Black Hat, White Witch by Hailey Edwards

10

The oh crap handle found its way back into my hand when Asa pulled onto a pockmarked dirt road.

“Grit your teeth,” Clay suggested, “or they might bounce loose.”

A tidy singlewide trailer sat at the end of the long drive on a patch of bright green grass. The sharp edges of the lawn told me the homeowner had laid sod but only enough to create their own mini oasis. A car in pristine condition, a miracle considering the state of the road, sat in front of the small porch.

This time, Clay got his chance to knock, and he did so carefully, as we had been greeted by a storm door.

A plump woman in a cherry apron greeted us with a welcoming smile. “How can I help you?”

“We’re looking for Dan Malone.” Clay grinned right back, and she blushed. “Does he live here?”

“Danny?” She waved an oven-mitted hand. “He’s my husband. Come on in. I have cookies.”

The file mentioned Dan Malone was a lynx shifter, but it made no mention of a wife.

“I never say no to cookies, ma’am.” Clay led the way after she opened the door. “They smell divine.”

“They’re my specialty.” She dialed her cheer higher. “Danny! Darling, these folks are here to see you.”

An older man with white tufts of wiry hair sticking out of his ears entered the living room.

“Rose.” His sigh ended on a growl. “What have I told you about letting strangers in the house?”

“We never have company,” she fussed. “It gets lonely out here, all by ourselves.”

Expression softening on her, he hardened again as he looked us up and down, pausing on me. “What do you want?”

With a shifter nose, I probably stank to high heaven to him. “I’m Agent Rue Hollis with the FBI—”

“You’re Black Hat, dear.” His wife tittered. “I smell it all over you.”

“Apologies, ma’am.” Clay turned his grin back on her. “We can’t be too careful.”

Plenty of paras married normals, and those humans were often kept ignorant of our world for their own good. But there was something about Mrs. Malone that made my nape tingle.

“I understand,” she assured him. “I just wanted to let you know you can speak freely.”

As I made them wariest, and their focus zeroed in on me, I handled the questioning.

“Three bodies were discovered on a site under contract by Lawry Lumber. We’re here to ask—”

A few things happened at once.

Mrs. Malone burst into flames.

Mr. Malone erupted into his lynx form.

And the cookies we had been promised began to weep icing tears.

“What in tarnation is that?” Clay recoiled, not from the paras, but from the cookies. “They’re…alive?”

“I only take what I need,” the column of flame that was Mrs. Malone crackled at us. “Just enough.”

Mr. Malone braced his silver paws on the linoleum, barring us from the kitchen and his wife.

“Are you responsible for the deaths of three girls killed with black magic?” Asa stepped forward. “You’re both hunters. I doubt you would stoop so low as that in order to feed.”

“I don’t harm children.” Mrs. Malone’s flames rose higher. “Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Asa explained. “We’re hunting their killer.”

Since he didn’t appear to be making much headway, I jumped in while Clay continued playing defense.

“Whatever you’ve done, we’re not here for you.” I included them both in my statement. “Either of you.” I held up my hands. “All we want are answers about this particular case. Give those to us, and we’ll go.”

“All right.” Mrs. Malone extinguished herself, leaving us with a soot-dusted and extremely naked old woman. “Danny, I think we should help them.” She stroked his head. “Change back, please.”

The lynx took a bit longer to shift without his mate in immediate danger. Mr. Malone stood, ready for a fight, and buck naked. A low growl pumped from his chest until his wife swatted at his arm with a laugh.

“He’s so overprotective.” She fluffed her smoking hair. “Stop fussing, and tell them what you know.”

Her husband cleared his throat and singled me out yet again. “There were three sites, weren’t there?”

Clay’s fingers tightened into fists, Asa moved in closer to me, and I locked my knees to hold myself still.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “How did you know?”

“I hunt on the tracts I work. I go late. After everyone’s gone home.” He rolled a bony shoulder. “It wasn’t natural, those deer, so I let them alone.” He tapped his nose. “I smelled the black magic on them.”

Rude as it was of me, I had to ask, “Do you think you could follow the scent for us, see where it leads?”

“I tried then, when it was fresh, and had no luck.” He watched my face and nodded to himself. “I stalked the trail, but it vanished within yards of the bodies each time. I would’ve killed him, if I could’ve sunk my claws in him. I knew Black Hats would come.” He kissed his wife’s cheek. “I knew you would find us.”

One salient point stood out to me. “You’re sure the black magic user was male?”

A second opinion never hurt, especially since I was still finding my balance.

“He marked his territory.” Mr. Malone chuffed. “Guess he thought it would keep wildlife away. As if any animal would go near a place seeped in that much negative energy. The magic alone warns them off it.”

From a shifter, that was as good as a positive ID in my book. “What do you mean by the trail vanished?”

“He doused it with diesel fuel from the site.” He sneezed at the memory. “It clogged my nose something fierce when it was fresh. I went back a few days later, and all I smelled was fuel. He was smart to do it.”

A few days later meant Mr. Malone had been first on scene and last on scene each time. He made a valuable resource.

“Smart unless someone dropped a match.” Clay whistled. “I didn’t see mention of that anywhere.”

“Maybe city folk figure all clear-cutting sites stink like fuel.” Mr. Malone shrugged again. “I can’t speak to that. All I can tell you is what I saw and what I smelled each time.”

“If you come across another scene, do us a favor and call it in, please.” Asa handed him a business card. “That’s my direct number. You can be an anonymous tipster.”

“How exciting.” Mrs. Malone clasped her hands. “It’s just like on TV.”

“We will protect your identities if you cooperate with us,” Asa told her husband. “You have my word.”

The old man flipped the card over his fingers. “And if I don’t cooperate?”

Based on their initial reactions, I got the feeling the warning would hit harder coming from me.

“Then we dig into your wife’s background and take a look at missing persons cases in the area.” I let him see I meant every word. “We don’t go out of our way to make trouble for folks who fly under the radar.” I patted my pocket, where my wand resided. “Black Hat doesn’t have to know about your wife, or you.”

“I want a truth binding,” he growled. “Give me that, and I’ll cooperate.”

Clay opened his mouth, ready to argue, but I didn’t mind bleeding. “Done.”

Behind me, Asa rumbled the faintest growl, but he didn’t say a word. Smart move. He couldn’t stop me.

The binding was a simple exchange of vows and blood, and it took all of five minutes.

Unfortunately for me, it drained every ounce of energy I had remaining to walk out of that trailer. Yet again, I had underestimated the cost of active magic versus the passive magic I used in the store at home would charge me. But given how protective Mr. Malone was of his missus, I wasn’t about to show weakness in front of predators of that caliber.

Back in the SUV, I melted into my seat and shut my eyes. “I hate putting the screws to people.”

“But you’re so good at it,” Clay teased to brighten my mood. “He’s an asset, and you secured his cooperation. The rest is the cost of doing business.”

“I know, I know.” I massaged my temples. “Toeing the company line and all that.”

“So, Mrs. Malone.” The SUV rocked as Clay settled in the back. “What’s up with her?”

“She’s a dragon.” Asa didn’t hesitate in his assessment. “Her powers are bound. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have stopped with self-immolation. She would have transformed and, most likely, eaten us to protect herself and her mate.”

“I was thinking phoenix,” I admitted, “but those cookies…”

“Dragons eat people,” he said simply. “Phoenixes do not.”

“She was going to feed us people cookies?” Clay made a gagging noise. “That’s so…wrong.”

“They were crying.” I remembered that now. “How is that possible?”

“Dragons have strange magic. I knew a dragon, years ago, who spelled his steaks to moo when he cut into them. It was quite the party trick when he invited guests over for a cookout.”

“Are you telling me,” I asked calmly, “she spelled her cookies to cry as she ate them?”

“As I said.” Asa rubbed his thumb on the steering wheel. “Strange magic.”

“Sounds more like strange, period,” Clay grumbled, still miffed. “People cookies.”

Unable to help myself, I teased, “People put bacon in cookies. That’s meat.”

“Chocolate, nuts, caramel, fruit—those belong in cookies.”

Sadly, as funny as it was to wind up Clay, his rant worsened my blossoming headache.

“We can go back to the hotel,” Asa offered, noticing my discomfort, “pick this up again tomorrow.”

Mid-diatribe, Clay snapped his mouth shut and shifted his focus from baked goods abuse onto me.

“The next suspect is only about thirty minutes away.” I flipped a hand. “Might as well hit him too.”

“Asa and I can handle this one alone.” Clay patted my head. “You can stay put.”

“Maybe.” An outright refusal would only spark an argument. “I’ll think about it.”

Thinking turned into another blasted nap that left me waking up alone in the SUV.

I had good reasons for giving up black magic, and it hadn’t mattered at home, but in the field?

For a minute, I was sorely tempted to fall back on old habits to keep up with my teammates.

And, if I was being truthful, to feed the monster chained in the basement of my mind.

Only the knowledge I had to look Colby in the eye when I got home kept me honest.

I’m a white witch. I’m a white witch. I’m a white witch.

Not wanting to interrupt any rapport the guys might have established with the suspect, I checked emails and otherwise entertained myself while staying put. But thirty dull minutes later, when they still weren’t back, I considered stretching my legs for a quick peek inside the rusting travel trailer that was the only structure for a few miles in any direction.

As I clutched the handle, the trailer’s front door blew off its hinges and smacked into the windshield. The glass didn’t break, but it spiderwebbed until there was no chance of us driving it anywhere else. Wand in hand, I exited the SUV and prepped a binding spell guaranteed to wipe me out for the rest of the day.

“Stand down,” Clay hollered to me from inside the trailer. “We’re good.”

Ignoring the order, wand at the ready, I held my position.

The entire trailer rocked as a familiar daemon made his exit, careful not to inflict more damage. His right horn gave him problems, but he figured out the angle and leapt to the ground rather than use the stairs.

I was unsurprised when he made a beeline for me. However, I was surprised when he took a fistful of his hair and offered it to me. He shook it at me until I accepted it, and it was all I could do not to laugh at his earnest expression. Maybe I wasn’t as smooth as I thought, and Asa had noticed me coveting his hair. Or if not him, his more primal self.

“You have very pretty hair.” I ran it through my fingers. “Thank you for, um, sharing it with me.”

That seemed to please him, and he stood sentry beside me, leashed by his hair, until Clay joined us.

Clay took one look at the handful of hair, shut his eyes, inhaled, exhaled, then ignored it altogether.

“That was the father of a missing girl.” Clay gusted out a sigh. “I told him her disappearance didn’t fit our timeline, that she wasn’t one of the victims we found, and it pissed him off worse.”

“He thought you had news.” I saw the problem and sympathized with the guy. “He was hoping for closure.”

“He punched the door.” Clay eyeballed the battered SUV. “Guess you noticed.”

As my adrenaline ebbed, I felt safe enough to pocket my wand, but I was stuck holding daemon hair.

I doubt they got much out of him, but I still asked, “Did he offer anything useful?”

“He said if we want to know about his daughter, we should check the missing persons reports he filed.”

Believe me, I would do just that. “How certain are we she’s not a previous victim?”

“Pretty sure since this guy wasn’t flagged on the suspect list. The Kellies don’t make mistakes often, but I would have handled the situation differently had I known. We need to update his file.”

The timeline left me certain I was missing critical information. “What took so long?”

“That would be the twenty-minute standoff where he held a gun loaded with cold iron rounds at Ace.” A grimness pinched his expression. “Ace believes he could have survived it, but he seems as fae as not to me. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

The daemon beside me grumbled under his breath as if to say I beg to differ.

I would have told him we were all more than the sum of our worst parts, but I wasn’t convinced I believed it either.

“This is why you shouldn’t ditch me.” Clay knew better than to leave me behind. “I could have thrown a sleep spell at him.”

Bart Olsen, according to his file, was a troll. Trolls were highly territorial. They tended to punch unexpected visitors in the face then let their guests announce themselves while spitting out teeth.

They also kept caches of various items of value. To them. Not necessarily to anyone else.

Yet another reason for their legendary aggression. They guarded their prized possessions to the death.

One troll on the company payroll built a fallout shelter to house his pickled foods hoard.

Carrots, pigs’ feet, beets, green beans, eggs, okra, as well as a variety of the classic pickled cucumber.

Go figure.

“We could have thrown you at him.” Clay chuckled at my temper. “You were dead to the world.”

“Drool,” the daemon beside me growled. “Everywhere.”

With a handful of his hair, I did what came naturally. I yanked. Then I regretted my act of hair violence. It wasn’t his hair’s fault that the daemon was teasing me. His flowing locks were innocent. I owed them an apology.

“You can have this back.” I pressed the hair into the daemon’s hand. “I’m getting in the SUV.”

Still chuckling, Clay leaned over to inspect the windshield, cursed, then punched his fingers through both ends and lifted it clear out of the frame. He stowed it in the trunk for disposal, solving the problem of how we planned on getting back to the hotel. Waiting for a tow truck in the yard of a grieving and violent parent must have appealed about as much to him as it did to me. Even if the modification to the SUV meant we arrived with bugs in our teeth.

With that task done, Clay climbed in while the daemon stood pouting with his hair in hand.

“You’re playing with fire,” Clay warned in a low voice. “That behavior ain’t natural for Ace.”

“It ain’t natural for me either.”

“I know,” he sighed, settling back. “That’s what worries me.”

Leaning forward, I stuck my head through the windshield. “Are you driving or…?”

The transformation swept over Asa, flames racing across his body, leaving him standing in his pants.

There must be an elastic waistband in them that allowed the material to expand and contract. His shirts were fitted, though, and they never survived the transition. Not that I minded the view of the aftermath.

The noise drew the homeowner’s attention, easy to do with his front door gone, and Asa stared at him.

“I have spare clothes,” Asa said, eyes on the man in the doorway, “but I don’t think it would be wise to linger.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you.” I didn’t like the way Olsen was looking at us. “We should go.”

Before he decided that a black witch on his property was the straw that broke…well…my back.

“Ace can handle driving with the windows down.” Clay chuckled evilly. “Right, Ace?”

Asa got behind the wheel, cranked up the battered SUV, and started down the driveway.

A bird called out overhead, and white splattered across the hood of the SUV, missing the dash by inches.

“I’m so glad I’m not shotgun right now.” Clay chortled. “Sucks to be you.”

Twisting in my seat, I shot him a bird so he wouldn’t feel left out, but he only laughed louder.

As we picked up speed, Asa’s beautiful hair caught the wind and blew into my eyes, his eyes, and possibly Clay’s too.

There was so much of it. And it smelled fantastic as it whipped my cheeks until they stung.

“I have a hairband.” I reached in my pocket. “I always carry a spare.”

Without slowing, Ace turned onto the main road and switched on the emergency blinkers.

“Would you mind?” His eyes were burnt crimson when he glanced over at me. “I can’t braid and drive.”

None of us wanted to hang around on Olsen’s property longer than necessary, but come on.

“I’m only agreeing to this because none of us can see through your hairnado.”

And because I really, really wanted to play with it.

But he didn’t need to know that last part.