by Lori Drake
“Hello, Emily.” He sounded annoyed, probably because I hadn’t been in touch for two days.
“Don’t rush excellence,” I said, heading him off at the pass. “I need to know if William Hines is a member of the coven.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“He could go by Bill, Billy, Will? Apparently some kind of earth specialist. Flowering plants on his porch in the middle of winter.”
“No, sorry. Have you had any luck locating Dan?”
“I’ll be in touch.” It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. Hell, it wasn’t even an answer, really. But it was the best I could do at the moment. I hung up on him before he could object further, momentarily pleased with myself. The best way to deal with aggressive witches was, apparently, on the phone. Can’t reach me, tentacle boy. Neener, neener.
Tucking my phone away again, I gave Escobar the bad news. Or was it good news? Either Hines’ death was unrelated to the others, or whatever was going on wasn’t restricted to Christina and Tori’s coven. Either way, it was bad for Hines. Or maybe it just couldn’t get any worse.
We spent the next four hours poring over everything in the case files, looking for correlations between the three witches or any indication that they’d had contact with one another. We knew Tori and Christina knew each other, but they didn’t seem to intersect with Hines at all. They lived in different parts of town, weren’t even close to the same age, and as far as we knew didn’t run in the same circles. Then again, we didn’t have much information on Hines yet, so we hit a brick wall there quickly.
“Okay, I can’t look at any more, the pages are swimming,” I declared eventually, closing the file folder I’d been sifting through and pushing it aside.
Escobar looked up from his own and chuckled, reaching for his coffee. I’m pretty sure it was his fourth or fifth cup since we got back to the station. How he wasn’t bouncing off the walls, I’d never know. “Take a break,” he suggested. “Or, better yet, get out of here. We should have more on Hines by morning.”
“Morning? I work tomorrow.”
“No, you don’t.” His eyes lowered to the page again while he sipped his coffee.
“I don’t?”
“Nope. Your shift supervisor was surprisingly accommodating.”
I’d never known Steel Wool Wendy—so called because she could be about that abrasive—to be accommodating in any sense, so “surprisingly” was the only part of that statement that made any sense. “Okay…” I said, standing to gather up my coat and slip it on. “So, when do I have to work again?”
“When we’re finished,” he said, all too casually.
“Am I getting paid for any of this time off?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
He glanced up again and flashed an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m not a miracle worker. But I can probably get you a consulting fee from the SFPD.”
“Probably? Well, it’d better keep Barrington in kibble or I’m probably dropping him off at your place.”
Escobar laughed, a deep rich laugh that resonated even in the busy noisy squad room. “I’ll buy him some myself if I have to.”
Great. Well, at least one of us would eat.
Chapter 14
It was a good thing Escobar let me go when he did because it turns out I had just enough time to run home, feed the cat, scarf a sandwich, and get ready for my second date with Barry. It just figured that my normally quiet life would get shaken up right when I found a nice guy to go out with.
I met him at a dive bar on the outskirts of town, where I discovered that his roommate was in an all-witch band. To my surprise and joy, they didn’t use their magic to cover up bad musicianship and were actually great. I enjoyed the outing quite a bit, though I had to turn my phone off early on when Dan—apparently bored out of his gourd—started blowing it up with a barrage of attention-seeking text messages.
I didn’t turn my phone back on again until I was settled in the car at the end of the night, giving it a chance to warm up. I had almost two dozen new text messages from Dan, but he’d finally given up about an hour ago. It was late, but I decided to call him back anyway in the hope that I’d wake him up.
He answered on the first ring like he’d been sitting there holding his phone. Waiting. “Hey, sis! What’s going on?”
“Jackass. I have better things to do than babysit you on a Friday night, you know.”
“That, dear sister, is extremely debatable. Besides, I don’t need a sitter. I need a comrade—a mischievous marauder after my own heart!”
“Then why the hell are you bothering me?” I asked, latching the phone into its cradle before starting to back my car out from between its neighbors.
“Whoa, whoa, no need to get testy. Damn. You need to loosen up. When was the last time you got some action?”
Longer than I’d care to admit. But that wasn’t why I was gritting my teeth and holding the steering wheel in a death grip. “Daniel,” I said, in a calm voice that in no way conveyed my annoyance. “What do you want?”
He sighed, audibly. “I thought that was pretty clear. I’m bored. Want to do something?”
“It’s 11 p.m.”
“So? Tomorrow’s Saturday, right? You don’t have to work.” I doubted he was psychic, so he must have been assuming.
He was right, though, I didn’t have to work—not at the hospital anyway. But that was beside the point. “You can’t just waltz into my life after ten years and just… be you.”
“I’ll be whoever you want if you’ll bring me a pizza.”
“Daniel?”
“Emily?”
“Get bent.”
“That’s the spirit!”
Don’t drive angry, don’t drive angry. “I’m not coming over. I’m going home.”
“Ohhh. Did you have a hot date?”
“None of your business.”
“You did have a hot date!” He was worse than Matt, I swear.
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait, wait, wait, there’s something important I need to talk to you about.”
I let my finger hover over the disconnect button. “So help me, if this is about a pizza…”
“Oh my god, would you stop talking about food? I’m starving. But seriously, I think I know what happened to Tori and Christina.”
Was he really that desperate for some entertainment, or was he actually serious? “I’m listening.”
“A homunculus.”
“Remind me what that is?”
“A magical construct, created to do its owner’s bidding.”
“Oh, right.” I was pretty sure I’d never heard of such a thing, but he undoubtedly had way more schooling in the arcane than I did.
“If you don’t refresh the spells that animate it, it falls apart. But the longer it remains alive, the smarter it gets.”
“Okay. So, you think someone is using a homunculus to make witches to draw too much power?”
“Not exactly. I think maybe someone who had an old homunculus died or lost control of it, and that homunculus is basically ‘eating’ magic to sustain itself.” He sounded… excited. Which was more than a little creepy, given the circumstances.
“Why do you sound happy about that?”
“Because it’s super cool.”
“People are dying.”
“Not that,” he replied, in something closely resembling a whine. “Another possibility would be a magic-devouring creature, which is much more boring.”
“Are there many of those?”
“In folklore? Sure, throw a rock and you’ll hit one. Do they actually exist? Who knows.”
He’d actually given me some decent information. Maybe that’s why I decided to tell him about my work with Escobar. By the time I was finished filling him in on everything I’d learned—which, granted, wasn’t a ton—I was almost home. He didn’t interrupt or make a single wisecrack. Maybe he’d dozed off. It had been a while since he said anything.
“You stil
l there?” I asked, because it never hurts to check.
“I want to help.”
That was unexpected. “I don’t really see how that’s possible, I mean, you’re still a person of interest. Escobar is still looking for you.”
“So, tell him I’m not involved. Be my alibi.”
“I can’t just be your alibi, that’s not how it works. I have to actually have been with you when one of the witches burned out.”
There was a long pause, and then he offered, “I don’t suppose it helps that the night Christina burned out, I was with Tori?”
Rolling my eyes, I smirked mightily but there was no one else in the car to see it. “No, that doesn’t help. I think it’s best if you lay low for now.”
He sighed. “Fine. But just because I’m laying low doesn’t mean you can’t call. Use me.”
“Daniel…”
“Use me. Please.” He was practically pleading, and I had to admit that what I’d told Hector was true. Dan did know what he was talking about when it came to magic, and he very well could be useful with the investigation. So long as Escobar didn’t arrest him. Then again, maybe even then.
I sighed, turning on my blinker and pulling into the parking lot outside my apartment. “Fine. But all of this information is need-to-know. Don’t go blabbing it to anyone. Seriously. I could get in major trouble, I signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement.” A little white lie never hurt anyone, right? Then again, why hadn’t I had to sign an NDA?
“Cross my heart.”
I was willing to wager—for now—that he still had one.
Chapter 15
I showed up at the police station the next morning with donuts. I wasn’t sure if it would go over well or they’d all be mildly offended. I mean, cops plus donuts is a big stereotype, but I’d wanted to stop and get coffee on the way in, and you know how it is. One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know you’ve got a dozen donuts in a variety of mouth-watering flavors. What, that’s never happened to you?
Anyway, the temp badge Escobar had given me the day before was good enough for the desk sergeant, who waved me back without any particular fanfare. I found my way to Escobar’s cubicle in the squad room, rounding the corner with box in hand.
“I didn’t know what you…” I began, trailing off as I saw Escobar wasn’t alone. There was a witch sitting across from him in the chair I suspected still had my ass-print in it after yesterday’s sit-a-thon. He wore black pants and a dark gray button-up shirt with a patch of some sort on his left sleeve. It wasn’t until he twisted in his chair to look at me that I noticed the black tie, badge, and little silver nameplate reading PAYNE.
“Ah, there she is. Emily, this is Deputy Payne from the county Sheriff’s Office. Deputy, this is my new consultant, Emily Davenport.”
The deputy raised a brow. “Davenport, eh?” He eyed me with cool brown eyes. His cheeks were pitted and borderline gaunt, his skin dark as a walnut. Long black hair was gathered back in a low ponytail. He didn’t get up.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, automatically. “Donut?” I flipped the box open, displaying it to the two men before setting it on the desk. They didn’t resume their conversation, but they did both pick out donuts. There wasn’t enough empirical evidence to proclaim it a “cop thing” yet. I mean, who doesn’t like donuts? The gluten-intolerant aside. “Do you want me to step out so you can talk? I can take a walk,” I offered, still holding on to my coffee cup. I hadn’t brought enough of that to share.
“No, it’s fine. You should be here for this anyway.” It took a moment for Escobar to realize why I was still standing, at which point he hastened to his feet and ducked out of the cubicle long enough to rustle up something for me to sit on.
“Thanks.” I hung my coat on the back of the chair and plopped down. “So, what’s up?” As I spoke, I leaned forward to snag the corner of the donut box and picked one out for myself. Raspberry jelly-filled? Yes, please.
Of course, the flaw in that plan was that it’s all but impossible to eat a jelly-filled donut with anything resembling decorum. You end up with sugar all over your lips and fingers, and usually dribbles of jelly along with a generous dusting of sugar on your shirt. Or, at least I usually do. I did the best I could under the circumstances, cupping a napkin under it to keep from making a total mess. I like to think you can tell a lot about a person by the kind of donuts they like, sort of like you can tell a lot by their shoes. Escobar picked a chocolate iced one with chopped nuts on top, while Payne went for a blueberry cake donut. Anyone that goes for the cake donuts has a traditional streak. Mark my words.
“I called in Deputy Payne for a consult,” Escobar said, which came as a surprise. You know, because he had come to me with hat in hand, all but begging me to consult because he had no alternatives. While I was having a brief but rapid internal debate about whether or not to bring this up, Escobar settled his eyes on the Native American man across the desk and took a sip of coffee to wash a mouthful of donut down before finishing his thought. “Three weeks ago.”
Now I was a whole other level of confused, given that it had only been a few days since Tori burned out. A different case, maybe?
Payne just smirked. “It’s a big county, detective. There are many that have need of my services. I have to prioritize as best I can. There was no indication that Ms. Gentry’s death was anything but the tragic actions of a deeply troubled woman.”
The way he said “prioritize” sounded suspicious, but I did my best to keep my expression neutral and my mouth shut—which wasn’t hard since it was full of gooey raspberry donut. Mention of Ms. Gentry—who I assumed was Escobar’s previous consultant—did pique my interest, though. I glanced between the men, picking up a hint of something from Escobar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Escobar was not impressed, that much I could tell, but he didn’t seem inclined to pick a fight about it. He just leaned back in his chair with a donut in one hand and his coffee mug in the other. “Right. Well, as I was saying, we may have a bigger problem on our hands now, so it’s a good thing you’re here.”
Payne just smirked, polishing off his donut in no more than three bites and reaching for another one. “I’m not aware of any burnouts elsewhere in the county, but they’re not the sort of thing that generally gets reported to the police unless a death is involved. Even then, traditional Navajo are so touchy about burial that they’ve usually got their dead in the ground before they call in a report.”
He wasn’t kidding. I’d heard that some of these very traditional Indians believed that even touching the dead person’s body would keep their spirit tied to the Earth. Sometimes they went so far as to punch a hole in the wall of the person’s house to allow their spirit to escape. Burial was swift, usually before the next sunrise, and the graves were left unmarked. It was even considered bad luck to speak the name of the deceased, possibly causing their spirit to return to torture the living.
“Yeah, I know,” Escobar said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. I was starting to think these two had history.
Payne just kept smirking and wolfed down donut number two.
“Do we have a time of death on Hines yet?” I asked, in an effort to distract them both. Hines. Look at me, day two and I was already picking up the habit of calling people by their last name.
“Sort of.” Escobar reached for his notepad. “Best estimate is four days ago.”
I considered where that fell in the timeline with the others. “Do you have a calendar?” Doing all the math in my head was not working very well.
Escobar reached behind him to unpin a calendar from his wall and offered it to me. I set the remains of my donut on a napkin and wiped my fingers, then grabbed a pen from the cup on Escobar’s desk and started making some notes. “Okay. Tori died on the sixth, technically. But she burned out on the fifth.” I remembered it because it had been my birthday when she was brought into the hospital. “That was four days ago, the same day Hines died. We don’t know i
f he burned out first, but if he did it couldn’t have been more than a day or two before that because his boss said he’d only missed three days of work, right?”
“Right,” Escobar said, leaning forward in his chair and sipping his coffee, clearly interested to see where I was going with this. Deputy Payne just sat there watching, indifferent as far as I could tell.
“Christina burned out… I don’t have an exact date, but it was about a week—minus a day or two—before Tori.” I marked that on the calendar too and then looked up at Escobar. “When did your partner die?”
“November sixteenth,” he answered, precisely enough that my eyes lingered on him a moment. “You don’t think her death was related, do you?” He didn’t sound like he liked that notion much. I couldn’t blame him.
“I wouldn’t rule it out, though I’m not sure a burned-out witch would be capable of self-harm. Did she have a history of depression?”
“Not that I know of.”
Payne interjected, “It is the silent killer.”
“Actually, that’s high blood pressure.” I eyed Payne a moment, then went back to the calendar. I was hoping to see some sort of a pattern, but it wasn’t materializing. Unless… “It needs more to sustain it.”
I looked up to find both men staring at me. Setting down the pen, I reached for my coffee again. “One of the theories I’m working on. A homunculus.” Okay, technically it was Dan’s theory but I couldn’t tell them that on account of him being a person of interest I was harboring.
Payne snorted. “A magical construct is sustained by its creator,” he said with all the arrogance of a man who thinks he knows everything.
“Yeah, but what happens when its creator dies? Or burns out? It loses that tether.”
“Then it dies.”
“Right, but it doesn’t happen immediately, does it? It has some magic left to run on. What if it figures out how to sustain itself by siphoning magic from other witches?”
Payne folded his arms. “They’re not that smart.”
