Natural Born Witch: Witches of Palmetto Point Book 8

by Wendy Wang

  “They were struggling financially,” Charlie said. She put the photo back on the mantle.

  “I can’t imagine why,” Ben said, his voice full of sarcasm.

  The living room was full of expensive-looking furniture. Some antique, some more contemporary. Charlie ran her hand over a leather wingback chair near the fireplace, and the supple, buttery skin yielded to her touch.

  “Jason always says that crimes are usually about two things — money or love,” Charlie said. “We should check their financials, see where they’re getting their money from. What did you say they did for a living?”

  “He had a successful insurance agency, I believe,” Ben chimed in. “I’ll see what Athena and Marigold can dig up on the money front.”

  “Sounds like this Jason is a wise man,” Will said. “Although doing what I do, I’d add hunger to that list, especially when it comes to vamps and werewolves.”

  An image of a werewolf’s snarling bloody snout popped into Charlie’s head and she shivered.

  “Can’t argue with that,” Charlie said. “I’d probably add demons and even certain spirits to that hunger list.”

  Will met her eyes and gave her a nod, and she saw the look. A spark of attraction. Charlie glanced away toward the bookshelves. She couldn’t deny that she found him attractive too. But she loved Tom and there was something about Will, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on that made her a little nervous. She was going to have to let him know she had a boyfriend, but in a subtle way. The last thing she wanted was for things to be awkward with her new teammate.

  “You’re smarter than I thought you’d be,” Will said.

  “Oh-kay,” Charlie said. “Thank you?”

  “That’s my fault,” Ben said.

  Charlie gave Ben a quizzical look. “I told him you were very intuitive. I should’ve added smart, too.”

  “Yeah, you should have,” Will said. “I’m gonna head upstairs to check it out. Charlie, you want to check the kitchen and whatever else is down here?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “There’s a basement in this place, so I’m going to have a look,” Ben said. “Give a shout if you need help.”

  “Of course,” Charlie said and turned to the closed French doors of the dining room.

  “Hey, Charlie,” Ben said. “Don’t be afraid to use your wand. There could be hidden threats here.”

  “Okay.” Charlie gave him a reassuring smile and watched him go through a door beneath the stairs.

  Her belly tightened into a knot. Pulling out her wand had always meant either she was about to perform a ritual, or she needed to defend herself. She’d never just used it to use it, but she supposed now, just like Jason pulled his gun in certain situations to clear a space, she had to do the same thing. She sighed and reluctantly pointed her wand, hoping she’d never have to use it.

  Charlie slipped into the dining room, her wand gripped tightly in one hand. The curtains were drawn closed and probably made of a dense, heavy fabric because only a thin strip of light showed around the edges and top. She flipped the light switch, and the compact fluorescent bulbs flickered to life, buzzed loudly, then went dark. The acrid scent of electrical ions and smoke stung Charlie’s nose. She flipped the light switch off.

  “So that’s how you’re going to be,” she said aloud to no one in particular. She reached into her bag and fished out a small flashlight that Jason had given her. She held her wand tip down and shined the light into all the corners of the dining room. The yellow-tinged gold dust floated in the beam, and the spoiled-egg aroma of sulfur hung in the air.

  A demon had definitely passed through here. But why? On paper, this family seemed so ordinary compared to the witches she knew— even though Charlie had sensed the wife just wanted them to look perfect, to fit in, which was an expensive proposition in this neighborhood.

  When she cleared the room, she stepped into the kitchen, and immediately the stench of rotting meat slapped her in the face and the sound of flies buzzing around her head made her duck. She shined the light over every surface of the kitchen. Her stomach lurched, and she covered her mouth, retching and gagging at the sight of so much blood. Charlie turned away quickly and bolted out of the kitchen, back through the dining room and living room to the foyer.

  “Ben!”

  Charlie threw the front door open, not stopping until she reached the bottom of the porch steps. She gulped the fresh sweet air and bent over with her hands on her knees to keep the dizziness from spinning through her head.

  “Charlie?” Ben touched her back. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “There’s so much blood,” Charlie said. She spit, trying to get the taste of rot and coppery blood out of her mouth. “Why didn’t the cops mention the blood?”

  “What are you talking about?” Ben said.

  Charlie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood up straight. She looked him in the eye.

  “In the kitchen. The island, the counters, even the walls are covered with blood.”

  “Charlie, there was no report of blood in any of the police reports.”

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “That kitchen is covered in blood,” Charlie insisted and folded her arms.

  “I believe you,” Ben said. “I’m just confounded, I guess. Will you go back in with me? We can check it out together.”

  Charlie grimaced, but said, “Of course.”

  A few moments later, having recovered slightly, Charlie took a deep breath and followed Ben into the kitchen. She braced herself for the sickening sight.

  “Okay, show me where you saw the blood.” Ben stepped back and let her pass him.

  The faint scent of bleach infused the air. The white subway tiles shined against the Carrera marble countertops and the pale gray cabinets looked freshly painted. The long island in the center of the kitchen had a decorative basket with boxwood greenery and gold and silver balls. Someone had been preparing for Yule. Charlie turned in a circle and shook her head. There was no yellow dust floating about like the other rooms they’d encountered. Every surface gleamed as if they’d been freshly scrubbed. The round table in the adjacent nook was set with three place settings and empty juice glasses.

  Charlie’s heart sank to her stomach like a cold rock. “What the hell? It was here. I swear there was blood. And the air stank — like rotting meat. I even heard flies buzzing.”

  “I believe you, Charlie,” Ben said.

  “You do?”

  “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

  “I—I guess I’m just used to having to argue my point,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “No worries, all right? I’ve got your back, and I’m totally relying on you to see things I can’t.”

  A soft smile crept across her lips and she nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  Ben gave her a nod and then turned back to view the kitchen. “So, there was blood.”

  “A lot of blood. And from the stench, some sort of meat. I don’t even want to imagine what that could mean,” Charlie said.

  “Right. The question is, whose blood? And who cleaned it up?”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said. “There’s no demon dust in here.”

  “Whoever cleaned up, must’ve vacuumed it all up when they were scrubbing this place down.”

  “Maybe,” Charlie said.

  “You have a different thought?” Ben asked.

  “I’m not sure what I think at this point. It’s just weird, that’s all.”

  “Agreed,” Ben said.

  “Did you find anything in the basement?”

  “Not really,” he said.

  “Where do you want to go next?” Charlie asked.

  “Let’s go upstairs. Check the bedrooms. Maybe you’ll get some impressions there.”

  Charlie pursed her lips and nodded. “Fine.”

  Charlie found Will in the master bedroom closet sea
rching the pockets of John Cochran’s suit jackets.

  “What are you looking for?” Charlie asked.

  Will turned and smiled. “People stick stuff in their pockets all the time. Dry cleaning tickets. Receipts. Change. It could lead us to a clue or two. I always like to check a person’s pockets, just to see what sort of story it will tell me.”

  Charlie chuckled. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever found in someone’s pockets?”

  “I was on the trail of a vamp nest about a year ago. One of the victims used to collect the fortunes out of fortune cookies. He had a jar of them, and he’d take them and arrange them on index cards into poetry. I found several index cards in one of his pockets.”

  “Poetry from fortune cookies? Wow. That never would’ve even crossed my mind.”

  “It was actually kinda interesting, if you like poetry that is,” Will said.

  “So I take it you haven’t found any poetry in these pockets,” Charlie asked.

  “‘Fraid not.” He lifted a small key attached to an orange fob. “I did, however, find this.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s a key to a locker in a bus station.”

  “Does it say which station?” She took the key and inspected it.

  “Yep. I’m thinking we know our next stop,” Will said.

  “Great,” Charlie said. She handed the key back to him and turned away from the closet. “Let me finish checking out the rest of this floor and then we’ll go tell Ben.”

  “Deal,” he said and pocketed the key. “I’ll see if anything else turns up in here.”

  Charlie left Will to finish searching the closet and decided to take on the bathroom. She’d seen mirrors used as portals before. If a demon had passed through from his realm to this one, without an invitation, then a mirror seemed like the easiest point of entry.

  Charlie flipped on the light in the master bath. A range of gray glass subway tiles lined the walls of the steam shower and walls behind the modern standalone soaking tub. The white quartz counters had flecks of silver. Square, shallow sink bowls sat on top of the counter in front of a long mirror in a black bamboo frame. Charlie inspected the mirror for signs of spirit travel, such as the silver metal on the back fading or ghostly handprints, but nothing revealed itself to her, and her senses didn’t pick up anything otherworldly. She glanced around the room again and noticed it, like the kitchen, didn’t have a speck of the yellow-gold dust. . No demon had wandered in here. She flipped off the light and moved on to inspect the other bedrooms.

  In the hall leading to the kid’s bedrooms, a wall of photos stared out over the space. Charlie stopped a moment to look at the perfectly-timed candid shots mixed with professional studio photos. Three faded rectangles on the wall pointed to three missing frames. Charlie touched the wall where they’d been, trying to get a sense of what might have happened. An image of John Cochran flashed in her head. He was struggling to open the back of one of the frames. An overwhelming feeling of desperation spread through her fingers, up her arm, and into her torso. Frantic thoughts — his thoughts — raced through her head.

  Have to get them for him. Have to call him. Have to create an offering. Have to…have to…have to.

  The glass to the frame broke in his hand, slicing his palm, slicing through his thoughts. He dropped the frame and sucked on his bloody thumb. The coppery taste on his tongue made his stomach groan.

  Charlie jerked her hand away and took a step back. Something crunched beneath her foot, and she lifted her shoe. She shined her light down, and small glass shards glittered. Whoever had cleaned up the broken frame must have missed it. She knelt to pick it up and found a speck of dried blood. Gently, she touched her thumb to the drop of blood and closed her eyes.

  “Daddy? What are you doing?”

  “Nothing, Camille. Go on, get out of here. Go play downstairs.”

  “That’s my baby picture,” Camille said. “What are you doing with it? Mama said it’s our keepsake.”

  A growl started low in his throat, and he turned on the girl. “I said go play downstairs.”

  The child whimpered and slunk away, being careful to stay out of his reach. She hated him when he was like this. Her tender little foot seared with pain, and she cried out. Camille fell to the floor, her long blonde hair covering her eyes. She bent her knee so she could look at the bottom of her foot. A small shard of broken glass had pierced her heel.

  “Daddy?” Camille looked up at him, but he’d returned to taking the other keepsake frames off the wall. The ones for Carter and Clayton.

  “Daddy, I’m bleeding.” He just ignored her. Camille sniffed and gently plucked the glass from her foot and dropped it on the carpet, then limped away calling for her mother.

  Charlie reached into her pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag. With a sharpie, she’d written Evidence on it. She slipped the piece of glass inside, folded it up, and put it in her pocket. She didn’t know what it meant or why John Cochran would need the baby photos from the missing frames, but maybe with a little help, she would figure it out.

  “Anything upstairs?” Ben asked when Charlie rejoined him in the living room.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Did Will show you the key?”

  “Yeah. We can head over there now, unless you have something else you want us to look at here.”

  Charlie pulled the bag with the glass from her pocket. “I found this on the floor. I had…uh…a vision.”

  “Okay. What’d you see?” Ben asked.

  “I saw the father frantically pulling frames off the walls. He broke the glass from one of them.” She held up the glass as proof and tapped the spot of blood. “This is the girl’s. She stepped on it while he was pulling the frames apart. He didn’t even look at her when she cried out in pain.”

  “And that’s important?” Ben asked.

  “Oh yeah. He’s her father. I don’t know of any parent that would ignore their crying child. I mean, how they react to the crying could run the gamut from compassionate to violent, but he didn’t even flinch. It was like he was –”

  “Possessed?” Ben asked.

  “Maybe. It’s hard to say though. His thoughts kept running through my head. He needed the pictures. For him,” she said.

  “Him who?” Ben asked.

  Charlie shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Do you have a picture of the family I can take home with me?”

  “Um…” Ben looked around and a moment later picked up a framed photo of the family from the mantel. “Take this one.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep,” he said.

  “Didn’t you say the family reported them missing? Do you think they’ll miss this?”

  “Yeah. The husband’s sister did,” Ben said. “I’m sure she won’t mind since we’re looking for the family at her request. I couldn’t find any family on the wife’s side.”

  “That’s really sad. And a little strange, isn’t it?”

  Ben gave her a thoughtful look. “I don’t have any family, so it doesn’t seem that strange to me.”

  “Ben. You have family. You have--” Charlie began.

  “Hey, boss,” Will poked his head into the living room from the foyer. “Nosy neighbor alert.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Ben said. “We should get out of here.”

  “I thought that the DOL worked with local and federal police,” Charlie said.

  “They do,” Ben said. “But discretion is always the name of the game.”

  “Right,” Charlie said.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll handle her. Why don’t you and Will slip out the back door and make your way around to the car.”

  “No problem, boss,” Will said.

  “Fine,” Charlie said.

  Charlie led Will to the kitchen and stopped short when she reached the door. The smell of blood smacked her in the face again. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand out of instinct more than anything else.

  �
��What’s wrong?” Will asked.

  “Nothing.” Charlie lowered her hand and braced herself to enter the kitchen again. She squeezed the grip of her wand, held her breath and stepped through the door, expecting to see blood everywhere.

  Instead, she saw a little girl standing behind the island. The same little girl she’d seen in her vision earlier. The child’s eyes widened at the sight of them, and she hunkered down behind the island.

  “Camille?” Charlie said.

  “Who’s Camille?” Will asked.

  Charlie pressed a finger to her lips and, as quietly as she could, slipped between the counter and the island toward the girl.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Charlie said. “I’m here to help you.”

  Charlie peeked around the corner of the island but found no one there. Her heart sank. That meant only one thing. Camille Cochran was dead. Something pale yellow caught her eye and she moved to where she could see better. At the base of the cabinet was a battered yellow and white teddy bear. Charlie picked it up, brown splotches splattered across the bear’s legs matted the faux fur.

  “What is that?” Will asked. He stood too close to her. She could feel his hot breath on her neck.

  “Could you please take a step back?”

  “Sure.” He held up his hands in surrender and did as she asked. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s me. I just have this thing about personal space.”

  “Because of your…” he twirled his fingers, as if it might help him complete the sentence.

  “My what?” Charlie asked.

  “Your psychic thing.”

  “Ability. Yeah, something like that,” she said, not masking her irritation. “Let’s just get out of here. Okay?”

  “Fine,” Will said. He stepped back to let her pass. “Ladies first.”

  Charlie held onto the bear, wishing she’d brought a larger bag for evidence. She pushed past Will toward the back door.

  The cool, crisp, fresh air wrapped around her, and she stepped out on the back deck to breathe it in.

  “Come on,” Will said. He made his way down the steps to the back yard. “We should hurry up.”