The Babet & Prosper Collection I: One Less Warlock, Magrat's Dagger, A Different Undead, and Bad Juju (2 page)

Hatchet shook his head, unsatisfied with her
answers. “But that means the person came with a weapon. Doesn’t
that make him an enemy before he walked through the door?”

Babet let out a loud breath. “I’m a witch,
not a detective. I don’t solve murders. I explain magic.”

“She’s right,” Prosper said. “She’s already
done us a favor. She got us inside the house. It’s our job to find
out how Emile died.” He grinned at her again, ruining his gallant
gesture. “But we’ll probably need a little help along the way.”

She grimaced. “I can’t think of any magical
creature that could get past Emile’s spells. My guess is, when the
person left, Emile was alive.”

“Impossible. Once the door shut behind him,
no one could get back in.” Prosper looked around the rooms that
were visible from the hallway. “I tried the back door and every
window has bars.”

“Unless whoever it was left something here—a
talisman of some kind—that he could work through. Or else….” She
shook her head. “I don’t have a clue. I don’t know how anyone
pulled this off.”

“If someone left something, could you feel
it? You can sense magic, can’t you?”

“Emile could too. He’d have noticed.”

Prosper started to prowl around the room.
“Walk with me. See if you notice any magic in the air.”

She gave Prosper a quizzical look. “Why are
you investigating this? I thought the supernaturals would get this
one.”

“I wish.” Prosper nodded to Simon. “Our guy
here’s a human. He called us. We were the first to respond. So here
we are. Clueless.” He motioned her toward him. “Come on. Do you
feel anything?”

They circled each and every room on the main
floor and didn’t find anything, but Babet paused when they entered
the downstairs bathroom. “The vibes are off in here. There’s black
magic, but it’s just a hint of something that happened in the
past.”

Prosper sighed. “With Emile, he could have
practiced it. Can you tell if it was his or someone else’s?”

“It’s too vague. It didn’t happen here, but
something started in this room and then moved on.”

“Hell, that could mean anything.”

She slammed out of the room. “I’m only
telling you what I know. Oh, and there’s something else.” She told
him about Emile trying to hire her to find the witch. “A vampire
took it on for him.”

“That’s a lead we might be able to follow up
on.”

There was nothing else of note in the entire
house, and eventually, Hatchet gave Babet a ride home.

“Thanks for helping on this one,” he said.
“We appreciate it.”

“Yeah, right. You always appreciate magic
when you need my help. The rest of the time, you guys don’t trust
witches any farther than a Were can spit in a high wind.”

“I’ll tell Prosper you mentioned him.” He
watched her enter her house safely, then pulled away.

Babet went to the kitchen and brewed herself
a pot of tea. She’d been around magic a long time, but something
was different about Emile’s death. She needed to start asking
around. There was something that was new to her, and she wanted to
find out what it was. And as long as Prosper was trying to track
the vampire who’d taken Emile’s case, she might as well too. There
were people who’d talk to her who wouldn’t go out of their way for
an enforcer.

* * *

Lillith didn’t just run a brothel. She
supplied the perfect partners to high-powered, affluent clients.
She knew anyone and everyone of any importance.

Babet dressed carefully to visit the
succubus. It was a matter of showing respect. Otherwise, Lillith
would let her sit in her establishment’s lush lobby and be too busy
to see her. In hip-hugging, tight, white pants, strappy heels, and
a sheer, tan, sleeveless tank, she stopped at the mirror in the
hallway to check her make-up one more time. She’d pulled her hair
high in a loose, Gibson girl style. Then, hips swinging, she left
her cozy bungalow to walk the five blocks to Lillith’s
Victorian-style, lilac house.

The cool air hit her when she walked through
the rose-colored door that matched one of the shades on the house’s
trim. She stood for a minute, letting the sheen of perspiration
evaporate before she went to the carved, oak counter in the corner.
She reached to hit the bell, but a young woman with lush, red curls
and brilliant green eyes came to greet her.

“Lillith’s expecting you. Follow me.” Her
Christian Dior perfume couldn’t entirely mask the coppery scent of
vampire. Babet had yet to meet a vampire or succubus who wasn’t
gorgeous, but this girl made most of them look plain. She led Babet
up two flights of stairs to a private hallway that housed Lillith’s
suite. She knocked gently, and Lillith called, “Show her in.”

The girl opened the door, motioned Babet
inside, then shut it behind her.

If the girl was gorgeous, Lillith was beyond
that. The original succubus, who left Adam in the Garden of Eden to
frolic with archangel Samael, she was the first female—according to
legend—the original creation of womanly beauty, before exotic
flexed its muscles and made beauty a matter of choice. Honey-gold
hair, sky-blue eyes, and a creamy complexion made her look like the
innocent she wasn’t.

Lillith smiled. “You just missed Prosper. Why
you haven’t claimed that man is beyond me.”

Babet crossed the plush carpet to seat
herself on the velvet settee across from Lillith’s. “Neither of us
is ready to commit. We’d rather enjoy each other’s company and lead
our own lives.”

“Weres prowl too much, and witches are too
independent to settle quickly. But he’s someone to keep in mind.”
Lillith motioned toward a well-stocked bar. “Would you care for a
drink?”

“No, but thank you. I’m sure you heard about
Emile’s death before Prosper came to see you this morning.”

Lillith nodded. “Emile asked for a girl to be
sent to his house last night, but as I told Prosper, he called to
cancel at the last minute. Said that something urgent had come
up.”

“I’m sure he didn’t elaborate.”

“Not Emile. He kept his business close,
didn’t trust anyone.” Lillith reached toward a bowl of perfectly
ripe strawberries on a side table, chose one, and bit into it,
separating the juicy red fruit from its stem. A trickle of juice
ran down her chin, and she caught it with her tongue. If Babet did
that, she’d look messy. Lillith managed to make the entire sequence
look sensual.

Babet sighed. She was an amateur compared to
Lillith and conceded the fact. “You wouldn’t happen to know the
vampire that Emile hired, would you?”

A small smile tilted Lillith’s lips. “As a
matter of fact, I do. I’ll tell you what I told Prosper. I won’t
work with him, but I will work with you, upon one condition. When
you find Emile’s killer—and you will, I know you—the person won’t
be prosecuted unless I wish it so.”

“Did Prosper agree to that?”

“Privately, yes. He can’t say so in public.
But whoever killed Emile deserves a reward, not a punishment. Do
you agree?”

“I wish I’d have thought of a way to do it
myself.”

Lillith’s perfectly arched brows rose. “So
you hated him too?”

“Is there anyone who didn’t?”

“When I started my business, before I decided
he could only use mortals, he called me for one of my best girls.
She’d only recently been turned. I warned him of that. But when his
pulse quickened, and she tried to nip him, what did he do? He
nicked the jugular of one of his mortal servants and watched as she
lost control and fed on him. He got higher on that than if she’d
bedded him.”

“So it was your decision that he only had
humans?”

Lillith tsked. “Emile always let on that it
was his. His ego was at stake.”

“And the girl? Did she go rabid?”

“Colleen led you to my rooms. She learned a
lot that night, the hard way. But only because we cared for her
when she came home. And you?”

It was tit for tat, Babet realized, but she
had no qualms about stating why she hated the warlock. “One of my
best friends, a fellow witch, crossed paths with Emile on accident.
He didn’t ask questions, just assumed she was an enemy, and killed
her.”

Lillith’s blue eyes glittered. “Then we have
an agreement. If you find Emile’s murderer, and he deserved the
punishment she dealt him, we never reveal who she was.”

Babet took a minute to study Lillith. “Why do
you assume Emile’s killer was a woman?”

“Who else would be able to deceive him?”
Lillith gave a careless wave of her hand.

“Maybe it’s our witch then, the one Emile was
trying to find.”

“No, I never underestimate your kind’s magic
powers, but Emile knew all of your tricks. He knew our gifts too.
This time, he met something he didn’t know, something new. That’s
what you need to look for.”

“The vampire’s the only lead I have.”

“Then talk to him. He’s Vittorio Rocco at the
tattoo parlor on Granite Boulevard. His shop doesn’t open until
sundown.”

Babet rose to leave. “Did you give his name
to Prospect?”

“No, and you won’t either.”

“Thank you, Lillith.”

“This benefits me too. I’m every bit as
curious as to how Emile died as you are. If there’s something as
powerful as we are walking our streets, I’d like to know what it
is.”

Babet hadn’t thought of that. As she left
Lillith’s house and her footsteps led her home, she wondered if
there truly was something in River City that none of them had dealt
with before. And if there was, how did Emile make enemies with
it?

* * *

Babet waited until dusk to visit Granite
Boulevard. The sign in the tattoo parlor’s window was still turned
to Closed when she knocked on the door. She wasn’t sure anyone
would open it, but a tall, lanky man with shoulder-length,
sandy-colored hair and pale, gray eyes cracked it slightly.

“I don’t have any appointments tonight.” His
voice was steeped in sleep, gravelly.

“I’m here to see you about Emile.”

“Go away. I’m not talking about it.”

“You can talk to me, or I can give your name
to the enforcers, your choice.”

He yanked the door wider and motioned her
inside. He sniffed as she passed him. “Witch! You’re the one Emile
tried to hire first, aren’t you?”

“Babet Spellbound, my chosen name. Emile
called me. Then the enforcers found him dead. They called me too. I
need some answers.”

He huffed. He’d tugged on low-riding jeans
when he got up and nothing else. The scenery was breathtaking. Hard
abs. Chiseled biceps and triceps. And lots of tattoos. A coffin
covered his left arm, from shoulder to elbow. A dragon blew fire on
his right arm. Barbed wire circled his neck. A phallic symbol
stretched from his bellybutton down to who-knows-where. “Why should
I care? I didn’t have any luck finding his missing girl. I’ve
worked lots of cases. Always found what I needed. It was as though
this girl had a spell on her. If someone got too close, she
disappeared.”

“I need a name.”

“Evangeline Spirits. No kidding. Weird as
hell. If you can find her, you’re luckier than I was. She couldn’t
be the one who killed him, though. She was only half-witch. Even a
full-fledged, powerful one couldn’t go against Emile.”

“There had to be a reason he was looking for
her, though.”

“None that he told me.” He ran a hand through
his hair. “Look, that’s all I know. And little good it did me.” He
glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m expecting someone soon.
You’ll have to go.”

But before Babet could make her exit, there
was a quick knock, and a stunning, young black man stepped through
the door. His eyes blazed when he saw Babet. “I don’t do
threesomes. Choose.”

Vittorio raised an eyebrow. “Give me some
credit, will you? She’s here on business and she’s just
leaving.”

“In that case….” The young vampire went to
rummage in the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of wine. “It
was nice to meet you, whoever you are.”

Babet didn’t wait to introduce herself. She
left and headed toward the witchy end of town. If Vittorio had
stopped there to question them, he got no answers. Witches didn’t
mingle and share with vampires unless there was a damned good
reason. Working for Emile would only make his job harder.

The market place on Magic Avenue was bustling
with business. Tourists popped in out of shops on the main street.
In the back alleyways, with no window-front displays, were the
serious magic sellers. Babet headed to the herb shop, with its
hard-to- find, dried roots, leaves, and seeds. Hennie (short for
Henrietta) owned and ran it. No tourist would know that the
white-haired, unwrinkled woman behind the counter was over six
hundred years old—and as powerful a witch as any in River City.

Hennie looked up when Babet entered the store
and whooped, “Well, it’s about time! I haven’t seen you for too
many moons, young lady.”

Babet walked gladly into her open arms. “Is
Mom around?” Hennie and her mother were business partners, of
sorts. Hennie ran the store on this side, and Mom ran the school
for young witches.

“No, she’s off on a field trip with the kids.
It’s going to be summer solstice soon. They always head to stones
somewhere to celebrate.”

Mortals went to Stongehenge. Witches went to
the real circles—the ones that still pulsed power.

“I need some help,” Babet said. “You’ve
probably heard about Emile’s death.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“The enforcers asked me to help them
investigate it.”

Hennie gave a curt nod. She walked to the
shop door and turned the sign to Closed, then locked and magicked
it shut. “You’ve come about the girl.”

Babet nodded. “I made a deal with Lillith and
Prosper. If Emile deserved what he got, no one’s coming after her.
If someone killed him to take his power, that’s another
matter.”