by Traci Wilton
Brandy flicked it on, but the hall stayed dark. No bulb. “We have to check, Charlene.”
Charlene nodded. “All right.”
The first room smelled musty, the linens dirty and rumpled. Charlene noticed the window was partially open and peeked outside. A tall man ran full-out from the house, down the street, his black cape flying behind him.
Brandy pulled Charlene to the second room and jerked open the curtain to allow in some natural light. “Charlene, that’s a coffin. Alaric slept in a coffin?”
Charlene gulped, her heart racing. “This is scary. I think someone jumped from the first room to the street. A man.” She patted her chest to calm her heart. “Let’s go.”
“It’s time for you to leave. If you value your life the way it is, you won’t come back.”
They turned in unison to see Elisabeta standing in the doorway with a wicked grin and a baseball bat in her hand. She smacked the fat end against her open palm.
“We’re going now,” Charlene said. “Brandy.” She yanked on her friend’s sleeve, passing Elisabeta to the stairs. They raced down them.
In the brick foyer once more, Charlene shrieked when her cell phone buzzed. She and Brandy exchanged a glance, then Brandy opened the front door.
She accidentally hit the answer button rather than mute. Shoot. “Hi, Sam. Uh, did you learn anything new?” Why else would he be calling?
“Hello, Charlene. Wanted to tell you that we got a—what are you doing?”
“What am I doing? Oh, just chatting with Brandy.” She pushed her friend to the front porch. Elisabeta practically flew down the interior stairs after them. Brandy tossed her sachet just as Charlene slammed the door in Elisabeta’s face, keeping the woman inside and them outside, holding the knob.
“About the case?” Sam rumbled.
She breathed in deep and did her best to sound normal. “Brandy wanted me to console Serenity. She’s in a bad way after Alaric’s death. I’ll call you when I get home.” She cut off any further conversation with Sam and panted with Brandy on the front porch of Alaric’s house.
“Sam is so not going to be happy with me.”
CHAPTER 6
Brandy’s not-so gentle shove had Charlene down the porch steps to the driveway. A black cat on the bottom stair arched its back and hissed—Brandy hissed right back.
“I thought witches liked cats,” Charlene said once they were both in the car and the engine started. Elisabeta stood in the threshold of the open front door, the bat in hand. She didn’t chase them. Was that due to Brandy’s magick herbs?
“There is dark and light—that one was dark.” Brandy sped down the street.
“Should we just call it a day?” Charlene would rather go home and regroup than head to the next person Brandy wanted to “talk” to.
“No.” Brandy partially braked at a turn, then stepped on the gas. “Elisabeta is a nut. Orpheus seemed rational.”
“What?” Charlene gripped the strap of her seat belt. “He lied to you. He runs a vampire coven in New Orleans.”
Brandy didn’t respond to Charlene’s logic. “Where’s he staying again?”
“The Longmire Hotel off Elton.”
Brandy spoke into her GPS and the route popped up toward the historic hotel. “Orpheus will help us. He’s a smooth liar, but I can get him to talk.”
“What if he’s the killer? What if Elisabeta did it? What if they’re working together?” She cringed hearing the panic in her voice. “We need to be careful.”
Brandy exhaled. “I had no idea that vampire covens existed outside of the movies. Have you ever been to New Orleans? It’s very magickal.”
“Jared and I fell in love with the French Quarter and history when we vacationed there for a week. Lots of spook factor in the dark alleys and cemeteries.” She preferred the daylight, beignets, and creamy chicory coffee.
“Salem has old magic too, as you know. So does St. Augustine in Florida. There are thousands of other places with ancient power.” Brandy strummed her finger against the wheel. “Alaric needed power that he didn’t have, and he locked on to Serenity. Why her, in particular?”
“She’s a young witch,” Charlene said immediately. “Beautiful.”
“Serenity keeps her Wiccan heritage on the quiet. She isn’t flashy about it—she just is.”
“What about social media? Everybody has Instagram and Facebook.”
Brandy shrugged a single shoulder, focused on the road. “She doesn’t post anything about the craft. It’s very personal.” Her nose turned red and she sniffed back tears. “She’s torn up right now.”
“Give her time,” Charlene said. “She’s strong.”
They arrived at the old hotel and Brandy parked. Four stories of red brick, white trim, and chimneys on four sides. “I thank the Goddess that she is. She’s descended from a long line of strong women, as you saw earlier on the altar.”
“She’s very fortunate.” They got out of the car and Charlene tightened her jacket against the chill of the November air. Halloween decorations were still up everywhere. Salem was all about Halloween and witches—they didn’t need vampires moving in. “What’s the plan? I have to keep this short so Minnie can go home. My guests . . .”
“I know. We’ll just . . . talk to him.” Brandy opened the door and they both walked in.
“You can’t simply ask if he killed Alaric.”
Brandy gave her a stink eye.
The female clerk behind the desk greeted them with a chipper, “Afternoon! May I help you?”
“I’d like to speak with a guest of yours that goes by the name Orpheus.” Brandy leaned against the tall counter.
“Last name? Room number?” She kept her fingers poised over her keyboard.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“It’s against hotel policy. Sorry, ma’am.”
Brandy waited until the woman looked up, then she held the clerk’s gaze for thirty seconds, saying softly, “Give us the room number for Orpheus.”
“Orpheus?”
Brandy didn’t blink as she kept the clerk on the visual line. “You remember a handsome man with dark hair and eyes. A melodic Southern accent.”
Charlene couldn’t believe it when the clerk nodded. “Orpheus Landon. He’s from New Orleans, that’s where his accent comes from. Room three-twelve. Shall I ring him for you?”
“No need. We’ll go up.” Brandy didn’t release the clerk. “Is he alone?”
The woman hummed as she drew on her memory. “Yes. He’s checking out tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you.”
Brandy blinked and the clerk was free from her intangible grip.
The clerk raised her hand as they walked toward the elevator. “Have a nice day.”
Charlene, stunned, murmured, “That is a very useful trick.”
“That’s nothing. Child’s play.” Brandy pressed the button.
They got into the car and rode to the third floor. If Brandy wanted to, she could get away with anything, including murder. Thank heaven she was a good witch, Charlene thought. “So we’re going to wing it?”
“Though sloppy, it worked with Elisabeta.” Brandy shrugged. “Thank you for taking the lead there. I was too emotionally involved. Anger tainted my intentions for answers. I can’t believe Serenity would want to live in such a dark place.”
“Did you see all the jewels and goodies? They weren’t poor.”
“Spiritually dark. But yes, you’re right.” Brandy left the elevator first and turned to Charlene as she walked out. “Heirlooms?”
“Like the star sapphire Serenity was wearing last night.” Charlene adjusted her purse over her shoulder.
“It’s all she has of Alaric now.” Brandy strode down the hall, Charlene at her side, and they stopped before room 312.
Brandy nodded once at Charlene, then knocked.
Orpheus, dressed for the day in jeans and a partially buttoned silk shirt, boots laced and tied, answered the door. He grinned at Bra
ndy, then Charlene—happy, but not surprised to see them. How often did strange females take him up on his offer for a playdate?
“How’re ya doin’ this afternoon, Brandy? You brought your friend. Sharon.” He widened the door, light pris-ming off of the diamond studs in both ears. “Come on in, dahlins.”
“Charlene,” she corrected. “Charlene Morris.”
“You were quite lovely as a Southern belle. Still are. I have wine in the room. Would y’all care for somethin’ to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Charlene said as Brandy countered with, “Yes, please. Our last place we visited was too rich in iron.”
Orpheus laughed from deep in his chest and gestured to the sideboard where a bottle of red was open. He was using the water tumblers for glasses.
“Is this about Alaric’s death?” His tone was cordial, like a man with nothing to hide. Leather bracelets were stacked on his pale wrist, catching on thin dark hair. Masculine rings were on multiple fingers. He exuded sex appeal. Wealth.
“Yes.” Brandy sauntered fully into the room.
“Elisabeta called to give me the news but I don’t know many of the details.”
Brandy shucked her jacket and tossed it on the made bed, on the offense as she’d been with Elisabeta. “Last night you were very vocal in your dislike for Alaric.”
“You were no fan, either,” Orpheus said. “We had that in common.” He flashed his white teeth as he handed Brandy a glass of red wine. Were his eyeteeth a little bit longer than normal? “Among other things.”
Curling her nose after a sniff of the liquid, Brandy set it down without taking a drink. “We did.”
Charlene hid a smile—was the wine truly that awful or was Brandy regretting their flirtation in the light of day? Orpheus was very attractive, but also arrogant; he knew he was sexy and used it to his advantage.
“What brings ya here,” Orpheus drawled, “so upset? You should be thrilled that Alaric’s gone and no longer a threat to your sweet daughter.”
“A man is dead.” Brandy crossed her arms, not amused. “You said that Alaric was a fraud. Why?”
“He claimed to be a vampire. As for me callin’ him a fraud, well, I’m hardly wrong, am I? His death proved it.” Orpheus’s grin was unrepentant.
Charlene didn’t care for his smug attitude. “Alaric had physical symptoms—his skin blistered in the sun, and he had an aversion to garlic. Did you witness that? It wasn’t made up, from what Serenity and Elisabeta both said.”
“Psychosomatic,” Orpheus decreed. “His mother was a wack job and raised him to think he was ‘special.’ ”
He thought Alaric brought on the symptoms himself. Charlene would have to ask Jack if that was even possible.
“Why didn’t you mention that you’re part of a vampire coven in New Orleans?” Brandy huffed. “Do you think you’re a vampire too?”
Orpheus’s eyes darkened to black and Charlene shivered. “You profess to be a witch,” he purred wickedly, brushing his knuckle across Brandy’s cheek.
Brandy smacked his hand away. “I am a witch.” Her energy seemed to grow before their eyes and Charlene stepped back, bumping into the mirrored closet door. “You are just as much a fake as Alaric.”
“I beg your pardon?” Orpheus’s skin flushed with anger. “We are nothin’ alike.”
Charlene cleared her throat to get his focus off of Brandy. “Your disdain for Alaric is like the pot calling the kettle black.”
The last of his easy manner disappeared. “Careful, now, ladies.” Orpheus straightened and got in Brandy’s face. “Alaric and I go way back. There are things about him of which you have no clue.”
“Everybody has secrets.” Brandy shrugged. “They don’t matter in the end.”
Orpheus gave an ugly laugh. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Tell us, then,” Charlene said. “It might help find his killer.”
“The police will sort it out.” Orpheus lifted the water tumbler of wine he’d poured for Brandy and drank it, never taking his eyes off of her.
Brandy bristled. “Did you know my daughter before last night?”
“I never officially met her at all. I’d be happy to rectify that. Why don’t you invite her over to the hotel? We can have our own private party. I’ve never had two witches in bed.”
“You’re a pig. Stay away from her.” Brandy glared at Orpheus, unintimidated by his larger frame and muscles.
Charlene, back against the closet, scanned the room for anything she might use to protect her and Brandy if Orpheus went crazy.
The historic hotel had a small balcony and modern updates—but nothing too fancy. The walls were papered in white-and-cream stripes, the wood trim oak. There was a queen-sized bed with a maroon comforter, a maroon and ivory upholstered armchair, with an oval table and a reading lamp.
He had a Gucci suitcase wheeled by the front door. Wallet and keys on the nightstand. Black leather shoes with reddish dirt on the heels by the closet—the double doors were closed, the mirrors reflecting the furniture to make the space appear larger.
The bed was made, an open book on the comforter.
Charlene stepped to the side of the bed to skim the title—what did bad-boy vampire wannabes read for pleasure? A paperback on Salem’s bootlegging history. Nothing nefarious or obvious in intent, like, how to kill a vampire.
“What’re ya doin’, love?” Orpheus asked.
Charlene jumped back. “Sorry. I’m always curious about books on Salem—for my guests. It is any good?”
He shrugged, his gaze hard. “A bit academic for my tastes. Secret societies and hidden tunnels that lead nowhere.”
“But isn’t that what you have in New Orleans?” she asked. “A secret club?”
Orpheus ushered her away from his bed toward the armchair. Charlene sidestepped, not wanting to sit. She glanced out the partially open curtain of the closed balcony. Orpheus was very tall. The man leaving Elisabeta’s in a cloak from her second story had also been tall.
She swallowed hard. How well did the two know each other?
“It’s a very private organization,” Orpheus murmured. “I could put a word in for you, but it comes to a vote. Care to submit your application?”
“Uh, no. Thank you.”
Brandy stepped between her and Orpheus, maneuvering him closer to the wine. “Did you know that Alaric slept in a coffin?”
“Everybody is different—as you can see, I prefer a bed. The only rule is that you’re not supposed to draw attention to yourself or the vampire coven, or other members. Alaric broke the rules.”
“Did you punish him? Stake him?” Brandy asked fearlessly. “Drown him?”
He chuckled as if Brandy wasn’t a powerful witch who could crush him in an instant. “I did not.”
“Elisabeta told us that you were jealous of Alaric. That’s why you fought, and Alaric left New Orleans for Salem.”
“Elisabeta’s loyalty is suspect as she is always out for herself and not the good of the coven.” His upper lip curled. “I was not jealous of Alaric. Talk about the pot and the kettle and all that. Elisabeta wanted his full attention, but as you know, he wasn’t faithful.”
“Who else moved here with Elisabeta and Alaric?” Charlene asked. “Serenity said there were others he had promised to turn into vampires, but she only met Elisabeta.”
Orpheus scrubbed his jaw in frustration. “Others? Alaric was a fool who deserved what he got. I sit in judgment, but I was not his executioner.”
“What will Elisabeta do without Alaric?” Brandy tossed her long braid.
“She’ll find her own way,” Orpheus said. “El’s got more lives than a cat.”
Charlene’s gaze was drawn toward the mirrored closet. Was that black fabric, like a cloak, visible at the edge of the door where it met the carpet? Her nape tickled. Orpheus really wanted to be a vampire and that spooked her more than all of the costumes of vampires last night. “We should get going, Brandy.” She picked up Brandy’s coa
t and walked toward the room door.
Brandy nodded, but held up a finger. “Orpheus, I want you to look into my eyes and tell me the truth about your vampire coven.”
He smirked.
Brandy held his gaze. “How many members are there? Do any have actual powers?”
“I’m not telling you anything. It’s top secret.”
Brandy didn’t release him from her emerald gaze. “Tell me, Orpheus. How many are in your coven?”
He stepped back until his calves hit the bed, knocking the book to the floor. Sweat formed on his brow. Charlene picked it up as he gritted out, “Fifty.”
“Do you have special powers?”
“No.”
Charlene read the author, Dr. Patrick Steel, and put the book on the sideboard by the wine. Maybe the secret societies part was what had tempted Orpheus to buy it. It had an Evergreen Bookstore tag.
“Did Alaric have supernatural powers?” Brandy asked.
Perspiration dotted his lip. “No.”
Brandy continued, calm but relentless. “What did Alaric want?”
His jaw clenched as he struggled not to answer, and yet he said at last... “To be immortal.”
“Is that what you want too?”
His face darkened with anger as he admitted, “Yes.”
“There is no such thing as immortality,” Brandy chided, as if Orpheus were a child.
Charlene had new respect for the witch-vineyard owner as Brandy coaxed answers from a twisted man.
“You’re wrong,” Orpheus declared. “There are ancient texts.”
“Fiction. Next time try Anne Rice.”
Orpheus glared at Brandy. “I feel your power and know you’re a true witch. Alaric said he would find one. Serenity. He claimed a witch’s blood would make him immortal.”
Brandy tsked. “I bet you wanted to be part of the new coven, if it had worked. You were waiting on the sidelines last night, uninvited. Pathetic.”
His face flamed with unhealthy color.
That might make a man mad enough to kill, Charlene thought.
Brandy walked backward from where he sat, keeping eye contact. Charlene opened the door. “Stay on the bed until we leave,” Brandy said.
Orpheus clenched his jaw but remained seated.