The Bewitching Hour

by Mallory Crowe

  “Well, you can feel free to ask whatever you want. But you’re right that I can’t give out details about an ongoing investigation.”

  “Figures.”

  Once again she went quiet and Derek was utterly perplexed. He didn’t remember the last time someone hadn’t asked for some sort of details about his cases. Especially for a case as publicized as this one. As sad as it was, one or two dead girls like this wouldn’t even entail coverage on the smallest news stations around. But the third murder was enough to get the attention of the locals, and by the fourth, it was making national headlines.

  Now that a fifth girl was dead, all hell was breaking loose.

  Derek was half convinced Sam was a reporter wannabe who was pulling his chain to get a story, but more than that, he really wanted to believe that Nick and Travis were full of shit.

  “This is our exit,” she said.

  Derek got off and Sam directed him through the streets until they were at an industrial part of town.

  Sam leaned forward and studied the buildings. “Okay, here’s a good place to stop.”

  He parked the Crown Vic in front of a large three-story brick building with no windows, signs, or doors. Must be the back of it. “Now what?”

  “Now comes the tricky part.” She grabbed the speaker piece of his police radio and started to fiddle with the dial.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She didn’t stop her slight tuning adjustments, listening to each channel before she turned the dial slightly again. “I don’t know the frequency they use. It’s been too long since I’ve done this.” She kept turning.

  “You’re trying to listen to what? Where are we?”

  “We’re at the studio where their little productions are performed. They’re all a bunch of frauds. There are a thousand other ways they could make easy money, but for some reason they always got a kick out of preying on people’s hopes and dreams.”

  “And they just happened to tell you about this?”

  “Well, back in high school they were doing it on a smaller scale. Nick would find some schmuck at the mall and either talk to them or eavesdrop until he knew some of their secrets. Then Travis would offer them a palm reading—the first five minutes free, of course—and from there, they could get hundreds of dollars. Since then, they’ve scaled up the business.” A mix of voices came over the radio and Sam smiled. “Here we go.”

  At first, it sounded like gibberish to him until he was finally able to listen to one of the voices over the others. “So who are you hoping to talk to today?”

  Another voice, this one an older woman, answered, “My husband. He was taken so suddenly in a car accident three years ago. I never had a chance to say good-bye. My daughter says this is all a scam, but I figured, why not try?”

  “They’re recording the audience?” asked Derek.

  “From what I’ve heard, they have cameras all over the place. They use the normal radio frequencies and can switch which mic they listen to.”

  “From what you’ve heard? Who told you this? I’d think that this is the kind of secret that wouldn’t be well known.”

  “Their family and mine go way back, and our families are good at keeping secrets.”

  “Except for the fact that you’re telling me.”

  “Well, I never fit in that well,” she said with a sardonic smile.

  “If anyone with a radio can hear this, they’re obviously not too concerned about secrecy”

  “Someone with a radio who happens to be in a very small radius of their studio,” pointed out Sam. “But you’re right. If they get the national TV deal they’re in negotiations for, I’m sure they’ll do something more sophisticated. Until then, at least you have your proof that they’re frauds.”

  There’s that. “Are you free to come with me to the station to tell my captain this? He’ll like it better coming from someone who’s not me.” Considering he hadn’t listened to a damn thing Derek had said about these two frauds.

  Sam jerked back as her eyes widened. “I don’t really do police stations.”

  “Come on. It’s not like you’re under arrest.” Derek put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. “Just make sure you leave any contraband in the car.”

  There was a special kind of depressing that came along with government offices, thought Sam as Derek led her to his captain’s office. She’d been to a few offices here and there, and most businesses had art on the wall and coordinated carpet and walls to match the branding or whatever mood they were trying to achieve. Granted, even with this effort, the effect was normally bland, boring, and sometimes downright ugly.

  But government offices didn’t even try. Everything seemed to be a washed-out blue or white. The only items breaking up the monotony were the personal pictures and items set on the working spaces of all the officers.

  The officers who were all following her progression deeper and deeper into Derek’s precinct. Any other time, she loved the attention of standing out in a crowd, but right now she wished she had normal-colored hair and lipstick that wasn’t making her look as if she belonged in a lineup.

  “Here we go.” Derek opened the door to one of the offices that lined the perimeter of the building. From what she could tell, they were in the section of the precinct for detectives, because these men—well, mostly men and a few women—were in business attire instead of the dark-blue uniforms of the other officers.

  Derek knocked on the door even as he opened it. The man behind the desk looked up and waved Derek inside, obviously not upset about the intrusion.

  The captain wore a white shirt with a patch on the shoulder that probably signified something, but Sam couldn’t get a good look at it from her angle.

  “Captain Voss, this is Sam Harris. She approached me about some interesting backstory about our friends Nick and Travis Baker.”

  The captain frowned. “I thought we’d talked about this already,” he said in a low, gruff voice. His black hair was peppered liberally with gray and silver; his eyes and lips were lined with wrinkles. Sam couldn’t tell whether he was late fifties or whether the stress of his job had prematurely aged him.

  “I can wait outside if you two need to—”

  “No, you’re fine. Sam told me that she used to go to school with these guys. That she was around when they first started the scam. Then we took a drive by their little studio and I heard for myself that everything they say the spirits tell them is actually picked up from hidden mics in the audience.”

  The captain turned his disconcerting gaze to Sam.

  She straightened in her chair, looking intently down at his paper-covered desk. Just let this be over quickly....

  “Sam Harris?” asked the captain.

  “Yep,” she croaked out through a suddenly dry throat. She still didn’t look up at him. Instead, she focused on her hands, which had started to shake again. Damn it. She’d need something soon to keep her from getting worse.

  “Pierce, why don’t you give me a few minutes to talk to Ms. Harris?”

  Sam jerked to look at Derek, her eyes pleading with him to stay. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” she tried to say in a normal, not freaked-out voice.

  “Sir, I don’t think—”

  “For goodness’ sake, I’m not going to arrest her. I just have a couple quick questions and I think she’s going to want some privacy. Pierce, I’ll call you back in when I’m ready.”

  Derek looked as though he wanted to say more, but instead he tightened his lips and nodded. He set a hand on Sam’s shoulder and gave a quick squeeze that was probably supposed to be comforting, but in her rapidly deteriorating state, the unexpected touch caused her to jump and avert her gaze back to the desk.

  Once she heard the door close and realized she and this captain were alone, she forced herself to look up.

  The captain leaned forward on his elbows as he considered her. “Samantha Harris. I know of a few different Harrises.”

  �
��It’s a common name.”

  “If you went to school with Nick and Travis Baker, I’m guessing you’re one of the Harrises I’m thinking of.”

  Sam clenched her jaw. Shit. This was bad. “What exactly did you want to ask me?”

  “Well, I’ll do you the favor of cutting right to the chase, Ms. Harris. Are you a witch?”

  A shiver of unease shot through her. She was so stupid. What had she been thinking to get involved in something as big as a murder investigation? She looked the captain straight in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He leaned back in his seat. “I know all about the families. My uncle was married to one of the cousins from the Adams branch. Of course, the rest of the family thought Monica was just eccentric, but she showed me things that I can’t unsee. I know about your normal code of confidentiality, but we need your help on this case.”

  Sam shook her head. “Trust me, I’m no help to anyone.” She could barely take care of herself.

  She tried to think about what the captain was telling her. Monica Adams.... She’d heard of the rebellious woman before, but not more than gossip and whispers. She had married a mortal, which brought up enough stink between the families, but then when she’d gotten divorced, things had gotten even worse.

  Sam wouldn’t be surprised if Monica had tried to rock the boat further by blabbing about family secrets, but this was drama she didn’t want to be sucked into.

  “Just hear me out,” said the captain. “There’s something paranormal going on with this case. Whether it’s a wannabe or the genuine thing, my detectives are at a disadvantage here. I thought Nick and Travis would be able to help, but if you think they’re hurting more than they’re assisting....”

  “This isn’t a paranormal thing. Witches, if they did exist,” she added carefully, “wouldn’t go around killing women all over the city.” And if they were doing it, the women wouldn’t be found anywhere. Ever. Let alone splayed out in the open for anyone to stumble over.

  “Well, it wasn’t my first thought. But consider the facts. The first woman was found in the middle of an urban farm. The second was found on the shore of the harbor. Third was at the top of a building and the last was found—”

  “Right outside the coal mine,” finished Sam, remembering the details from the earlier newscast.

  “Exactly. I thought that would be the last one. That we’d missed our window to solve the case and that whoever it was had gotten away. But now the fifth victim was found at a hospital. Which meant whoever this is knows about all six of the elements.”

  Sam’s thumb tapped against her leg as she thought about what he was saying. The six elements were hardly a secret, though very few people who weren’t the real deal used them in any rituals.

  Which gave his theory some credit.

  “Even if this was some sort of ritual, I can’t think of any spell involving human sacrifice. Besides that, I’m not a witch.”

  The captain looked at her with disbelieving eyes that saw much more than she wanted him to. He then leaned forward slowly, as though he was measuring the next words carefully. “I can tell you’re one of the good ones. It’s obvious from the way that you’re shaking.”

  Sam jumped up from the chair and pulled her bag closer to her. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think you know the first thing about me. It’s time for me to go.”

  She turned to start her hasty retreat, but the captain called after her, “Is this blood you want on your hands?”

  She froze in place as the question hit her hard. “I’m not the one killing people,” she said softly, still not looking at him.

  “How do you think I’ll feel if this killer goes free and I knew there was something to be done? Someone who could help? If there’s nothing you can do, then at least I’ll know I tried.”

  Sam pivoted around on her heel and narrowed her eyes at him. Taking a deep breath, she approached his desk. “If you do know so much about me, then you know that I’m basically useless to you. This,” she held up a shaking hand as evidence, “is exactly why you shouldn’t even think about asking for my help.”

  “I considered that.”

  “And what made you think making this offer was still a good idea?”

  The older man shrugged, his pristine white shirt barely moving. “I have no other options.”

  Sam stared at the file in front of her. The file that had been on her coffee table for three hours now, untouched. She should throw it away. Throw it away or look at it. No use in staring at the thing for hours on end.

  This was something she had no business getting involved in. Best case, the murders had nothing to do with the paranormal and there was no way she could help. Worst case, someone she knew, or at least knew of, was responsible, and if she helped to bring them down, she’d be in a world of shit.

  It helped that Derek had been on her side. After the captain had handed her the file and she’d practically run out of his office, Derek had offered her a ride home to her—well, their—building. Instead, Sam had blown him off, opting to take the subway instead.

  She thought that the ride would give her some time to think, but there was no way out of her circle of thoughts. Because every time she convinced herself that nothing good would come from helping, she remembered the captain’s words. If she walked away from this, there would be blood on her hands.

  Sam picked up the folder and sat back on her couch, folding her legs beneath her as she ran her thumb along the bottom corner. There was one other option.... She could be a silent advisor to the NYPD. So what if she nudged them in the right direction? It’s not as if she could ever be called to the witness stand anyway.

  It wasn’t as if her mother or sister would ever need to know about her extracurricular activities. Hell, she could even make a difference for once. Make the world a better place instead of a worse one.

  But there was no use. She couldn’t go getting involved with this stuff. Even so, she found herself flipping open the cover of the folder in her hand, and the first thing she saw were the cold, lifeless eyes of Amy Woods. Victim number one.

  Amy had been a college freshman. Every parent’s worst nightmare. Gone away to school for only one semester before her body was discovered. And her death hadn’t been a quick one. She’d suffered before her life was snuffed out.

  Sam looked at the crime scene photo. Amy had been found in a heap right next to the compost pile of a plot of land used to grow fruits and vegetables in the midst of the urban sprawl of New York City.

  Amy’s eyes were open. Even if she’d been gagged, those eyes had begged her attackers for mercy.

  When her hands shook so much that she couldn’t look at the photo any longer, she set it down and rubbed her eyes, trying to unsee the horrific images. Images she’d never even imagined. It was easy to pretend the crime and horrors of the world didn’t exist. Especially considering her family.

  Abigail had a lot of issues, but as a mother she’d always done her best to keep Sam protected from some of the darker sides of the world. Maybe her life would be easier if she hadn’t been quite so sequestered, but she knew why her mother had tried to keep her separate.

  Now that she was twenty-eight, all of her mother’s power and money couldn’t keep her safe from the world. And she especially couldn’t protect Sam from her own body.

  She stood, with her legs now shaking along with her hands. As she took a step forward, a wave of dizziness came over her and she held onto the arm of her sofa. What the hell was she thinking? She couldn’t go running around helping the police. She could barely help herself.

  Sam took a few steadying breaths until she felt secure enough to cross the room. Once she reached her small dining table, set against the biggest window of the apartment, she reached for her purse and pulled out the box her mother had given her. At this rate, she was going to need more of this supply sooner rather than later.

  But if Abigail knew how much she needed to keep herself functioning at the mos
t basic of basic levels, she’d lock Sam up back at home and force her to get better. Sam rolled the unscented green herbs into the special papers she had and lit it up as fast as her trembling hands would allow.

  So what if Amy Woods was brutally murdered? It was horrible, but it wasn’t her problem. She could barely help herself, let alone these poor souls.

  She picked up her phone to call Captain Voss to let him know that she wouldn’t be able to be his inside witch, but before she could call, her phone rang.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said as she answered the call.

  “Hello, honey. Are you home? I was in the area and wanted to drop by.”

  That was a lie. Abigail Harris was never just in this neighborhood. Her exact quote when Sam had first showed off her new place was: “It’s bad taste to have a home this close to so many who don’t have one.”

  “Ummm, I’m home,” she said tentatively. “What did you want?”

  “Oh, nothing really. After you left, I realized I had more food left than I thought and I wanted to give you some more.”

  Sam’s stomach churned at the thought of food. Logically she knew she needed more food to survive, but the very idea practically gave her visions of running off to the bathroom in the middle of the night to have it go out the same way it came in. “Feel free to stop by.” Sam took another drag from her medicine. Once again, she cursed her body. This would be so much easier to deal with if she were high.

  Well, probably. She’d never been high, but from the movies and TV shows she’d seen, it looked a hell of a lot more fun than what she was dealing with now.

  “Great. I’ll be there in ten.”

  It was at least a forty-minute drive to Sam’s from her mother’s house in Connecticut, which meant Abigail had never intended to take no for an answer. Sam quickly finished her smoke and tossed the butt into the trash. The white trash bag held the breakfast leftovers from earlier that morning that Abigail had pushed on her, so Sam took the trash out and made it back to her apartment in time to pour her mother a glass of iced tea and a glass of water for herself. Her mother might not approve of her apartment location, but Sam wanted to make her as comfortable as possible while she was there.