Mel’s heart skipped a beat. She turned to see him scratching the shimmying dog, both of them silhouetted in the light from the doorway.
“As decent as ever,” Hettie replied, smiling. “Want some coffee, boy?”
“Coffee sounds great, thanks, and good morning to you both.” Stefan had foregone his usual suit today, choosing khakis and a pale yellow button-down shirt with no tie.
He smiled and ran his hand casually down Mel’s arm. The caress sent a flash of heat into the depths of her body. Her cheeks warmed.
Hettie raised an eyebrow, but Stefan turned an innocent look on her, asking, “Can we help you with the coffee?”
“You know I like my kitchen to myself. Y’all can wait in the dining room. I’ll be right in.”
She marched to the kitchen.
Stefan ushered Mel into the dining room with his palm at the small of her back. She’d forgotten how much he liked to touch her, just to be in slight physical contact. It was nice.
He murmured, “You look great.”
“So do you.” Clean-shaven and cheerful, he showed no signs of their mostly sleepless night.
“You seem at home here, too.” Mel seated herself in the chair he drew out for her. She’d also forgotten his habitual chivalry. Maybe his excessive worrying about her being alone at Cinda’s was part of that.
“Griff rented a room from Hettie for a while.” Dropping into the chair at her side, Stefan nodded toward the wall by the door. “He painted that mural.”
The mountain hillside covered all the space between the door and the corner. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of oaks and pines. It cast dappled shadows over the forest floor and glinted off white mountain laurel blossoms.
“I noticed it yesterday and meant to comment on it. It looks real enough to walk into.”
“The guy’s amazing,” Stefan said.
Steeling herself, Mel asked, “He’s the Bureau’s psychic consultant, right?”
Stefan held her gaze for a long moment before he nodded.
Mel asked, “Does he still consult?”
“No. He works part-time with Val when he isn’t painting.” Regret tinged Stefan’s voice and shadowed his eyes. No, not regret. Grief.
“Stefan, is anything wrong?” Griff looked healthy and happy.
“No. We should get started.” Stefan pulled the scrapbooks toward him, signaling an end to the conversation.
Could Griff be the friend Stefan feared he was letting down? Stefan’s closed face didn’t invite questions. His friends were probably his patients, too, and he couldn’t talk about their medical conditions.
Hettie walked in with a tray in her hands and Magnus trotting hopefully behind her. “I do like having a reason to dig out the nice cups and saucers.”
While they fixed their coffee, Mel briefed Hettie on the story she’d found the day before. “So we wondered,” she concluded, “whether you’d ever heard of similar episodes.”
“Or whether these people might’ve stumbled across some local cult,” Stefan added.
Hettie pursed her lips. “I never heard of anything like a cult, but there were some folks who used to go out in the swamp for some kinda secret meetings. That was back when I was a girl, right after the World War II. My granddaddy was the sheriff back then. He suspected they might be Kluxers, but he never pinned anything down.”
“Kluxers?” Stefan asked.
“The Ku Klux Klan.” Hettie frowned. “We were no different from a lot of places that way, and not just places in the South, except they never got a solid foothold in Wayfarer. Even then, this town was all about peace and love. Granddaddy thought that was why that swamp crowd were so secretive.”
“Didn’t people live in the swamp back then?” Mel asked, thinking of the research she’d done.
“Sure did. A handful of families had homesteads. The federal refuge was established in 1937, and those families couldn’t hunt the way they always had, so they couldn’t support themselves. By the late 1950s, they were gone. That story you found comes from 1927, about the time the logging operations stopped. I wonder if that could be related.”
Stefan tapped a finger on the edge of his saucer. “Do you think that swamp society, or whatever those people were, meant to scare away loggers? Or maybe the homesteaders were at the root of it?”
“Hard to know. I can ask around, see what the old-timers remember.”
“We could do that,” Mel offered.
Hettie shook her head. “If it’s anything secret, they won’t talk to an outsider. Might not talk to me, but I have a better shot at it than either of you would.”
“Okay, then. Thanks,” Stefan said.
“I’ll go make some calls. Let me know when the coffee runs low or if you want something else.” Cup in hand, Hettie headed for the kitchen.
Stefan lifted a scrapbook off the stack and set it in front of Mel. “Might as well see if there are more stories like that one.”
“Yep. I’m almost through with this volume.” Mel sighed. “It would help if we could find a pattern to what this Araminta saved, but it’s just a miscellany of whatever she thought was strange. I really don’t think there was a conspiracy in 1931 to sabotage the pumpkin competition at the county fair.”
“Or grow the biggest hog.” Stefan grinned. “Don’t all hog farmers shoot for the largest they can breed?”
“They did when I was growing up.”
After scanning several pages, Mel looked across the table at Stefan. He sat upright, no slouching, with his head bent over the big book. A slight furrow between his eyebrows hinted at his concentration. A wave of tenderness rolled over her heart.
“I’ll fix dinner tonight,” she said. “I’m not a great cook, but I’m okay.” After the past couple of days’ revelations, she wanted some time alone with him, to be together and see how that, all by itself, felt.
“That might mean eating late,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know we have important things to discuss, but I remembered I have to go back to the institute for a staff meeting.”
“That works.” Mel smiled at him. “There’s still cake left.”
“I like…cake.” His deep voice caressed the last word, and his eyes warmed. “I also happen to have tickets to the touring company of Wicked, for next weekend. The show’s in Savannah. We should go.”
“Getting away from all this sounds great. But I feel bad about not taking a patrol shift. I could do that while you—”
“No. You can’t work a day shift, Mel, and drive around in the dark at night, too. I’m sure Burton will agree.”
She raised an eyebrow in warning. “Because you’ll convince him?”
“No, because he doesn’t believe in overextending people. You can’t do everything, sweet. No one can. Just do me a favor and don’t go out to Cinda’s after dark until I can get there.”
Looking at his knitted brow and grave eyes, Mel couldn’t doubt he was sincerely concerned. If her Glock was ineffective, maybe he had a point. “There are some things I want to research at the library and in the court records. I could do that for a while, and Deputy Mitchell mentioned an indoor shooting range near the highway. I suppose I could go by there if you’re really late.”
“Thanks.” He leaned over to kiss her quickly. “I appreciate it.”
Mel sighed and caught his chin. “Uh-huh. Just remember this when I’m worried about your safety sometime.”
Hettie’s footsteps sounded in the hall, and they turned back to their books.
Entering the room, she told them, “I may have something. Leroy Cates says in his daddy’s day there was a group of men who used to gather out near Hooker Prairie, in the part of the swamp outside of the wildlife refuge, to make ’shine. They wore masks, sort of devil-like things, to scare people off. He thinks there’s something going on out there these days, too, around the dark of the moon.”
“That’s in three days,” Stefan said. “Does he think it’s moonshiners again?”
How did he know
when the dark of the moon was? Who besides astronomers and astrologers knew that? Or maybe Wiccans?
“Leroy has no idea what they’re doing,” Hettie replied.
Stefan turned to Mel, and determination glinted in his eyes and hardened his jaw. “We don’t discourage as easily as the average resident.”
Chapter 16
That afternoon, Stefan summarized the case to a grim gathering of mages in the Collegium conference room. “That’s what we found so far,” he said, concluding. “The autopsy was consistent with normal ghoul anatomy, aside from the purplish tint to the venom. The venom gland beside the liver was slightly enlarged.”
The group sat silent, each considering what he’d said. In addition to Will, Griff, and Val, Stefan had asked Javy to come in for this. He’d also asked his fellow Council members Gerry Armitage, the loremaster and Will’s boss, and Deke Jones, the current shire reeve, to sit in. Deke had brought a new deputy.
“Anything new on the computer records?” Stefan asked Javy.
The slight, dark-haired mage frowned. “Bits and pieces that don’t add up to much. I can send everybody an e-mail summary if Deke’s okay with it.”
“Sure, go ahead.” Deke shook his head. “This is the weirdest mess I’ve ever encountered. I put out word on the shire reeves e-mail loop, but nobody’s come back with anything yet. Val, you hear anything like this from your contacts in other shires?”
“No,” she answered. “I’m still developing those contacts, though. There could be something I haven’t heard about yet.”
“For now,” Deke said, “we’re patrolling around Wayfarer.” He nodded to the man at his right. “This is Deputy Carter Lockwood. He recently joined us from the Middle America Collegium. He’s in charge of patrols.”
All eyes turned to the newcomer. Broad-shouldered and muscular, Lockwood had rugged features, brown hair with some red in it, and steady, brown eyes. He showed no signs of being bothered by the group’s scrutiny. “If you hear of something I need to know, Doc, I’ve e-mailed you my cell number. I have two teams on the back roads of Wayfarer County from half an hour before sunset until dawn.”
“That works,” Stefan said. “Thanks. Griff, did you talk to Sheriff Burton?”
“Yes. Valeria and I have volunteered to help out. Since we’re both ex-cops, he went ahead and swore us in as part-time deputies, just in case. If Lockwood’s teams turn up anything, we plan to respond, too.” Griff and the deputy exchanged glances.
“We scried that prairie Hettie’s pal mentioned,” Griff continued. “There are definitely ghouls running drugs there—looks like cocaine but could be marijuana. They like running drugs as a way to earn money off the radar since they can’t steal everything they need for nests or vehicles. Most of the gang are Mundanes in masks, but there are definitely one to three ghouls every time. I’m thinking we head out there at the dark of the moon and take care of the problem before Burton’s staff tries. Lockwood can back us up.”
“Sounds good.” Stefan shifted his gaze across the table to the loremaster, Gerry Armitage.
Gerry’s thick, silver hair, blue eyes, and gold wire-rimmed glasses made him look like a loremaster direct from central casting, but he had a keen mind and an encyclopedic memory. “Will and I have talked about this,” Gerry said. “We’ve also worked on breaking down that venom, as you requested. We’re getting nowhere with it. It has a rank smell, almost metallic but not like blood.”
Will leaned forward in his seat. “I’d like to send a sample to my parents. Maybe the spectrometers and other equipment in their archaeological lab can analyze it in some way our medical lab can’t.”
“That couldn’t hurt,” Stefan said. Will’s parents were renowned archaeologists expert at combining magic and science to analyze their finds. “I keep coming back to what Griff said about both victims having high levels of creativity. I don’t love sculptures made of farm equipment, but somebody buys Wiley’s stuff. Cinda Baldwin was a music teacher.”
“What are you thinking?” Griff asked.
“I’ll let Will explain. He did the research.”
Will quickly summarized his findings on the possible affinity of creative people for magic.
“A connection like that,” Griff said slowly, “could explain the Mundanes who have precog or second sight, but nothing else.”
“Or who can sense the weather days ahead,” Val suggested. “Some of the Mundanes we think of as dabblers do have small, sometimes significant, gifts.”
Stefan nodded in agreement. “I haven’t come up with a way to test Mundane sensitivity to magic. But I can look for unusual markers in blood samples and see if they match any of the distinguishing traits of mage blood. I plan to start with the samples I have from Wiley Boone and Lucinda Baldwin. If I find any commonality, I’ll ask some other Wayfarer residents for blood samples.”
“Like who?” Griff asked. “What’ll be your reason?”
“I’ll come up with something.” He’d try to keep it as close to the truth as possible. He was finally on good ground with Mel and didn’t want to ruin their progress.
Griff’s narrowed eyes and frown hinted at ideas churning. Stefan’s nod signaled him to go ahead.
“Y’all remember that older ghoul I came in contact with while I was their prisoner?” Griff asked. Everyone nodded. “I wonder if these superghouls could be related somehow.”
“Could be,” Will said. He leaned out to look past Deke to Javy. “Javy, you want to help me see if there’s anything else on this trail Stefan’s following? I could use another computer hand.”
“I need some of his time on the records from that nest,” Deke objected. “We haven’t cracked those yet, but I agree this is important, too.”
“It could be vital,” Gerry said. “Stefan, I can reach out to my counterparts, see if someone knows anything about blood markers, magic, and creativity.”
“Thanks, Gerry.” Stefan already knew Will was consulting his buddy in Finland. “That’s it for now, then.”
“Keep us posted,” Gerry said.
Exchanging good-nights, Gerry, Deke, and Lockwood filed out. Only Griff, Val, and Will remained with Stefan.
“Dinner?” Griff asked. “Will’s going with us to the Marsh Heron.”
“Thanks, but Mel’s cooking.”
Will grinned. “I’m not touching that with the proverbial barge pole.”
They walked out together and were at the main door when Stefan’s phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket. He had a text message from Teresa DiMaggio, who’d replaced the traitorous Gene Blake as chief councilor.
See me before you leave, it read. I’ll wait in my office.
Stefan’s gut did a slow, uneasy roll. Maybe she only wanted a report, though Deke had planned to fill her in. But her wording was peremptory. And her office as a setting was ominous. Frowning, he told his friends good night and crossed the marble-floored atrium lobby to reach Teresa’s office.
The door was open, so he tapped on it.
“Come in, Stefan.” Teresa sat behind the desk. Below her usual disordered mop of salt-and-pepper curls, her face looked drawn.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Teresa waved him to a chair. “Some things about this damn job, I really hate.”
He knew exactly what she meant. He smiled despite his misgivings. “I guess you shouldn’t have been such a good consensus candidate, then.”
“Tell me about it.” With a sigh, she folded her hands on the desk. “These are dangerous times, Stefan, and we can’t afford to generate problems for ourselves. The ghouls make enough trouble, especially with these new, more powerful ones.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Watching her closely, he said, “Get to the point, Teresa.”
“Eliza Payne reads the National Investigator.”
Stefan grimaced. He would’ve thought a member of the Collegium’s High Council would be above that crap. “Let me guess. They ran a piece on me.” Damn, but he didn’t want to g
et into Krista’s mistake again.
“On you and Special Agent Wray.”
Oh, shit.
Teresa continued, “Ordinarily, I’d stay out of this, but you were involved with her as a student and seem to be again. So I’m asking you what’s going on.”
“Nothing that shouldn’t be.” He kept his voice even with an effort. “I’m taking her through the protocols, Teresa. We’re in phase two, minor magic, except that I had to draw my sword when we confronted a ghoul in the road. I explained how it works, but that falls under the necessity exception.”
“Because you believed—reasonably, it seems to me—that her life was in danger.” Teresa nodded.
“Bullets bounce off those things,” he said.
“I read that in your initial report. Just be sure you’re following protocol. Need I remind you of what happened last time?”
“I’m not an idiot. And thanks for the friendly reminder.”
Teresa sighed again. “I’m sorry. I know you’ll be careful, Stefan, but I have to ask you to keep me informed.”
He gave her a curt nod. “Anything else?”
“Steps will be taken to see that nothing about you or Ms. Wray remains in the Investigator’s databases.” She pursed her lips, as though considering. At last, she said, “Watch your back, and not only out there. Some here haven’t forgiven you for championing Griffin Dare.”
“He was innocent,” Stefan snapped.
Teresa shrugged. “Some don’t like being wrong. They feel foolish, and then they become defensive—”
“And then they cast blame. Got it.”
“I thought you would. And I hope I’ll soon see you before the Council, asking for consent to full revelation.”
“Thanks.” He wished her a good night and walked out. If he hurried, he could catch Mel at the courthouse. He needed her tonight, needed to be with her and shut everything else out.
Jilly Porter of the National Investigator had damned well better stay out of his way.
* * *
Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. Mel stared at the criminal court dockets spread across the desk. Going through years of old case records had occupied her afternoon but hadn’t paid off. There’d been nothing involving someone with purple eyes and big claws, no vandalism or Peeping Toms, not even a Halloween prank.
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