by Lexi Ostrow
Ran. Before the killing started.
Over half his people hadn’t made it, but he understood. They lived in the bayou, but most held jobs in the cities, and it was the middle of the day.
Walking toward the podium at the front of the room, Remy cleared his throat. The talking didn’t stop, so he cleared it again. Carlone caught wind of the gesture, put his fingers between his lips, and let out a shrill whistle.
That did halt the conversations.
Nodding to his beta, Remy did his best to keep his voice calm. His plan came to him months ago, but he’d just been unwilling to take such a brutal option. Until now.
“It’s no secret that living out here, being a weregator in general, is becoming increasingly dangerous. We’re hunted for our skin because it’s no different from a normal alligator. We’re shot and killed at night if we shift somewhere we don’t belong – which is illegal for us to do – but happens with the flow of the water.”
Though hushed, a small chorus of agreement rang out from many standing and sitting in the room.
“I’ve spoken with the New Orleans Alpha, and I am not content in his progress. He seeks justice with a ruthless hand when it’s his pack, but allows the Council of Supernaturals to dole out the punishment for the rest of us.”
A smirk slid into place. Remy wasn’t a bad man, but he would become one the moment the vicious plan moved past his lips and into the ears of his colony.
“Are you tired of fearing the monthly shift? Worried over the capture or death of a young shifter?”
“Yes!” Bella, a young mother, cried out.
“Daily,” added Louis, one of the colony’s elders.
“Then let that end.”
“You cannot mean to strike against humans,” Carlone spoke calmly from beside Remy.
“No, because humans alone are not the problem. Nor do I care what occurs in other cities, states, or countries. All that matters to me is what occurs within this city. Our city and New Orleans where we work and sometimes swim.”
“What can we do?” Bella asked, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
“We make it rain.” The small smile grew broader. “Rain washes everything away.”
Six
The familiar weight of missing Gerard pushed down against Deidre’s shoulders, seemingly forcing her feet into the peat moss. A few days ago, Deidre would take it as nothing more than missing her husband. After the other night, she couldn’t help but wonder if it weren’t a sign of danger.
“Danger you can’t ignore.”
She’d gotten more than an earful from Jonathon when they’d gone to grab her shoes three nights ago. Such an earful, in fact, that she’d almost hexed him silent to get a reprieve. Men would always think they were the only way a woman could remain safe. Her defending herself and stopping the little shits from murdering a second time would never play a role.
She’d been given instructions, as if Jonathon had any right to do so, to stay away from danger unless she had help. New Orleans was dangerous and giving in to strange urges that consistently put her in the right place at the right time to stop a crime would get her killed.
Still, the need to go to Gerard’s grave pulled at her. The conversation remained unfinished. Not that you know what you wish to say to him.
Snorting, Deidre glanced down at her watch. The sun wouldn’t set for another two hours. Not that people couldn’t die during the day, Gerard had.
“Deidre?” Genevieve Perrow snapped her fingers, annoyance wrinkling her brow.
“Sorry, Mrs. Perrow.” Deidre took a deep breath. “I think she’d like that, but I do think we’re moving a bit fast. Especially since Ivy couldn’t make it, and Lita is barely four months along.”
“We don’t need to burden the High Priestess with a baby shower.”
Deidre bit her tongue not to remind Genevieve that Ivy despised being left out of important events simply because she ran things. Lita’s mother was many things, rational wasn’t often at the top of the list.
“How about I take this theme list home with me, concoct a few designs, and I’ll shoot you photos? You can decide how it goes from there?”
Genevieve snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Really, Deidre. If I wanted to it that way, I wouldn’t have involved you.”
One…two…three. Deidre’s count to ten ended quickly.
“All right. I’ll do this myself. You can handle the catering.”
“That’s fine, Mrs. Perrow.” Another image of Gerard danced in her mind. If she didn’t go, she’d lose sleep over it. After all, the other night could have been coincidental, but she’d never know if she didn’t follow her gut.
Genevieve finally smiled. “I’m glad I can get you out of your hole. Death is horrible, but not living is worse.” Her tone shifted into one Deidre rarely heard the older woman use: motherly.
“Thank you. I actually have somewhere I need to be.”
“Not a problem. As you said, we have some time.” Mrs. Perrow smiled. “A grand baby.”
Deidre didn’t need to point out the six grand babies from her other daughters. Lita held a special place in her mother’s heart after an alternate timeline left her dead. It didn’t make Mrs. Perrow any less hard on her daughter, but the milestones did seem to be more important to her when it came to Lita.
“I’ll just see myself out. It’s a bit humid outside, but I do love a good ride on the streetcar.” She stood and walked toward the front door leaving Deidre watching from the breakfast nook.
When the door closed, Deidre hopped off the barstool and made her way to the kitchen and pulled two small glass vials from the top drawer. “You might want to spend some time outside, Mrs. Perrow, but I’ve got a much faster mode in mind.” In a hurry to rid the image of her dead husband from her mind, Deidre smashed the glass at her feet, picturing his grave in her mind.
Opening her eyes, Deidre half-expected to see a crime playing out in front of her. Instead, all she saw was a family eight rows back paying their respects. Her shoulders fell.
“Maybe I just miss you.” Somehow, the idea upset her. If she’d gained some cognitive power, visiting her husband’s resting place didn’t seem as … needy. “Four hundred and seventy-something years without you, and I can’t get past a few months.” Her hand trailed over his name, dipping in and out of the grooves in the natural stone.
“Recent loss?”
Deidre hated cemetery talk. She never understood how talking about the dead could make people feel better. Still, people grieved differently, and rudeness didn’t have a place any where, never mind a cemetery.
She turned to the left and saw a man around the age she looked to be with long dreadlocks in his tawny hair. A tan was only exposed as his shirt sleeve rode up, showing off a far fairer shade of skin. His golden-brown eyes didn’t appear to hold any grief as they looked at her, but the yellow roses in his hand suggested he’d only lost a friend. Still, his eyes seemed kind, and she didn’t mind the conversation, not really, anyway. He must work on a boat, men seemed to favor the dreadlocks when they fished – Deidre hated it only any man because she liked short, clean-cut hair.
“Not terribly recent.” Deidre glanced at the grave. “My husband. Nearly a year ago.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Miss. Never gets easier, we just get older.” He winked at her. “Lost my best friend nearly a hundred years ago.” He set the roses down. “Never gets any damn easier.”
Supernatural then. “I imagine in a hundred years I’ll always miss my husband. Deidre.” She stuck her hand out, unsure why the simple act of meeting a Magical Persons made her want to know this man.
“You’re like me then.” It wasn’t a question.
She didn’t see the right aura around him, and there was no need to lead him on. “I’m a witch.”
“Ahh, so close enough.” He offered her his hand. “Remy DuChard. Weregator.”
Deidre knew very little about the weregator colony, but she knew the alpha�
��s name. He must be here out of respect for the one he lost.
“Deidre. I’m pleased to know the leader of the gators is a kind man willing to bring flowers to a grave over a century old.”
Remy inclined his head. “You’ve heard of me then.”
If she didn’t mistake it, Deidre thought his pupils dilated rather quickly. “I make it important to know the names of those important around me.”
“Seeing as how you know me, I won’t find this hard to ask. Do you come often?”
He’s going to ask me if I saw it. Her pulse quickened, not with fear, but discomfort. “I do. Some weeks more than others.”
“Early this week – three days ago – I lost a new member of my family.” Hatred lurked in the once neutral gaze. “Did you see it?”
Tell him the truth and you’ll never get rid of him. Deidre’s mouth opened just enough for her to suck in air. Lie, and you’ll hurt this poor guy looking for answers. Deidre’s shoulders sagged, and she let out a loud sigh. “I did. I’m so sorry for your loss. I was here. I was able to save his wife.”
His eyes grew round. “I heard she wasn’t a gator but thank you. Thank you for stopping these assholes from killing with no cause. You’re a witch then?” His lips slowly lifted into a grin when she nodded.
Deidre’s skin crawled as she watched a strange emotion settle into place. She tried to discreetly shove her hand into her pocket and grab the vial. For some reason, thanks didn’t seem to be on the alpha’s mind. There’s never been an unkind word spoken about him but anger twisted people’s souls.
“I came looking for the witch that helped. Imagine my surprise that I found you on day one.” His hand went to his pocket. “Thank you doesn’t cover what you did, and neither does I’m sorry for doing this.”
Grabbing the vial, she pulled it from her pocket and let it crash on the grass.
Deidre wasn’t fast enough to avoid the flecks that sprinkled into her eyes.
Home! The thought screamed through her mind the second she opened her eyes.
“Shit.”
“Dee?”
Jonathon’s familiar voice had to be in her mind.
“Dee. You’re awake. Are you okay?”
Hands landed on her shoulder, not quite shaking her, but close.
“Jonathon?” The room stopped spinning long enough for her to realize that whoever took her, it wasn’t him. His hands were cuffed to the bed.
“Just hang tight, Dee. Whatever was done, we’ve got Supernatural cuffs on. We can’t get anywhere unless one of us can get them off.”
“Shouldn’t this be part of your training? As a warlock and all that?”
His ordinarily kind eyes shifted with anger. “Real helpful line of conversation.” He snarled and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. This isn’t something that should have happened to me. I’m a cop. I’m trained to pay attention to things.”
“Unless a kind stranger does you in.” She grumbled as memories from the cemetery and the alpha formed in her mind.
“How did you get here?” Anger shifted to concern. “You were here when I woke up just now. Neither of us appears injured.”
Deidre practically saw the wheels spinning. He’s a detective through and through. She sighed and for the first time, noticed the cuffs on his wrist were copper. Tugging her hands, she was almost surprised when they both moved freely.
“Why am I free to move?”
Jonathon merely lifted his chin in the direction of her leg. She glanced down and saw it chained to the sofa, but with a longer chain attached to it. “How did I not notice this?”
“The same way you were taken. Your brain is still coming back, trust me, I’ve been awake nearly ten minutes longer. Nearly tore my wrist off trying to get up. These are magic-blocking. I can’t do a damn thing, and neither can you.”
“How in the hell is this not basic training? You’re a warlock! Wouldn’t you need to know how to operate around them if a suspect got the upper hand?” Her voice echoed off the walls in the narrow room.
“Thank you for reminding me I’m not only magically capable, but a cop, and yet, here I am.” He snarled and snapped his mouth shut.
She blew out a breath and glanced around. One tacky green sofa, one rocking chair, and a window with pale pink curtains. Wherever they were, the owner had no taste.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not equipped for this. I don’t do offensive magic. Even when Ivy insisted we learn to protect ourselves, I barely paid attention.” She didn’t like admitting she could be the weak link, but the truth was powerful in situations like this.
The intensity is his gaze let up. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She shook her head as if repeating it. “I was at the cemetery when I was approached. I was talking to the Remy – the weregator alpha – it started off friendly enough but turned toward the murder. I didn’t think it strange because Elijah would move heaven and hell if someone murdered a packmate. Next thing I knew, he blew this dust me. Dust that I don’t think I know exists … which is slightly terrifying.”
Deidre’s story added up to his. Only, he’d been home, drinking a cup of tea before heading in. Then you weren’t. You were here. “I was home. Alone. The doors were locked. Whoever got to me snuck in and managed to knock me out before I even sensed they were there.”
Jonathon nearly growled. Invisibility potions helped, but whoever snuck up on him had stealth on their side.
“You’re positive the weregator alpha did this?”
She nodded, a slight tremor of fear causing her jaw to quake. He hated seeing people in trouble, especially when he couldn’t help them. You aren't useful to anyone right now.
“Obviously he’s pissed about the murder, but it’s more than that. When we gave him the news, he reminded Elijah how upset he was in general – something Elijah was supposed to bring up at a meeting.” Jonathon ran his hands through his short spiky hair. “Which he clearly didn’t, or like with every psychopath, Remy didn’t get the answer he wanted.”
“Could he do all this, though?” She shook her head. “No. I don’t think this is him. If he had this many casters in his arsenal Ivy and Patrick wouldn’t let them go without joining the Coven’s. And this was powerful. I think he’s working with someone.”
“Beyond the fact that shifters can’t do magic?” Unlike some cops, he wasn’t patronizing. When Deidre revealed a were took her, Jonathon assumed the man simply bought what he needed.
“Right. Before he threw whatever that dust was at me, he apologized. A legitimate apology. I could hear it in his voice. He didn’t want to do it.” Her mouth seemed to shift to the side as she bit her lip. “Do you think someone could be controlling him? Offering him a way to protect his people?”
“If he does what? Kidnap two random casters?”
She flinched as if he struck her.
“I know Ivy is your best friend, but aside from that, you don’t fit the pattern of someone to take as a hostage – unless you’ve dated Remy before, and he knows something I don’t.” Jonathon couldn’t imagine someone like Dee, someone with class and smarts, with the man he met the other day. She didn’t do low brow. He knew that much.
“No. I just … who would have access to knowing we knew about the murder? That’s the only connection we both have. Unless you count that you sometimes partner with Sam and I’m one of Lita’s best friends, and this is Victor Vexx from beyond the grave.”
Suddenly it clicked. One simple sentence from someone who didn’t over analyze everything, and he knew it. “That is our only real connection. There are plenty of Magical Persons on the force. The choice had to do with what we saw or what we knew.”
“I didn’t know anything. Honestly. I’ve met with Shandra once for coffee, but that’s it.”
“No, but you took down three humans with minimal effort.” He raised a brow. “No offensive magic?”
“I remembered a few, just to shut Ivy up, but I’d never tried one until the other night. I lost my dad and sibli
ngs young. Not witch young either, just young. I can cast a Sleep Hex and a Vanishing Hex. That’s the extent of my abilities. I don’t like to dabble in the darkness. Karma aside, I have nothing to gain from hurting others.”
“I know, Dee. I know.” Instinctively, Jonathon put his hand on her knee. “We’ll figure this out. It’s got to do with the murder, and maybe our power. If Remy is in charge or just the hand, he saw me speak out against Elijah, unafraid. He must assume I can pack a punch.”
“Can you?”
The innocent question rubbed him the wrong way.
“Absolutely.”
At the sound of a lock turning over, Jonathon did his best to get between Deidre and the door. He couldn’t do much, but he’d block her from whatever came.
The door swung inward. A man in a simple full-face, white mask and brown hood pulled over his head stepped inside the room. Short, maybe only five-six, and a bit on the broader side, it certainly could be the man Jonathon met last week, but until he spoke, Jonathon couldn’t be sure.
He stopped just shy of where Jonathon knew he could reach. When he first woke, Jonathon spent at least eight minutes trying to stretch toward Deidre to shake her, and she was closer to the door than he was.
“Págoma!” Deidre shouted from behind him.
Nothing happened. Jonathon couldn’t help but be impressed that she’d tried knowing the odds were against her and without a wand to focus the magic.
“Amusing that you thought you could attempt that.” A modified voice drifted out from behind the mask.
“Too afraid to let us know your identity then?” Jonathon taunted, hoping he could make the man slip.
Not Remy then. If he showed himself to Deidre, there would be no reason to hide now.
“There is no need to show myself. I will show all of my cards because you cannot do anything to change what I am about to do.”