Read Online Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four by Sharon Joss - Free Book Online
Authors: Sharon Joss
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go up against an angry six-foot tall female and her hatchlings. Sure, he’d dragged me out of the flames and saved my life, but not before I’d saved a dozen innocent teenagers. He’d accomplished exactly nothing since he’d arrived here. And now he was acting as if he was doing me a favor. I would have respected him more if he’d just said fuggedaboutit.
Fool me twice, shame on me. Next time, well, there just wouldn’t be a next time.
* * *
After my shift, I headed over to the hospital to check on Lou.
I met Honey as she was coming out of the building. “You can’t see him,” she told me. “He’s still in a coma. They’re saying it’s a miracle that he lasted through the night. I still don’t understand why they went after him like that. Why?”
I swallowed the hard lump of emotion which had welled up in my throat. Lou couldn’t die. He just couldn’t.
Honey looked terrible. Dark circles ringed her eyes; her beautiful caramel skin looked sallow. I felt bad for her. I told her about working a stakeout with Lou. “We followed the husband to a cemetery in Penfield. We found the coven performing a layering ritual. Once he realized who they were, Lou got me out of there pretty fast, but one of them saw us as we were leaving. They probably tracked him through the license plate on his car. And last night, two women came into the bar, looking for someone, but they didn’t say who. It must have been Lou.”
“Oh God.” She closed her eyes. “I thought this was over.” Her body swayed.
I thought she was going to faint. I helped her down the steps and we sat on a warm bench in the dappled shade of a scarlet maple.
“I guess I just wanted it to be.” She chewed her lower lip. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you’ve been dragged into this, Mattie.”
“Dragged into what, exactly? I’m not even sure what’s going on. Until last week, I’d never heard of the Penfield witch—um, cult.”
“No reason you should have. Ten years ago, before the FBI had a supernatural bureau, Nate and Lou were investigating the disappearance of a Picston City employee. As they tracked down leads in the case, they discovered other disappearances as well. They became convinced that someone was targeting long-time members of the Penfield coven. They were close to an arrest when Nate was killed.”
“I remember that,” I said. “Nate took a bullet meant for Lou.”
She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “That was the official story, but not what happened. Nate was poisoned.”
My mouth went dry. “What? How?”
“With water hemlock. Common as a weed, and one of the deadliest plants in North America. Almost a cliché, in terms of a witch’s weapon, wouldn’t you say?” She gave me a bitter smile. “Someone mixed it into their lunch salads. The investigators never discovered who was responsible, and no one was ever prosecuted. The department hushed it up. Gave Nate a medal for bravery. Of course Lou blamed himself, but there was no black magic involved. Neither of them ever suspected there was anything wrong with their food.”
“How awful. I’m sorry.”
“That wasn’t the end of it. Once or twice a year, someone leaves little carved wooden figures on our porches, covered in blood. It’s a form of intimidation, meant to keep us off balance. I won’t let the boys answer the door when I’m not home. Last week, a swarm of swamp lights appeared in Lou’s living room.”
“Excuse me?”
“Swamp lights. That’s what we called them when I was a kid. Or fey lights. White people call them will-o-the-wisps. Lou said they weren’t evil, just the cult playing head games, but now I’m not so sure.”
I slumped back against the bench. “Charlie and I had a similar experience,” I said. “He was pretty sure they were bad news.”
“When I was little, my grandmother told me that swamp lights are lost spirits, unable to pass beyond the veil. They serve as messengers
Fool me twice, shame on me. Next time, well, there just wouldn’t be a next time.
* * *
After my shift, I headed over to the hospital to check on Lou.
I met Honey as she was coming out of the building. “You can’t see him,” she told me. “He’s still in a coma. They’re saying it’s a miracle that he lasted through the night. I still don’t understand why they went after him like that. Why?”
I swallowed the hard lump of emotion which had welled up in my throat. Lou couldn’t die. He just couldn’t.
Honey looked terrible. Dark circles ringed her eyes; her beautiful caramel skin looked sallow. I felt bad for her. I told her about working a stakeout with Lou. “We followed the husband to a cemetery in Penfield. We found the coven performing a layering ritual. Once he realized who they were, Lou got me out of there pretty fast, but one of them saw us as we were leaving. They probably tracked him through the license plate on his car. And last night, two women came into the bar, looking for someone, but they didn’t say who. It must have been Lou.”
“Oh God.” She closed her eyes. “I thought this was over.” Her body swayed.
I thought she was going to faint. I helped her down the steps and we sat on a warm bench in the dappled shade of a scarlet maple.
“I guess I just wanted it to be.” She chewed her lower lip. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you’ve been dragged into this, Mattie.”
“Dragged into what, exactly? I’m not even sure what’s going on. Until last week, I’d never heard of the Penfield witch—um, cult.”
“No reason you should have. Ten years ago, before the FBI had a supernatural bureau, Nate and Lou were investigating the disappearance of a Picston City employee. As they tracked down leads in the case, they discovered other disappearances as well. They became convinced that someone was targeting long-time members of the Penfield coven. They were close to an arrest when Nate was killed.”
“I remember that,” I said. “Nate took a bullet meant for Lou.”
She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “That was the official story, but not what happened. Nate was poisoned.”
My mouth went dry. “What? How?”
“With water hemlock. Common as a weed, and one of the deadliest plants in North America. Almost a cliché, in terms of a witch’s weapon, wouldn’t you say?” She gave me a bitter smile. “Someone mixed it into their lunch salads. The investigators never discovered who was responsible, and no one was ever prosecuted. The department hushed it up. Gave Nate a medal for bravery. Of course Lou blamed himself, but there was no black magic involved. Neither of them ever suspected there was anything wrong with their food.”
“How awful. I’m sorry.”
“That wasn’t the end of it. Once or twice a year, someone leaves little carved wooden figures on our porches, covered in blood. It’s a form of intimidation, meant to keep us off balance. I won’t let the boys answer the door when I’m not home. Last week, a swarm of swamp lights appeared in Lou’s living room.”
“Excuse me?”
“Swamp lights. That’s what we called them when I was a kid. Or fey lights. White people call them will-o-the-wisps. Lou said they weren’t evil, just the cult playing head games, but now I’m not so sure.”
I slumped back against the bench. “Charlie and I had a similar experience,” I said. “He was pretty sure they were bad news.”
“When I was little, my grandmother told me that swamp lights are lost spirits, unable to pass beyond the veil. They serve as messengers
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