The Baker's Guide to Risky Rituals

by Kathryn Moon

  “I thought I heard someone as we walked back, but it was dark, and neither of us saw anything,” Josie said, the lie forming easily on her tongue. It was the closest she could get to saying there was someone else out there. “And truth be told, it’s easy enough to convince yourself that a sound in the woods is just a critter.”

  “And the site of a recent murder seemed like a romantic place to have a walk, did it?” Crowley asked.

  “It seemed like a private place,” Josie answered. “And we were well away from that spot. S’pose it was a little bit of a thrill.”

  She pursed her lips and blushed as the men exchanged a brief roll of the eyes. Let them think what they want about her romantic habits, she decided. As long as they didn’t think she was a killer.

  Josie was looking forward to getting back to her apartment after a long day of bad news and worry and feeling like a bug under a microscope. Until she opened her apartment door and felt the disturbed rattle of the air after the place had been rifled through by officers. The living room looked untidy, but her bedroom was horribly worse.

  Her phone rang in her pocket, and Josie answered without looking, her eyes fixed to the clanging energy around her altar, everything rearranged and violated.

  “Hey,” she said, voice cracking with the tears rising up in her throat.

  “Aw, babe,” Rosa cooed. “Okay, I’m locking up and on my way.”

  “Kay,” Josie managed to squeeze out.

  She set the phone on the floor, and let Rosa hang up as one by one, she took each piece of her altar off the table, smoothing her fingers over the surface of dolls and talismans and bottles, like she could erase the touch of strangers.

  “I’m sorry, you guys,” she whispered, organizing each item in front of her, taking the altar cloth off and shaking it loose. She cleaned the altar at least every other week, but this would take a special kind of work. Some good cleansing and a lot of apologetic offerings.

  “Oh my god, look at what they did to your closet!”

  Josie turned, swiped tears off her cheeks with her hands, and found Rosa running to the disarray of her tiny closet. Shoes were spilling out of the space, all jumbled together in odd matches.

  “I didn’t know you had heels!” Rosa cried, spinning to face Josie on the floor. Her jaw dropped as she spotted the altar. “Ohhh, honey.”

  “They had a couple shoe prints from the first scene. They must’ve been looking for a match,” Josie said, frowning at her shoes.

  “Well you wear a six, so I seriously doubt they found what they were looking for. You have some dainty feet. Uh oh. Your vibrator’s out on the bed.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake!” Josie moaned, covering her face with her hands.

  She’d really needed that vibrator last night after being all snuggled up with Bell, and having him give her those bewildered bedroom eyes at her door. Now Mark Nolan and who the hell else had seen it as they rifled through her sheets.

  “Come on,” Rosa said, crossing to join her on the floor. “Let’s tidy things up for the spirits, pour ‘em a glass for the night. And then go get yourself one, alright?”

  “You want to take me out in public?” Josie asked, frowning. “I’m like a social pariah now.”

  “Everyone at Gunney’s is a social pariah, babe,” Rosa said with a shrug. “It’s not a clean place. And whatever to them, you know? We go. We smile. We drink. We have an alibi in case anyone else gets bludgeoned to death tonight.”

  Josie gasped. “Is that what happened?”

  Rosa’s red lips pursed, and she nodded. “So I hear. I was wondering if we’re at serial killer yet, but apparently not because of circumstances. One more though, and the FBI will be in.”

  “This is too much,” Josie whispered, head shaking slowly.

  Rosa nodded. “I agree. So let’s go drink.”

  Gunney’s was buzzing as Bell walked in with his crew behind him. Minus Danny, who wasn’t of legal drinking age, and who’d said, ‘No way, man. You guys are scary, but not half as scary as my sister’d be if she found out.’ They really needed to find some more recruits. Ones who weren’t scared of their sisters.

  “Heard you were ordering in some kegs for your place,” Chrissie greeted, arms crossed under her breasts as if she was hoping they caught Bell’s eye.

  “Not your selection,” Bell said, eyeing the Lite drafts and basic beers.

  “Oh, don’t take me the wrong way,” Chrissie said, voice growing sour as if she fully intended on him feeling her offense. “What do I care if you lighten my load around here?”

  If the Inferno took off and Gunney’s shut down, she would care.

  “I’ll have a lager,” Bell said, watching Chrissie tense, wondering if she would refuse to serve him. But she eyed the bill in his hand and tossed her limp ponytail, going to fill his glass.

  The Inferno might even kill two local birds with one stone if they were smart, and take out the restaurant High Top. It was all part of the plan. It was why he was here. So what was with this urge to try and tease Chrissie, and get her back on his good side?

  You’re a demon. You don’t have a good side, he reminded himself. And it worked for a few minutes, until the door of the bar opened and the conversations in the room trickled off into quiet.

  Josie was walking in with the pretty green witch Rosa, and Bell’s teeth gritted as Josie’s stare drifted right over him as if she didn’t even see him. It’s her fault. Then she passed under a lamp, and he saw that her eyes were puffy and red with recent tears, and he nearly broke the glass Chrissie handed him. He tracked the witches’ movements to a small booth, watched Rosa press Josie into a seat before heading back to the bar to order their drinks. His men were lined up at the bar ordering so her friend would have a wait, and Josie was looking…wrong. Her shoulders were drawn in, her eyes were cast down, and he’d never seen her looking as if she felt out of place. And there was no lie he could tell himself that convinced him to enjoy her discomfort.

  He slid into the seat across from Josie, and she took one brief glance at his hands wrapped around his beer before her stare went back to the edge of the table.

  “Is your throat bothering you?” he asked when she didn’t speak.

  “Nope. All healed,” she said, the attempt at brightness in her voice failing entirely. “Detectives came around to the shop today. You heard about the…”

  He had. He practically smelled it when he’d woke up that morning. “They questioned you?”

  He liked that she had spirit, but she sure as hell didn’t look like a killer. Maybe a town this good was a little confused on that front.

  “The fact that they keep finding these phony ritual sites has them looking at all of us,” she said, glancing up at the bar to check on Rosa. “If the only people saying the rituals look fake, are the only people you know who practice the stuff, well…”

  “You tell them about the—?” he gestured around his own neck.

  Josie shook her head and lifted her chin. “You mean this perfectly normal and unstrangled neck?”

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah. But I told them I was out there with you.” His eyebrows raised, and she shrugged. “Someone would’ve seen us on the bike. Someone could’ve driven past it parked there too. I dunno, I got the lies all muddled in with the truth. They’ll talk to you soon, I’m sure.”

  “Fine. We went to the preserve together,” he said.

  She looked at him then, finally and fully, and Bell tried to suppress his satisfaction, tried to find a reason to hold her gaze or the will to break it. Instead, he just sat there. Like a fuckin’ idiot. Looking back at her.

  “Okay,” she said, lips lifting.

  “Are we having a party?” Vinny purred, sliding up to the booth, his eyes fixed on Josie who glared back at him.

  With one twitch of Vinny’s foot towards the seat next to Josie, Bell was snarling. “Move your ass to the other end of the bar and find something useful to do.”

  “Why don’t I he
lp you with whatever you’re working on right here?” Vinny asked, teeth bared behind his beard.

  “Why don’t you both head off so my friend can have her seat?” Josie asked, spine straight.

  Bell willed her to look at him, and then wished he could throw his damn brain into a blender to see if it got her out of his system. Vinny’s eyes were watching him, and Bell tipped his head in Josie’s direction, sliding out of the booth just in time for Rosa’s return. Pie was following the curly haired green witch, drink in hand, and a puzzle in his eyes as he looked between Vinny, Bell, and Josie.

  “C’mon,” Bell grunted to his men.

  Dante had found another table of girls. Ash was chatting up a group of men that looked like they might be viable candidates for the crew. Aim and Barbie were missing, but at this point Bell was relieved. Maybe they would turn up with something productive, but at least they weren’t underfoot when he was in a pissy mood.

  “Don’t be prickly, boss,” Vinny hissed in his ear as they walked away. “I could help you work that angle if you’re so interested.”

  “If the best you can do for the team is get in my way, you better rethink your goals, Vine,” Bell answered.

  Vinny snarled at him, hackles raising like a wolf, and stalked off to Dante’s table.

  “If you’re going to put him in his place, at least do it thoroughly,” Pie murmured. “You’re just pissing him off this way.”

  “He’s pissing me off,” Bell answered, frowning at the hint of a whine in his voice.

  “Then take him by the scruff with your teeth and set the order of the pack back in place,” Pie said, raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of his drink.

  Bell’s head turned to look over his shoulder on an unconscious impulse, the heel of Josie’s black sneakers peeking out from the edge of her booth. Pie was right. It was time to focus on the job.

  The sound of motorcycle engines pulling up in front of Inferno was a promising start to the next morning. They had their final inspection for a retail beer license that afternoon, and Bell found himself growing restless to begin the real work. When they’d arrived in Sweet Pea, he’d looked forward to the slow and methodical year of tackling the town’s innocence. Now, he wondered if Hell’s Bells shouldn’t expedite the job and find their way back to the Bowels sooner rather than later.

  “Recruits?” he asked, wandering out from the back of the bar where they had designated a booth for exclusive crew use.

  Ashtaroth stood at the front windows, arms crossed over his chest, lips curling behind his beard. “Not sure they’re what you were hoping for, boss.”

  Bell frowned. He’d thought maybe Aim and Barbie had found a few new members at Gunney’s the night before, but the local dive had an element of loyalty he hadn’t predicted. Now that the Inferno was finding its way, the first spark of resentment had caught on in the town. He joined Ash at the window as Cornell and Thurman, their effusive neighbors, unsaddled themselves from the back of a pair of cruising Honda motorcycles. Before they reached the door, a wide, dark sedan pulled to the curb and Bell’s eyes narrowed at the men seated inside.

  “The detectives,” Ash said.

  “I expected to hear from them,” Bell said. Because Josie had warned him. And where would it be better to speak to them, inside where his men would no doubt eavesdrop, or outside where all of Sweet Pea might? “Keep the crew out of my hair.”

  Ash nodded. “And the neighborhood welcoming committee?” he asked, glancing at the two older men who had their eye on the investigators getting out of the car.

  Bell wasn’t wild about the idea for a number of reasons. The one he was willing to admit to was that they were not the intimidating loners with easily influenced minds he’d been hoping for. The one he was trying to ignore was the fact that Josie was friendly with them, and he knew she’d chew his ear off if they were hurt.

  “Could they be useful?” Bell asked instead.

  “A lawyer in the DA’s office, and a member of the local planning committee? Yes, that could come in handy,” Ash said.

  “Sign ‘em up,” Bell said, stifling his own objections. “At least they have good taste in beer.”

  The door opened, and the detectives walked in, Cornell close on their heels.

  “Gentlemen,” Bell greeted without a smile. “I believe you’re here to see me.”

  He led the detectives to the back booth, digging through their heads on the slow walk. They planned on checking his shoe size against the men’s 11 print they’d found in the woods—easy, he’d given himself well above that for a good thud to his stride as he walked—but mostly they wanted to see if his story matched with Josie’s version of their date.

  Date.

  He practically tripped over his own feet as the word landed in his head. That hadn’t been what she’d said in Gunney’s last night. He could hear the word in her voice, all sweetened as she lied through her teeth. And the uglier of the two, Crowley, kept replaying a particular comment of hers. They’d ‘fooled around’ she’d said, shrugging, and in the Sergeant’s mind the words held an image of Bell and Josie on the ground together, rutting like animals in heat, a heavier attention to detail on Josie than Bell appreciated in anyone’s mind but his own.

  He swallowed his growl and sank into the back of the booth.

  “Can we get your name for our records?” Detective Bagley asked. “No one seems to know it properly.”

  “Beleth King,” Bell said, immediately blurring the thought in their minds so they wouldn’t be able to look him up later. And while he was there… Bell took the image of Josie’s head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted on a pant, right out of Crowley’s head. “But everyone calls me ‘Bell.’”

  Crowley frowned, eyes turning distant on the wall over Bell’s head, and Bell tightened his fists at his sides. Then he went ahead and blurred Josie in Crowley’s head so thoroughly that the Sergeant couldn’t really recall if she was tall or short, or even what color her hair was.

  It was an easy interview from there, they thought of Josie’s answers to their questions, practically delivering Bell the right things to say. What worried him was that they were less interested in whether he and Josie had killed the ranger, then if he was lying for Josie. They’d already started forming a theory around her in particular.

  Let them, a voice whispered in his head, but it didn’t feel like his own so he brushed it away.

  “And did you hear anything unusual or suspicious while you were out?” Bagley asked, already adjusting his theory away from Josie and onto the stitch witch.

  “Josie did on our way out, but nothing came of it.”

  Bagley seemed satisfied. Crowley was more determined. “What time did you leave Josie at her apartment?”

  Beleth paused long enough to make sure he wasn’t about to contradict anything Josie said, and then he grinned, slow and satisfied. “I never said I left. We got back a bit after midnight.”

  Bagley stiffened, and Crowley smirked right back at Bell. This was a man they could use for their cause, Bell realized. Crowley would do their work beautifully. In fact, if Bell let him continue to pursue Josie as a suspect it would deal a serious blow to the town.

  “Your bike was spotted on the way out of the alley shortly after,” Crowley said.

  Damn. He’d been digging with too much focus on Josie’s story rather than all the information they’d gathered.

  Bell conjured a laugh and a shrug. “Ah well. Can’t blame a man for dreaming.”

  “In the future,” Bagley started, and then frowned as he realized he couldn’t remember Bell’s name. “In the future, stick with the facts when it comes to the investigation. We’ll be in touch again, I’m sure.”

  Bell followed the pair back to the doors, before stopping and joining Cornell and Thurman at the bar. Barbie was behind the counter, glowering as usual, but he’d drummed up bottles of IPA from somewhere, and appeared as content as he could be to listen to the couple reminisce on their days in a to
uring motorcycle crew.

  Cornell paused in his story as Bell took a seat on the barstool next to him. The petite man turned to face Bell, eyes scanning him in study and lips pursing.

  “I can give you the same name I gave Josie if you’d like. You should lawyer up if they ask for another interview,” Cornell said.

  Bell grunted. “You know why they’re so focused on Josie for this?”

  Cornell hummed and shrugged. “Oh, you know,” he said, waving a hand. “This is a small town and those girls don’t bother hiding their hobbies. Witchcraft is cute until some local yahoo thinks it’s aiming to kill their crops or bring bad luck. Then it’s Satanism.”

  Barbie made a huffing sound Bell thought might’ve been laughter.

  “Of the four of them, they really oughta be looking at the Byrne sisters, but those girls are old family around here and Josie’s not, which is what really gets people seeing trouble in places like this,” Thurman said.

  “June and Imogen are not murdering folk in the woods,” Cornell tossed back at his husband. He turned back to Bell and raised his eyebrows. “All I’m saying is, if Josie’s name is cleared, you lot will be next on the chopping block, so get yourself a good defense.”

  “Noted,” Bell said with a dip of his head.

  Cornell’s shoulders shimmied as he sat up straighter. “Good. Now, what do Thu and I have to sign in blood to get ourselves some of those nasty looking jackets y’all wear. I would just love to roll up to the farmer’s market in one of those. Really ruffle some dusty feathers round here.”

  Barbie huffed again, and Bell glanced sideways at him. Either the taciturn demon had a cold, or he liked the new recruits. Fair enough, Bell didn’t mind them so much either.

  “Where the hell is Vinny?” Bell growled, carrying a keg of black coffee porter on his shoulder up to the bar the next night.

  They were meant to be having a toast to their new members—unlikely as they were in Bell’s mind—but the new members were still missing. And Vinny, who Bell had ordered to rustle up a few waitresses to introduce to the club, was equally missing.