by Judith Post
"What do you think he does with them?" He only took bad children. Did he punish them? How?
Hatchet's jaw tightened. "Damned if I know, but no matter how bad they are, they don't deserve to be grabbed. If there's a way to stop him, besides burning down the city like the demon did, I mean to find it."
They didn't talk for the rest of the trip. Babet felt relieved when they turned a bend and she saw the settlement of brightly painted houses with dark trims. It reminded her of a Halloween village. That thought caught her up short. Halloween. One week away. Could that make a difference with the bogeyman?
When Hatchet pulled to the curb in front of Nadine's house, the voodoo priestess was waiting for them on her porch. Evangeline stood by her side.
"We've been waiting for you." Nadine looked Hatchet up and down. She took a deep breath, tasted it, then frowned. "What are you? Not a witch, not a Were, and not a vampire. Almost human."
Hatchet returned the favor, taking his time to study Nadine. "I don't ask about your magic. You don't get to ask about mine."
"Hmmm, a mystery man." Nadine's black eyes glittered. "Just so. You're here about the dark spirit that walks the streets. Manette told me about it."
Babet tried not to grimace at the name Manette. That particular spirit, with her downturned lips and greed for gossip, rubbed her the wrong way, but she couldn't deny Manette's usefulness.
"What did she tell you?" Hatchet asked.
"That there's a powerful spirit walking River City, one that visited here many lives ago." Nadine looked at Babet. "Do you know what it is?"
"A bogeyman."
Evangeline's lips curved, as though she were going to laugh. "Are you trying to frighten us? Will you tell me he's hiding in my closet next?"
Nadine went very still. "The old ones used to tell us stories at bedtime. They swore they were true. I was never sure if I believed them."
"You never told me those stories." Evangeline frowned at her mother.
"I didn't want to speak of him, to give him power. I didn't want him to come here."
"Well, he has. And I don't know if witch magic will affect him." Babet glanced around the settlement, at the women who'd left their houses to stand on their front stoops, hands on hips, to watch them. "You work with spirits. Can a spirit grab a child and stuff him in a bag?"
"Voodoo spirits can't. They're insubstantial, like mists. But Dongola Misa can."
"Dongola…what?" Hatchet looked up and down the streets too. He narrowed his eyes, studying the array of women.
"The name the old storyteller gave him. His name in the Congo. The creature with scary eyes. He takes bad children who are out past bedtime."
Hatchet blew out a breath of frustration. "You have women from every ethnic group here. Almost every magic and religion should be covered. Do any of you know how to send him away? Better yet, some way to get the kids back?"
As one, every woman in the settlement shook their heads no.
Babet fidgeted with her watch. "It's close to the end of October…."
Nadine finished for her. "Almost All Hallow's Eve. He'll grow stronger then, all spirits do. You'd better take care."
Damn. Babet was hoping she was wrong. But the veil between worlds thinned near October thirty-first, and magic could slip and slide from one world to another.
Hatchet jammed his fists into his pockets. "We still don't know how to stop him, and you're telling me things could get worse?"
Nadine gave a slim smile. "You asked for information."
"Yeah, I did." He turned on his heel and started for the car.
Babet gave a genuine smile. "Thanks. Maybe if we keep trying, everything will add up to something." And she hurried after Hatchet.
He sat in the car, facing straight ahead. His grip on the steering wheel made his knuckles turn white. No fussing. No fretting. But he was plenty frustrated, Babet could tell.
She slid in beside him. "Come on. You're a cop. How many times do you get answers you need on the first or second try?"
It was meant as a pep talk. All it earned her was a dirty look.
Without a word, Hatchet pulled from the curb, turned around, and headed back toward River City. They drove for a good twenty minutes before he asked, "What next?"
She'd been thinking about that herself. "Lillith's. She's the original succubus. She's been around longer than any of us. And she's a demon. She might know about shadows and spirits."
"Does she talk to you?" Hatchet sounded surprised.
"Why wouldn't she?"
"She goes all one-syllable on me."
"Not this time. She'll want the bogeyman out of River City as much as we do."
He grunted. "I ain't her type."
Babet had never thought about it. "Whose type are you?"
"Women with superior taste."
That made her laugh. With some of her tension released, she looked out the window and enjoyed the scenery for the rest of the trip. The river had its own fresh smell—muddy water and all. And a jumble of trees lined the road. Most still kept their leaves, though not all of them were green. Some glowed burnt copper.
When they reached the city, traffic slowed. Streets and sidewalks were congested. Hatchet drove to Babet's yellow bungalow before turning toward Lillith's lilac Victorian. He parked in the small lot behind her brothel. She wouldn't appreciate an unmarked car sitting at her curb.
Babet usually took extra care with her appearance when she visited Lillith, so she felt acutely out of place when she entered the plush foyer. Her hair was windblown. She wore no make-up, and she hadn't painted her toenails for over a week. The rose-colored polish was chipped.
Colleen came to greet them at the sound of the front bell. She stopped and stared when she saw Babet. "What happened to you?" Then her gaze settled on Hatchet. "Look what the cat dragged in."
"Very funny." Babet wasn't in the mood. "We came to see Lillith."
Colleen's eyes darkened with suggestive innuendoes. "Is your friend looking for a special way to spend his evening?"
Hatchet opened his wallet and showed her his badge. "I'm here on official business."
"Business is our middle name." Colleen ran a hand over her copper curls and fluttered her emerald green eyes. "We're all professionals. You can't go wrong here."
Babet couldn't help smiling. Colleen had purposely misunderstood him, just to annoy him. Instead, Hatchet looked her slowly up and down. "Including you?"
Colleen gave him an assessing stare. "Especially me."
"Then somebody's going to be really lucky, but not me." Hatchet replaced his badge. "I have to catch a bogeyman."
"That's a new one. When did he show up?"
"When kids started disappearing. We're hoping Lillith can help us catch him."
Colleen motioned toward the stairs and led them to Lillith's private chambers. Babet noticed that she positioned herself directly in front of Hatchet, making sure his eyes were level with the beautiful curve of her ass. It surprised her. Babet had never thought of Hatchet that way. He was always the guy who woke her up and bullied her into helping him on a case.
Babet glanced at him as they waited for Lillith to invite them into her rooms. Not especially handsome. Light-colored hair cut so short, it was almost nonexistent. More intimidating than anything. But he was tall and lean…and intimidating.
"See them in," came Lillith's voice, and Colleen opened the door to usher them inside.
The room could be in Architectural Digest—one of the sitting areas in some French castle with gilt ceilings and colorful murals. Antiques formed sitting areas, and Oriental carpets warmed marble floors.
Hatchet grimaced at his surroundings.
"You don't like it?" Colleen asked, watching him.
"Too fussy."
She laughed. "And what style do you prefer?"
"Clean. Modern."
"No nonsense," Colleen said.
"Things don't make the man," Hatchet countered.
Lillith waved Colleen awa
y, then turned her attention to Hatchet. "No nostalgia? No sentimental pieces for you?"
Colleen waited at the door to hear his reply.
"I travel light. Things weigh you down."
"And people?" Lillith asked.
"They're worth the bother."
Colleen nodded, then left the room. Lillith turned her attention to Babet. "River City has a problem, I hear."
"A bogeyman who steals children. People say he looks like shadows, and he carries a sack on his back. My coven's never met his kind of magic. Neither has the voodoo settlement. We don't know how to stop him or force him to leave."
"So you came to me, a demon. Yes, I know about shadows. I can shift to travel, but I can't accomplish anything in that form. It's just to take me from one place to another. You say this bogeyman can grab his victims when he's a shadow?"
Hatchet answered. "According to witnesses, that is his form. We're not sure he changes."
"Unusual." Lillith raised her fingers and inspected each perfect nail. She looked pointedly at Babet's chipped polish. "I don't see how he can affect something physical when he's not."
"Unless…." Babet gripped Hatchet's arm, trying to collect her thoughts. "What if he changes them?"
"Ah!" Lillith followed her reasoning. "He could have a magic that we don't understand."
"Maybe he makes them shrink or melt..or…" Babet shrugged. "..something."
Hatchet was about to ask a question when the door opened and Virgine entered the room, carrying a tray. At the sight of a stranger, he pressed his lips together and grew quiet.
Lillith tried to put him at ease. "This is Virgine. She works here. I thought you might be hungry."
Babet's mouth watered. Tiny cakes and tarts crowded together on the tray, along with a silver coffee pot and China cups.
The food didn't distract Hatchet. "Not as a prostitute." He winced as he realized what his words implied. "She's a vampire."
"I employ vampires," Lillith told him. "Some mortals find them irresistible. Virgine, however, wishes to be a servant rather than a professional."
Hatchet stared at her. She was plain, yes. Downright drab. But experts could change that. "Why? You'd make more money in the trade."
"I have enough money." Virgine poured hot coffee into a fragile cup to pass to him. "My father sees to that."
"Your father knows you're working in a brothel?" Hatchet sounded scandalized. He should know better. He was a cop, but an old-fashioned one. It made Babet wonder how old he really was.
"He sent me here to keep me safe. I'm Beltran's heir, the most powerful vampire in Europe."
Virgine said it as though she was telling them it was a nice day, just as a matter of fact. Hatchet's scowl deepened. "And why would he think you're safer here than in Europe, where he can protect you?"
"Because no one knows me here." Virgine locked gazes with him. "And they won't hear it from you, will they?"
"The last thing I need is an enraged father—a ruling vampire—storming his way through River City." Hatchet grimaced. "I suppose Lillith takes good care of you."
"This whole house protects her," Lillith assured him, "and so do any of my allies who know her bloodline."
Hatchet didn't answer immediately. He was doing the same thing Babet was, trying to decide how safe that made Virgine. He gave a quick nod, and so did Babet. Lillith didn't just employ female prostitutes. Her lilac-colored house was full of powerful paranormals who enjoyed meeting clients for fun and frolics.
Hatchet returned to the matter of the bogeyman. "This guy's different than most paranormals. He seems to think he has a duty to perform, to punish wayward children. It's not about money or power."
"He'll find no children here. I don't hire them." Lillith handed Babet a plate filled with mouth-watering delicacies. "I know a lot of brothels make money from defiling innocents, but my house isn't one of them."
To Babet's surprise, Hatchet reached over and nabbed one of the cherry tarts on her plate. He took a bite and said, "Excellent. My compliments to the cook."
Lillith's brows rose in wonder. "Are you a gourmand, Mr. Hatchet?"
His eyes glittered at that appellation. "Mr. Hatchet? I'm no food critic, but I do enjoy quality. Like—the butter in this crust and the sour cherries instead of canned."
Babet turned to stare at him too. Was this the Hatchet she knew and worked with?
Virgine gave a happy, little exhalation. "Do you taste…?"
"The almond flavoring?" he finished for her. "A perfect touch."
Virgine's cheeks flushed. One compliment, and she looked like she might float away.
Lillith shook her head. "Pastries aside, if we can help you in any way, I'm as anxious for you to rid River City of a bogeyman as you are. If we can be assistance, please let me know."
It was a dismissal. Both Hatchet and Babet heard it in Lillith's voice. They rose and started for the door.
"Wait. Mr. Hatchet, you should take this with you." Lillith held out a small card for him.
He crossed the room to take it and frowned.
Lillith explained. "Colleen's taken an interest in you. It's her private number."
"I doubt I could afford…."
Lillith smiled. "I believe she'd consider this social, not business."
Hatchet tucked the card into his shirt pocket. "I'll keep that in mind."
Babet followed him down the stairs, out the door, and to his car. "It's silly for you to drive me home," she said. "It's a short walk."
"You did me a favor. I'll drive you home." When he pulled to the curb in front of her bungalow, he held out his hand for a formal handshake. "You did everything you could to help us. Thank you."
She squirmed, uneasy with his compliment. "I want the bogeyman gone too."
"Everyone does, but most people won't get involved. You did. You always do. That's why we come to you."
She didn't know what to say. She opened her door and got out of the car. Hatchet's intensity could rattle her. "Good luck with everything. Hope you catch a break."
"Luck isn't enough. It takes hard work too." And he pulled away.
Babet let out a deep breath before she unlocked her front door and stepped into her house. When she was with Hatchet, she felt like she had to be on her best behavior, at the top of her game. It made her tired. She went to the kitchen for a glass of wine.
* * *
Shooing thoughts of bogeymen away, Babet drove to the fish market on the pier before Prosper got home. She intended to have a nice night. A bucket of blue crabs almost guaranteed it. She put them in her chest freezer before plunging them in the boiling water—as humane as mass murder got. Then she melted butter and added seasonings for a dip. She put a round of crusty bread on the bread board and started chopping greens for a salad. By the time Prosper stepped through the back door, their meal was ready.
"Damn, it smells good in here." He went to the refrigerator for a beer.
Babet stepped into his embrace. "What did you do while Hatchet and I interviewed people?"
He grimaced. "I visited friends and families of the victims. Talk about a crappy day."
Babet led him to the table. They didn't chat while they enjoyed their food. Crab deserved to be relished. When they finished, and the dishwasher was loaded, they headed to the back courtyard with Morgana close on their heels.
Once they settled, Babet asked, "Did you learn anything?"
"Only that everyone felt more relief than sorrow with these three kids gone. Can't say that I blame them. We're not talking good family dynamics here."
"I'm guessing Hatchet already told you everything we did." Babet closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the mid-seventy temperatures. When she opened them, her toenails were in full view, chipped polish and all. Ich. Lillith had every right to give her grief about them.
Prosper's voice sounded serious. "I didn't grow up on bogeyman stories. Weres worry more about pack laws and hierarchy. Glad I missed the monster in the closet bit."
&nbs
p; "Some storytellers put him under the bed."
"Not much better."
Babet reached for his hand, happy to connect with him. "Witches don't tell those stories either. I'd never heard of them until Hennie said that he'd visited here before and taken lots of children."
Prosper gave her fingers a squeeze. "Lord, I love touching you, but I'm almost dead tonight. Bone-tired."
"Me too. Let's call it quits early." She paused and felt a tad sneaky when she asked, "Had Hatchet heard about him before?"
"I don't think so."
"Where did he grow up—around here?"
Prosper chuckled—a low rumble. "Don’t have a clue. He doesn't tell us anymore than he's probably told you."
She sighed. "It was worth a try."
"A good attempt, but won't work. No one knows much about Hatchet, even people who've known him for a long time."
Her body sagged. Not disappointment, just out of energy. "Come on. We stayed up late last night. I need some sleep."
Prosper didn't argue. He rose and pulled her out of her chair, then put his hands on her hips to steer her toward the bedroom. "Sorry, Morgana," he told the snake. "We're not good company tonight. See you in the morning."
They closed the door, undressed, and a few minutes later, they were both asleep.
* * *
Something was making a lot of noise, a constant pounding. Babet opened her eyes, but the room was still dark. Prosper had pulled a pillow over his head, still sleeping. The noise continued. She pushed herself out of bed and went to the hallway. Morgana's head was bobbing so fast, it made Babet jittery. She started toward the front door. Morgana slithered ahead of her.
The closer Babet got to the foyer, the louder the noise. But this was more like a desperate scratching. That's when she realized that Morgana, thumping against their bedroom door, was what woke her. This noise was something different.
She flipped on the porch light and moved the front curtain to look outside. Virgine was slumped against the door, scratching to be let in.
Adrenaline pumping, Babet came wide awake. She flew to the door and yanked it open. Virgine half fell inside. The poor girl looked like she'd fought a war, lost, and then crawled here.
