vote we find Mistress June, then beat all the answers out of her,” Bobby said.

I smiled at the man who would become my brother-in-law. “I like how you think.”

 

Chapter 23

“The full moon is tomorrow night,” Cassandra said. “I think she'll try again then.”

“What does the full moon have to do with it?” I asked.

“What doesn't it?” Edward muttered.

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

“If the full moon can exert power over the tides,” Cassandra said, “it can exert power over a lot of things. As long as there's been magic, that magic has been best performed under the full moon.”

“How long has there been magic?” I asked.

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”

“Wasn't that a miracle?”

She shrugged. “Semantics.”

“June wasn't able to raise Roland the last time she tried,” Raye said.

“Why not?”

“She took too long to kill me. I doubt she'll make the same mistake twice.”

“If she needed a full moon why didn't she use one?” I asked.

“She needs the moon, a sacrifice, believers,” Cassandra clarified. “A full moon should speed things up, give her more juice. Since she's failed once, she's gonna want both.”

“If she fails again?”

“There's always All Hallows' Eve. It's one of the most powerful nights of the year.”

“For magic and witchcraft, right?” I asked. “But the
Venatores Mali
hate witches.”

“They do, but power is power, and raising the dead is magic. Dark magic, but still magic.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You expect them to make sense?” Raye shook her head. “Don't.”

“She's going to move soon.” Cassandra noticed I'd finished my coffee and handed me another. “The longer she waits, the more chance there is that someone else will kill more witches than she has.” At my bemused expression, she continued. “The nut job with the most witch kills is considered the leader of the
Venatores Mali
and is the one who raises Roland. The longer she waits to bring him back, the less chance she has of being the one to do it.”

“If she raises him, what does she get?”

“Whatever's behind door number three.” Cassandra shrugged. “It's a mystery.”

“We should set a trap.”

Everyone looked at the FBI agent.

“We know Mistress June is here. We think she'll try and raise Roland again tomorrow night. She'll need a witch to kill.” Franklin's forehead creased. “As the two of you will be ultravigilant, and a lot harder to snatch than your run-of-the-mill witch, I think she'll look elsewhere for her sacrifice.”

“How are we going to keep an eye on every witch in town?” Cassandra asked.

I burst out laughing. “Every witch in town? This is Three Harbors. There aren't any.”

“That's what I thought about New Bergin,” Raye said. “I couldn't have been more wrong.”

“How'd you find out who was a witch?”

“They turned up dead and branded.”

“We need a better way.”

“You think?” Raye asked, with the exact inflection I would have.

How strange. Or maybe not very strange at all.

“Is there a coven here?” Cassandra asked.

“If there were, I wouldn't know about it.” I paused. “Jeremy was going to check on that.”

“Jeremy?” the priestess repeated.

“Reitman. He's a forensic veterinarian. He came here to examine the animal sacrifices at Owen's house. He also happens to be a witch.”

“Coincidence?” Franklin murmured. “I don't think so.”

“He's the best forensic veterinarian in the state,” I protested.

“Which means if there were animal sacrifices, he'd be called. I don't suppose anyone tried to kill him while he was here.”

“Owen's mom, but she's schizophrenic.”

“Did she try to kill him because a voice told her to?”

“Maybe?”

“That voice could very well be Roland's,” Edward said.

“Are you trying to tell me that Owen's mom isn't crazy? That the voices she's been hearing for most of her life are real?”

“Is the voice of a dead man real?” Edward wondered.

“Yes,” Raye said. “Although I doubt that Roland's been whispering to Owen's mom since she was young. We weren't even born then.”

“According to you we were born four hundred years ago, which means we were.”

“Time travel gives me a great big headache,” she said.

I couldn't argue there.

“Has Owen's mother tried to kill anyone before?” Cassandra asked.

“Owen.”

“Because?”

“She was never very forthcoming on that.”

“Does she hate witches?”

I shook my head. “There were times she thought she was one.”

“Is she?”

“I…” I paused. “I don't know. Until a few days ago, believing you were a witch was nutty. Although, if she is, why did she try to kill one of her own?”