In the Air Tonight (22 page)

“Wart?”

She touched the tip of her nose. “Yep.”

“Very ‘I’ll get you, my pretty.’ With that getup, Jenn should have dressed like Toto and not a cat.”

“Jenn would never consent to being a dog.”

“Good point.”

They continued in silence for several miles. The sign for the next exit proclaimed a variety of fast food choices. “You want something to eat?”

They’d dressed and left without bothering to down anything more than coffee. He was fine; he’d done the same a thousand times before, but she looked pale.

“McDonald’s,” she read. “Taco Bell. Dunkin Donuts is tempting. But if I’m going to blow the diet I’d rather go to State Street Brats.”

He eyed her. “Diet?”

“Not so much for weight loss as for health.”

“You’re twenty-seven. Don’t you have a few years before you need to watch your food choices?”

“I have no idea of my health history. For all I know my parents had diabetes, high cholesterol, and the fat gene.”

He’d never considered all the issues that an adopted child would have to face. In this day and age, most knew their parents, or they could if they wanted to. They definitely had access to their medical records. What would it be like not to know anything about where you came from?

“I watch the salt, the fat, the junk,” she continued. “But I’m a sucker for State Street Brats. That’s my splurge.”

Bobby had heard of bratwurst, never had one, wasn’t sure he wanted to. His thoughts must have shown on his face because Raye patted his knee. “The place is legend. Brats in nearly every menu item. They even have a red bratwurst.”

“Why?”

“Badger spirit. Red brat, white bun. Go Big Red.” She pumped her fist into the air.

People
were
crazy. But he’d known that as soon as he understood the meaning of the word. If people weren’t, he’d be out of a job. Some days he didn’t think that would be such a bad thing.

Raye indicated the next exit. “This one.”

He followed her directions. The big white capitol dome loomed above streets that were a maze. He could have plugged the address into his GPS but why bother when he had her?

Memories of last night surfaced—the way that she’d tasted, the sound of her cries, the brush of her breath, the clasp of her thighs.

“Take the next parking place you see.”

He snapped out of the past. He was on a case. Now was not the time for pornographic daydreams and bad poetry.

Bobby saw a space half a block up. He had to parallel park, but he was good at it, even with a car that wasn’t his.

“Nice,” she said as they climbed out. “You didn’t even tap the curb.”

“As if.”

She smiled, and for an instant he thought she’d take his hand. For an instant he almost took hers, until he remembered.

Case. Victim. Murderer. He swooped out his arm in a “be my guest” gesture, and she led the way.

They took one turn and State Street spread out before them like a Midwestern French Quarter. Shops, taverns, restaurants. People milled about, walking dogs, sipping coffee.

“Is this it?” Raye peered at the numbers above the nearest doorway—a used bookstore.

“That one.” He lifted his chin to indicate another farther down.

Raye stopped in front of it and frowned.

“Is it closed?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, just pointed to the sign above the doorway, which read:
PRACTICAL MAGIC
.

Chapter 17

“Just because she lives above a magic shop doesn’t make her a witch,” Bobby said.

“It’s not a magic shop.” Raye tapped the star surrounded by a circle. “A pentagram is a Wiccan symbol.”

“How do you know this stuff?”

“Don’t you? You live in New Orleans.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I try to avoid the weird shit.”

Or at least he had after he’d met Audrey. She’d brought enough weird shit into his life to last the rest of it. He’d never been sure if she believed in all the kooky crap she and her friends spouted, or if she’d only pretended she had in order to dupe the pathetic, unsuspecting, and desperate.

“I’d think that in New Orleans there’d be tons of ‘weird shit,’ especially in homicide.”

“You’d be surprised.”

There was Sullivan’s loup-garou incident, of course, but Bobby hadn’t been involved and most thought that Sullivan had had a breakdown. It made more sense than a werewolf running loose in the Crescent City.

“Homicide is pretty cut-and-dried. It’s almost always the husband, sometimes the wife. On occasion, a sibling. People kill the ones they love. They don’t off the passersby.”

“I still can’t believe you haven’t run into a witch or two. Maybe a voodoo priestess?”

“Despite the press, voodoo is a fairly peaceful religion.”

“So is Wicca. I’m pretty sure that’s one of their tenets…”

She pointed at the painted sign in the window, which read:
HARM NONE.

“Probably why I haven’t met any.”

Homicide began and ended with harm.

“Just because she lived over a Wiccan shop doesn’t mean she was a witch either,” he said.

“Sooner or later, Bobby, one and one is going to have to equal two.” Raye opened the door.

Inside a young man stood behind the counter. His nametag read
TODD.
He was dressed in jeans, Nikes, a red T-shirt sporting that big-headed badger. Bobby had lost track of how many of those he’d seen in the few yards they had traveled to arrive here. The guy’s strawberry-blond hair was short, his lightly freckled face clean-shaven. He was the least likely Wiccan shop worker Bobby could have imagined.

“Blessed be,” Todd said.

Bobby flashed his badge. If he was lucky, the clerk wouldn’t look closely enough to read NOPD. He didn’t.

“Do you have a key for the apartment upstairs?” Bobby asked.

“Annie’s place?”

“Is there more than one apartment?”

“Got me there.” Todd opened the register, removed a key, held it out. “You know who’s gonna be taking over?”

“Taking over what?”

“The shop. Man, I sure hope it doesn’t get sold. I like this job.”

“Anne owned the shop?” Raye asked. She was quicker on the uptake than he was.

“Of course.”

“Why ‘of course’?” Bobby wondered.

“She was a high priestess.”

Bobby glanced at Raye. She shrugged.

“The leader of the local coven,” Todd continued.

“It’s like a witch club,” Raye said.

“That’s right, dude.”

Bobby had never gotten used to women being referred to as
dude
. From Raye’s bemused expression she hadn’t either.

“I thought Ms. McKenna was a hospice worker.”

“She is.” The young man’s bright, eager expression fell. “Was.” He shook his head. “Why would anyone hurt her? She was a saint.”

“Can a witch be a saint?” Bobby asked.

“Joan of Arc,” Raye murmured.

“Good one.” Todd nodded approvingly. “Annie’s gift was to relieve suffering. She helped ease people from this world.”

That smelled like euthanasia. Which was still a crime as far as Bobby knew. “How?”

“Once people are in hospice, there’s not much to do but manage their pain, which usually means boatloads of narcotics. Some don’t want to spend the time they have left drugged out of their mind. Annie used herbals and massage instead of pills.”

“Herbals.” Bobby knew what that meant.

Todd rolled his eyes—part disgust, part amusement. “Dying people, dude.”

He had a point.

“Annie was gifted,” the kid continued.

“I’m not following.”

“She was an air witch.”

He still wasn’t.

Todd grabbed a piece of paper, drew a five-pointed star. “Four elements.” He tapped the eraser side of his pencil on each of the four nonascendant triangles. “Fire, air, water, earth.” He moved the eraser to the single ascendant point. “Spirit. Point up, shows spirit is more important than earthly concerns.”

“What about point down?” Bobby asked. He’d seen that too.

The kid made a face. “The earthly over the spirit. Satanism. Crazies.”

“Because witches are so sane,” Bobby muttered, ignoring Raye’s annoyed glance.

“Those who follow this path…”—Todd tapped the center of the pentagram—“are some of the sanest people I’ve ever known.”

Bobby was getting too much information out of this guy to argue and risk his clamming up so he swallowed further comments. “Anything else?” he asked.

Todd stared at him for a few seconds as if gauging how much he should say, then shrugged and went on. “The continuous line used to draw the star symbolizes the interconnection between the divine and the earthly.” Flipping the pencil point down, he drew a ring connecting the points of the star. “All is unified. Life is a circle—birth, death, rebirth.”

Bobby nearly said
blah, blah, blah,
but managed to stop himself. From the glance Raye shot his way, his expression had said it for him. At least Todd didn’t notice.

“Witches are elemental,” Todd continued. “An earth witch is good with herbs, a water witch with healing and cleansing.”

“But Anne was an air witch?” Raye asked.

“Right. If her talent had been medicine or healing, she would have been a nurse. Hospice isn’t about that. An air witch alleviates pain, and air rules the crossover.”

“Lost me,” Bobby said.

“The gates of death. An air witch is a necromancer. They can communicate with the dead.”

Raye started so violently, Bobby took her hand. It was freakishly cold for the warmth of the autumn day. He glanced at her. She wasn’t looking at him but at the kid.

“Communicate how?” she whispered.

“Hear them mostly. Clairaudience. But really powerful air witches can bring the dead across.”

“I refuse to believe in zombies,” Bobby said.

“We’re talking ghosts, dude.”

“Of course we are,” Raye said.

“Annie not only helped the dead cross over, she helped the living communicate with those they’ve lost.”

“S
é
ances?” Bobby’s lip curled.

“Sometimes.”

“And I suppose she charged a hefty fee for them.”

“That wouldn’t be ethical. Besides, how can you charge the dead?”

“That wasn’t…” Bobby began, but Raye set a hand on his arm. “Shh.”

“Annie was training me,” Todd continued. “Now what am I going to do?”

“You seem to be doing just fine here,” Bobby said.

“She wasn’t training me in the store; she was training me to be a witch.”

“Isn’t that a warlock?”

“It’s the twenty-first century. No one uses that word anymore.”

“Except on
Bewitched,
” Raye said, and Todd snickered. “I thought witches were born not made.”

Bobby cast her a quick glance. How much research had she done before he arrived last night?

“To be an elemental, like Annie,” Todd said, “you have to inherit the craft. If you don’t you can still learn the way, assist the others, but real magic is beyond us.”

“Real magic,” Bobby repeated, managing, barely, not to sneer. “Isn’t that a simile?”

“I think you mean oxymoron,” Raye said.

“Moron is right.”

“What is your problem?” Todd asked.

“He’s a cop,” Raye said. “They don’t believe anything.”

“Or anyone,” Bobby agreed. Especially about this. It was all such BS. But as Raye had pointed out, it didn’t matter if he believed it, what mattered was if the killers believed and acted on it.

“Did you know Anne’s aunt?” Raye asked.

“Mrs. Noita?” Todd nodded. “Earth witch.”

Bobby groaned.

Todd’s eyes narrowed. “Does she have a great garden?”

“Didn’t notice,” Bobby said. He’d been a little busy with her dying on him, then there’d been the running for his life.

“I think so,” Raye said slowly. “I remember my father saying something once about buying her tomatoes instead of going to the store.”

“Lots of trees with stuff hanging in them,” Todd continued. “Symbols drawn on the leaves.” As Todd wasn’t asking, Bobby didn’t answer. “For protection.”

“Didn’t help.”

Todd straightened. “What happened?”

Raye’s breath caught, and she cast Bobby a horrified, helpless glance. The kid didn’t know. Now Bobby would have to tell him. He hated informing next of kin. Not that Todd was
next,
but he still had to be told.

“Her too?” Todd asked, their discomfort and silence telling the tale without them having to. “Damn.”

“Sorry,” Bobby said.

Raye reached over and patted the boy’s hand. Todd didn’t seem to notice.

“How?”

“Murdered.”

“The same guy?” His eyebrows drew together. “No. Some cop killed him.”

Bobby must have made a movement because Todd’s gaze widened. “You?”

Bobby shrugged.

“Thanks, man.”

“What about ‘harm none’?”

“He started it,” Todd said.

Bobby would have had a hard time accepting thanks for killing someone, even if that someone had been a murderer about to kill again, but thankfully Todd moved on without waiting for any acceptance or acknowledgment on Bobby’s part.

“Did Annie go to New Bergin because her aunt died?”

“Mrs. Noita died yesterday,” Bobby said. “You have no idea why Ms. McKenna went to New Bergin?”

Todd shook his head. “She called me in to work, said her aunt needed her and she’d be gone a few days.”

“Did she visit a lot?”

“She’d go see her around the sabbats—before or after. Annie had duties here on the actual days. Just like Mrs. Noita had duties there. She was the high priestess in that area.”

“How many witches are there in New Bergin?” Raye asked.

“Hard to say. Mrs. Noita’s coven was made up of the people from all the little towns between here and Eau Claire. There’s a fairly large coven in Eau Claire.”

“There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear in this lifetime,” Raye muttered.

Bobby rubbed his forehead. He wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that the two victims had not only been witches, but the leaders of groups of a whole lot more. It might explain how Mrs. Noita had survived as long as she had, considering the nature of her injury. Then again, maybe not, since the explanation was magic.