“Wash hair for Rue.” He indicated the mass of bubbles fizzing on his head. “Hair sticky.”
“He’s all yours.” Clay swept out his arm. “Enjoy.”
The declaration brightened the daemon’s eyes, and he puffed out his chest. “Rue mine.”
“Rue belongs to no one,” I corrected him. Again. “The bracelet Asa gave me isn’t a dog collar.”
There was no if found, please return to owner information embedded in it. Or was there?
The only thing sneakier than a daemon was a fae, and just my luck, Asa was both.
“Tell me more about the case.” I led the daemon back to the sink. “What’s on the docket?”
The daemon folded almost in half for me to flip his hair over his head into the shallow sink basin, where I began to pay for each and every thought I’d ever had about playing with Asa’s hair as I rinsed out the suds.
“Remember when I said our case involved a wendigo in the Appalachians?”
During one of my required weekly check-ins with my team, Clay had filled me in on the details of their case. I was their sounding board, though it didn’t involve black magic. Therefore, it shouldn’t have involved me.
That assignment had called them away on Halloween night, hours after we closed the copycat case.
Poor Colby had been heartbroken. She still pouted because they left before taking her trick-or-treating.
“I remember being grateful I didn’t have to fool with it, yes.”
Wendigos resembled emaciated corpses more than anything else, with tufts of wiry fur on their ears and down their spines. Their jaws were alligator-strong, and their rows of serrated teeth belonged on sharks. Their fingers were triple jointed, and their nails cut open their prey with scalpel-like precision.
And they stank. Phew, boy, did they stink. Like durian fruit but meatier.
After I wrung out the daemon’s hair as best I could, I helped him straighten to avoid an epic hair flip that would have splattered water all over creation.
“Yes, well.” Clay mashed his index finger to his thumb. “We have a tiny problem.”
“Obviously.” I edged past the daemon, who admired himself in the mirror. “What kind of problem?”
“The wendigo is back.”
“Are you sure it’s the same one?” They tended to travel in packs. “It could be a clanmate or its mate.”
“Ace tore off its head.” Clay let me digest that. “This is the wendigo, spotted in town two days later.”
Removing his phone from his pocket, he showed me the screen. The wendigo’s neck was a mass of black sutures. I enlarged the photo to be sure I wasn’t imagining things, but sure enough, a row of tall stitches appeared to be anchoring its head onto its body.
“Who would offer a wendigo medical care?” I chewed my bottom lip. “That’s downright bizarre.”
They were humanoid in shape, with limited speech capabilities, but they were animalistic in thought and behavior. You couldn’t communicate with them. Their language wasn’t replicable with our vocal cords.
It was a whole thing, decades ago, to teach them basic signs, but they were too food motivated and often ate their instructors the second the treats ran out. Needless to say, that experiment didn’t last long.
“See, that’s the problem.” He pocketed his phone. “This was done postmortem.”
While most supernatural races would be dead as a doornail after decapitation, there were a few able to regenerate if they got their head back on their shoulders fast enough. Wendigos were one of them. They were so close to dead, forced to feast on organ meat to survive, they were nearly impossible to kill.
But what he claimed surpassed even a wendigo’s healing abilities. “Are you thinking necromancy or…?”
“The Society for Post-Life Management only involves itself in necromancer and vampire affairs.”
Seeing as how the race of undead humans was their creation, really, they only cared about themselves. I didn’t mind that. It took two factions off the board, for the most part. Black Hat only stepped in when an issue arose that the Society failed to handle to the director’s satisfaction.
Bonus for us, the Society didn’t know about Black Hat, or at least not the scope of our operation.
A necessary evil when tasked with policing the agencies responsible for punishing their own.
“That leaves black witches.” I should have led with that. “I assume the director signed off on this?”
“You are our black magic consultant.” A twinkle brightened his eyes. “He couldn’t very well say no.”
He could, but he wouldn’t. He wanted me invested, wanted me active. Simply put, he wanted me back.
“What, exactly, is this zombigo doing in Appalachia?”
“Eating people.” He rolled a hand. “Rewind.” He tilted his head. “Did you say zombigo?”
“Um, yes?” I didn’t see the problem. “What would you call a resurrected wendigo?”
“Nasty.”
A hefty thud interrupted our bickering, and I pivoted to find Asa sprawled across the tile, unconscious. Boxer briefs stretched to their limits, the fabric puddled around his lean waist, dipping low on his hips.
And no, I was not ogling him. I was assessing him. Visually. For medical purposes.
“Ace?” Clay brushed past me to crouch over his partner. “You okay, buddy?”
Peridot-green eyes blinked open on the ceiling, and a line appeared between his brows. “Where…?”
“You’re in my shop.” I shifted my weight, awkward in his presence. “Have been, for an hour or so.”
For all that the daemon claimed me as his, he didn’t give me the tingles.
Asa, on the other hand, blasted shivers over my skin in a prickling wave that stole my breath.
“The last thing I remember was filing our expense report.” He touched his scalp. “Why is my hair wet?”
“You and Rue got into a food fight,” Clay explained while examining him, “with that twenty-dollar cupcake you insisted we pick up on our way in.”
“Twenty dollars?” I did the math in my head and swooned at the figure. “Per cupcake?”
“Who buys cupcakes?” Clay made a disgusted noise. “Homemade or bust.”
“I can’t bake.” Asa let his eyes close. “I should have chosen another gift.”
“Your gift was fine.” I bit my bottom lip. “Better than fine. Amazing. The whole town appreciates them.”
“The whole…” his alert gaze pierced me, “…town?”
“You sent one cupcake on the first day, two on the second, three on the third…” I soaked up his dawning comprehension. “There were dozens of them. I had to share, or they would have spoiled.”
A laugh burst out of Clay, and he slapped his thigh, thoroughly enjoying himself at his partner’s expense.
“I told you that shopgirl wasn’t listening.” He snorted. “She was too busy licking her lips over you.”
A flash of jealousy startled me, but that wasn’t my style, and I tamped it down as far as it would go.
The woman whose employee ID number might be printed on the last gift receipt I had yet to throw away had done nothing to deserve shoving designer cupcakes down her throat until icing shot out her nostrils.
Wrist itching like crazy, I tucked my hands behind my back and scratched under the bracelet.
“That would explain the bill.” Asa peeled damp hair off his defined chest. “Why did you say I’m wet?”
“The daemon decided to wash the frosting out of his hair. Your hair? I helped rinse when he couldn’t get out all the bubbles.” I knelt beside him, unable to keep my distance any longer. “I hope that’s okay.”
“You washed my hair,” he said softly, and he threaded his fingers through mine. “Thank you.”
There was a weight to the words I didn’t understand that curled heat in my belly. “You’re welcome.”
To cover how long our hands were clasped, I used that same grip to raise him into a se
ated position.
“Let’s skip the mushy stuff,” Clay cut in, “and focus on the important parts.”
“You have no memory of leaving the hotel,” I clarified, “or coming to my shop?”
“No.” Asa folded his legs under him in lotus position. “As I said, I emailed accounting and then…”
“Nothing,” I finished for him. “If it helps, the daemon—to simplify things, let’s call him that—told me you were asleep. He said Clay didn’t plan to visit until tomorrow, which, I think, is what set him off.”
The barest curve of Asa’s lips made an appearance. “He brought you the cupcake?”
Asa didn’t hesitate over the distinction between himself and the daemon, and it made me curious.
Everything about him sparked my interest. That was how I ended up wearing a freaking hair bracelet.
“It was missing a bite.”
His expression turned pensive as he gripped his ankles.
“He tried to make me eat it,” I rambled. “That’s when the food fight broke out.”
Amused despite himself, Clay asked, “Who fired the first shot?”
“He started it.” I dropped my gaze to Asa. “He kept shoving it in my face.”
“And naturally,” Clay continued, the natural arbitrator, “the mature response was to smash it in his.”
“Yes.” I tucked a stubborn curl behind my ear. “Not that I admit any fault in the incident, but yes.”
“I won’t file a grievance,” Asa assured me. “I wouldn’t want you dragged to the director’s office.”
“That makes two of us,” I muttered, then raised my voice. “How long do we have before we leave?”
There was no question I would go. I had signed a contract to consult. I had to honor my end if I expected the Bureau to uphold theirs. The only question was what to do with Colby. As much as I wanted to order her to stay home, safe behind wards, I got the mother of all wake-up calls the last time I left her behind.
I was a white witch now. Not a black one. My power was finite, not infinite.
The things I once did without blinking required all my focus and hours of preparation to achieve.
As much as it dinged my pride in my spellwork, I had to admit she was safer with me than without me.
Given how she had saved me from David Taylor, the reverse was also true.
But the more we worked together on cases, the more exposure she would get, and the more attention it would draw to me. Just as Asa had flipped out when he understood what I had done to save Colby, there would be others just as horrified and equally unwilling to forgive me for binding her soul to mine.
She was a kid, mostly, and she didn’t understand the scope of what she was asking of me.
She was also a survivor, and I didn’t get to tell her how to live the rest of her very long life.
Assuming Black Hat and its zombigo case didn’t get us killed first.
“We need to be gone by breakfast at the latest.”
“Okay.” I rubbed my forehead. “Let me see what I can do.”
Depending on how long the case required, I was in danger of missing my appointment with the AC repair guy. And the electrician. The door guy too. Probably I was forgetting others after being put on the spot.
Usually, I would just call Miss Dotha, but after David Taylor cornered her in the shop and kidnapped the girls in front of her, I didn’t feel comfortable asking her for the favor. And I didn’t want to be told no.
Camber, Arden, and Miss Dotha were linchpins in the coven of strong, if unmagical, women I had chosen to surround myself with. They had witch blood way back in their lineage, enough to add their touches to our products, but nothing that required formal training or awareness of their latent talents to use them.
As much as I hated to interrupt the girls’ dinner, I didn’t see a way to avoid it in my current time crunch.
Hating to be a bother, I dialed Camber over Arden as a compromise. “Hello.”
“Why does that sound like a goodbye?”
“You’re an astute young woman with a good ear?”
“Quit buttering me up.” Her snort blasted across the line. “What’s going on?”
Here comes the hard part.
“The police have asked me to consult on another case.” I let her absorb that. “I said yes.”
The uptick in her breath left me imagining her panicked heart, which made me…hungry.
Gritting my teeth, I focused on Camber and pushed down that dark yearning. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Good. Fine.” She gulped a few more quick breaths. “I just…lost it…for a second…there.”
Panic attacks were new, or else she hadn’t told me she was having them, and it twisted my gut.
“Breathe,” I soothed her. “In and out.” I listened until her inhales and exhales eased off. “Good girl.”
“Can you give the details to Arden?” Her breath hitched. “I’m not…” She hesitated. “I’m not ready yet.”
If the mention of the police or casework hit her this hard, her condition was worse than she had let on.
As underhanded as it felt, I made the choice to up her tea dosage to calm her mind and help her cope.
“I understand.” And I hated myself for scarring the girls and then asking them to bear more.
“Know I support you.” Her voice went raspy. “I would do the same in your shoes.”
I was handed off to Arden before I could say another word.
“Rue?” Worry spiked her tone. “What’s wrong?”
“The police have asked me to help them with another case.”
“Oh,” she replied softly. “You said yes.”
“I did.”
“Good.” Conviction rang through her. “No one should have to go through what we did. What you did. If I could help the police like you do, I would volunteer, but since I can’t, I’ll do whatever it takes to free you up to consult on cases.” A trembling breath left her. “You should be proud of how far you’ve come, Rue, that you’ve healed enough to want to help others. Maybe one day Cam and I can pay it forward too.”
Tears pricked the backs of my eyes as she praised me for lying to her.
I wasn’t some champion for her to admire. I didn’t deserve her thanks. I was serving time. That was it.
Clay rested a hand on my shoulder, loaning me his strength to finish the conversation.
Superhuman hearing was truly a blessing and a curse, but I was grateful for the support.
“I expect to be gone at least a week,” I began. “Can you meet the repairmen on the schedule?”
A few might allow me some wiggle room, but it would be better for my bottom line to stay on track.
“No problem.” The responsibility settled on her thin shoulders without a hitch. “Anything else?”
“Stock the shelves between appointments, but otherwise, use your time wisely.”
“Done and…I make no promises.”
Had she ever been this eager to take on extra tasks? No. Camber had always been the ambitious one of the two. Arden worked hard and dreamed big, but she was content to support Camber and me rather than step out with her own projects or ideas.
Maybe this was what she needed right now, to take control, to have a say in what happened and when.
After David Taylor stole her choices from her, I supported her need for power over her environment.
“That’s the best deal I’m likely to get.” I laughed under my breath. “I’ll take it.”
“Oh, hey, Uncle Nolan wants to talk to you.”
“Um, okay?”
The phone got passed, and Nolan came on the line. “Do you think it’s wise to leave the girls alone?”
“They’re both managers. They have keys. They know how to open and close.”
And they both needed to reclaim the shop as a safe space rather than let one night ruin their hard work.
“That’s not what I’m asking.” An edge was hidden in the polite tone. “Will t
hey be safe?”
The urge to snap at him had me clenching my jaw, and I couldn’t figure out why when he wasn’t saying a single thing I hadn’t thought myself. I understood his concerns. I sympathized with them. I shared them.
Maybe the bracelet was working its magic on me and men in general annoyed me. Or maybe I hated for my worst fears to be voiced when I was working so hard to keep them to myself and not coddle the girls.
“They’ll work half days until I get home,” I decided, to ease them back into their usual solo routine. “The contractors are locals, all people the girls know and are comfortable with. They won’t be isolated. It will be daylight, and the shops down the street will be open. They have their cells and a landline phone in the shop. They can call for help if they need it.”
“Look, I’m sorry.” He gusted out a breath. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. What happened to them…”
A lengthy pause clued me in to how hard he was struggling to phrase what he wanted to say. “Yes?”
“It wasn’t your fault.” He didn’t sound like he meant it, not that I held it against him. “I worry for Arden.” He backtracked. “For both the girls.” He sipped his drink. “I don’t want them alone in a place where they might feel vulnerable, and I’m concerned they feel obligated to show up when they might not be ready.”
Put that way, I had trouble taking offense. “I won’t force the girls into work. It’s their choice.”
Shuffling noises broke out, and Arden reclaimed the phone. “We’re in.”
Pressure swelled in my chest, but I had to be certain. “Are you sure Camber wants—?”
“She wants,” Camber yelled from the background, then added, “a raise.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” I wiped my fingers under my damp eyes. “How much?”
“A dozen cookies per week,” she decided. “Our pick of recipes.”
“Done.” I smiled at that spark of her coming back to herself. “Anything else?”
“I demand homemade ice cream once a week,” Arden announced. “The flavors TBD.”
“Okay, now, let’s not go overboard.” I chuckled. “We have that Dickens Christmas thing next month.”
“Just be thankful we got out of the Gobble ’Til You Wobble Marathon.” Arden made gagging noises. “No sane person would agree to walk/run five miles, stopping every mile to eat a plate of Thanksgiving food. And forget water. Did you see they made the participants drink cranberry juice last year?”
Black Arts, White Craft (Black Hat Bureau Book 2) Page 3