Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

But. Raynay was still missing. Margot and another FBI agent I didn’t know had spent hours with the mother of the missing girl, but she knew nothing. I didn’t think Paton had anything to do with the kidnapping.

It was finally dark and Yummy was on her way over to add more evidence. Waiting on her, I sat in the overheated truck cab, windows open, sweating, making cell phone calls and typing up reports, my skin coated with that oily, greasy sweat that results from high humidity and midsummer heat. The temps were making me gripey and impatient and I was hungry and thirsty and I had forgotten to refill my water bottle, which meant I’d had to refill with city water from the Blalock kitchen tap. The taste was chlorinated and awful. And Yummy was late.

That thought was still echoing in my brain when the truck rocked and a fanged face slashed at my windshield. I had drawn my weapon and aimed before I realized it was Yummy. False vamp laughter, mocking and insulting, echoed down the street. Playing a vamp game. My heart was stuttering around one-eighty, and my breathing was still trying to catch up. Knowing she would hear me through the open window, I muttered, “I’m loaded with silver-lead ammo. Be glad I didn’t fire.”

“Maggoty Nell would make me true-dead?” she asked through the glass, still laughing. But it was now human laughter and her fangs snapped back into place in the roof of her mouth as her eyes bled back to human.

I reseated my weapon and opened the door, sliding out of the seat. “Thanks for coming.”

“The news media is all over this like white on rice. If my assistance will stick Jim Paton behind bars and recover the missing girl, then I’m happy to oblige.” The edge in her voice convinced me she was more than willing to help, this once with no quid pro quo to balance the account between us.

I inclined my head toward the crime scene tape and together we ambled over, unconsciously keeping the cruisers between the news van cameras and ourselves. Softly, so no one with a parabolic mic or something even fancier could overhear me, I said, “I don’t think Paton took Raynay. I think he’ll go to jail for child pornography, but I think blood-servants took the girl. I got a reading that suggested vampires took her in broad daylight, and since that’s not likely, I’m thinking blood-servants who have been drinking a lot of vampire blood—enough to make them read a little like vamps—took her.”

“You are not accusing Ming’s people,” Yummy said, half question, half assertion.

“No. But you tell me.”

We had reached the fifteen-foot-wide square of lawn marked off by yellow crime scene tape. The tech was long gone. Yummy looked at me as if asking if she could cross the tape. I shook my head. “Do the best you can from here.”

Yummy dropped into a squat, one knee on the ground. She was wearing tight Lycra running pants and still wasn’t sweating. I didn’t envy the whole blood-drinking thing, but I did envy the vampire not-sweating thing. She leaned forward and sniffed several times. Then sat back on her haunches. She said softly, “The human girl was frozen in panic. The ones who took her are the same blood clan as the Naturaleza who attacked the council chambers of Ming of Glass.” Yummy’s blond hair shifted and fell across one shoulder as she angled her head up to see me. “They’re Ming’s enemies. The enemies of all the Mithrans of Knoxville. When we find the location of their lair, we’ll kill them all. But we’ll be mindful of prisoners.”

I frowned. “Don’t you think it would be better to get PsyLED to take down a lair?”

“No.”

That was succinct. “Okay then. Thank you for coming.”

“One thing.” Yummy rose to stand beside me. “I also smell magic on them. Perhaps not enough to register on your machine, but enough to make them dangerous. Be careful. They might have powerful amulets.”

“Okay. Hey.” I stopped, thought it through, and asked, “You ever hear of a vampire named Isleen?”

“Yes. She is true-dead. If you have further questions, ask your LaFleur.” Yummy faded into the night.

I went back to my truck and called HQ, filling them in on the information Yummy had given me about the kidnapped girl, calling her a confidential informant. It wouldn’t fool anyone at HQ, but it did keep Yummy’s name off my reports.

When I explained my blood-servant-kidnapper theory, JoJo said, “So you think we have three cases. A kidnapping involving the vampires who also attacked Ming of Glass, a witch creating a circle to curse Rick, and Paton with his child porn addiction.”

“Yes. Or maybe overlapping cases,” I said. “And if the vampires need blood, they’ll be taking more people off the streets.”

“Why is nothing ever easy?” she muttered and ended the call.

? ? ?

I was back at HQ when the case turned itself on its head, and because I was the probie taking calls on the night shift, I got the news first. “PsyLED Unit Eighteen, Special Agent Nell Ingram,” I said, answering the official line.

“I’d like to speak with Rick LaFleur,” a female voice said.

“Special Agent LaFleur isn’t in right now,” I said, as I perused the list of missing teenaged girls within a ten-mile radius of Paton’s house. There had been seven in the last twenty years, three returned safely, four never found. That seemed like a lot. Distracted, I said, “Can I help you or do you want his voice mail?”

“Will you call his cell and tell him to call Loriann Ethier at New Orleans Police Department, CLE. It’s urgent.” She gave me a number, pronounced and spelled her last name, which didn’t match at all, and hung up.

Loriann. Rick’s Loriann. And she had just called PsyLED from NOPD. I sat at my desk, not sure what to do. I finally called JoJo on her cell so I could speak privately.

“This is weird, probie,” she answered. “I can see you from here.”

“Loriann Ethier just called HQ. She wants me to have Rick call her at NOPD CLE, whatever CLE is. Can you track it back?”

“I’m in the system. Hang on.” She repeated the number back to me. Then, “Dang, probie. You’re batting a thousand. You were right. The witch who spelled and inked Rick, currently works for the New Orleans Police Department.”

Rick had to know Loriann worked at NOPD. Boss man had been keeping secrets. “Rick was going to stick around HQ until the witch circles stopped. But he’s not in-house. What do I do?”

“Call his cell. Pass along the message. I’ll notify Soul.”

I dialed Rick’s cell and opened with, “A woman wants you to call her. Her name is Loriann E-t-h-i-e-r,” I spelled out, “pronounced ‘Etta.’” His reaction was so intense it shivered through the silence on the cell. I stilled, feeling his shock through my bones and through my connection to Soulwood. Whatever it was, it was something with power, with magic, and it had hit Rick. Or come from him. “She’s the witch who inked you, isn’t she?”

Reluctant, hesitant, he said, “Yes. Loriann Ethier is the witch who … tattooed me … with a blood-magic … spell.” He growled out the last words as if they ached.

Magic. I’d been right. “Do you think she’s the one who’s cursing—”

“I’m not speculating. Occam and I dropped by my house to pack more clothes and I’m on my way back. I’ll make the call from HQ. ETA eight minutes.” He ended the call.

I gathered up my tablets and the note with the name and number and walked into the conference room. In the darkened space JoJo and Tandy were both pouring over laptops and multiple tablets. “Rick’s on the way in to call her back. He says she’s the witch who gave him his tats.”

JoJo suggested that someone have sexual relations with her and scrubbed her hands over her turban. Tandy laughed. “We’ve already amassed a lot of research on her,” Tandy said.

Jo dropped her hands. “Yeah. With our combined talents, we pretty much know where Loriann is, where she gets her hair done, what her pets’ names are, what medicines she takes, and how she likes her steak cooked. All in fifteen minutes work. All we needed was a last name. Which Rick never gave us.”

I didn’t envy Loriann the loss of personal privacy. As we waited on Rick, I gave attention to my plants, sliding sturdy leaves through fingers and thumbs, thinking, trying to make the investigation fit together. Nothing fit. Parts of the puzzle were missing. Or I was blind to them. Probably that. But I did know that Rick should have told us about Loriann, that she worked for the New Orleans Police Department, because many of the witch circles had been found in Louisiana. No matter what she was today, this witch had done evil to Rick once. She should have been on a list of suspects from day one. And Rick hadn’t told us about her.

? ? ?