No Rest for the Wicca

by Toni LoTempio

  I felt the daemon’s hand brush against my breast, and I whirled, hammer held high. “Definitely a pervert,” I muttered, and held out the third spike. “Now, you know what happens if I hammer this in, dontcha? Your spirit will be caught between two worlds. And according to daemon law…”

  A daemon spirit caught between two worlds is subjugated to the one who destroyed it. I would be his slave forever…no thank you!

  I felt a hiss of air, a sharp burn at the back of my neck, and I saw the black shadow fold itself into a ball. It slid through the gray portal with a soft whoosh of air. I brought the hammer down hard, pounding the third spike into the wall. I lifted my head, sniffing the air.

  The black energy faded. The daemon was contained inside the portal.

  I gripped the rod and swung myself back down to the floor. A profound sense of relief suffused me, and I knew my mission had been successful. I slipped my hammer back inside my jacket, went back through the study into the foyer and over to the front door.

  On the porch, Zandor paced back and forth. He looked up anxiously at me.

  “Is it over?”

  I nodded. “Feel free to move the family in, now. This place is daemon-free. Present company excluded, of course.”

  His scaly face lit up with relief. “Oh, thank you, Ms. Hawkes. What a relief. You’ve no idea—“

  I held up my hand. “I do, but save it. It’s all in a day’s work for me. But if you really want to thank me, a nice letter to my supervisor wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I really want to show my appreciation.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not necessary. All part of the job.”

  “You went far above and beyond your duties just being in the same room as Phenor.”

  “Yeah, I know. You didn’t warn me he was a letch. Bastard propositioned me.”

  “All the more reason you should take a reward. How about some eye of newt and some sprigs of thyme?” Zandor insisted.

  “No, really…”

  He pulled open his jacket, revealing green and orange striped lining so bright it could blind a bat. From an inner pocket he withdrew a beautiful silver blade, clean, shiny. He waved it enticingly in front of me. “What respectable ghost hunter couldn’t use a new, shiny athame?”

  Who indeed? I patted my jacket pocket, where my own dull, well-worn dagger rested. My fingers reached toward the blade. I pulled my hand back and shook my head. “I appreciate your generosity and your desire to show your appreciation, but the Department frowns upon accepting any tokens from clients. The letter will do just fine, thanks.”

  Zandor shrugged, replaced the blade, and bowed. “Whatever you say, Morgan Hawkes, just know you have my undying gratitude. If you should ever need a favor, you have only to ask.”

  “Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. Enjoy your home.”

  I turned and walked away without a backward glance. Damn. Sometimes sticking to the rules really bit.

  PIS Headquarters sat tucked away in the basement of Police Headquarters, a tall building in the middle of Central City’s business district. They said we shouldn’t take it personally, but I always believed in the old adage – location, location, location. Our location meant we were regarded as the lowest form of law enforcement, and I had no doubt it was true. The City felt its tax dollars were better spent on maintaining a force whose prime objective was to jail murderers and rapists, not dispense with ghouls who for some reason or another, refused to exit this plane of existence.

  A helluva job, but someone had to do it.

  I exited the elevator, gave the password to the guard on duty at the desk. I proceeded down the long corridor to my little cubbyhole located all the way at the end of the hall. I slipped inside, shrugged off my jacket, locked the door, and slumped behind my tiny desk. Pushed sideways into a corner, it held just enough space for my computer, cracked coffee mug, and a framed photograph of Xia and me on our High School graduation, smiling like nerds into the camera in our caps and gowns.

  Better days? Possibly.

  I put my feet up on its scarred top, leaned back in my threadbare chair and laced my hands behind my head. I eyed the mountain of papers sitting off to one side with trepidation.

  When I’d worked Homicide, I’d had an admin to do my paperwork. Now, as a paranormal investigator (I liked the term so much better than Ghostbusters) I had to do it all on my own—plus, they’d thrown in several new reports just for the hell of it. And I couldn’t even score a shiny new dagger for my trouble. Bitch. Life could be so unfair.

  My door inched open. I saw a shaggy, sandy cap of hair, a pair of cornflower blue eyes twinkling above a snub of a nose. A hand appeared, waving a white handkerchief.

  “Very funny. You can come all the way in, Danny.”

  “Whew.” Danny Robillard’s wide mouth slashed in a grin as he eased his slender frame into my cubbyhole. “So does this mean you’re not mad over yesterday?”

  I snorted. “It’s not the first time I’ve had my stapler and notebook glued to the blotter. The seat cushion’s a first, though.”

  He chuckled, tapped the newspaper he held against his side. “Made you smile, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Especially after I got done wiping the Stick-Um off my brand new two hundred dollar leather pants. My sides ached from the laughter.” I shook my finger at him. “If you want my opinion, your latest pranks have been kinda lame. They lack originality. Frankly, we’ve all come to expect better from you.” I swung my feet off the desk, turned to boot up my computer. “So, how bad?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Whatever bet you made on how I’d react? You lost, right? You bet someone I’d lose my temper and start screaming up and down the hall, right?”

  He blew out a sigh. “You’re an enigma, Hawkes. You never react the way anyone expects. At times you can be so calm, and others…”

  “Yeah, a complete psycho. So, how bad did you lose?”

  “Fifty bucks.” He put a finger against his lips. “Although the expression on your face when you realized you couldn’t jump up and run after me—wow! Priceless—almost worth the money.”

  “I’m so glad I contribute to the amusement around here. Makes me feel like my life is worthwhile. Besides, where else would I work where the captain’s right hand turns out to be an overgrown juvie?”

  He grinned. “Nowhere else in Central City, for sure. So, how’d your day go? Have a tough morning?”

  “Not any more than usual. You vanquish one daemon, you vanquish them all. How’s about here? Everything quiet?”

  His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Same old, same old. Nothing much changes in the day to day routine.”

  My gaze flicked to the newspaper he held in one hand. The headline screamed out at me. I raised my eyes to his.

  “Another one?”

  “Yep.” He passed the paper to me. I took it and started reading. “This latest attack makes three women in the last two weeks.”

  I nodded absently, my concentration centered on the article. “Um-hm.”

  He jerked the paper out of my hand and rolled it into something resembling a baseball bat. “You can read later.” He smacked the rolled paper on the edge of my desk for emphasis. “Gilley wants to see you.”

  My eyes narrowed into slits. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

  He clucked his tongue against his cheek, crossed his arms. “Such a positive attitude. Relax.”

  “Where Gilley’s concerned, I never relax.” I studied him a moment. “You know what it’s about, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  I took a step toward him. “If you know, you’d better tell. Right now.”

  He laughed. “I can’t, you know I can’t. But it’s something you’ll like. I think.”

  I shrugged into my jacket and glared at him. “This had better be good. I have a ton of paperwork to complete, and—“

  “Oh, it’s good all right,” Danny chuckled. “Real good. Finger lickin’ good.
”

  I crossed the room in two seconds flat, my fists curled into Danny’s lapels. I half-lifted him off the ground, no small order as he stood an inch or two taller and had about twenty pounds on me. “Don’t toy with me,” I growled. “If you know, you’d better tell.”

  “Hey, let go,” he swatted at my hands. “You’re wrinkling my two hundred dollar jacket.”

  “It’s not all I’ll wrinkle, unless you spill it,” I hissed. “What’s Gilley want?”

  “Well, I can’t be sure, but—“ he gasped as I released him and he took two steps backward. “I did hear your name and the word undercover mentioned in the same breath.”

  I stared at him. “You mean like…a spy? For what? Oh, Zeus!” My eyes fell on the paper, which now sat in a crumpled heap on the side of my desk. “Do you think it’s got anything to do with—“

  He tugged at the lapels of his jacket, smoothing out the creases my fingernails had etched. “Honest, I don’t know. The crystal ball’s been a bit cloudy lately.”

  I moved past him, jerked open the door. “Very funny.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be. Sorry, Champ, but there’s only one way for you to find out.”

  “I’m on my way. And if you really want to be nice, you could do me a favor and start my paperwork for me.”

  “Yeah, that’ll happen,” he snorted. “Give me a reason why I should.”

  “Because I didn’t kick your butt from here to DesMoine,” I flung over my shoulder, and slammed the door to block out the sound of his laughter as I headed for the stairs.

  I rapped on the wavy glass door with the name Clement Gilley, Captain, PSI, etched in gold letters and heard a brisk, “Morgan. Come in, come in.”

  I entered and stood uncertainly for a moment. Gilley’s office reflected the man himself- utilitarian, yet full of class. He motioned to me and I crossed and took a seat in one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk as he flipped through some papers in a manila folder. He pushed the folder off to one side and propped his reading glasses on the edge of his beak-shaped nose.

  “That troll Zandor telephoned. Said you did a bang-up job today.”

  Wow, he sure didn’t waste any time. All my clients should be so grateful. I shrugged. “Just a simple case of blocking a daemon’s portal, Captain. Not especially taxing.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “No, I imagine not for someone with your talent.” He looked me up and down, and I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Whether or not you’re aware of it, I’ve watched you closely for the year and a half you’ve been in my charge,” he said at last. “You’re a bright girl, Morgan. Intelligent. Strong. I’ve felt for a long time your talents are wasted in this department.”

  “Sir, I disagree. Vanquishing daemons and exorcising ghosts is an important part of law enforcement, even though the big boys upstairs don’t share our sentiments.”

  He laughed. “Well put. Still, I can’t help but notice you seem a tad frustrated lately.”

  “Sir?”

  He leaned forward. “Isn’t it time you put the past behind you.”

  My jaw thrust forward. “A bit hard to do, since my past is the reason I’m working in this division,” I said through clenched teeth. “Sir.”

  He reached into his middle drawer, pulling out the newspaper. He laid it flat on the desk and tapped the headline. “Are you familiar with current events?”

  “I try to keep up,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry.

  He leaned across the desk so his nose hovered only scant inches from mine. “Good, good. How about this latest case?”

  “Three women, apparently murdered in a semi-ritualistic fashion, no DNA left at the scene, not much of anything to go on, actually. Yeah, you could say I’ve been following it.”

  He picked up the newspaper. “There were a few details about the murders not released to the press.”

  I leaned back in the chair. “There always are.”

  He studied me a moment. “What if I were to tell you the victims were all witches.”

  I felt a jolt shudder through me, and affected what I hoped came across as an off-hand manner. “So, we’ve got a witch killer somewhere out there. Is that why you called me in? To tell me to be careful?”

  “Yes, and more.” He took off his glasses, scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “How do you feel about undercover work?”

  I felt the breath whoosh out of me. “Undercover?”

  Gilley leaned across his desk, cupped his chin in his hand. “I’ve spoken personally with the Commissioner. Certain key people feel this investigation is right up your alley. You have a particular knowledge which could prove useful—get an inside handle on the situation. But I won’t kid you, there’s a lot of danger involved. Think you can handle it?”

  My jaw jutted forward. “I think I could, yes, sir.”

  His expression softened and he leaned back. “Good, because I think you could too. Go home, Hawkes, and get some rest. Report back here tomorrow morning, eight a.m. sharp for a briefing.”

  I felt a rush of adrenaline surge through me. “Thank you, sir.”

  He regarded me silently for a moment. “I won’t kid you, Morgan, there’s a lot riding on this. Don’t let me down.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t, sir. I promise.”

  “Good. Eight a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”

  I started for the door, enjoying the sensation of floating on air. My euphoria dissipated with Gilley’s next words.

  “And you’ll meet your partner.”

  I turned slowly. “Partner?”

  “You didn’t think you’d work a case like this alone, did you?” His voice softened. “I know what you’re thinking, but don’t. This is an entirely different situation. Everything will be fine.”

  I frowned. “Easy for you to say, sir.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You want this, don’t you, Morgan?”

  I sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, go home and get some rest. I’ll have Danny finish up your reports on the Zandor matter.” He paused. “And don’t wear those leather pants.”

  I backed out of the office. Not even the thought of Danny Robillard cursing as he waded through my sea of paperwork could dispel the odd pricking sensation, the one that started at the base of my spine, and inched all the way up to my neck.

  I’d gotten a similar tingle only once before in my life. It hadn’t turned out well.

  Chapter 2

  The house I shared with my cousin Xia was a small ranch, located on the west end of town, a stone’s throw from the ocean. Beachfront property, my Uncle Zak used to call it. Weather-beaten and worn, it definitely didn’t qualify as the best looking house in our little cul de sac, but it served the purpose as a roof over our heads and a sanctum to keep out the cold. Really, what more could anyone ask?

  Tonight I sat out on the dilapidated porch, a six-pack of Miller beer at my side. A gentle breeze stirred, riffled my raven-black hair. Humidity was high, evidenced by the way the ivy crawling along one side of the cottage drooped, and I took a long swig of brew, thankful I’d changed from my work attire into a comfortable shorts set. I stretched my bare legs out in front of me and leaned back.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet all night.”

  I glanced up. Xia had padded onto the porch behind me. I looked pointedly at my cousin’s bare feet, toes painted some obscene shade of purple. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone?”

  She flopped down next to me. My gaze flicked over her sweats and loose tunic, emblazoned all over with different phases of the moon. “Aren’t you hot?”

  She shrugged. We were, the two of us, about as alike as Snow White and Paris Hilton. Where I stood almost five-eleven, Xia barely came up to my bosom; my hair was the color of fine ebony; hers resembled a fine chaff of wheat. Her eyes were wide, blue and innocent; mine were green, the color of smoky emeralds, the kind you’d see on a sleek black cat. About the only thing appearance wise we had in
common was our milky-white skin, except during the dog days of summer. Where I tended to turn the color of a broiled lobster, Xia browned like a perfectly done piece of toast. Whenever we went to the beach, she could lie on the sand in a string bikini, while I wore floppy hats, ponchos, anything to keep out of the sun. It provided me a good reason to hate her, save for the fact it was just impossible to hate Xia. She’d gotten the overload of nice genes in the family, while mine, on the other hand, reeked of the “b” word. Oh, well. One can’t have everything, right?

  She held out a cracked mug. I caught the mixture of lemon and ginger wafting up from the cup. “Want some tea?”

  I held up my half-empty bottle. “No thanks. You got your brew, I got mine.”

  “I hate it when you refer to my teas as brews.”

  I laughed. “Aren’t they?”

  She cocked her head to one side and studied me. “You know, you always reach for a beer when you’re fretting over something. Did anything happen at work to upset you?”

  I lifted my shoulders, took a deep swig before I answered. “No more than usual, I suppose.”

  She crossed her legs at the ankles. “The usual? You mean you banished a ghost, right?”

  I nodded. “Today proved to be a little more challenging. I vanquished a daemon.” And I’m getting reassigned, I wanted to add, but hesitated. I thought it good news, but Xia might not. She’d been quite happy when I’d informed her of my new assignment. A lot less dangerous, she’d said. And for the most part, it was true. Even though I’d never admit it to anyone, ghostbusting lacked something I usually got high on: an element of real danger. Ghosts and daemons caught between planes usually presented no real threat to anyone except themselves.

  She frowned. “Is that all?”

  “What, you think I’m holding something back?” I glared at her. “Or is your witch’s psyche giving you bad vibes?”

  “You would know, since we have practically the same psyche,” she said lightly. Her hand snaked out, rested lightly on my knee. “I realize yours is slightly less advanced, nonetheless I know you, remember,” she said softly. “Blood tells. I don’t need to scry my crystals to see something’s eating at you.”