Witches of the West - (An Urban Fantasy Whiskey Witches Novel)

by S. M. Blooding

  Leslie took the director’s hand. “You say that like you’ve got a file on me.”

  “I do.” Lovejoy hooked her thumb on her belt. “I have a file on each of you.” She cleared her throat. “Including Bobby.”

  Paige’s hackles rose.

  Leslie took a step closer to the director, her shoulders tight, her hands flexed and ready. “What does that mean?”

  “It means—” Lovejoy’s eyes widened as she looked behind Paige’s shoulder.

  Paige didn’t need to see behind her to know Dexx was partially shifted. She reached behind her and took his fingers.

  “It means,” Lovejoy said again, shifting her gaze to Paige, “that we act fast when it comes to studying your families.”

  “What do you know about my son?” Paige asked softly.

  “That he’s three months old. That you gave birth to him, but…” She leaned forward and whispered. “You were never pregnant.”

  A chill swept down Paige’s body.

  “What we don’t know,” Lovejoy continued, “is how that happened. We have eyewitnesses that swear you were pregnant in Louisiana, but we have video surveillance that shows you were not.”

  Shit.

  “But we don’t care.” Lovejoy leaned away, but kept her voice low. “As long as he’s not a threat to the population.”

  “He is not,” Paige said, her voice just as low.

  “So, he’s not a demon?”

  “What?” Where the fuck would she get that idea from? “No.”

  “Oh.” Lovejoy’s shoulders slumped a little and a slight frown marred her brow. “Well, whatever. My hope is that you can trust me eventually and tell me.”

  Paige wanted to laugh. Right. Yeah. That was likely to happen. “Why?”

  “Because I’d like to include it in my file.” Lovejoy’s eyes widened, the corners of her lips rose minutely in an open expression.

  How very…helpfully clinical.

  Lovejoy quirked her lips, her eyes losing some of their light. “Because I’m hoping to work with you.”

  So, had she been pulling Paige’s leg with her first statement? Paige struggled to get a good read on the director. “I don’t have a job.”

  “I—” Lovejoy licked her lips. “—have an idea about that.”

  “I can’t work at the FBI.” She didn’t even know how to apply, but she was fairly confident that there were tests she wouldn’t pass.

  “You’re right. I can’t hire you as an agent.”

  That could have been handy, however.

  “Too much red tape. But I’d really like to continue this conversation in my office.”

  Okay, Paige had to admit she was a little less…nervous, she guessed, with the idea of continuing the conversation in Lovejoy’s office. “Why?”

  “Because,” Lovejoy balled her hand into a fist, “there’s something I need to show you.”

  The mystery wasn’t helping Lovejoy’s case.

  “Fine.” She took a step closer. “I want to show you the files we have on the Eastwoods and the Blackmans.”

  “Oh.” Oh. “Oh.” That could be really handy.

  “Really?” Dexx asked.

  Lovejoy held up a hand. “Just Paige.”

  “We’re going with her.” Leslie stepped up to the director, not quite nose-to-nose, but nearly.

  “I would like to invite you all, but I need to get to know your family better before I can trust you.” Lovejoy looked over Paige’s shoulder.

  To the alley. To the crime scene. With a killer who was a witch. Probably. Maybe. It was possible.

  “Okay.” Paige needed more information and Lovejoy had absolved a lot of Paige’s previous concerns. Paige gestured to Leslie. “Everything will be fine. I’ll let you know what I discover.”

  “I’m going with you,” Dexx growled.

  “Please don’t.” Paige turned to him. When he growled like that, it was less Dexx and more animal spirit. “Dottie? Please. Just go home with Leslie.” She didn’t even know if talking to his animal spirit without using shifter gaze would even work. “Please.”

  Dexx growled. Frowned. Then, shook his head and took a step back. “Sorry. Don’t know what came over me.”

  “Alpha.” Paige shrugged. “Keys?”

  “To Jackie?”

  “I’m gonna need a ride home.”

  “Take Leslie’s car.”

  “The car I just bought?” Leslie asked. “Uh, no. My car has AC.”

  Although, it wasn’t really needed. The sun was up, but the air was pleasant.

  “I’ll make sure she has a ride home,” Lovejoy said.

  Leslie glowered, then rummaged in her purse. “Fine. Take my car. I’m parked in front of the coffee shop. And,” she said, glaring at Dexx, “I hate you.”

  Dexx ignored her, his focus on Paige.

  Paige settled a smile on her face and took Leslie’s keys. “I’ll be fine. Remember? I’m a witch. And a powerful one.”

  Leslie glanced at him, then took his arm. “Come on. Let’s get back to our kids. We have a lot of unpacking to do.”

  He resisted her pulls, but eventually followed.

  Lovejoy smiled almost painfully at Paige. “Newly shifted?”

  Paige nodded.

  “Powerful spirit animal?”

  Paige nodded again, but with a long sigh.

  “Alpha?”

  “Appears to be happening.”

  “That could be trouble.”

  “You’re telling me.” And she didn’t even know the half of it. Well, she might. Paige needed to see what she had in her files.

  Lovejoy chuckled and bowed her head. “Yes. Well. Do you know where we’re located?”

  After exchanging phone numbers and address information, Paige went in search of Leslie’s car. The Acura MDX was right where Leslie said it would be. She started the blue SUV remotely and slid into the driver’s seat.

  How the hell could Leslie afford this? The car was pure luxury.

  Paige pulled up in front of the FBI building. The Whiskey house was just a few miles away. Huh.

  Lovejoy stood out front on the stairs, waiting. “Ready?” she asked when Paige joined her.

  Paige sincerely hoped this wasn’t a trap of some sort.

  They cleared the security area and Paige was signed in and badged before they went to the second floor and Lovejoy’s office.

  Lovejoy perched on the arm of the chair in front of her desk. “I’m glad you’re in Portland, Ms. Whiskey.”

  Paige didn’t know how long she was going to be able to stay there, though. No job.

  “Are you done moving?”

  Yeah. Paige could hope. “I don’t know, actually.”

  “Oh.” Lovejoy frowned. “Why?”

  “Because we can’t get jobs.”

  “Merry Eastwood.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, if you’ll stay for a bit, I can relocate Special Agent Scott to Portland as well. You seemed to work well with him before.”

  Paige narrowed her eyes. Special Agent Jack Scott had helped out in Louisiana and again in Denver. They’d just discovered he was a reaper. “So, you’re the reason he was able to travel everywhere?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why he was able to transfer to Denver.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re going to transfer him here?”

  “Yes, but I really need you to stop moving because he’s becoming a red flag.”

  That was an issue, especially if they needed to fly under the radar.

  “We really need you.”

  Honestly, Paige was a tired of hearing that. She was just a crap mother with a crap non-job who barely kept her head above water. The only thing making her special was the power of her magick, the damned door to Hell in her soul, and the animal spirit she housed. “Why?”

  “You’re special, Ms. Whiskey.” Lovejoy held out her hands, palm up. “You’re the only witch in recorded history that has been chosen by the animal s
pirits.”

  Great. So, that’s the only reason the FBI needed her skillset. “That’s great?”

  “It is. You’ll meet paranormals no witch has even known about. Like firebirds.”

  Which was exciting for her. Except all that meant was that she had more responsibility, if she so chose, and no new way to handle the crap life she’d dug for herself. She had her name on the mortgage. A mortgage she couldn’t help pay for.

  Lovejoy spread her hands. “You can do what no one else has ever done before.”

  Pay the rent? “What’s that?”

  Lovejoy shrugged, a hopeful lopsided grin on her lips. “Unite the paranormal community.”

  Sounded good in theory. “It depends on if we can figure out how to survive here.”

  “Well, that I have an idea for.” Lovejoy clasped her hands together. “You know Chuck de Luca.”

  Boy, did she ever. What kind of loan was she going to have to ask for just to stay afloat? What kind of favor would she need? And what would that cost her? “Yes.”

  “He’s the other major political force in the area, besides the Sisterhood and the Brotherhood.”

  “The what?” Paige vaguely recalled hearing about the sisterhood of something. She couldn’t remember exactly what.

  “They’re two factions of the paranormal community.” Lovejoy held up a hand to stop Paige’s questions and bowed her head. “You really should not know more than that.”

  “Hmm.” As a paranormal and not a shape shifter, that meant that Lovejoy was part of one of those two factions. So, maybe Paige wasn’t meant to bridge as much as Lovejoy said.

  “The two of them have split the Portland area practically in half. Merry still owns most of the banks around her, but Chuck has some pretty good pull, too.”

  So, another loan to a man she was already indebted to the eyeballs to. Great.

  “He’s a good man and a good leader.” Lovejoy flared her fingers, her lips tight. “He won’t demand your loyalty, not in an investigation. He will demand you be fair.”

  Only time would tell on that one. “I need to see that for myself.”

  “Understood.” Lovejoy stood and walked to the back wall. She tugged on a projection screen and it rose, exposing investigation notes.

  “This doesn’t look like a file.”

  “It isn’t.” Lovejoy turned to the board. “I have a feeling they’re all connected to Merry Eastwood, but I have no way of tying her to the case.”

  “Case? As if we could try her?”

  Lovejoy nodded, her lips tight.

  Wait. What? Paige stared at the board. “How?”

  “The Council of Elders. They preside over all of us, except for witches.”

  Ah, the real reason Paige was an asset. She would be able to bring the witches back under the same rules the paranormals followed. Good? Bad?

  Maybe good. Yeah, okay, the Whiskeys weren’t bad. Mostly. There was Rachel, but, in the full light of things, even she wasn’t that awful. She just sucked as a human being.

  But Merry Eastwood? Eldora Blackman? Eldora had kidnapped Leslie, Leah, and Mandy. There had to be rules.

  “And if we build a case? You can take it to them and what? She’ll be sentenced with…”

  “Imprisonment.”

  Paige chuckled. Imprison a witch that old. Cute.

  “It’s a pretty strong prison, Paige. It will hold her.”

  It was a better idea than going to war with the woman and ending her life. “Walk me through it.”

  Lovejoy pointed to a picture of a woman, mid-twenties, maybe, dried blood on her forehead, suffocation trauma to the face. “For the past hundred years, there have been bodies turn up. Different methods of murder every time. Different cut points. Different locations. Different disposal systems.”

  “How are they linked?”

  “They’re all unsolved, and in each of the unofficial case files, a weird smell has been reported.”

  “Smell?”

  “Flowers.”

  Interesting. “Did anyone ever report hearing a woman singing?”

  Lovejoy smiled. “This is why I’m glad you’re here. Yes. The other connection between all the victims is that the people around them suffer from a sort of disorder where they appear to be turned off.”

  “All children?”

  “And their mothers, but the children go first.” Lovejoy turned to Paige. “In some cases, the kids are related to the victims. Sometimes, they just know the victim. One of the victims,” she pointed to a picture of another woman about mid-way across the board, “was an elementary school teacher. Eighteen kids and their mothers were affected.”

  “What about the latest teacher?”

  “Shelia Blackman?” Lovejoy nodded. “So far, we know of five kids. There could be over a dozen before it’s all over.”

  Chilling thought. “And you never caught the killer.”

  “We never had a witch investigating it before.”

  “So, you’ve determined it’s a witch. It’s not another paranormal?”

  “There are a couple of others it could be. We tracked down those leads, but no. I’m confident this isn’t a paranormal and that this is a witch.”

  “Why Merry Eastwood?”

  “You mean, besides the fact that she’s almost two hundred years old?”

  So, the FBI knew about that. Scary and interesting at the same time.

  “Do you know the kind of magick involved with that?”

  “Not well.” Paige perched on the edge of the desk. “Blood magick? Black magick?”

  Lovejoy turned, her expression open. “But you know black magick.”

  “Um, no.” Paige frowned.

  Lovejoy frowned. “But you summon demons.”

  Paige chuckled. “What I do isn’t black magick.”

  “But other witches would use black magick to summon demons.”

  “Other witches can’t open the door to Hell.”

  Lovejoy straightened, her eyes narrowed. “Really?”

  Paige needed to play a little more cautiously. “Really. So, no, I don’t know much about either forms of magick, but I can track it. I think.”

  “I hope so.” Lovejoy quirked her lips and frowned at the board. “Merry Eastwood doesn’t hide how old she is. She doesn’t fake her death and then pop back up again with a different alias.”

  “You track that?”

  “We have to. The people capable of living that long are typically predators.”

  “Vampires.”

  “Among others.” Lovejoy folded her arms over her chest. “We know about the treaty between the witches and the shifters. We even have a lot of the history behind the war. We also know she has no problems breaking that treaty whenever it suits her.”

  Then why were they even pussy-footing around the whole treaty issue in the first place?

  “She’s very powerful.”

  “I got that.”

  “But if she’s really killing people, we need to put her away.”

  Paige folded her hands in front of her. “And where would you put her? I mean, your prison. How would it keep her in?”

  Lovejoy ran her tongue along her teeth, her gaze down for a moment. “We have a facility where we keep a lot of interesting criminals.”

  “Like witches?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have a lot of those?”

  “We have a couple.”

  Paige didn’t like the idea of that. But, just like everyone else, some witches were bad. What did you do with them when they were caught?

  “Iron and shale.”

  Paige frowned up at the director. “What?”

  “That’s how you keep a witch from using her abilities. You surround her in iron and shale.”

  That didn’t sound quite right.

  “No water. No windows. No fire.”

  “So, a box. Really.”

  “Yes.”

  That didn’t sound pleasant.

  “How am I supposed to
help with the investigation? I need a job.”

  “Talk to Chuck.” Lovejoy rubbed her nose. “Just…talk to Chuck. He has an idea.”

  An idea. Great.

  How much more was she going to owe him?

  With Lovejoy’s case file on Merry Eastwood in her possession—hell, with the files Lovejoy had on all the Eastwoods and the Blackmans—Paige returned home. The drive was short and cool. A storm was rolling in, dark blue clouds hovering overhead. She drove through the canopy of trees. The house greeted her, warm, inviting.

  Home.

  If she could just figure out how to keep it that way.

  Talk to Chuck, Lovejoy had said. He had an idea, Lovejoy had said.

  Chuck. Everything about their new move revolved around Chuck. Except Tru’s job.

  And if she discovered that Tru had gotten his job because of Chuck? Then what?

  It made sense, frankly. The offer had been too good. She knew that IT paid well, but that well? No. He’d been given enough of a bonus to relocate the entire household, enough to put a down payment on the loan to rebuild the Whiskey home. Enough for Leslie to get…this car? This was an expensive car. With a brand new baby?

  Paige wasn’t paying hospital bills for having given birth to Bobby, and she was still broke. Babies were expensive.

  No. The more things she added up, the more she realized just how in debt to Chuck they were.

  And how was he going to ask for that debt to be paid?

  She was heading into…she didn’t even know what with the Eastwoods. Everyone said it would be war, but what would that war look like? She’d already survived demons. And angels. She’d even survived a battle of shapeshifters being controlled by demons. So, what would this look like?

  She hoped it looked like women pulling each other’s hair. Magickally.

  With no one dying.

  Because with that war, she didn’t have to worry about how she was going to pay off a debt this big to a player they barely knew.

  She parked Leslie’s car next to Dexx’s. She really needed to start driving her own, but after riding around in Jackie and then driving Leslie’s, Paige was in car envy. Her little Mazda was just…well, it served its purpose. It got the kids to school and her to work and it didn’t die. Good and reliable. That’s what it was.

  Yeah. Car envy.

  Once inside, she listened for the family. Voices. Leslie. Dexx. Tru. Tyler.

  Kitchen.