Witch on Second: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 5 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels)

by Juliette Harper

  I walked over and claimed the opposite chair. “Hi,” I said. “Where is everyone?”

  “Chase and Festus went home a little while ago,” she said. “Lucas is at the Registry looking into this matter of livestock disappearances.”

  “And Rodney and Glory?”

  “They went upstairs earlier to spy on the patrons in your store,” Greer said. “They assured me they would stay well out of sight.”

  I laughed. “Which probably means they’re tucked in some hidden spot sound asleep.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Greer said. “Theirs is a strange, but rather lovely friendship. Miss Green went on at some length explaining her predicament to me. She is effusively grateful that you have taken her in as a magical refugee.”

  “I’m assuming those are your words?” I asked.

  “They are,” Greer agreed with a smile. “I believe Glory’s phrasing involved being ‘trouble tossed on life’s terrible black ocean.’”

  “That sounds more like her,” I said.

  “Was Colonel Longworth’s tour a success?” Greer asked.

  Greer listened as I described the arrival of Beau’s soldiers and the time he spent with them.

  “The afterlife is such a complicated place,” she said when I finished. “The spirits who remain earthbound find themselves forever caught between a past they cannot live and future they will never realize.”

  “But aren’t you . . . ”

  Ever have one of those sentences you start and don’t know how to stop? No sooner had I opened my mouth than I realized how rude it would be to ask Greer if she was dead — or at least technically dead.

  “Aren’t I dead?” Greer asked, smiling.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That wasn’t very nice of me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I would expect you to be curious. I am baobhan sith, which makes me a fairy.”

  That surprised me. “Like Ironweed?”

  “Well,” Greer said, “after a fashion. Ironweed and his kind are Seelie. I am Unseelie.”

  “Now you’ve lost me,” I admitted.

  “The Seelie inhabit the Light Court,” Greer explained. “I am of the Dark Court.”

  My face betrayed my next question before I could even say it, touching off a round of merry laughter from Greer.

  “That does not mean I am malicious or evil,” she said, “although many of the Dark Court are those things and more. I long ago allied myself with the forces of the Light. It makes me something of an outcast with my own kind, but grants me certain advantages in my work with the DGI.”

  “Like what you did to help Tori’s father with the Strigoi Sisters,” I said. “Thank you, for that, by the way.”

  “My pleasure,” Greer said, inclining her head slightly.

  Since this was my first chance to really get information on the DGI, and Greer was more forthcoming than Lucas Grayson, I asked. “So are you and Grayson watching me or something?”

  Greer arched her eyebrows. “Didn’t Lucas tell you anything?” she asked.

  “No,” I said, “he just dragged me away from my brother and took me to the Mother Tree like I’d skipped school or something.”

  “I understand the feeling,” she said. “I have had my share of uncomfortable conversations with the Mother Tree.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes,” Greer said. “When I first began to work with the Grid my . . . appetite was, shall we say, a bit rough around the edges. There were . . . incidents.”

  Since I had no earthly idea what to say about that and really didn’t want any details on those “incidents,” I said nothing. Greer didn’t seem to mind, she simply continued talking.

  “We are not watching you,” she said. “We are here to work with you.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You really are in the dark about all this, aren’t you?”

  “Completely,” I said. “The whole thing with my mother getting cursed and me not being trained is kind of catching up with me. Half the time I’m not even sure I’m up for this.”

  Where did that come from? My admission was the truth, but normally I wouldn’t have said such a thing to somebody I’d just met.

  As I watched, the green fire Tori described to me slowly filled Greer’s eyes. She looked me up and down, almost as if she was searching for something. Then, just as quickly as it had risen, the fire receded. “You’re ‘up for it,’” Greer said. “Yours is one of the most powerful auras I have ever seen. But if I may, I’d like to give you a piece of advice.”

  “Go right ahead,” I said. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  “Hold your power close,” she said. “The likes of Chase McGregor mean well, but you are no hot house flower, Jinx Hamilton. Run your own show. You work for no man or woman. Not Chase McGregor, not Barnaby Shevington, not Moira. You are at least their equal and at times their better because you are one of those chosen by the Trees.”

  “Chosen?”

  “Aye,” she said. “They’ve waited a long time for your coming. I can’t tell you everything because I’m not allowed, and the Trees will only tell you when they’re ready, but trust me in this, Quercus de Pythonissam, I speak the truth.”

  Beau’s Latin lessons were paying off. She just called me “Witch of the Oak.”

  At the time, I had no idea what that meant, but the words sent a frisson of familiarity in my soul — and I liked it.

  That was Monday night. Tuesday, the Briar Hollow Banner came out with a huge headline proclaiming, “Howard McAlpin, Hiram Folger Among Haunts Spotted.”

  When I read the words and groaned, Tori said, “It was too much to hope that someone wouldn’t recognize Hiram. He was kind of a local legend back in the day.”

  Still scanning the paper, I pointed at the white blob in the center of the Mayor’s office. “At least they’re stretching it on the identification of Howie, “ I said.

  “Yeah,” Tori agreed, “that was a win for our side. Now if we can just get rid of the Strigoi Sisters, figure out what Ionescu is up to, break the curse, get your brother home, go after Chesterfield . . . ”

  “STOP!” I commanded. “One thing at a time. Right now, dealing with Seraphina and Ioana is top on the list. I don’t like not knowing where they are.”

  “Oh,” Tori said, “I don’t imagine you’ll have to wait long for them to show up.”

  She couldn’t have been more right.

  By Wednesday evening, when things were still calm, I was starting to get antsy. If we’d been in some old Western, I’d have been the steely eyed cowboy gazing out over the Indian-infested prairie intoning, “It’s quiet. Too quiet.”

  Of course, I should have known it wouldn’t last — and it didn’t.

  After the sun went down, the movie fired up over on the courthouse lawn. Poltergeist. The carnival was going full swing and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. The evening was cool. We had the front door of the store open to let the breeze in. I was restocking the SpookCon1 t-shirt display when I heard it — the mournful baying of a hound, but this was no ordinary hound.

  The undulating notes of his doleful cry rose up on the night air growing more shrill and piercing until the sound raised chill bumps on my arms.

  Instinct propelled me toward the door.

  Beau came charging past me. “I’m guessing you have some idea what’s going on?” I asked as I hurried to catch up with him.

  “That’s Duke,” he said. “He is attempting to alert me that something is wrong.”

  Out on the square, people who had stopped in their tracks at the first high-pitched howl were now gathering in nervous groups. I could see their eyes shifting restlessly toward the side streets like they were expecting the packs of wolves to come charging into the square at any moment.

  Someone cut the sound to the movie just in time for a man’s panicked shouts to echo off the building. It was one of the Bigfoot hunters who shot the viral video.

  “Oh my God! That’s him! Th
e hellhound from the baseball field! Run for your lives.”

  Great. Just great.

  Beau and I were now standing on the sidewalk outside the store. Duke raised his voice in another keening wail.

  “Can you tell where he is?” I asked Beau.

  “There, I think,” Beau said, taking off past the cobbler shop and toward the pizzeria. Instead of going down the sidewalk, however, he made for the alley, with me in hot pursuit. We didn’t have to go far to find Duke and the reason for his distress.

  Less than 20 yards down the alley lay the body of the second Bigfoot hunter. He was face up, his eyes open and staring. I knew he was dead even before Beau reached down and felt for a pulse in his neck — right above a set of round puncture marks.

  Duke, who had stopped howling, danced nervously back and forth, whining.

  “There, there, boy,” Beau said. “I’m here now.”

  When he moved to pet the ghostly coonhound, Beau’s hand passed entirely through Duke’s head. At least we wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing the “hellhound” they’d just heard.

  But then I was treated to a hellish sight of my own. When Beau reached for Duke, he cleared my line of sight to the body, and I spotted the second pair of puncture marks on the other side of the boy’s neck.

  The Strigoi Sisters.

  27

  For years, Tori and I have made jokes about getting a shovel and hiding a body. Now, confronted with a real body to hide, my mind worked faster than I ever could have imagined.

  In that moment, I didn’t stop to consider that the boy lying dead there in the dirt had a family and friends. I didn’t think about his potential in life so needlessly wasted or wonder if he died in helpless terror.

  With a calculating efficiency I didn’t even know I possessed, my thoughts jumped over all of that to the simple equation, “Three dead bodies in three months in one little town equal panic.”

  If my studies in magic and witchcraft taught me nothing else that summer, I learned panicked humans present a serious danger to people like me.

  Until that moment, I purposefully shied away from the question, “Am I human?” I’ll spare you the elegant theorizing about what constitutes humanity. That night I reacted like a Fae witch. I protected myself and the people I love.

  “Beau,” I said urgently, “we can’t let anyone find this body.”

  When he looked up at me, I knew Beau’s mind had already jumped to the image of Fish Pike propped up outside our front door with his throat ripped out. People had accepted that Malcolm Ferguson was responsible for that murder, but how would we ever explain this one?

  “I agree,” he said. “We cannot risk throwing the town into a mass hysteria. The puncture marks are indelibly associated with vampiric lore.”

  His calm and reason made me finally understand Beau’s talent for understatement. He was a soldier. One who kept a clear head when the bullets started flying. His job as a commander was to minimize the danger by example, and he was teaching me to do the same thing.

  “Any chance you have a plan?” I asked.

  “At least a partial one,” he replied, standing up and taking off his belt. “We must first take steps to explain Duke’s howling. In the presence of fear, people will accept the explanation that most immediately appeals to their sense of logic.”

  Accepting the leather strap more on reflex than comprehension, I said, “Okay, I’m with you so far. What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Use it as a leash,” Beau said, pulling the Amulet of the Phoenix out of his shirt and affixing it to Duke’s collar. “We are about to enlist the assistance of a corporeal coonhound.”

  The instant Beau took his hands away from the amulet, Duke’s coat turned coal black, and the brown accents on his muzzle and face became visible. Beau, on the other hand, faded to ectoplasmic gray as he leaned down and spoke seriously to the faithful dog, who never took his eyes off his master’s face.

  “Duke,” Beau said, “you were smart to call us. I am in need of your further assistance. Can you do as I ask?”

  The steady beating of the hound’s tail raised a cloud of dust beneath him, and a willing grin split his face.

  “Good boy,” Beau said. “You must go with Miss Jinx. She will speak harshly to you, but she will not mean it. People must believe that you escaped her care and are in trouble for howling and frightening everyone. She will play as if she is dragging you home. Do you understand?”

  In response, Duke dropped his head and then cut his eyes up at me in mournful regret. I swear if the dog had asked, “Like this?” it wouldn’t have surprised me.

  “Oh,” I said admiringly, “you are good, Duke. You are really good.”

  That touched off another round of enthusiastic tail wagging. At least the dog had his part in this caper down.

  “What about the body?” I asked. “Should we try to drag it out of sight.”

  “There is no time,” Beau said. “You must use the cloaking spell you have been practicing to temporarily disguise the corpse. I will stay here and guard the scene until you have consulted with Miss MacVicar. I should think that a problem of this nature falls within her area of expertise.”

  Getting Greer sounded like a fantastic idea. Me cloaking the corpse, not so much.

  “I can barely hide a pencil with that spell,” I protested. “I can’t cloak this guy.”

  Beau fixed me with a kindly, but firm stare. “Jinx,” he said, “perhaps you have heard the assertion that necessity is the mother of invention?”

  The sound of voices from the street settled the matter pretty quickly. We couldn’t just keep standing here in an alley over a dead man. Explaining the scene would be far harder than trying the spell.

  Closing my eyes, I searched within for the spark of my power, fanning it into a bright flame in my mind. When I opened my eyes again, I brought my hands up and quietly chanted the incantation.

  A gentle wave of blue light flowed from my fingers. It washed over the body at my feet, which appeared to grow thinner and fainter. Gaining in confidence, I channeled more energy toward my hands. In seconds, we were looking at bare, rocky ground, but when I cautiously extended my foot, it made contact with the corpse.

  “Excellent!” Beau said. “How long will the spell hold?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, looping the belt under the dog’s collar. “Just stay put until Greer and I get back. Come on, Duke. Show time.”

  The instant we came out of the alley, the hound dropped his head until his ears almost dragged on the sidewalk. As we neared a group of people on the corner, I said in a loud, angry voice, “Bad dog, Duke! Bad dog. What were you thinking? Howling like you’re trying to wake the dead! Bad, bad, dog.”

  One of the men turned at the sound of my voice and looked at me with wide eyes. “My God, lady, was that your dog making that awful sound?”

  “Yes,” I said crossly. “He got away from me. He’s all stirred up because there’s so many people in town. He’s been trying to get out all day, and he finally pulled it off.”

  “Are you sure?” the man asked. “That guy over there on the square said a hell hound was on the loose.”

  At that, I delivered a disdainful laugh. “Yeah, right,” I said. “Duke may be an old devil, but he’s no hell hound. Duke, howl, boy. Howl.”

  Right on cue, Duke threw his head back and let out with a piercing, blood-curdling yodel. Every head on the square snapped in our direction.

  Perfect. We had their attention.

  I waved and called out. “Sorry, folks. Just my uncle’s dog. Guess he’s in the Halloween spirit, too!”

  Waves of relieved laughter floated over the courthouse lawn. I made a show of dragging Duke back into the store. The dog executed a flawless performance, even digging his feet into the sidewalk and making me pull at the lead to get him to come.

  Getting inside the store didn’t put us in the clear, however, since there were customers inside. Thank God Tori catches on quick.


  “Did Duke get out again?” she asked with exasperation.

  “He did,” I said. “That was him howling. Scared everybody out there half to death. Uncle Beau is going to have to do a better job of keeping this damn dog in the house.”

  The people in the store bought it. No one batted an eye when Duke and I headed down to the basement.

  The instant we were out of sight, I took the leash off and leaned down to give Duke a big kiss between his sweet, brown eyes. “You,” I said, “are a very, very good dog and don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

  That won me a goofy grin and a sloppy doggy kiss. Duke was so happy, in fact, that when he followed me all the way down to the lair, in true dog fashion, he made an over-enthusiastic mistake. He trotted straight up to Festus, who was sitting on the hearth playing chess with Greer and licked the old cat full across the face.

  “What the hell!” Festus roared, immediately slapping Duke’s nose with claws extended.

  Surprised and hurt by the reaction to his friendly overture, Duke retreated with a yelp and cowered at Greer’s feet.

  “Festus!” Greer said. “You scared him.”

  “He licked me!” Festus declared with angry indignation. “He hasn’t seen scared yet.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Greer said, “your fur will dry.”

  Duke looked up at her and whined. “It’s alright,” she consoled him. “Festus speaks like that to everyone. Now, where did you come from?”

  “He came with me,” I said, “and we have a problem.”

  “Sounds like that’s my cue,” Greer said, reaching forward and moving a piece on the board. “Checkmate, by the way.”

  “Whatever,” Festus said, grooming furiously. “I’m too busy disinfecting my fur to play chess. Keep that damned dog away from me.”

  “That won’t actually be a problem,” I said, slipping the Amulet of the Phoenix off Duke’s collar.

  As she watched the dog fade to transparent gray, Greer said, “Ah, a spirit hound.”