Missing, Suspected Dead: Elisabeth Hicks, Witch Detective

by Rachel Graves

  “Gonna tell me about this place?”

  “It’s where the cool kids came before prom.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. And where people celebrated anniversaries, special dinners.”

  “People like your parents?”

  He ignored the question and pointed to the maître d’. I decided to stop worrying and enjoy the moment. We could talk about his mother another night. The interior of the restaurant bubbled with light conversation. Men and women leaned against a bar where bartenders in bow ties and crisp tuxedo shirts threw bottles into the air and lit drinks on fire. Everyone wore their best, fancy dresses and tailored suits. The curved bar sat on the first tier of flooring, just above the rest of the restaurant. I took the three stairs down with my hand on Ted’s arm more for show than support. The room demanded a little bit of a show.

  “This place is pretty posh.” The room looked elegant and exclusive. Silver satin fabric draped down the walls and came together in the ceiling over a large glittering crystal chandelier. Round tables for four ringed a polished wooden floor, and around them raised up were velvet-covered booths arranged in a horseshoe shape.

  “On the weekends these tables are gone and there’s a band,” he grinned. “We should come back.”

  “We should.” I could picture the pretty people dancing, sipping fancy cocktails, and eating good food.

  “When you put on the dress, I knew it would fit in perfectly here.”

  “I’m glad I saw it.”

  The maître d' held my chair out for me. After I sat down, he grabbed my napkin with a flourish and placed it on my lap. Ted got to move his own napkin while a pair of waiters hastily removed the other two place settings. Our table sat at the far end of the horseshoe giving us a good view of the place. I marveled for a few minutes before picking up the menu.

  “What should I order?”

  “I always got the roast chicken, but I hear the steak is delicious.”

  “You came here often?”

  “Never with a woman, just with Dad.”

  “So I’m your first?” I smiled slyly.

  “Promise you’ll go gentle with me?”

  “That depends, do you really want me to be gentle?” I leaned forward and put my hand on his knee, but before I could push naughty images into his head, our waiter interrupted me.

  Dinner was divine, the food and the service exquisite if a little slow. My steak barely touched the table when a pianist began to play. I listened to the music, letting the conversation go. When I looked back, Ted’s eyes were across the room, focused on someone I couldn’t quite make out.

  “Everything okay?”

  He nodded, and signaled to a waiter. The man appeared almost instantly.

  “There’s a man in the booth on the other side of the room.” Ted didn’t gesture, he only spoke. “Actually, a vampire. I’d like to pay for his meal, anything he wants, the best in the house. Don’t be showy or obnoxious about it. Don’t mention me at all. Just make it happen. Every dime he spends is on my check.”

  “Of course, sir.” The waiter bobbed his head like it was a common, reasonable request.

  “Someone you know?” I tried to get a discreet look. I caught dark hair, close around his head but with a hint of curl in it. Dark pink lips in an easy smile. Fingers tapping along with the piano. The man looked like someone who laughed loud and loved life.

  “A man who saved my life once.” Ted’s eyes didn’t look happy at the memory. “I can never say thank you enough.”

  When the piano stopped, the lights came up just a bit, and I recognized the vampire from Edward’s nightmare. This was the man who saved him from the wolves.

  “What are the odds…” I started to ask, but then I stopped. The vampire was coming over to us.

  He started talking from a few feet away, his eyes on me. “FBI ethics rules prevent me from—” He stopped and his tone shifted to something that was nearly a laugh. “Edward? Is that really you? You’ve changed so much.”

  “And you haven’t changed at all.” Ted stood up and grabbed his arm, pulling him into an embrace. The other man grabbed him just as heartily.

  “I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” the vampire told him with a grin.

  “I hope it’s a pleasant surprise.”

  I coughed discreetly but neither of them noticed.

  “Of course! It’s more that your dad made a point of telling me you were too busy to come into the city.”

  “You’ve seen Dad?”

  “Maybe your friend would like to join us, honey?” I asked, my voice as sweet as syrup.

  “If my meal won’t spoil your dinner?” the vampire asked me smoothly with his hand resting on a chair. In the glow from the lights, I could see the scar on his throat I remembered from Edward’s dream. It was most definitely from a noose, the white lines stood out against his olive skin.

  “I can deal.” I did my best to smile.

  “Are you sure? Because we could head over to the bar,” Ted offered.

  “Sit, I’ll be fine. But someone should introduce me.”

  “Special Agent Sebastian Vega.” The vampire held out a smooth palm. I shook it, willing myself to read only the surface of his emotions. I got happiness at seeing Ted, and a hint of desire at my neckline. He felt completely comfortable with Ted, and thought I might be something interesting…or maybe desirable. Everyone else in the room had already been evaluated and discarded as boring. “Spirit Witch?”

  “Sorry, I try not to be so obvious.” I gestured to a chair, and we all sat down again.

  “You’re not but your magic is like silk when you expect burlap.”

  “I guess you work with a lot of witches?” I tried to ignore the flattery.

  “Actually, I work alone.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “He kills werewolves.” Ted answered for him, and across from me, the vampire, Sebastian, smiled even wider. I’d seen that look on guys in my unit, football fans who finally met one of their own or NASCAR zealots on race day. Killing werewolves wasn’t just his job, it was his passion. It made his eyes light up. I didn’t share his glee at the prospect.

  “Are there werewolves that need killing nearby?” I asked, worried I’d left my gun in the car.

  “Every werewolf needs killing,” Sebastian declared.

  “Exactly,” Ted agreed. “Why did you see Dad?”

  “There’s a problem with the Pack. I’m sure your mother told you.”

  “We don’t speak.” Ted’s voice was clipped and cold.

  Sebastian didn’t seem surprised by the correction. “It could be someone from the Pack or it might be someone with a vendetta.”

  “That’s why you’re talking to Edward’s dad,” I joined the conversation.

  Sebastian dipped his head in agreement. “He’s the closest and most obvious so even though I don’t want to think he could have done it, I had to ask.”

  “What time did you stop by?” I had a suspicion the traffic argument had been a cover-up.

  “I called at three thirty, why?”

  “Just curious.” I took a swallow of wine to hide my smile at Ted’s Dad’s subterfuge. Ted might brag that his family talked about things that bothered them, but apparently that didn’t include FBI investigations or his mother.

  “So you’re investigating the problem?” Ted asked.

  “You could say that. I’m tracking another pack. I thought this might be their work. It’s not but I got curious enough to stay on and ask a few questions.”

  That sounded a lot like an investigation, which meant we were on my turf. “What have you found?”

  “Nothing I’m too worried about.”

  He gave off a vibe, an emotion I wasn’t sure about. “Do you ever worry about werewolves?”

  “Only that I might run out of ones to kill.”

  Blood lust. The thrill of the hunt. That was the vibe. Sebastian loved chasing them, killing them. On the other side of the table I touch
ed Ted’s hand. He absentmindedly grabbed my fingers and I felt his hate. I’d seen his nightmares, so I knew the Pack deserved both emotions. I wasn’t so sure about every other werewolf in the world. Before I could say anything about it, the waiter came with our desserts and Sebastian’s meal. The large opaque glass let off a hint of steam and smell. I did my best to smile and joke.

  “It’s not bottled, right? That’s trashy.”

  He looked surprised for a second and then laughed. “You’re not supposed to know that.”

  “I know lots of things.”

  He rewarded my quip with a very pleasant smile. “I’ll bet you do.”

  “But I don’t know what’s going on with the Pack.” Not the best way to handle flirting, but it was what I wanted to know.

  “Someone’s killing them.” He sipped casually from his glass, like someone drinking fine wine.

  Ted raised an eyebrow.

  “So not you?” Sebastian asked.

  “I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” my boyfriend admitted nonchalantly. “But a normal person can’t take out a whole pack of werewolves single-handed. Even you don’t, and you’ve done this for centuries.”

  “Centuries?” I swallowed hastily.

  “Three hundred years, give or take.” He waved his hand in a circular gesture. “Edward’s right though, I wouldn’t take on a whole pack at once, alone.” He fixed Ted with a level gaze, cutting me out of the conversation. “But that’s not what’s happening.”

  “No?”

  “One disappears here. One there. A few weeks and nothing, then another one. They’ve lost six members in the last eight months.”

  “Can’t say that it’s a shame.”

  “But your mom?” I asked. “It could be her.”

  Ted shrugged.

  Sebastian drank silently.

  Obviously, neither of them cared.

  Dinner ended on a happier note, the two men catching up on what they’d been doing for the last fifteen years or so. It seemed Sebastian had been romancing women and killing werewolves. He didn’t talk much about the women, just the wolves. Since Ted thought killing wolves was the world’s best hobby, they had a great time discussing it. Somehow, they got on the topic of OPS. Sebastian offered Ted congratulations for joining the “elite group.” In my mind, I added “of psycho killers” but kept my mouth shut. I could see the appeal in someone like Sebastian, a stone-cold killer who could laugh and flirt one minute and gut people the next. Just like I could see the appeal in OPS, a group that got the job done, no matter what they had to do. The problem was, I’d almost been through OPS treatment. I’d glimpsed the mind of a stone-cold killer. It made me appreciate the shades of gray, and how it might make sense to have a little compassion.

  “Can we talk about all this?” I asked Ted as we put downtown LA behind us on the highway.

  “About what?”

  “Your mom. She could be in danger and you don’t seem to care.”

  “I was in danger every day for three years and she didn’t care.” He concentrated on driving, his hands tight on the wheel.

  “I’m not trying to start a fight, I just want to understand.” We both went quiet for a while.

  “I haven’t spoken to my mom or seen her in years. I could be dramatic and say my mother died that day in the mall, and this werewolf is just someone who looks like her. But really, it’s not like that. She’s just not part of my life.”

  I should have had a good answer, something about family and how important it was, but I’d never been betrayed the way he had. I couldn’t even imagine it. “That’s just so…” I struggled for a minute and then came up with the only word that was close. “Wrong.”

  “That about sums her up,” he nodded. “Your mom is wonderful. I’ve listened to Gina talk about her for ages and I know you two are close. My mother was the opposite of that. She isn’t a mom who would give up anything to keep her kids safe. When a guy broke into your house, your mom hit him over the head with a frying pan and tied him up in the kitchen. My mom would have made him a cup of coffee if he agreed to steal things quietly.”

  It didn’t take magic to see that this discussion wasn’t going to be an easy chat. I didn’t want to end the day this way. “I’m not in the mood to take off my dress yet. Want to see if Jo is singing?”

  “Sure,” he agreed, taking an off ramp toward Burgundy and Blues. We backtracked for a while, but got there in time for Jo to admire my dress before her second set of the evening. After a few glasses of wine, any dark mood Ted might have had disappeared completely. Seeing him relax and enjoy the music made my own worries seem silly. There wasn’t a problem here for me to solve, just a different way of life I needed to accept. I loved him. I trusted that he wasn’t blowing the situation out of proportion. Still, I did wonder how his mother, any mother, could do the things she did.

  No one waited for me at home, no vampires, no family, and no clients. I savored that feeling. Ted’s hands rested lightly on my back, making me tingle in all the right places, which made it harder to get the key in the lock. Finally, I made it work, walking inside ready to get started the best part of the night.

  Ted followed me, his hands circling around my waist. I turned, expecting to lock the door, but instead he was there, kissing me. I wrapped my arms around him, and kissed back, hoping the world would fade away. His emotions come through his lips, the desire, the love he felt. I could tell from the hardness pressing into my waist he felt my own desire circling back through the magic. Normally I let myself drown in those amplified emotions, but lately I couldn’t. The time was like the others, the lock on the door stopped me from really enjoying the moment.

  “Just,” I started, but kept kissing him, “hold” another kiss “on.” I broke the embrace to check the door. He’d locked it. I should have trusted that.

  “When do I get to tease you about that, the way you tease me about the laundry?”

  “Not for a while I hope.” I stepped closer to him, trying to distract.

  “It’s been months.”

  “Did I tell you this dress has the strangest zipper? It’s here on the side.” I pulled at the old-fashioned zipper.

  “You’re trying to distract me.”

  “Is it working?” I pulled the zipper down a little more.

  “Yes, but…” His eyes stayed locked on the parting red fabric and the flesh underneath. “Soon, I’m going to start teasing you, soon.”

  “Maybe after we’re finished?”

  “Oh, we’re not going to being finished any time soon.”

  I laughed and danced away from him, putting the bag with my gun on the kitchen counter. My hands free, I quickly slipped the top of the dress off, letting the fabric fall to my waist. He reached over and grabbed me around the middle, his mouth coming over the front of my bra, hot kisses over thin fabric. This time the world disappeared, nothing else existed but his mouth and—

  A loud screech-like sound exploded from the living room. We both stopped dead, and reached for the gun. With a silent nod, Ted removed his hand. My gun meant I got first dibs. He walked without a sound to the light switch as I tensed. The noise started again, sounding animal, like a dying cow maybe, but high-pitched. I prayed it wasn’t how a werewolf sounded. After a silent count of three, Ted flicked the switch, and I knew I was in trouble.

  LaRue hadn’t meant a kitten. He hadn’t gotten Josephine a pedigreed house cat, or even some rare breed of kitty. No, in the middle of the living room was a large dog crate, and inside it, staring at me with wide golden eyes, was a lion cub.

  “Why is there a large cat in your living room?”

  “A lion.” I collapsed on to the couch. My crinoline poofed up around me, and I let the Glock dangle down, looking every inch the rejected prom date from 1956.

  “Okay, why is there a lion in your living room?”

  “Because LaRue took Jo to Lyon, France for their honeymoon and she called him her lion. Well, her Lyon,” I tried to make it sound French. �
��Like the name of the city.”

  “And your living room?”

  “Jo’s upset about the baby at the club, all messed up about it. LaRue got her a cat, sort of a fur baby. But he can’t keep the cat at home, or have one of his guys watch it because Jo might catch on. If she finds out when she’s in the wrong mood it’ll just make things worse. So, he asked me to watch it for a while except that it isn’t a cat,” I groaned, and let myself fall over into the peach cushions.

  “It’s a lion cub,” Ted finished.

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re in the mood to ignore it and head toward the bedroom?”

  The lion cub took that minute to let out another high-pitched noise. If you knew it was a cat the noise did kind of sound like a long drawn-out meow, sort of.

  “Maybe?”

  He reached over and grabbed me again, bare hands against the bare skin of my back. His touch started the fire inside me again, a brilliant flash of heat between my legs. I kissed him, pulling him down on top of me, wanting this to work.

  And the lion cried again.

  “Damn.”

  “I’d say so,” I agreed.

  “We could go back to my place?” he offered.

  “Maybe, do you think it needs anything?”

  “I have no idea. Can you read it?”

  I put my hand through the wire dog crate, feeling the short fuzzy lion fur. It did remind me of LaRue, or at least of Jo’s memories of his chest hair. Fluff, in a tan color, soft beneath my finger tips and the warm vibration of the body underneath; I drifted back into Jo’s memories. Her honeymoon had been pretty hot.

  “What do you say we leave it some milk, and drive fast to your place?”