Cursed Moon (Prospero's War) (4 page)

Eldritch sucked his teeth for a moment. The move made his mustache dance on his top lip. “It’s a deal. But I expect to be kept in the loop on this.”

“No dice. You came to us. That makes this an MEA op. I’ll let you know if we need BPD assistance, but otherwise I’ll be making all the calls.”

It was clear Eldritch wanted to argue, but a smart leader knew when he’d gotten his way and didn’t push for more out of ego. “Fine. I have a meeting with the chief for lunch.” He glanced at his watch and then at Gardner. “I trust that as we get closer to the Blue Moon, your team will continue to be available to back up their brothers in blue?”

“And sisters, yes,” Gardner snapped. “Agent Pruitt is out with your Arcane squad as we speak.”

He nodded and tossed a file folder on the desk. “That’s the initial incident report from the unis who responded to the call. They didn’t find much.”

“As long as they didn’t fuck with the scene so our team wiz can do a thorough forensics search.”

He ignored that. “Just be sure you get this Aphrodite case closed fast. We’ll need more manpower, not less, the closer we get to Halloween.” With that Eldritch hitched up his pants and walked out of the office without so much as a good-bye.

The three of us remaining sat there until we heard his steps start down the staircase. Since he was finally out of range, Gardner let out the frustrated sigh she’d been holding. “Asshole.”

I bit my lip. Not because I disagreed, but because agreeing too vehemently was also a mistake. The relationship between those two changed depending on who needed favors, so it was
just as likely that tomorrow she’d be singing his praises if he came through on one she needed.

“All right, Prospero, are you ready for this one?”

I nodded. “SSDD.” Translation: Same shit different day.

“Mez!” she called. A muted response filtered through the gym, which I assumed meant he was on his way.

“You two go in first with the interview,” Gardner said. “Mez will handle forensics.”

“Great,” I mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Aphrodite considers herself somewhat of a sexual guru. I’ll probably spend most of the interview defending Morales’s and Mez’s honor.”

“Defend my honor from whom?” Mez said, sticking his head through the door.

Gardner quickly filled him in on the situation.

“Doesn’t sound so bad, if you ask me,” he said with a smirk.

“Whatever you do, act natural when you see her/m,” I said.

“Did you say ‘herm’?” Morales’s eyebrows shot up.

“It’s short for ‘her/him,’ ” I explained. “Aphrodite’s a sacred hermaphrodite.”

“Oh shit,” Mez said. “Why didn’t you say that to begin with? I’m totally in.”

“I thought the term
hermaphrodite
was politically incorrect?” Gardner said.

“Technically it’s only incorrect to use for Mundanes born with both male and female androgens,” Mez explained, his voice rising in excitement. “But sacred hermaphrodites are created by wizards using powerful alchemical magic that makes a person exactly half-male and half-female.”

I nodded. “They’re the ultimate symbol of unity between the male and female energies of the universe. So they’re basically
revered among Adepts and rarely challenged once they reach high levels within covens.”

“So they’re both sexes?” Morales asked, slack-jawed. “At the same time?”

I shook my head. “Usually there’s one in the lead, but Aphrodite likes to keep people off guard by switching in the middle of conversations. The trick is to watch for clues. If the male half is in the lead, you address using male pronouns. If the female is in charge, you use female.”

“How will we know?” Mez asked.

“Aphrodite’s voice and posture change according to who’s in charge.”

Morales blew out a breath. “This case is gonna be a real kick in the balls, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Pretty much. S/he’s about as cuddly as a black widow on a good day, which of course today is not seeing how the temple was violated and some asshole stole the Hierophant’s potions.”

“Oh yeah, and don’t forget we’re less than two weeks away from a monster Blue Moon,” Mez said helpfully. “So s/he’ll be feeling the effects of that shit.”

Morales rubbed his hands together. “I don’t know. Considering how dead it’s been around here lately, it kind of sounds like fun.”

“Remember those words later,” I said, “so you can regret them.”

On our way out to Morales’s car, he and I ran into the fifth member of the task force, Shadi Pruitt.

For the last week or so, she had been assigned to help the BPD’s Arcane unit do raids on corner boys to stem the flow of
potions. With the moon’s unstable energy in play, the fewer people out there freaking on potions, the better.

Normally she moved like a petite bull looking for a china shop, but now she looked like she was pushing a freight train uphill. The circles under her eyes and pale cast to her normally dark complexion bore testament to the late nights she’d been serving to help out the patrol units.

“You look like someone beat you with a bag of dicks,” Morales called by way of greeting.

She flipped him the bird with her right hand. “Bite me, jackass.” Her words lacked any heat. “Where’s Mez?”

“Getting his kit ready,” Morales said. “He’s meeting us at a crime scene.”

“How’s it going out there?” I asked.

She sighed and pushed all her weight to her right hip. “Motherfuckers be trippin’ like usual.” She shrugged as if this was standard operating procedure, which, given we were working in a magical slum, it kind of was. “But it beats the hell out of patrol.”

We all nodded because it was true.

“What crime scene you headed to?” Shadi asked.

“Someone stole some sex potions from a sacred hermaphrodite,” Morales said.

If his announcement surprised her, she didn’t show it. “All right, I’m going to go check in with the boss lady and then head home for some shut-eye.” She yawned so big her jaw popped. “But I’ll see ya tonight.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement coming from Morales, but when I looked up at him he looked clueless. To Shadi, I said, “Actually, I’ve got AA tonight.” I didn’t mention that I had no intention of attending the weekly Arcane Anonymous meeting, just as I’d skipped the previous six.

Shadi’s face changed into an expression I couldn’t read. Almost a cross between confusion and guilt. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Cool.”

After that, she left quickly. I shot Morales a look. “What was that about?”

He slipped on his aviators. “No idea. She’s probably just tired.”

I knew bullshit when I smelled it, but blew it off. Probably Morales and Shadi had plans to go grab a beer or something and hadn’t invited me. Wouldn’t be the first time. I didn’t take it personally. Those two were pretty tight, and, besides, they never invited anyone else, either.

I glanced at Morales as we walked toward his car. Part of me wondered if those two had a thing going on. They never showed any romantic interest at work. Sure, they teased each other, but it always seemed more like two siblings giving each other shit than the way a couple teased each other.

“What?” my partner asked suddenly.

I jumped, guilty at having been caught staring. But, hell, I thought, might as well ask. “Are you two—you know?” I made a vaguely obscene gesture with my fingers.

He stopped walking so fast I was shocked he didn’t get whiplash. “What?”

I waved toward the building. “You and Shadi.”

Instead of answering, he threw back his head and brayed like the jackass he was. I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the heat searing my cheeks. When the laughter finally slowed into chuckles, he gasped for breath. “Jesus Christ, Prospero, that’s the best laugh I’ve had in weeks.” He swiped at his eyes, even though I knew he hadn’t laughed
that
hard.

“So no?” I snapped.

He stilled and cocked his head at my overly pissed-off tone.
“Wait, you’re serious?” At my look, he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “You mean you had no idea Shadi bats for Team Sappho?”

“Fuck off. No she doesn’t!”

“You’re like the worst detective ever.” He shook his head sadly. “That woman sees more snatch than an ob-gyn.”

My face mashed up into a grimace. “Charming.”

He grinned. “No? I thought that was kind of clever, myself.”

“You would.”

“Anyway,” he said, clicking the button to open the SUV’s doors, “not that I’m not into lesbians or whatever—I mean, what heterosexual man isn’t?—but Shadi’s like my sister.”

I climbed into the passenger’s side. Bringing this topic up had been a huge mistake. “Got it,” I said, hoping he’d let it drop.

He buckled his seat belt and put the key in the ignition, shaking his head the whole time. “You’re a trip, Prospero. Me and Shadi. Ha!”

“I said I got it.”

“Besides,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “dating a fellow cop is bad news.” He looked across the car at me. Something shifted in the atmosphere. “Right?”

“Of course,” I said quickly. “I was just making conversation.”

His gaze held mine for a few more seconds, like it was an interrogation and he wanted me to admit something. “Conversation,” he said, finally, “sure.”

“Just drive, jackass.”

M
orales pulled up in front of the building and stared at the facade. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yep.” I set down the unhelpful incident report Eldritch had left us and pointed to a small brass plaque discreetly set beside the revolving doors.

“Temple of Cosmic Love?” Morales read. “Jesus.”

To the uninitiated, the sex magic temple looked like a typical Babylon office building. Four stories of brick and windows that looked like every other office building on the corner of Hope and Bleaker Streets. As it happened that corner was smack in the center of the border between Sanguinarian and Votary territories. That was because Aphrodite Johnson, among other things, was a shrewd strategist. Unlike the blood magic wizards and bathtub alchemists, s/he refused to choose sides in the street magic battles. S/he ensured the O Coven remained the sexy Switzerland of the dirty magic world. But even though
the Hierophant kept the coven out of turf wars, that didn’t seem to stop her/m from creating enemies as if it were a hobby.

As I passed through the revolving door, I felt static in the air that indicated some sort of magic detection system was scanning us. It was like a metal detector, only it was trying to catch people bringing potions into the temple. Usually I was annoyed by such invasions. But this time I found myself enjoying the tingle of energy across my skin and the adrenaline surge from the contact with magic. Since neither of us was wearing a protection amulet, we passed through without incident. When I emerged from the doorway, I cleared my throat, hoping Morales wouldn’t notice the slight flush to my cheeks.

A security guard dressed in a sharp business suit met us by the front desk. “The Hierophant is expecting you in the garden,” he said.

“Our task force wizard will be arriving shortly to begin the forensics,” Morales said. “His name is Kichiri Ren.”

He nodded. “I’ll show him to the room where the potions were taken, and you can join him after you speak to Her Holiness.”

I glanced meaningfully at Morales, so he’d take note Aphrodite was presenting as female that morning.

As the guard walked away, I hung back to give my partner some last-minute advice. “Whatever you do, don’t touch anything while we’re out there.”

“That’s a good rule of thumb in most whorehouses, isn’t it?” Morales asked with a cocked brow.

“True,” I said, “but I was talking about her garden.” I used the feminine pronoun since we knew Aphrodite was presenting as female that day.

He paused and shot me a sardonic grin. “I definitely never touch whores’
gardens
, Prospero.”

I gave up. He’d see what I meant soon enough, anyway. “Whatever. Just try to behave.”

A few moments later we stepped out into a large courtyard in the center of the building. According to local legend, this space had served as the setting for many an orgy for Babylon’s rich and famous, but it was also home to the madam’s famous collection of poisonous plants, which was famous in Cauldron lore.

Aphrodite herself stood at the rear of the courtyard, bathed in a shaft of sunlight. I was pretty sure she’d planned the position for effect. When we entered the courtyard, she looked up and flipped the long side of her hair back over her shoulder. The left half wore a formfitting red wiggle dress with red stiletto, while the right half wore half a collared shirt, slacks, and a single black wing tip. As she moved forward, she led with the left side and a femme fatale smile.

“Kate—Oh, excuse me, I mean, Detective Prospero,” she said, giving me a once-over that left me feeling like I’d come up lacking. Her seductive voice twined through the room like smoke. She sashayed toward us on one high heel and one thick-soled men’s dress shoe.

When I’d told Morales that Aphrodite was half-female and half-male, I’d meant it literally. The left side of the face was perfectly made up with a shimmery nude eye, bold black eyeliner, and half a mouth lacquered in bold red lipstick. The other half bore carefully cultivated stubble, a bold, unwaxed brow, and not a single lick of makeup.

The weird part was that her lady side was as beautiful and conventionally feminine as her right side was ruggedly handsome and conventionally male. The gender differences extended down her entire body from the clothing to the body hair to the way she was graceful on the feminine left and confident on the masculine right. But to me, the most disconcerting
feature was how the voice would change depending on which gender the Hierophant chose at the time.

When she caught sight of Morales, her cat eyes flared with prurient interest. “Who’s your friend?” she asked me in a feline tone, but she kept her eyes on him.

Morales took her hand and bent over it like a chivalrous knight. “Special Agent Drew Morales, MEA.”

Aphrodite’s eyes flared and her lips jutted forward into a pout. “Whatever have I done to deserve the interest of the Magic Enforcement Agency?”

“Nothing yet,” I said. She looked over at me grudgingly as she continued to hold Morales’s hand. “The BPD is backlogged with the Blue Moon coming, so we’re taking the case to help out.”

She shot a terse glance at my partner as he not-so-subtly pulled his hand from her grip. “I must admit the idea gives me some comfort. Forgive me, Detective, but I’ve had somewhat disappointing dealings with Babylon’s finest in the past.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“You also remember I was friends with your mother?” she asked with a sidelong glance.

My mom and Aphrodite were whores together back in the day. Then the O’s were still controlled by Matahari Jenkins from a temple closer to the center of Votary territory. Word on the street was she and Uncle Abe had been sort of an item. Aphrodite had been Matahari’s top moneymaker, and my mom had been number two. As far as I knew there hadn’t been much competition between the two—Aphrodite’s sacred status had given her a huge edge over my mom. So they had been friendly, but not best buds, either.

Anyway, Mom died a decade ago, and since then Aphrodite had taken over for Matahari and built this new temple.

“You were also friends with my uncle,” I added.

“Still am. Poor dear,” she said, batting her lashes. “How is he faring in prison?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Our eyes met and held. Despite the somewhat disconcerting experience of looking into one heavily made-up eye and one naked one, I held her gaze steady. The look seemed to communicate that without her fondness for my mother, whom she respected, my poor standing with Uncle Abe would have prevented this conversation from happening at all.

“I appreciate you speaking with us,” I said diplomatically. “This shouldn’t take much of your time.”

She seemed to accept that. “So let’s get to it, shall we?”

Morales pulled out his pad to take notes. “Ms. Johnson—”

“Aphrodite, please.”

“We’d like to ask a few questions about the break-in?”

“Of course,” she said, motioning to a seating area arranged around a fire pit on the perimeter of the courtyard.

To get there, we skirted the large pergola, which dominated the center of the courtyard. Underneath it was Aphrodite’s infamous garden.

Leafy moonseed vines with their deadly bright red drupes climbed up pergola’s wooden columns. Oleander shrubs, with their white flowers and fatally toxic leaves, dotted the borders of the bed. The purple petals of devil’s cherry and wolfsbane added deceptively cheerful spots of color. The green and purplish starbursts of castor bean leaves with their fuzzy red pom-poms added depth to the display, as well as access to the deadly poison ricin. And in the very center, the wide branches of a
Brugmansia
plant with its large, drooping angel trumpet flowers. Those celestial petals contained a triple punch of the toxins atropine, hyoscyamine, and scopolamine.

As we passed, I gave the garden a wide berth, not wanting to accidentally prick myself on the deadly thorns or get any poisonous sap on my skin. But Morales stopped next to a plant bearing bright red berries. He reached a hand toward it, but I slapped it away. “That’s a rosary pea,” I hissed under my breath.

“So?” He frowned.

“The seeds contain a poison called abrin,” Aphrodite explained. “It causes severe vomiting, liver failure, bladder failure, bleeding from the eyes, and convulsive seizures before it kills you.”

“If it’s that deadly, why do you have it in your garden?” he demanded.

The corner of her mouth lifted. “So your partner didn’t already tell you about my revenge garden?” She glanced at me with a raised brow. When I shook my head, she chuckled.

Morales frowned. “Revenge garden?”

She leaned forward, allowing the bodice on the left side of her body to show an impressive amount of one-sided cleavage. “Every plant in that bed is lethal. I nurture that garden like a child to warn my enemies of what will happen if they cross me.”

I slapped my hands together. “All righty, then. Let’s get to the robbery, shall we?”

Aphrodite crossed her arms. “I already filed a report with the officers who responded to the call last night.”

“Yes, we have that.” I held the report file up for her to see. “But they were working it as a regular robbery. We’re MEA, so our concern is making sure the potions that were stolen don’t end up on the streets.”

She frowned. “What can I tell you to help?”

“First, we’ll need a list of all the potions that were taken,” Morales said. “Including their formulae, if possible.”

She laughed. “I can give you the list, but I’m not about to reveal the recipes for my formulae.”

“Without the recipe we won’t be able to know if any potions we find are the same as the ones taken.”

She pursed her lips. “Just read the energy signature.”

“Not possible,” Morales said. “We don’t have an Adept who can do that on the team.”

Aphrodite’s eyes snapped toward me. “Why not have Kate do it?” My stomach dropped. “Back in the day she was famous for being able to read the signature off any potion.”

Morales’s gaze snapped toward me, but he covered his reaction to this news smoothly. “Detective Prospero’s talents not withstanding, the testimony of an Adept gathered through Arcane means won’t hold up in court. We’ll need the ingredients for our forensics wizard to be able to prove the potions are yours.”

She sighed. “Fine. All of my potions contain fiery cinnamon and virgin copulins. Surely your agents are capable of doing simple chemical tests to detect those ingredients.”

Morales glanced at me for confirmation. “I’m pretty sure our team wiz can identify cinnamon and copulins, but there’s no test to confirm they were extracted from a virgin.”

“If your wizard is any sort of professional, he’ll know how,” she said.

Morales raised a hand. “Dare I ask what a copulin is?”

Aphrodite raised a brow in challenge, but I nodded to her to go ahead. “Copulins are pheromones.” She looked at Morales with a black widow smile. “Did you know a woman’s pussy contains magical properties, Special Agent?”

I squirmed on the inside. I don’t care if you’re a seasoned cop or a rode-hard-and-put-up-wet prostitute, there’s something electrifying about hearing
that
word spoken aloud. She
knew it, too, which was why the Hierophant’s gaze stayed on Morales’s face when she enunciated it.

But Morales, God love him, did not even blink. “I’m well acquainted with the magical powers of pussy, ma’am.”

I bit my lip to cover my amusement. Aphrodite laid her hands on the armrests and leaned back, eyeing my partner like a Serengeti lioness watches a juicy gazelle.

“Have you had any personnel problems lately?” I asked. “We’ll need to see those files, too.”

Aphrodite looked up sharply at me. I simply raised my brows.

Something in her face changed. As if the power center of her being shifted from left to right. Her shoulders squared and her jaw muscles engaged, as if the body instinctively felt the need to take up as much space as possible to command more authority. That sly smile dissolved into a neutral expression that gave nothing away. And when the half-painted mouth opened to speak, the voice that emerged was no longer the seductive purr of a madam, but the baritone of a pimp. “My files are not public record, Detective.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d seen the Hierophant morph between genders, but I’d never get used to the unsettling shift. “They could be with a simple phone call, Mr. Johnson.”

When I didn’t back down, that mouth tightened into a thin line, and that’s when I knew I’d made it onto his shit list. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time.

“Surely you keep some sort of information on your followers,” Morales said, playing the mediator.

“I’m not the MEA, Agent Morales. I don’t keep dossiers on my congregation. They’re not criminals. I’ve already said all this to officers who responded last night. So if there’s nothing else I am quite busy—”

“Keep your wig on,” I snapped. Not my coolest moment
ever—the Hierophant would see any reference to the feminine when the masculine was in charge as a direct insult. “For someone who was robbed you’re awfully reluctant to help.”

The wig comment earned me a death glare, but the implication got me a dismissive snort. “Why would I rob my own temple, Detective?”