by Jaye Wells
“You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Bane,” the doctor was saying.
That comment elicited a groggy laugh from the wizard. “Don’t feel… lucky,” he wheezed.
The doc patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on you. In the meantime, let the nurses know if you need more pain potion.”
With that, the doctor turned to exit. He paused when he saw Morales and me loitering in the doorway. “Take it easy on him. He’s still in bad shape.”
While Morales promised the good doctor we’d follow his orders, I met Harry’s slitted gaze. The swelling prevented him from showing much emotion, but a hissed curse escaped his lips. Guess he wasn’t any happier to see us than we were to be there.
Once the door shut behind the doctor, I grabbed a chair and straddled it. Resting my chin on my hand against the back of the chair, I shot the patient a sympathetic look. “You look like shit, Harry.”
“I almost died yesterday. What’s your excuse, bitch?” He dragged his watery gaze from me to stare at the ceiling, as if dismissing us.
I raised my brows. “Hey, Morales?”
“Yeah?” He stood at the end of the bed with his arms crossed.
“Jog my memory here. Whose ass did we save yesterday?”
“Some shitbag wizard.”
I snapped my fingers. “Oh yeah. I remember now. Couple of bad guys beat a pitiful son of a bitch with his own walking stick.” I looked at Harry. “Any of this ringing a bell?”
Harry shot me a venomous look. “Can’t say it does.”
“Well,” I said with faux concern, “it’s no wonder, seeing how they were giving you a total beat-down before we saved your sorry ass.”
He snorted. “If you call getting attacked by my dog rescuing me.”
I tilted my head. “Ah, so you do remember some things.”
“Cut the shit, Prospero.” He smacked his destroyed mouth. “What do you want?”
I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe you could start with telling us why a cartel hit man would want to frame you for Charm’s murder and then turn around and kill you?”
“Life’s a big mystery.” He tried to shrug, but the effect was ruined by a pained wince.
I laughed. “Good to see they didn’t beat your sense of humor out of you.”
“You know what I think?” Morales said. “He doesn’t know shit.”
“Hmm,” I said, pressing my lips together. “I don’t know. I mean Harry’s the head of his own coven. Surely he knows everything that happens in the Cauldron.”
While Morales and I pretended Harry wasn’t in the room, the wizard watched us with an increasingly bullish expression.
“Didn’t you hear?” Morales said with a smirk. “Word on the street is Harry’s been losing influence.”
“Bullshit,” Harry said. “I got plenty of influence. Otherwise why would that asshole try to set me up?”
I raised a brow. “You tell us.”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a second before opening them again. “Doesn’t matter now anyway.”
“Hate to break it to you, Harry, but it matters a whole hell of a lot.” I leaned forward to force him to look at me. “Even if we could just chalk up your beating to a personal beef with another wizard, we can’t overlook the fact your assailants attacked a federal agent and a BPD detective.”
“You won’t find him.”
“Find who, exactly?” Morales asked.
“I don’t know his name, okay? I don’t know anything.”
I paused and really looked at Harry. “You’re scared.”
He didn’t respond. Simply tipped his chin and looked at the broken finger on his left hand.
I’d known Hieronymus Bane since we were kids. He’d had his ass kicked plenty of times because of his ego and chronic verbal diarrhea. But the thing about Harry was, he was too stupid to stay down when he was beat. I’d watched him dust himself off and raise his chin to threaten larger kids who clearly outfisted him. Being the son of the powerful wizard of the blood coven had instilled in Harry an electrifying sense of entitlement that prevented him from ever feeling totally outgunned.
But right then, I saw true fear in his eyes. It was the haunted look of a man who knew he’d finally gotten himself into a situation he couldn’t bluster his way out of.
“Let us help you.” My tone was sincere. Because if Harry was scared, that meant we probably had good reason to be, too.
He snorted. “Right.”
Morales and I exchanged a look. Time to try a different tactic. “The guy with the black skin,” my partner said. “You ever seen him before yesterday?”
Harry touched the tip of his tongue to one of the empty sockets in his mouth. “Nuh-uh.”
“What about his helper?” I asked. “We know he’s Votary. You got a name for us?”
Harry’s pause was imperceptible. Almost. “Nope.”
Most likely Harry planned on dealing with that guy without interference from law enforcement. All the more reason to head to Charm’s wake after we were done with Harry. If his goons got to the Votary guy before we did, we’d lose the chance to get intel from him.
Morales napped his notebook closed. “We’re wasting our time. Let’s go, Prospero.”
Harry’s head jerked up. “What are you going to do?”
I paused in my exit and turned back toward him. “We got a long day ahead of us. We’ve gotta review every computer and file folder we found in your trailer.”
His chin came up. “You won’t find shit about the black guy in there.”
I leaned forward. “No, but they’ll give us enough dirt on you to put your ass in prison.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“You’re obstructing our investigation,” Morales said with a raised brow.
Harry deflated against his pillow. “I don’t know anything, okay? I was in my trailer watching porn when those assholes busted in and started whaling on me.”
“Bye, Harry,” I said. “I’d tell you to stay in town, but given your injuries I’m pretty sure you’re going nowhere fast.”
“Wait—you’re just going to leave me here? What if he comes back to finish the job?”
“You got so much influence I suggest you get a couple of your guys here to watch your ass,” Morales said.
With that, we marched out the door and let it shut behind us.
In the hall, Morales blew out a breath. “That was a waste of time.”
“No shit.” I shook my head.
“You ready to go pay your respects to the deceased?”
I sighed. “Not really, but that’s never stopped me before.”
Chapter Fifteen
Half an hour later we were driving through the heart of Votary turf. “Pull in here.” I pointed him to a lot across the street from the Red Horse.
The peeling white paint on the cinder-block building was covered in spray-painted alchemical symbols that marked the place as the territory of the Votary Coven. The front door was painted black, and a red neon sign above it displayed the anarchy symbol. A frigid wind scattered trash across the sidewalk while a bum huddled on the corner of the building like the world’s worst bouncer.
“You take me to the nicest places, Prospero,” Morales said.
“If you’re nice, I’ll take you out for a burger after.”
“You ever been to a Votary wake?” His leather jacket creaked as he turned to look at me.
I cringed.
“Shit, sorry,” he muttered. “I forgot about your mom.”
I shrugged off the apology and ignored the cold echo of grief that thrummed through my midsection. “There was no wake for her. Just a funeral.” Memory of Danny’s tiny, warm hand in my cold palm as we walked up the aisle in the funeral parlor toward her open casket. The sick feeling of dread at seeing the garish makeup on her too-still face. The cloying scent of carnations and lilies. The black cloud of guilt hanging behind my painfully dry eyes.
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Morales cleared his throat. I shook off the past and tried to focus on the present. “More than likely this wake is just an excuse to drink a lot and jockey for position in the coven.”
“Are you expecting to find any old friends in there?”
“Even when I belonged to the coven these people were, at best, frenemies.” I sighed. “Keep your gun close.”
We got out of the car and jogged across the street. My salt flare was a comforting weight against my side. I knew if shit went down we’d be sorely outnumbered, but I was hoping we’d get through this without weapons being drawn.
The door opened and Morales stood aside to let me go in first. Music scraped the air like the yowls of a pissed-off cat. I suddenly wished I’d thought to bring some earplugs in addition to my guns. The scent of smoke and beer saturated the thick air. The only lights in the place were spotlights aimed at the stage, where four men thrashed around like they were having seizures.
A very large man stepped into my path. “This is a private party.”
I squinted up at him. Didn’t recognize him, but I knew the type. Probably worked as muscle for the coven when he wasn’t harassing people in the bar. Tattoos covered every inch of exposed skin—including his bare scalp. “We’re friends of the deceased.”
He squinted at me. “Name?”
I looked him in the eye. “Kate Prospero.”
He looked up at me with new interest. “You related to Abe?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t giving him any more than that. Didn’t matter; it was enough.
“Cover is twenty.”
This was the first time I’d ever heard of a cover charge for admission to a wake, but I wasn’t about to argue with the man. I tossed a look back at Morales. He pressed his lips together and forked over the money. The bouncer checked Morales’s ID without incident, and we carried on into the bar. “You’re an expensive date.”
“Add it to my tab.”
We worked our way through the crowd toward the bar. I didn’t bother to lower my head in case anyone recognized me. The bouncer didn’t know who I was, but I could already feel the gazes of several members of the audience. It was only a matter of time until a confrontation happened.
As far as wakes went, it wasn’t exactly conventional—the bar setting notwithstanding. The only signs it was a memorial at all were the bottle of rye whiskey and framed picture of Charm on the stained green felt of the pool table. The image was of the bull of a man with his head thrown back as he laughed at something. I recognized the image because it had sat on the mantel at Uncle Abe’s house for years. Abe always loved that picture because it pissed off Charm, who rarely even smiled, and hated having what he considered a weak moment captured for posterity.
At the bar, I ordered two beers even though it was only ten thirty in the morning. In a pinch, beer bottles made excellent weapons. Plus, even though everyone already knew we didn’t belong, that wasn’t an excuse to rub it in by looking like a couple of teetotalers.
Morales turned away with his elbows resting behind him on the bar. “You’ve got an admirer at three o’clock,” he said under his breath.
I lifted the bottle to my lips, pretending to drink, and looked out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough, a blonde was watching me from other end of the bar. Most likely she was some Votary tough’s bitch, but there was knowledge in her eyes that told me she was more than just an overly made-up face. I set down the beer and turned my back toward her, confident Morales would warn me if the polecat attacked from behind. “Don’t recognize her.”
“She recognizes you,” he said. “And judging from the look on her face, she’s not a fan.”
I was going to reply that she should get in line, but at that moment the band finally finished their song. The crowd’s vigorous cheering had a forced edge to it, as if everyone was afraid to be caught not clapping.
A broken guitar hung from the lead singer’s left hand as he approached the mike. The sides of his head were shaved, but he’d left the middle long in a lazy Mohawk. He wore a ratty wife beater, baggy jeans, and scuffed Doc Martens with skulls painted on the sides. “We’ll be back in fifteen. Stick around—or not, we don’t give a fuck.”
I nodded toward the Johnny Rotten wannabe. “That’s Puck,” I whispered to Morales. “This place is his crew’s turf. I’d bet money he’s the heir apparent now that Charm’s gone.”
Puck tossed the remains of the guitar down and jumped off stage. He strutted through he crowd as if he expected their adoration, and, of course, he got it. I tracked his progress through the mirror over the bar, and Morales’s stillness indicated he was doing the same.
The blonde from earlier approached Puck. After an enthusiastic kiss where he grabbed her ass through her short skirt, she whispered something to him. I knew the instant she told him we were there because his gaze zeroed in on us like a laser. Ripping my gaze from the mirror, I lifted the beer bottle and took a long swallow. Duty be damned. I wasn’t going into this confrontation without some liquid fortification. I wasn’t worried about Morales lecturing me considering his own beer was already half-empty.
“Kate Prospero.” I flicked a glance toward the mirror to see Puck standing with his hands on his hips behind me. Morales continued to lean against the bar in a casual pose, but I could feel the heightened tension coming off him.
I turned slowly, taking my time so Puck would know I wasn’t one of his flunkies who’d jump just because he deigned to speak to me. I took another sip of my beer before I answered. “Hello, Puck.”
His eyes narrowed. “I go by Pain now.” Despite his slacker getup, there were very real muscles on display. His eyes were light blue, which contrasted against his dark hair, but it wasn’t the color that was unsettling. It was the glow of lunacy behind them. The ruthlessness.
I cocked a brow. “Pain, huh?”
He ignored the mocking edge to my tone. “And I hear you’re a detective now. You got a lot of fucking nerve showing your face here—today of all days.” These words were said in a calm tone that hinted at some sociopathic tendencies in young Puck—err, Pain.
“I wanted to hear your set.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “What’d you think?”
“It was certainly… loud.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who’s your pig friend?” Behind Puck, the entire bar had gone silent. I wondered if this was why we hadn’t been harassed when we’d arrived. Everyone had been waiting to see what their new leader would do.
My partner pulled away from the bar. “Morales.”
“Well, Detective Morales”—neither of us corrected his mistake. Saying either of us worked with the MEA in that crowd would be like begging for a bullet—“did your partner here tell you who I am?”
“You mean besides being a mediocre musician?”
Those crazy eyes glowed with anger. “You want to start something, dick?” His followers closed ranks behind him, and there was no doubt they’d follow through on any threat he issued.
I held up my hands. “Relax. He doesn’t know who you are.”
Morales’s eyes shifted toward me, as if he couldn’t tell whether I was bluffing or not. I turned to him and dropped the bomb. “Old Puck here—excuse me, Pain, is not only a highly respected wizard of the Votary Coven, he’s also the cousin of our esteemed mayor, John Volos.” Saying that name had an immediate electrifying effect on the crowd, as if I’d thrown chum in the water.
“Get out,” Morales said. He turned toward Puck. “That true?”
Puck crossed his arms and spit on the floor. “The wizard part is true, but I disowned that treacherous motherfucker.”
I frowned at him. “Oh, Puck. Say it ain’t so. You used to worship him.” I turned toward Morales. “He used to follow us around and beg John to let him carry his wand and stuff. It was heartwarming, really.”
“Shut the fuck up with your lies, bitch.” Puck slashed a hand through the air. The move exposed his wrists, which, as expected, were covered in alchem
ical symbol tattoos. I couldn’t get a good enough look at them to verify they were the same ones I’d seen at the junkyard, though. “That disloyal asshole shows his face around here and I’ll remove it with a bullet.”
I clucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “Good to see you’re handling your grief well. Thought you’d be all torn up over Charm’s death.”
His expression slammed shut like a steel door. He took a menacing step toward me. “Watch your mouth. Charm was a fucking hero in this coven.” Damned if he didn’t sound like he believed it.
I stepped up to him, getting right in his face. “So you decided to honor his memory by sending a crew out to jump those Sang boys last night?”
“We were trying to honor his memory with this private party until you and your partner disrupted it, Detective,” the blonde behind Puck said.
I couldn’t read her. She certainly didn’t talk like the arm candy of a potion dealer.
“Yeah,” Puck said. “We don’t need you coming in here throwing out allegations and shit. We’re trying to mourn the man.”
“You’re forgetting that I knew him, too,” I shot back. “Charm wouldn’t want you starting shit that would put the coven in danger.”
“I’d never do anything like that.” Puck flashed me an eat-shit smile. “Finding Charm’s killer is BPD’s job, Detective.”
I laughed. “Right. You’re a big believer in the justice system, are you?”
“Look, unless you got a warrant, you need to leave and let us mourn in peace,” Puck said.
“We’re not here to harass you,” Morales said. “We just thought you might have information that could help us find Charm’s killer seeing how you’re such upstanding citizens and all.”
The blonde stepped up. “You want to find who did this, all you have to do is talk to the fucking albino.”