Black Hat, White Witch

by Edwards, Hailey

  “All right.” I closed my laptop and stuck it in the bag Clay provided. “Let’s get moving.”

  When Asa disappeared into their room, I assumed to grab equipment, I leaned over to inspect his muffin but found only a wrapper. Okay. No evidence to be found there. That left the one next to me. The one that should be mine. I palmed the muffin and rotated it a full circle, but nope. It was pristine. Not a single bite missing. Not a berry nibbled.

  Sneaky daemon had sneaked my breakfast and switched it for his, which both excited me to be right and also made me extra special curious why he had fixated on my food. Before I could decide to ask outright, I intercepted a glare from Clay that would have vaporized me had he possessed laser eyebeams.

  Asa emerged with his hair in braids, hands full of equipment, and set out for the SUV.

  As I followed him to the parking lot, I decided I would ask how he got his part razor straight every time.

  One day. Not anytime soon. I didn’t want him to know I had the hots for his hair.

  On the drive, I settled in to flip through the case files of previous victims, hoping to jog a memory.

  “He’s got a type.” I cringed from looking at the photos. “That’s for sure.”

  There he followed the Silver Stag’s ideal, which meant the copycat had researched the Stag’s victims.

  “The names of the Silver Stag victims were released to the public after his death.” By the public, I meant the supernatural public, not humans. “Our copycat wouldn’t have had to look hard to find their details.”

  Colby could have been any one of these girls. She had been one of them.

  “The other details were sealed,” Clay reminded me. “Only the agents who worked the original case know how he killed his victims, and those files are sealed tighter than a jar of pickles.”

  “Perhaps that justifies the divergence from the original MO?” Asa cut me a sideways glance. “What if the killer followed the case in the news, collected every snippet, but assembled the big picture wrong?”

  “That would explain why he took girls who fit the profile,” Clay agreed from the back. “He pulled off the trick that earned the Silver Stag his nickname, but those details were leaked early on. The exact manner of death was kept under wraps, and the copycat got it wrong.”

  “Or he chose to go his own way.” Asa’s lips turned down. “Which would mean he’s not a true copycat.”

  As much as I hated to ask, I had to know how divergent this copycat was in his methodology.

  “There was no sign of sexual trauma on the Stag’s victims. Do we know about the recent victims yet?”

  Asa tucked his chin, but he didn’t say a word. Clay, thankfully, answered for him.

  “The previous victims showed no signs of abuse.”

  “Small mercy.” I stared out the window. “That was all the dignity he left them.”

  DNA would help the lab identify each girl. Their remains were cremated afterward to insulate the family from the harsh truth there was no return to normalcy for their daughters, even in death. An urn was the lesser of two evils, according to the director, and for once, I had to agree with him.

  No parent ought to witness their child reduced to the trophy the killer made of them.

  “This is it.” Asa flicked on the blinker. “Our first suspect lives in this subdivision.”

  The homes were older, but the yards were neat. Kids played outside, and dogs chased them.

  In a word, it looked safe. Not at all like a killer might be hiding amongst these normal, everyday people.

  But normal was the best camouflage of all.

  “We’re looking for two-thirty-three.” Clay leaned forward. “It should fall on the right side.”

  Sure enough, we spotted the house and pulled into the drive behind a pickup swathed in camo decals.

  On my walk to the house, I paused at the driver-side door to peer in the vehicle, and I noticed a gun rack mounted in the rear window. It didn’t mean this guy was our killer. Probably half the trucks in this neighborhood had them too. Hunting was how a lot of people in rural areas kept their families fed.

  Clay headed straight for the door, and I followed, with Asa trailing me.

  “People react better to Clay,” he explained when he noticed me taking stock of our positions.

  Hindbrain was a funny thing. Prey species, like humans, got a tickle in the back of their minds that let them know when they were being hunted. They might not have natural predators, but they had plenty of supernatural predators that fed on them or off them.

  Despite Clay’s tough-guy exterior, and Asa’s more subdued appearance, human brains picked up on signals their conscious minds missed and transmitted them to their bodies in the form of flight-or-fight reflexes.

  It said a lot about me, none of it good, that Asa hadn’t pinged on my radar as a threat.

  I needed to reevaluate the pecking order if I wanted to keep breathing. I had to prick my ego, let it burst, then poke the deflated remains to determine how much power I still held and where I ranked magically.

  Otherwise, one day I would pick a fight I couldn’t win and lose in spectacular fashion.

  Used to be that butting heads with me was like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

  Now I worried it was like bringing a hot knife to a room temperature stick of butter.

  We witches were famous for melting, after all.

  The door swung open before Clay could knock, which had me searching for cameras out of habit.

  “I’m Agent Kerr with the FBI.” He kept his expression bland. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  The twist on our identification meant Clay saw or heard a potential human within the dwelling.

  “This ain’t about child support, is it?” The man glared at me like I had brought Clay to hold him upside down and shake him until coins fell out of his pockets. “Tell that woman I’ll pay it when I feel like it. I didn’t want no kids. She did. Now she’s got ’em. It’s not my fault she’s too good to work to pay for ’em.”

  His open hostility toward women meant I had to keep my mouth shut for us to get answers.

  However, that didn’t prevent me from whispering a spell to nudge his responses in the right direction.

  Not a truth spell, exactly, more like a light compulsion to make him comfy enough to confide in us.

  No wand or contact required. Just the way I liked it.

  “That’s a local matter,” Clay assured him, his voice tight. “We’re not here about that.”

  “Oh.” He scratched his bellybutton through his threadbare shirt. “What’s this about then?”

  The way he shifted to block the door made it clear he didn’t plan on letting us in. Or putting on pants. His boxers were plaid, holey, and made me wonder if it was too soon to ask for a raise. They were also the only thing he had on, other than his tee.

  “The bodies of three girls were discovered near one of the sites where you work,” Clay explained. “We came to ask if you saw or heard anything or noticed anyone acting peculiar.”

  “Three girls?” The color drained from his ruddy cheeks. “I got five girls myself.”

  Girls he had no interest in supporting, if his tirade was anything to go on, but the spell had loosened his tongue.

  “Which site?” He snapped back from the shock quicker than a rubber band. “I work all over.”

  Clay rattled off the address from yesterday, and we watched the light bulb click for our machinist.

  “I worked there, yeah. For three, maybe four days.” He tugged on his earlobe. “Didn’t hear a peep as I recall, but I wouldn’t with the earplugs in. Don’t remember seeing anything odd either. Just me and the same old guys doing the same old thing.” He shrugged. “The lots blur after a while. Just a bunch of trees and dirt. All that changes is the address.”

  “Thank you for your time.” Clay pasted on a good ol’ boy smile. “We appreciate your help.”

  We kept silent until we piled into the SUV.
As one, the guys looked to me for my opinion.

  “He’s not our guy.” I set my laptop on my knees. “The spell nudged him, and he gave us nothing.”

  However, the effort gave me a headache. It would have cost me less if I used the wand, but I didn’t want a repeat of the dryad incident, where he smelled black witch and fought when I attempted to touch him.

  “He’s a goblin.” Asa stared up at the house. “They’re naturally more resistant to magic.”

  “True.” I waited until I held his attention. “Do you think he’s our guy?”

  “No.” He waited a beat. “I dislike him, intensely, but he lacks the...”

  “…stink of a black arts practitioner?” I huffed out a laugh. “You can say it.”

  Asa said no such thing.

  “He doesn’t have the juice.” Clay came to his partner’s rescue. “He barely gave me the tingles.”

  As a creature animated by magic, Clay sensed power in others. From experience, he had a decent gauge.

  To practice the black arts, you didn’t have to be a witch, only magically gifted. But we excelled at it.

  Our killer, copycat or not, was skilled in a way that left me certain he was witchborn.

  “Then we move on.” I pulled up the next address. “Looks like it’s about fifteen minutes from here.”

  On the drive over, Colby texted me proof of life, a photo of her stuffing her face with pollen granules. An orange sports bottle rested on the desk beside her, a kiddie cup verging on doll sized, full of sugar water. And I, to avoid making her feel babied, didn’t mention I had spied on her while she slept. Like an overprotective creeper.

  I showed the guys, who both smiled at their first glimpse of her rig, as she called her gaming station.

  “Your familiar bond with Colby…” Asa juggled his words more carefully. “Is it functional?”

  “It’s set, or she wouldn’t be here.”

  “Can you draw power from her?” He kept his tone light and accusation free. “Can she draw from you?”

  “I’ve never tried, and to my knowledge, neither has she.”

  “You can ever only bond to one familiar.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Yet you refuse to use yours for her intended purpose.”

  “And?”

  “I wonder how you bear it,” he said softly. “The constant temptation to take what you want.”

  “It almost sounds like you’re asking if I saved Colby to punish myself.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” His question echoed thoughts I’d had myself, years after the fact. “Maybe she was the motivation I needed to finally screw up the courage to change. Maybe I didn’t feel I deserved a fresh start, but I knew she did.” I wet my lips. “Colby saved me every bit as much as I saved her. Except I had it easy. I killed the Silver Stag for what he did to her and the other girls. Colby, she had to save me from myself.”

  “Curiosity is the curse of my heritage,” he said quietly. “Half my heritage, in any case.”

  Since he dug around in my past, I felt entitled to his. “How do you identify?”

  “As dae.” He smiled a bit. “There are a lot of us.” He glanced at me. “Enough to form our own subrace.”

  “Dae.” I mulled it over. “I like it.”

  Though he kept quiet, I sensed Clay thinking hard at me, and they weren’t happy thoughts.

  He and I had covered old ground too, but it had taken months of partnership, not days of acquaintance.

  But Asa had Clay to vouch for him, and a fraction of my trust of Clay extended to Asa on that basis.

  I wasn’t jumping in with both feet with Asa. More like dipping my toes in the water.

  No matter what Clay thought, or how loud he thought it.

  10

  The oh crap handle found its way back into my hand when Asa pulled onto a pockmarked dirt road.

  “Grit your teeth,” Clay suggested, “or they might bounce loose.”

  A tidy singlewide trailer sat at the end of the long drive on a patch of bright green grass. The sharp edges of the lawn told me the homeowner had laid sod but only enough to create their own mini oasis. A car in pristine condition, a miracle considering the state of the road, sat in front of the small porch.

  This time, Clay got his chance to knock, and he did so carefully, as we had been greeted by a storm door.

  A plump woman in a cherry apron greeted us with a welcoming smile. “How can I help you?”

  “We’re looking for Dan Malone.” Clay grinned right back, and she blushed. “Does he live here?”

  “Danny?” She waved an oven-mitted hand. “He’s my husband. Come on in. I have cookies.”

  The file mentioned Dan Malone was a lynx shifter, but it made no mention of a wife.

  “I never say no to cookies, ma’am.” Clay led the way after she opened the door. “They smell divine.”

  “They’re my specialty.” She dialed her cheer higher. “Danny! Darling, these folks are here to see you.”

  An older man with white tufts of wiry hair sticking out of his ears entered the living room.

  “Rose.” His sigh ended on a growl. “What have I told you about letting strangers in the house?”

  “We never have company,” she fussed. “It gets lonely out here, all by ourselves.”

  Expression softening on her, he hardened again as he looked us up and down, pausing on me. “What do you want?”

  With a shifter nose, I probably stank to high heaven to him. “I’m Agent Rue Hollis with the FBI—”

  “You’re Black Hat, dear.” His wife tittered. “I smell it all over you.”

  “Apologies, ma’am.” Clay turned his grin back on her. “We can’t be too careful.”

  Plenty of paras married normals, and those humans were often kept ignorant of our world for their own good. But there was something about Mrs. Malone that made my nape tingle.

  “I understand,” she assured him. “I just wanted to let you know you can speak freely.”

  As I made them wariest, and their focus zeroed in on me, I handled the questioning.

  “Three bodies were discovered on a site under contract by Lawry Lumber. We’re here to ask—”

  A few things happened at once.

  Mrs. Malone burst into flames.

  Mr. Malone erupted into his lynx form.

  And the cookies we had been promised began to weep icing tears.

  “What in tarnation is that?” Clay recoiled, not from the paras, but from the cookies. “They’re…alive?”

  “I only take what I need,” the column of flame that was Mrs. Malone crackled at us. “Just enough.”

  Mr. Malone braced his silver paws on the linoleum, barring us from the kitchen and his wife.

  “Are you responsible for the deaths of three girls killed with black magic?” Asa stepped forward. “You’re both hunters. I doubt you would stoop so low as that in order to feed.”

  “I don’t harm children.” Mrs. Malone’s flames rose higher. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Asa explained. “We’re hunting their killer.”

  Since he didn’t appear to be making much headway, I jumped in while Clay continued playing defense.

  “Whatever you’ve done, we’re not here for you.” I included them both in my statement. “Either of you.” I held up my hands. “All we want are answers about this particular case. Give those to us, and we’ll go.”

  “All right.” Mrs. Malone extinguished herself, leaving us with a soot-dusted and extremely naked old woman. “Danny, I think we should help them.” She stroked his head. “Change back, please.”

  The lynx took a bit longer to shift without his mate in immediate danger. Mr. Malone stood, ready for a fight, and buck naked. A low growl pumped from his chest until his wife swatted at his arm with a laugh.

  “He’s so overprotective.” She fluffed her smoking hair. “Stop fussing, and tell them what you know.”


  Her husband cleared his throat and singled me out yet again. “There were three sites, weren’t there?”

  Clay’s fingers tightened into fists, Asa moved in closer to me, and I locked my knees to hold myself still.

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “How did you know?”

  “I hunt on the tracts I work. I go late. After everyone’s gone home.” He rolled a bony shoulder. “It wasn’t natural, those deer, so I let them alone.” He tapped his nose. “I smelled the black magic on them.”

  Rude as it was of me, I had to ask, “Do you think you could follow the scent for us, see where it leads?”

  “I tried then, when it was fresh, and had no luck.” He watched my face and nodded to himself. “I stalked the trail, but it vanished within yards of the bodies each time. I would’ve killed him, if I could’ve sunk my claws in him. I knew Black Hats would come.” He kissed his wife’s cheek. “I knew you would find us.”

  One salient point stood out to me. “You’re sure the black magic user was male?”

  A second opinion never hurt, especially since I was still finding my balance.

  “He marked his territory.” Mr. Malone chuffed. “Guess he thought it would keep wildlife away. As if any animal would go near a place seeped in that much negative energy. The magic alone warns them off it.”

  From a shifter, that was as good as a positive ID in my book. “What do you mean by the trail vanished?”

  “He doused it with diesel fuel from the site.” He sneezed at the memory. “It clogged my nose something fierce when it was fresh. I went back a few days later, and all I smelled was fuel. He was smart to do it.”

  A few days later meant Mr. Malone had been first on scene and last on scene each time. He made a valuable resource.

  “Smart unless someone dropped a match.” Clay whistled. “I didn’t see mention of that anywhere.”

  “Maybe city folk figure all clear-cutting sites stink like fuel.” Mr. Malone shrugged again. “I can’t speak to that. All I can tell you is what I saw and what I smelled each time.”

  “If you come across another scene, do us a favor and call it in, please.” Asa handed him a business card. “That’s my direct number. You can be an anonymous tipster.”