20. That Old Black Magic #2
New Orleans doesn’t have a Skyway, unlike almost every other major US city.
They refused to ruin their authentic vibe by overshadowing it with huge, lit-up magnetic hover streets, and I can’t blame them.
It’s an easy city to walk around, and outside of the center they have autocars, and there’s a hyper-rail to the airport, using the same cold fusion tech as the Skyways.
We wander the few blocks to the Witch’s Quarter, where the majority of them have set up shop and also live. Micah could be there in moments, but he seems to enjoy traversing the city as much as I do.
With his hands in the pockets of his slate grey pants, black shirt tight across his chest, the sleeves rolled up to show strong bronze forearms and dark tattoos, he’s shielded from the late morning sun by the awnings that line most of the streets.
He’s powerful and old enough that he can withstand small amounts, and the sun occasionally glints off his midnight hair, his eyes alive in a way I haven’t seen in far too long.
It makes my heart ache with longing for what we had.
As does his easy smile as he tells me facts about buildings we pass, the history of prohibition and underground speakeasies, the birth of jazz, and something called the Roaring Twenties in the nineteen hundreds.
My mind forces itself to come to terms with his having been there, as he says it all so casually.
He lived it, and I can’t imagine what that would have been like.
But the way he talks about it, his face lit with memories he cherishes, that he’s sharing with me, is an olive branch.
It almost feels the same as it used to between us, when it was easy just spending time together. To be our authentic selves, with nothing hidden. Unconditionally accepted.
It’s a dangerous feeling, and one that I should not, cannot, get used to.
Finally, we stop outside a storefront near an old cemetery.
‘How do you want to play this?’ I ask the Vampire with his hand on my back. This is his friend, his lead, even though it’s my investigation. I’m well aware he could easily have cut me out of it and come here by himself.
‘That will depend on my reception.’ He says almost lazily in his deep voice that makes me think of dark corners and hidden alcoves. When he smirks down at me, my mind fills with silk sheets and flickering candles.
The moment breaks when he removes his hand from my back and opens the door.
The store is lighter than expected, filled with candles and jars, a wall of small labeled drawers behind a counter that’s scattered with crystals.
A bookshelf is filled with both old and new books.
The overall vibe is inviting- no cauldron in sight, no hint of danger or dark magic.
I’ve never met a Witch before, despite my work with the PPS, so I’m not sure what I was expecting as a woman moves smoothly through the doorway.
Witches may call themselves human, but they live for hundreds of years.
I can’t tell how old she is. She looks like a pretty woman in her late thirties, dressed in tight, well-worn jeans and a blue sweater that clings to her curves.
Her skin is darker than Ruby’s, eyes a deep, rich chocolate set in a heart-shaped face, her riot of dark curls tied back with a purple bandana.
‘Micah Saint James. I never thought I’d see the day.’ Her voice is richly melodious and warmly affectionate as she greets him.
But the look she’s giving Micah smolders with heat, and I feel a prick of jealousy I have no right to.
It’s obvious they have a shared past and parted on amicable terms, which is none of my business.
But it does make me think she’s at least two hundred years old.
I’m not exactly sure how long Micah lived here, or when he left for New York, but it was at least two centuries ago.
Micah moves in a blink, and his smile is genuine as he looks down at the Witch.
‘Jezreel. Stunning as ever.’ He puts his hands on her waist, and when she rises up to kiss him, I feel my heart squeezing painfully inside my chest.
It’s over almost as soon as it begins, and he lets her go smoothly.
‘I’d like you to meet Detective Eve Sinclair.’
I plaster a smile on my face and move closer, holding out my hand.
Her gaze cools considerably as she rakes her eyes over me. I’m dressed casually in white linen pants and a mint green shirt with bell sleeves, tied in front at the waist. My gun is hidden beneath it, tucked into my waistband.
‘Detective. You must work for the Paranormal Police Squad.’ Her words to me are decidedly cooler than when she greeted Micah. But he either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care.
‘She runs the PPS,’ Micah says with a wink at me. I almost blink in surprise at how he’s playing this.
‘I’m guessing this is not a social call then?’ Jezreel steps behind the counter, leaning forward so her sweater pulls tight over her generous assets.
‘I wish it were.’ Micah sighs and moves opposite her, leaning sideways against the counter. I guess he’s playing this very flirty, calling on their shared history to make her amenable to helping us.
‘We could really use your help,’ I say in the sweetest voice I can force out of me, pasting a smile on my face that feels as if it will crack from the effort.
‘Of course. We have heard about the murders in your city. Terrible.’ She shakes her head, gold earrings jangling against her neck, catching the light from the candles. ‘I’m not sure how I can help you, though.’
She seems genuine, almost friendly. Certainly, she doesn’t hate Micah, so I’m going to assume he didn’t break her heart. Whatever was between them can’t have been serious. Casual sex. An affair. There’s a definite vibe in the air that screams intimacy.
Micah succinctly tells her about the murders, and I see her horror ripple across her face at his description of the claw marks and drained blood. He finishes by telling her the last vic was Lila.
Tears shimmer in her eyes, and she quickly ducks her head. Lila was with Micah for over five centuries, so it makes sense that Jezreel must have known her when they lived here.
She comes around the counter and places her hand on Micah’s arm, looking up at him through wet lashes.
‘I am so sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I know how much she loved you.’
I may be cynical. I may be paranoid. But the way she said it feels off to me. She loved you, not you loved her. Is she hinting that Lila had feelings for him? Maybe I’m assigning meaning where there isn’t any. I let it slide away.
‘You know who the rogue Vampire is,’ Jezreel says, her eyes heavy on Micah, smooth dark hand still on his forearm.
‘I have an idea.’ He doesn’t look at me, and once again I have the unerring feeling that he’s deliberately keeping it from me. But now isn’t the time to remind him I’m a badass detective with a gun that can incapacitate Weres and Vamps.
‘Do you have any idea what could cause claw marks like these?’ I bring up a holo of the first vic, Jason Rodriguez, focusing on the gouges carved into his flesh.
Jezreel’s eyes narrow as she takes in the 4D image spinning in front of her from my microchip.
‘Show me,’ she swallows hard, and I think I see fear slide through her eyes. ‘Show me the second one.’
I give an internal command to my micro, and the holo disappears, replaced by Evan Reynolds. I slowly rotate it so she can see the body from all angles. The claw gouges in his skin are relegated to his back and shoulders, but they’re deeper than the ones carved into Jason.
Micah is watching her reactions with preternatural stillness.
‘You know,’ I say, flicking off the second holo, the space between us ominously empty.
‘So does he,’ she turns back to Micah, still standing far too close to him for my liking. It’s as if she’s afraid to voice it herself. ‘You lived here for over two centuries.’
There’s no point in demanding to know why he didn’t tell me if he already knows.
Even if he doesn’t know for sure. First the rogue Vamp, and now this.
I know him well enough to understand that he wanted confirmation.
Plus, I’m pretty sure he didn’t know until he saw Lila.
Something clicked into place with her death.
Or maybe it just became personal for him.
He made it clear when I went to him for five million in crypto that he doesn’t care about human issues. They have nothing to do with him or his world. Well, now it’s not only in his world, it’s on his front doorstep. A direct challenge to him.
‘Just tell me. Even a theory is better than nothing. Does this have anything to do with the Witches?’ Jezreel stiffens at my blunt words, but this isn’t about her. This is about serial killers who will keep murdering if I don’t stop them.
‘It’s a Warlock.’ The Witch is looking at Micah, his face carved from marble, as she says the words. ‘A Necromancer. And he’s raised a Daemon.’