Black Hat, White Witch

by Edwards, Hailey

  “Whatever is in there has been there for a while.” I was betting four weeks. “How did Olsen hide this?”

  “A circle?” Clay stuck close. “That’s all I can figure.”

  Wards allowed air to pass over and through them. Circles could go either way. Breathable or airtight.

  “Unless what we’re about to discover,” Asa added his two cents, “wasn’t put there until after we left.”

  Just like old times, I went in first. Unlike old times, they allowed it because the property was vacant.

  The lack of heartbeats told me what their keen noses and other senses had already relayed to them.

  Black magic might not register to my nose, but the sweet-and-sour tang of rot hit me hard.

  I followed it into the back bedroom and found what I expected to see. A dead troll well into decomp. His killer, and it was male, had driven a railroad spike through his heart. The rust told me it was old and iron.

  Trolls were fae, and cold iron was a death sentence.

  I could only hope he was dead before the killer sliced off his face with surgical precision.

  “This must be the real Mr. Olsen.” I squatted next to him, examining his body for clues. “Why kill him?”

  “I think I can answer that.” Asa waited several feet behind me. “Look.”

  Standing, I trailed Clay into a tiny room beside the master. “The missing daughter.”

  The door to her bedroom wasn’t substantial, but it had been kicked open, meaning she locked herself in.

  “That’s a House Thorn dagger in her chest.” Asa made a gesture of prayer. “She committed suicide.”

  “Seppuku?” I backed from the room once confirming his assessment. “A ritual suicide.”

  “Similar,” he agreed, then glanced back at Mr. Olsen. “The girl must have been targeted through her father.” He exhaled slowly. “The copycat came for her, here, and she misread his intent.”

  “She thought her family came for her.” I shut my eyes. “She took her life rather than let them kill her.”

  “Mr. Olsen must have heard the commotion from the yard,” Clay theorized, “or maybe he just got home from work. He came to check on her and got a railroad spike to the chest for his trouble.”

  “That narrative fits what we’re seeing.” I left the bodies to search the rest of the trailer. “We’ll know for sure after the lab tells us time of death.” I thought back on the timeline. “Four weeks.” I rubbed my nape as the full implications hit me. “This might have been the copycat’s first victim. Make that victims.”

  The director really had wasted no time coming to find me as soon as he required my specific skill set.

  “He could have glamoured himself to resemble Olsen and used his identity to stalk the other victims and their kill sites.” Asa picked up my train of thought. “That would explain the complaints against him.”

  “He took Olsen’s face.” A technique I hadn’t seen used in ages. “Literally.”

  “A masque?” Asa glanced back at Olsen. “That’s old magic.”

  Glamour accomplished the same thing, really, and it was easier to cast and dispel. More versatile too.

  A masque was exactly what you would think. A mask of dried skin, a face, that you wore over your own. It drew the power to transform you into that person, and only that person, from the target’s own death.

  “The killer must have been well and truly pissed at Olsen to expend that much magic on a trinket.”

  Masques had limited use, given each was only good for one face, but that had never been the point.

  Their creation was rooted in punishment rather than practicality.

  “The killer moves on the girl. The girl robs him of his prize.” Clay mulled it over. “Olsen hears her scream and comes running. The killer murders Olsen in a fit of rage.”

  “The killer assumes Olsen’s identity, but he doesn’t know Olsen is on vacation.” Asa continued his search for more evidence. “He didn’t plan for this. His first kills, and he’s already made two mistakes.” He gazed across the space. “Maybe he decides he’s found an ideal scapegoat to pin his crimes on when he’s done. He makes the best of it by setting up shop at Olsen’s place, and that’s when he makes the masque.”

  “If we’re even half right, we’ve flushed out the killer.” That was the good news. The bad news was, “That means he’ll be on the move.”

  Harder to corner prey when it knows it’s being hunted and by whom. The killer’s acting skills tricked Clay and Asa into believing him. No doubt, he would have fooled me too. He had channeled the rage over his discovery into an authentic facsimile of grief. He hurled accusations at them about how no one cared his daughter was missing to keep them off-balance and defensive.

  They left, we all did, with a sense of having disturbed a good man, a good father, in mourning.

  “He slept and ate here.” Clay indicated food in the fridge and sheets on the couch. “But that’s it.”

  “The car is gone.” Asa pulled out his phone. “I’ll issue a BOLO for it and Olsen.”

  “Keep it on our network,” Clay advised. “We don’t want humans confronting him.”

  “That will greatly reduce its efficiency,” Asa pointed out. “There are more teams in the area but…”

  As predicted, those teams were happy to let Black Hat’s black witch take on the rogue black witch solo.

  “He’s right.” I sided with Clay. “We don’t want to give him an excuse to further involve humans.”

  Asa took his calls outside, as if privacy was an issue, but I bet the smell was tweaking his sensitive nose.

  “He’s going to run to his safe place.” Clay surveyed the area one last time. “We find that, we find clues.”

  “Let’s hope we get lucky with the APB.” I exited the trailer. “Otherwise, we might lose him.”

  There were days between the discovery of his victims and his search for new ones. We were in the lull.

  “He was already hunting.” I filled my lungs with fresh air. “He might have his first victim chosen.”

  I moseyed over to Asa to see if he had made any progress while Clay reported the crime to the Bureau, which would further complicate the situation between the director and the enraged trolls.

  “Are you sure?” Asa paced a tight line. “Yes.” He came to sudden halt. “Give me the address.”

  Ending the call, Asa tapped his phone against his chin. “We have a lead.”

  “You don’t look thrilled about it.” I was of the opinion any lead was a good lead. “What’s the deal?”

  “Olsen owned a tract of land about an hour from here. It’s a thirty-acre forested spread.”

  And that, friends, was where he had invested his money. “His hunting grounds.”

  A troll could only ape human for so long before instinct demanded he obey his nature.

  Plus, they required room to spread out their caches. Thirty acres was plenty for that.

  “The copycat couldn’t afford to compound the mistakes he already made. He would have performed an inventory on the troll’s belongings before committing to that identity. A remote tract of land might have been the tipping point in Olsen’s favor.” Asa put away his cell. “There’s no record of a structure on the property, but I’m sure Olsen had a small cabin, or even a cave, for when he hunted in inclement weather. Trolls don’t fare well in the cold.”

  “This could be it.” A wave of nerves and nausea tangled in my gut. “Do we call for backup?”

  “He’s on alert thanks to our visit.” Asa hummed. “We should take our chances before he bolts.”

  “I’m good with that.” I wanted this over and done. I wanted to go home. To Colby. “Let’s do it.”

  “Don’t I get a vote?” Clay stomped over to us. “I have opinions too.”

  “We were waiting on you to make it unanimous.” I patted his arm. “Well? What do you think?”

  “I agree with Ace,” he grumped. “If we don’t want to lose him, we have to m
ove.”

  “All righty then.” I got in the SUV, checked my phone, then settled in. “You have the address?”

  Asa tapped the side of his head then fed the information to his phone’s GPS for the quickest route.

  The best of all possible outcomes was the copycat had yet to take his first victim for his next piece.

  The churn in my gut warned me not to get my hopes up, but it also reminded me what I had done to the man responsible for inspiring this killer. Nerves weren’t all to blame for my upset stomach. Hunger was a yawning void within me that hadn’t been filled in too long.

  This killer was ruthless, powerful, merciless.

  His heart would taste…delicious.

  13

  The address wasn’t hard to find. There was a mailbox and everything. That led me to trust Clay was right about his hunch we would find some form of troll-friendly accommodations on the property. Where, we had no idea. And the farther we trekked, the deeper into the killer’s territory we roamed. If he was using this property to hold his victims, he would know the area well. He could be watching us from higher ground right now, which blasted chills down my arms.

  Up to this point, I had felt relatively safe with Asa and Clay for backup, given my diminished state.

  But hunting this killer in his habitat? Without my mantle of power, I was afraid. For us all.

  “We can’t afford to waste much more time.” Clay broke the silence of the past hour with what we must all be thinking. “Assuming the killer came here after we visited him, he could have taken what he needed and bolted last night.”

  “We don’t know what time he left the trailer,” Asa agreed. “He could be long gone by now.”

  “Okay.” I was already outvoted. “Let’s call in the other…”

  A familiar scent hit my nose as a strong wind kicked up in the trees.

  “Diesel.” Clay picked it up too. “Do you hear a motor?”

  The same fuel the killer used to douse his trail to and from his kill sites.

  Birdlike, Asa cocked his head. “A generator.”

  A predatory smile curved my lips as the hunt sang in my blood, louder and louder, deafening my fears.

  The burnt crimson smoldering in Asa’s eyes called to me, like to like, and he growled low in his throat.

  “I’ll lead.” Clay was used to playing muscle. “Rue, you’re the middle. Ace, you bring up the rear.”

  From what I had gleaned, Asa might prove the superior tracker, but Clay was unkillable. He could be hurt or put out of commission, but if you knew what you were doing, he always came back. Not that it meant I enjoyed him taking one for the team. I didn’t. One peek at Asa told me he wasn’t a fan either.

  But we all had our roles to play, and Clay’s had always been as my shield.

  The steady purr of the generator led us to the remains of a cabin nature had done its best to reclaim. An orange power cord stretched from the generator through a broken window, giving us the only indication the decrepit structure was habitable.

  We saw no sign of the occupant, who may or may not have given up his masque for his true face, but he had gone through the trouble of leaving a steady noise to provide cover for his movements. It worked as much for us as it did against us. The generator might be a decoy he left running after he spent the night out here.

  If that was the case, I doubt he intended to come back. Why waste precious resources otherwise?

  “No matter how I look at this,” I told the guys softly, “he anticipated a visit from us today.”

  The crime scenes were too fastidious for me to believe he was careless in any regard.

  “Who wants to go in?” Clay didn’t wait for an answer, he volunteered himself. “Ace, watch her back.”

  As the mostly indestructible one, Clay ducked into the cabin and was absorbed by its shadows.

  “I don’t like this,” I murmured. “It feels like my skin wants to crawl off my bones.”

  I identified it as an amplified version of the sensation that convinced me Olsen was worth a second look.

  Black magic might not smell rank to me, but maybe I had switched the balance within myself enough for its presence to register as danger in my subconscious. Handy if I could hone it into conscious awareness.

  Five minutes passed with no sign of Clay. Asa and I made the wordless decision to investigate. Together.

  Using my wand as an atmospheric measuring stick, I tapped it once against a random log then gritted my teeth against the feedback. Negative energy permeated the building from the foundation to the roof. An almost foul breath of air expelled when we reached the threshold, and I braced as a dark figure loomed.

  “Don’t shoot.” Clay held up both his hands. “It’s just me.”

  “No offense.” I pricked my finger, murmured a spell, and wiped the blood on his arm. “It’s him.”

  When hunting a killer with a penchant for stealing faces and identities, you can’t be too careful.

  “The cabin is a front.” He ground his molars. “The bedroom is nothing but a set of stairs leading down into a cavern. I’m too big to fit very far, but we’ve found his home away from home.”

  “What aren’t you telling us?” Asa searched his face. “What did you see?”

  “There are newspaper clippings.” Clay exhaled. “There are candid photos of Colby too.”

  “I need to get down there.” I didn’t ask or wait for permission. “I have to see this.”

  The climb down was well lit, thanks to the generator powering miles of string lights.

  The main cave, which soared twelve feet high, split off into four different rooms. It was obvious this was the troll’s true home. A couch and recliner sat on a rug in front of a TV on a stand. The closest room had been converted into a simple kitchen with a fridge and a microwave. From the smell, it was plain another one had been used as a bathroom. But the smallest of them, the one that called to me the loudest, had once been a library. Until someone dumped the books on the sofa and made it a shrine.

  Yellowed newspaper clippings from the Silver Stag case were taped to the wall in chronological order.

  Layers of brittle tape curled, as if this mural had been taken down and put up many times over the years and the artist didn’t want to risk damaging the paper further. The fae presses had the most extensive coverage, but the major para newspapers—all magicked to appear blank to humans—had run the story.

  Candids of Clay and me from those days filled spots here and there on the wall, but the bottom row…

  For a moment, my heart forgot how to beat, and my blood turned to ice water in my veins.

  Those photos were recent, taken within the last few weeks. If I had to date them, I bet I would find they were shot in the time since the first victims were found. The wards kept humans from seeing Colby, but paras could pick her out fine. The killer had taken a keen interest in her based on this spread.

  There were dozens of photos of her. Just her. Her face. Her wings. Her legs. The rest of the mural might have been an afterthought compared to his dedicated study of her. Maybe he wanted to consume the one soul to escape the Stag and thus prove his superiority over his idol?

  But how? How did he know about her? No one knew about Colby. She was my best kept secret.

  The only way he could have discovered her existence was if…he was there.

  The night she died.

  The night I saved her.

  The night I damned her.

  “I have to go.” I stumbled back and fell onto the stairs, unable to pry my gaze from the collage. “Now.”

  “Come on.” Asa helped me stand then guided me up into the cabin. “I’ve got you.”

  “I called the Bureau.” Clay wrapped an arm around me. “They’re sending another team to handle this.”

  “I’m calling in Malone,” Asa announced. “I want his input on this scene versus the previous ones.”

  Our newest CI, criminal informant, could tie this case up for us with a bow. I just s
truggled to care.

  All I could see was my first good look at Colby. All I could hear was her broken voice begging for my help.

  I promised to protect her, keep her safe, and I was failing at the only job I ever had that mattered.

  “This was a trap.” I blinked to clear my eyes, and tears poured over my cheeks. “She’s—”

  “Shh.” Asa embraced my other side. “Not here.”

  Forced to keep a wary eye out for the killer, we paced ourselves, causing the trek back to the SUV to take an eternity.

  None of us spoke until the SUV’s tires hit the main road.

  “This was a trap,” I repeated my earlier words. “He lured me away from home to clear a path to Colby.”

  The ward blink and the security notifications took on sinister implications that twisted my stomach.

  “Who is this guy?” Clay pounded a fist into his open palm. “Why fixate on the Silver Stag? Why Colby?”

  I recognized the attempt to distract me for what it was, but I was happy to embrace it.

  “The Stag had no family. No friends.” I reached back in my memory for those details. “He was a ghost.”

  “Not a ghost.” Clay grunted. “An outlier. He lived off the grid with minimal social interaction. His victims were taken from big box stores. He moved around a lot so as not to draw attention to himself. He had at least forty-eight kills under his belt before he took the last group. We may never know the grand total.”

  “We got lucky that Colby was a type one diabetic. She got hypoglycemic at the drop of a hat.” How times had changed. She lived on sugar now. “She wore a medical alert bracelet her parents had imbued with a locator spell so that if she had an episode outside the house, they could find her. We followed it right to him. He was in the process of transforming the girls for the hunt. Two of their souls were already outside their bodies, wrapping them in his chosen form. He consumed them while I hammered at his ward.”

  Rage had consumed me, not over the girls’ deaths, those hadn’t affected me then, but at my inability to beat him at his own game. No wonder, with all the souls he had devoured over the centuries of his life.