Black Arts, White Craft (Black Hat Bureau Book 2) Read online

  “We have video evidence we can use to pressure him into a confession.”

  “What about the footage of Mrs. Gleason shooting him?”

  Expression blank, I studied him. “What footage?”

  Rough laughter rumbled through him, an understanding I would never supply evidence that might be used against her one day. Though she was careful to stick to trespassers, she did have a reputation for an itchy trigger finger.

  “We have to figure out if he’s Nolan first.” I shooed Asa toward the door. “Leverage only works if we have the right type.”

  “Have you caught him on film since the incident?”

  “He’s camping on the property.” I shook my phone to explain that was what I had been doing earlier. “I’ve got hours of him sitting in a tree, staring at my house.”

  The odd behavior was one of the reasons why I was okay with waiting until I got home to see what he was about. Surely, if he was coven, he would have bolted after the failed mini coup at the hotel. The radio silence would have told him all he needed to know about whether Melissa emerged victorious.

  Once I nudged Asa out into the hall, a little disappointed he let me, I changed and did the hygiene thing.

  Since he said we had time, I packed my bag too. Everything smelled like smoke, but at least it was clean.

  When I joined the others, all on their laptops at the table, I noticed Colby was paying her screen extra attention. That made me realize she hadn’t asked how I was feeling or otherwise acknowledged me since I woke.

  Not gonna lie.

  It hurt.

  But I had a good idea why she was acting like I was invisible, and I decided to let it go.

  For now.

  “I’m going to step out on the balcony.” I hooked my thumb toward the door. “I need to make a call.”

  Asa watched me go, but Clay frowned at Colby, who pretended hard not to hear me.

  Outside, I slid the glass door shut behind me and leaned over the railing as I dialed Arden. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” A giddy quality in her voice made me pause. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m heading home.” I was twitchy to go just thinking about it. “How are things?”

  “We’re right on schedule, boss. The shop looks better now than it did for our first grand opening.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” I wrinkled my nose when the wind shifted, blowing smoke toward me. “Anything else to report? How are you and Camber?”

  “Now that the AC is repaired, we might have to start wearing cardigans to work.”

  “Or you could just turn down the thermostat and save me money on the cooling bill.”

  “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

  “Keep it above seventy, please.”

  “Oh,” she gushed, totally ignoring me, as usual. “We could get the shop logo embroidered on a few.”

  Dollar signs danced behind my eyes. “I don’t know if—”

  “Mrs. Talbot-Gray has a fancy embroidery machine. She makes a killing stitching names on cheerleaders’ bloomers for the local schools. She did ours when we were in pee-wee cheer squad. It won’t cost us but a few dollars each. Maybe we could even have some polos done? Oh! Or shirts we could sell in the store?”

  “Let’s get through the grand reopening first.” I rubbed my forehead. “We’ll talk merch after that.”

  “See you tomorrow,” she said, sounding certain she had argued and won her case. “Safe travels.”

  When I started coughing, I trudged in, my mind a million miles away. The guys were MIA, and Colby had a deer in the headlights look, as if they had vanished into thin air, and she had no idea how it happened.

  “I’m going to read.” I waved. “I have a snake shifter and mouse shifter romance calling my name.”

  Before I could shut the door to my room, Colby cleared her throat. “Rue?”

  “Hmm?” I flopped onto the mattress on my stomach and reached for my book. “What’s on your mind?”

  Using her butt, she pushed the door closed then landed on the mattress beside me. “Are you mad?”

  “Why would I be?” I rested my chin on my fist. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  “Magic isn’t whispering to me, is it?”

  “A type of magic is, yeah.” I didn’t touch her to comfort her, as I usually would have, not when I worried a wrong move would lengthen the distance between us. “The grimoire is giving you ideas. Some are good ideas. They’re not bad or wrong.” I debated how to handle the next bit. “The problem is, when a book like that wants to use you, it has to be smart about it. It can’t tell you to, say, stab someone with your sword. You know right from wrong, and you would tell it no. But, if you were playing with Clay, for example, the book could tell you it was okay to stab him. That it would be fine, because Clay is hard to hurt and pretty much impossible to kill.”

  “He’s my friend.” She worried her hands. “I wouldn’t do that to him.”

  “You say that now, but the book might convince you.” I couldn’t resist the impulse to rub her fuzzy cheek. “And once you did it to Clay, the book might give you another idea. It might say, ‘See? Your friend is fine. I bet you could stab so-and-so with your sword, and they would be fine too. Do you want to try?’ And if you listened to the book for long enough, you might not think it was a bad idea anymore. You might do it, and you might hurt someone for real. Or kill them.” I took a moment to remind her, “Swords are not toys. Even toy swords are not toys.”

  “I don’t want that.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear the voice anymore.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to figure it out. You and me.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you.”

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  A bit of her usual sass returned. “Moths don’t sweat.”

  “Smarty fuzz butt.”

  “Can I stay in here with you?” Her antennae perked. “You can read. I won’t look.”

  Steamy romance was not appropriate for ten-year-old moths, but I suspected she peeked when I was too engrossed in the story to notice.

  “How about we pull up your Twitch channel and watch your latest kills instead?”

  “Really?” She flitted onto my head. “I’ve got a lot more than the last time we watched, thanks to Clay.”

  With Colby leaning over my forehead, her legs propped on my eyebrows, we settled in to watch orcs die horribly so that their gold, pets, and potions could be looted off their corpses. I didn’t get the same thrill from virtual violence as Colby, I had seen too much of the real thing for that, but I was happy she had made such good friends. I loved listening to them chatter, how they synced dinner like they were eating together, and how every holiday her crew exchanged gifts.

  It gave me hope I was doing right by her, as much as I could, given the circumstances.

  This life would be enough for her, I reassured myself.

  It had to be.

  18

  The dream of leaving for the mountains in four hours turned out as mythical to us as Bigfoot, who preferred to go by Sasquatch, was to humans. The paperwork took forever, so did the repetitive questioning, and I was glad to sign a lengthy statement if it meant returning to my hotel room to check on Colby, who I had been forced to leave alone with the grimoire. Even with exacting Bureau formalities observed, I doubted we had heard the end of this, given our last two cases had involved rogue agents who hadn’t survived to speak for themselves. Those were the reasons we gave for deciding to leave for Samford in the morning.

  Rather than the coffee shop down the street, which participated in a local farm-to-table program.

  Thick-cut pepper-crusted bacon, free-range eggs, and creamy chèvre were calling my name. All served on flaky croissants baked each morning, with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice or a mug of hot coffee.

  Clay had been in real danger of licking the screen as we skimmed the menu, and I wasn’t far behind him
.

  That was how we spent our night, just like the good ol’ days, plotting our route home via food stops.

  That was after Colby and Asa fell asleep on the couch watching Pacific Rim on the boys’ side of the hall.

  Left to our own insomniac devices, Clay and I retreated to the girls’ side to binge his all-time favorite—The French Chef. The last episode was going off when Colby zipped through the door, Asa on her heels.

  “Good morning.” Asa slid his fingers through my hair. “I see you two entertained each other last night.”

  The way he scratched my scalp with his blunt nails had me ready to purr for him.

  “We watched ten hours of Julia Child,” I said, sinking into his touch, “in preparation for breakfast.”

  “Oh, oh, oh.” Colby landed on my shoulder. “Can I get a shot of salted caramel syrup when we stop?”

  With her looking on, the pleasant warmth pooling low in my belly froze hard enough to skate on.

  “Sure thing.” I scratched her back. “Play your cards right, and I might even get you cinnamon sugar too.”

  We had a long drive ahead of us, so it wasn’t spoiling her to pick up her version of a to-go meal.

  Much.

  A sign if there ever was one that I shouldn’t be a parent. I was so happy when we made up after a spat, I had a bad habit of smoothing things over by indulging her more than usual. I know, I know, but that was more reason why I was auntie material.

  I was all about the instant gratification. Not the long-term repercussions.

  Huh.

  Framed like that, the big picture of how I dealt with problems in my life came into focus more than I would have liked to admit. Like blocking calls from a man who would simply appear one day if I didn’t answer him within an allotted amount of time.

  Most everything was already packed and ready to go from the night before. All we had left to do was load the SUV, pile in, and head home sweet home. And then hope against hope Nolan wasn’t about to face justice, Black Hat style.

  We rolled into Samford under the cover of darkness, which worked for what I had planned.

  It was late enough I shouldn’t have to worry about Mrs. Gleason until the morning. None of the lights were on in her house, and her rocker sat empty. Since she wasn’t on patrol, our butts ought to be safe.

  Asa parked off the main road, and the three of us ghosted up the driveway, as stealthy as possible.

  Colby, in hairbow mode, quivered against my scalp. “Do you smell that?”

  The guys inhaled but shook their heads. I didn’t bother. If they couldn’t pick it up, I didn’t have a hope.

  “What you got, Shorty?” Clay kept his eyes on the trees nearest the house. “And is it dangerous?”

  “Sugar,” she breathed. “Lots of it.”

  Leave it to a moth to ferret out the sweet stuff.

  “That’s what he was tossing in the yard?” I tried to wrap my head around that. “Granulated sugar?”

  Salt, sure. That made a certain amount of sense. Sugar? That made none whatsoever…

  …unless you were attempting to lure a moth with a sweet tooth outside the wards.

  A hummingbird feeder with a nectar might have tempted her, but I wasn’t going to offer him any tips.

  Within sight of the house, Asa inclined his head. “I smell him.”

  “I don’t sense any magic.” Clay scratched his bare scalp, as his wigs were still boxed to avoid more smoke contamination. “None.”

  “He’s been camped out for days,” I reasoned. “That gave him plenty of time to set a circle.”

  Though he must either be a gifted practitioner, or his circle was old enough its signature had faded, if Clay couldn’t sense it. As a creature animated by magic, he was more sensitive to it than the rest of us.

  “The smell is human,” Asa countered. “A human who hasn’t showered in days.”

  “You take point.” I scanned the area. “Your nose will be faster than my security feed.” I put my hand on his arm. “Just don’t shift until we know what we’re up against, okay?” I worried my bottom lip with my teeth. “We need to keep this low-key until we determine who and what we’re dealing with.”

  A shadow passed over his features, there and gone before I could peg its cause, but I had a good guess.

  “Hey.” I yanked on his arm. “You smell a human. That’s why we need to be daemon-free. If this goes south, I’ll be the first to welcome your other half to the party.”

  With a lightness to his movements, he slid out of my grasp to begin his hunt.

  The three of us spread out, keeping to the deepest shadows, which meant we would be all but invisible to a human. If that was what we were dealing with. Veering away from the house, Asa prowled into the backyard, weaving through the trees.

  A silent gesture caught my eye, and Asa pointed to the same spot where Nolan had been hunkered down since I left. As far as I could tell, he was totally oblivious to our arrival. He lay on his stomach, in the grass, with a tripod set up in front of him. One with a fancy telescoping lens. He swept it left to right, panning the yard and the house.

  For a human, he was remarkably quiet and still, but I suppose that came from years of stalking wildlife.

  The three of us stopped a yard away from him, silently conferring, and came to the same conclusion.

  Nolan Laurens was plain vanilla human.

  “Hey, Nolan.” I kept my voice conversational. “Whatcha doing?”

  A surprised yelp burst out of him, and he flopped onto his back, caging his head in his arms for protection.

  “That’s not going to help you.” I looked him up and down. “Why are you on my property?”

  Arms lowering, he stared up at me as if he were seeing a ghost instead of the owner of the land where he had been squatting without permission.

  “Just taking some pictures.” He eased up slowly, demonstrating more techniques he must have learned in the field about how not to spook wild animals. “The area is so lovely.”

  As someone who grew up down the road, he’d had plenty of time to document Samford. I wasn’t buying this burst of nostalgia.

  “The girls think you’re in Africa.” I cut through his BS. “Also? My property is wired for surveillance.”

  Expecting Clay to step in, I was surprised when Asa came to my side without the usual slouch he used to ease others’ worries. The effect on Nolan was immediate. His knees shook, and I worried for his bladder.

  “You’re trespassing.” Asa flashed a police badge. “You are aware that’s illegal?”

  “You’re Rue’s cop friends.” Nolan blasted Asa with a smile that trembled around the edges. “I appreciate everything you did—”

  “Why are you spying on Rue?” He made no effort to diminish himself. “After everything she’s been through with her ex, I’m sure you understand why it concerns us to discover a strange man hiding out here while she was gone.”

  “Whoa.” He raised his hands, palms out. “It’s not like that.”

  “What is it like?” Clay folded his thick arms across his wide chest. “From here, it looks like enough to bring you in.”

  The color drained from Nolan’s cheeks, and he took a healthy step back before his gaze dropped to the thousands of dollars in camera equipment he would never see again if he bolted. He relaxed his stance and kept his hands where we could see them. He fought the twitch in his legs, proving he was a man used to facing his fears and knew better than to run from them.

  “The girls told you I’m a wildlife photographer.” He addressed his defense to me. “Okay, well, they sent me a picture when you guys were moving Hollis Apothecary from your kitchen to the shop.” He wet his lips. “Hear me out. There was a moth. This huge white moth. I couldn’t tell if it was in the house, the glare was terrible. Either it was resting on the glass inside the living room, or it was right outside.”

  A sour taste filled my mouth, and I could have kicked myself for not seeing it sooner.

 
Power increased as it reached back through generations. Nolan was Arden’s uncle, therefore he had more magic than her. Enough he could see through the wards to spot Colby in the window. Enough he had groped the ward without realizing what kept repelling him. Enough to cause me big problems.

  Goddess bless, what a mess I had made.

  On the heels of that revelation came another. The shock of awareness when I shook Nolan’s hand wasn’t a glitch in the bracelet. It was my instincts warning me I was in the presence of another witch. He wasn’t powerful enough to warrant that kind of buzz. So maybe the bracelet helped, a one-two punch I misinterpreted at the time.

  “I thought you were here for Arden,” I said flatly, “for both the girls.”

  But their abduction must have only been the tipping point in his decision to verify the photo’s authenticity.

  “I am.” He pulled a hand through his greasy hair. “I thought—”

  “—you would put in an appearance, raise their hopes, then ditch them to pursue your real goal.”

  With my hectic schedule, he could have been creeping around the edges of my property for days before he pulled his prodigal-returns act with the girls. He must have hoped to finagle an invitation to the house under the guise of seeing where the girls had worked for so many years, using his charm to grease the wheels. Then the case lured me away, and he got an even better deal. Carte blanche on my property.

  And, as a bonus, he could have asked the girls to call him with a heads-up when I started home for any number of flimsy reasons. Such as making an empty promise to honor our missed breakfast date in the future.

  “I saw this moth in South America, a white witch moth, and it was huge. More than a foot across. They’re gray and white, with a zigzag pattern on their wings.” He sliced his hand through the air. “Never mind. Not important. The point is— There are no moths native to the US, let alone Alabama, that size. And it was snow white.”

  “Can I see the picture?” Asa held out his hand. “I would like proof that what you say is true.”

  “Sure. No problem.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his gallery. “There. See?”

  Asa accepted the phone, waved Clay over, and they pretended to compare notes.