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

by S. M. Blooding

  “He’d kill us.”

  “He’d be mad at you for a minute. Then, you give him sex and he’ll forget all about it.”

  Paige chuckled. She liked the way Margo thought. “I need the address anyway.”

  “We’re going to see Merry Eastwood?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?” She didn’t think she’d said anything out loud. Dexx would have gone ballistic.

  Margo shrugged. “Had a feeling is all.”

  “Oh.” Did Margo have a sense of ESP or something?

  “I’ve got the address.” Margo gestured out the window. “Trust me. Let’s just go.”

  Paige smiled, but put Jackie in drive.

  Dexx raised his hand, his mouth open.

  Almost as if he knew what they’d just planned to do.

  Paige chuckled, letting Jackie’s purr settle through her, putting each nerve at ease. Yeah. They were taking Jackie to Portland. She checked the gas gauge. They wouldn’t even have to make a stop.

  “What are you hoping to get, anyway? Merry Eastwood doesn’t give up much.”

  “You speak as though you know her.”

  Margo narrowed her eyes. “I do. My old alpha worked for her. Some of the things she…asked us to do were…awful.”

  “And that’s the reason you want to side with me? You think I’ll give you a chance to get back at her?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Paige didn’t know.

  No. Actually, she did. Rachel had been her adversary for the last six years. Well, almost six. She’d summoned a demon to deal with Rachel. And then when Rachel had come back into her life, she’d been lucky enough to have others whom she loved help her in striking first.

  Because Paige hadn’t thought that far ahead. And when she had seen Rachel, thanks to Nick, the only thing she’d seen was red. If it hadn’t been for Nick and Leslie and Alma and Dexx and Tru, she wouldn’t have faced off with Rachel.

  And won.

  At least, probably not.

  They drove the rest of the way in quiet. Paige had a lot on her mind and, while Jackie’s purr was doing a lot to settle her nerves, she still needed to get herself under control. She couldn’t risk going into the Eastwood estate and losing her damned mind.

  All Paige had were people telling her how horrible Merry Eastwood was. That wasn’t enough to arrest her. That wasn’t enough to build a case against her.

  She did have all of Lovejoy’s and Rainbow’s files. Maybe if she went over the evidence they’d been able to gather again, she’d come up with something.

  But they would be presenting it to the Council of Elders. Not a human court of law. The Council had to understand what they were facing, that there weren’t real ways of collecting magickal evidence.

  But what if they didn’t? What if Paige needed that planted DNA?

  Paige had enough information to give the Council a good sense that Merry Eastwood was bad news.

  Bad enough to not have to use that planted DNA evidence?

  That was what she hoped to find out in the interview.

  They pulled up to a gate, brick columns on either side of the wrought iron. She pushed the button on the call box and waited.

  “Yes?” a male voice asked.

  “I need to see Merry Eastwood.”

  “And who are you?”

  As if they didn’t know. “This is Captain Whiskey and I have a few questions for Ms. Eastwood in regards to an ongoing investigation.”

  The speaker was silent for a long moment.

  Then, the gates swung open.

  Driving through those gates, Paige got the strong feeling of walking into a lava pit. Had this been a bad idea?

  Maybe. But when was the last time she’d been this uncertain heading into an interview?

  Louisiana. When she’d first rediscovered her history with demons and magick and she was attempting to figure out just how badly she’d been played.

  She drove over a bridge that spilled onto a driveway, which opened into a rock-paved courtyard. The house—if you could call it that—was four times the size of the Whiskey home and advertised opulence.

  Paige was out of her depth here.

  “You need to calm yourself,” Margo said.

  Paige pulled up in front and turned Jackie off, removing the key, her gut twisting. “I need you to keep your cool in there, too. Or I leave you in the car.”

  “Good luck,” Margo said with a fierce smile, “making that happen.”

  Paige gave her a tight smile of her own and got out of the car. She was nervous, anxious, curious, and glad that Margo was there. She didn’t know if Margo realized that. She should probably thank her for going along.

  As long as they didn’t end up a fight or a war or whatever because of Margo.

  Paige pulled out her phone and hit record. She didn’t know how much her phone would pick up, or how long it would record. In a court of law, recording conversations like this was illegal, unless both parties knew they were being recorded.

  Paige didn’t have that luxury. She needed Merry Eastwood to admit to murder, and hoped that the Council of Elders would allow her to submit the evidence. Paige shoved the phone in her bra, hoping it would capture both sides of the conversation better.

  The massive, dark front door opened and Merry Eastwood stepped out. She wore a blue business suit, her skirt tight and accentuating her full hips. Her salt and pepper hair was coifed carefully atop her head and showed more grey than it had the last time Paige saw her.

  “Merry.” Paige hadn’t moved from beyond Jackie’s hood.

  “Paige.” Merry folded her hands in front of her. “Bold move coming here.”

  Hopefully, not a dumb one. “I’m following a lead on a murder investigation.”

  “Murder.” Merry’s eyes remained cool.

  “As if you don’t know.” Paige lowered her chin and smiled at Merry, raising her eyebrows. “You are looking a little older. Are you aging by the year or by the minute? I can’t tell.”

  Merry blinked slowly, the corners of lips tucked in primly. “You are a quick study.”

  Paige lifted one shoulder.

  Merry’s gaze drifted to Margo. “And I see you found the riffraff.”

  Paige hmm’d. “Like you said, I’ve been busy.”

  “Indeed.” Merry turned and gestured toward the door. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in. Can I fix you a drink?”

  The entry was floored in pale grey marble. The columns that supported the level above were made of dark wood. The opulence made Paige feel wildly uncomfortable.

  Merry led them to the right. “Whiskey, perhaps? Neat, I’m guessing.”

  It was tempting to try Merry’s whiskey. Chances were good that she had some stuff in her liquor cabinet that Paige couldn’t afford to even look at, or even know where to look at it. But…she was driving. “I’m fine.”

  Merry smiled and poured two glasses anyway. “Trust me. This conversation will be much easier with something to relax us both.”

  Perhaps she was onto something. Paige accepted her glass, her stomach doing flip flops. Thankfully, her hand didn’t shake. Years of training to be a detective at work. Thank goodness for small favors.

  “Besides,” Merry said, glancing at Margo with a smug smile, “I see you brought your pet. I happen to know she’s capable of driving.”

  Was that all she had to say over the fact Paige’d brought a shifter into the Eastwood home?

  “I suppose there’s no use in pretense.” Merry sighed and turned to Paige. “You know I broke the treaty long before you did.”

  “I am aware.” A slight edge of relief wormed it’s way down Paige’s spine, settling her stomach minutely.

  Merry brought her glass to her nose and inhaled, a pleased smile curving her lips. “Speyside.” She lifted the glass to let Paige know she was talking about the whiskey. “I have someone who brings me a bottle every time he visits.”

  Paige knew her whiskey. Well, the cheap stuff.

&
nbsp; She gave the whiskey in her glass a sniff, blinked and sniffed again. Apples and grapes? This wasn’t like the Apple Crown Royal. This smelled like real apples. And on the second smell, she caught a whiff of coffee and warm leather?

  She gave it a small sip and let the liquid sit along her tongue. She didn’t taste apple. She tasted wood spice, something sharp like cinnamon, maybe? And the remnants of a good cigar. She swallowed and released a breath. Apricot wafted back up her nose.

  Warmth bloomed down her body followed by an electric chill.

  This was by far the best whiskey she’d ever tried in her life.

  Merry gave her smile that almost seemed genuine. “Sit. Please. We have much to discuss.”

  Paige grimaced, glanced at Margo, then sat in one of the padded brown chairs. They hadn’t been built for comfort.

  “Why don’t you tell me,” Merry said, crossing her ankles and sipping at her whiskey, “what brought you here today.”

  No need to beat around the bush. “Murder.”

  Merry finished her sip and swallowed, her eyes closing for a brief moment. “You can’t tie me to anything.”

  “Because you’re too careful?” Her confidence irritated Paige.

  Merry hmm’d, resting her glass on the arm of the chair.

  “You are, but not quite good enough. I have eye witness statements, an entire box of files on your murders.”

  “And no evidence.” Merry’s smile remained pleasant as though they were discussing the weather.

  Paige really just wanted to knock that smile off her face. Well, and get an admission of guilt. “Until today.”

  Merry’s eyes narrowed minutely and the corners of her lips dropped. “If that was the case, I’d be in handcuffs and you’d be arresting me.”

  Paige shook her head. “I’m having them double check, but I have DNA, Merry. Open and shut case.”

  Merry straightened slowly in her chair.

  “You got sloppy after you killed Shelia. You got desperate.”

  Merry took in a breath, her mouth open, but she didn’t speak immediately.

  “You’re getting old. Quickly.” Paige set her whiskey on the table. She really wanted to finish what was in her glass, but she needed a clear head. “Desperate enough to slip.”

  “I haven’t killed in weeks.”

  Not quite the admission she needed.

  If Paige couldn’t get Merry to admit to her own murders, then Paige would have to use the DNA evidence that tied her to the one murder she hadn’t committed. That was unethical.

  Except that Merry would still be going to jail. And, with her rate of aging, it was doubtful Merry would live long enough to make it to the end of the one sentence.

  Would that be enough to absolve Paige’s guilt if she didn’t get a full confession, or if the Council didn’t admit it in their court?

  Merry blinked, resituating her mask of calm. “I know about Leah.”

  Paige sucked in her cheeks and studied the other woman. Was she seriously threatening Leah’s life to get out of a murder charge?

  “She’s my granddaughter.” Merry’s smile twisted, giving those words more weight.

  “And you’re going to kill her like you’ve killed all the female Eastwood heirs. Is that right?”

  “She wouldn’t know how to handle my coven.”

  Again, not a confession. “Mmm. Well, be assured, neither of us are interested in your coven. We have one of our own.”

  “Ah, yes. The Whiskeys. The bottom feeders of the witch world.”

  “If you mean one of the most powerful coven of witches in the witch world, then you’re right.”

  “You’ve tainted your bloodlines until they’re almost unrecognizable.”

  “Right. Because inbreeding is better.” Paige sent Merry a cheeky grin. “Well, except that one time you slept with my Blackman father.”

  All emotions slipped from Merry’s face.

  “Yeah. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my brother-in-law is my actual brother. Ew.”

  “Edwin,” Merry said that name like it twisted her tongue, “was a fool.”

  Ah, finally. Paige had managed to get under Merry’s skin. “A crafty fool if he got into your bed.”

  Merry stared into her whiskey glass for a long moment. “I cannot risk your daughter taking up the Eastwood claim.”

  “You’re not killing my daughter, Merry.”

  Merry met Paige’s gaze. No malice. No hate, or anger, or rage. No bitter darkness.

  “You’re not killing a Whiskey to right your blood spell, either.” Paige met the old witch’s gaze with one of her own. “You’re not restarting a war between the witches and the shape shifters. Your reign of terror will end.”

  “You really think that’s what all of this is about?”

  Frankly, Paige didn’t know what any of this was about.

  Merry raised her head as if coming to a decision. “Come to lunch with me. Leave your pet. We need to talk.”

  Well, that didn’t sound ominous at all.

  Merry had her driver take them to a very nice restaurant in Portland. The greeter knew Merry by name and seated them at ‘her’ table near the back.

  “So, Paige,” Merry folded her hands together and rested her chin on them, “why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself.”

  “We’re not pals, Merry.” Paige was kicking herself for agreeing to going to lunch in the first damned place. And then to be here where there were multiple forks and spoons? The place gave her the creeps in the you’re-too-poor-to-be-here kind of way.

  And. Paige held up a finger inside her own mind as she berated herself. And Merry had succeeded in removing Paige from Margo, her only real protection. Well, aside from her own magick, which wasn’t anything to belittle. Or her gun because, she was pretty certain a bullet would kill a witch.

  This was a dumb idea. “What are we really doing here?”

  Merry applied another one of those seemingly genuine smiles that would be believable if Paige didn’t know Merry’s background. “We need to get to know one another.”

  “Really? We do?” What Paige really needed was a confession. She didn’t know if she was still recording or not. She couldn’t risk checking her phone.

  Merry dropped her hands and leaned back in her chair. “I give you props—that is how you say it now a days, isn’t it?—for lasting this long. You are more formidable than I could have hoped.”

  “Could have hoped?” What the fuck was she talking about?

  “The way you allied yourself with the shifters?”

  So, she did know.

  Merry smiled. “I’ve been watching you for a very long time, Paige.”

  If Merry fucking Eastwood told Paige she had been watching her for a long time because of some damned prophecy—like Sven and Oriel—Paige was going to scream.

  “I need an ally in Portland, Paige.” Merry leaned forward, her expression earnest. “I had hoped that ally would be Alma. But when I barked, she bent.”

  When she’d…what? And then it dawned on her. Merry had shown up on Alma’s doorstep right before Mark and Paige were supposed to get married. She’d told Alma to get Paige to break off the engagement. Alma hadn’t stood up to Merry, but she hadn’t really fought, either. That had been a test?

  Bullshit. “You had your own son murdered, Merry.”

  Merry’s expression was stone. “No, Paige. I did not.”

  Paige got a sudden sinking feeling like she’d just stepped into something too deep even for her. Paige was good at reading people, could tell when they were lying. But Merry’s expression was real. Her body language, her micro-expressions. Was she just a really, really good liar? Or was she really telling the truth? “Then, who did?”

  “Do you think we witches, we three families, are at the top of the magickal world’s food chain?”

  Paige had no damned clue.

  “We’re not. There are others, more powerful than us.”

  “More powerful than
you?” Paige asked derisively.

  Merry didn’t nod. She didn’t blink.

  “What are you trying to tell me?” Paige’d fought stronger forces. “Angels? Demons?” Granted, those fights had ended up more of a draw than a real win, but she counted those draws as wins.

  “You would hope that, wouldn’t you?” Merry’s tone was flat, not condemning or threatening. “You have experience with that level of being.”

  “Yes.” She did. Win, draw, or whatever she wanted to call them, Paige had experience with the most powerful beings on the face of the planet.

  “No.” Merry fingered her silver butter knife. “There are others, more powerful, at play.”

  Paige nearly rolled her eyes, but stopped herself. More powerful than angels and demons? She seriously doubted that. “And who are these people?”

  “I only know what I call them. The Council of Elders.” She stopped as the first course arrived.

  The Council of Elders? Seriously? Merry freakin’ Eastwood was scared of the Council of Elders. That was good. Right? Then, she’d be terrified to know that Paige was building a case to present to them. “I haven’t ordered anything,” Paige said softly to Merry.

  “The order was made as we got in the car. My driver knows I do not like to be kept waiting.” Merry smiled politely at the male server and nodded curtly. “Thank you, Kevin.”

  “Of course.” Kevin backed away crisply.

  “You know the server’s name?” Paige fought a sudden yawn. Her energy was draining fast. Too many nights with not enough sleep. She needed more adrenaline, maybe?

  “I am provided with the same server every time I dine here.”

  Paige released a long breath, glancing around. Must be nice, but absolutely boring. The restaurant was high end, fancy, but more than half of the tables were filled for lunch. “Sounds like someone has trust issues.”

  “You don’t live to be over two hundred years of age and not suffer trust issues. I’ve had more attempts on my life than I care to count.”

  Paige wanted to get this done with. She grabbed the fork on the outside—she’d watched The Princess Diaries—and stabbed at her lettuce. “Tell me you didn’t spend twenty dollars for this salad.”

  Merry smiled and daintily ate her own.