“How much do you want to know?” I asked. He hated the weird, but he was also a damn good cop.
He flicked off ash and met my eyes. “Enough to get out of the way of a shit boulder before it flattens me or someone else. Right now I have no idea what to watch out for.”
“I think we’ll be seeing a lot of shit boulders in the coming weeks,” I said with a wince. “As far as what to watch out for, off the top of my head I’d say earth tremors, weird creatures, or anything that feels off where you can’t put your finger on why. And don’t hesitate to call me, even if you’re not sure it’s part of my particular ‘specialty.’ I need to know about that sort of thing. Also, I wouldn’t park in the middle of this lot if I were you.” I angled my head toward the repaired hole.
He dropped a startled glance to the fresh asphalt and visibly fought the impulse to step away from it. “Should I find a reason to cordon it off?” he asked.
“Might be best. Several feet around it as well.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Thanks. And I’ll do my best to keep you in the loop.”
“Great,” he said with the tone of a man who really didn’t want to be in the loop at all but knew the need for it.
I left him to finish his smoke and headed inside. Pellini was on the phone when I reached his open office door. “I didn’t ask whether or not you could do it,” he was saying, voice gruff. “Just get it done. We’re heading out that way now.” He hung up.
“Everything cool?” I asked.
“Ran into a snag getting authorization to visit the plantation,” he grumbled. “Kristoff pulled some crap this morning, and now the feds have it locked down tight.”
My desire to check on the valve node ratcheted up several notches. “What did he do?” I asked casually.
“I don’t know any specifics.” Pellini stood and tugged his pants up a bit higher. “There was a strange event that apparently no one can fully remember or explain. Next thing anyone knows, Kristoff has command authority over the entire scene, and access is way more restricted.”
I turned to glance at the clippings pinned to his wall while I fought to hide a face-contorting frown. Easy to get that command authority when you were a demonic lord with the ability to manipulate people’s thoughts and memories.
“You’re on his team. Surely you can get us in.” Pellini’s voice held an odd edge, but I couldn’t tell if it was uneasiness, desperation, or simple curiosity about my role on the task force.
“I can try,” I said as I scanned the clippings. Several were news reports of arrests he’d made or cases he’d worked, but one stood out from the others. “I have my task force ID with me and might be able to bluff my way through,” I continued. Worst case scenario would be that I’d take a long drive with Pellini for nothing. Weirdly, that wasn’t as horrifying as it once was. Especially now that I was looking at a picture of Pellini and Boudreaux dressed up as—according to the caption—a Dark Angel and the Crystal Incubus. Boudreaux wore all white sewn with a billion crystals, an intricate mask, and cool-as-all-hell shimmering wings. Pellini, face shadowed in a deep hood, stood half a foot taller than normal in a flowing black robe. Huge feathered wings crested well over his head and folded behind him.
“Go ahead and laugh,” he said with a snort. I glanced at him, and he gestured toward the clipping. “Everyone else did.”
It spoke volumes that he had the picture up in his office at all, knowing how much ribbing he’d get. “You made these costumes?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yeah, and got into a shootout during the contest.” He shrugged. “No point trying to keep my hobby quiet after that.”
It sounded as if there were previous costumes and contests that he’d kept secret with far more success. I quickly skimmed the article. He and Boudreaux had broken up a drug and human trafficking ring, and took down the head bad guy in a firefight, during which Pellini got shot. All while in awesome—though unwieldy—costumes. “Dude, that’s seriously cool,” I said with genuine awe. “How’d you learn to make costumes like that?”
He grabbed his keys and notebook and exited the office, leaving me no choice but to hurry after or be left behind. “My parents.” he said over his shoulder after I closed his door and caught up with him. “Dad was a tailor, and mom was a seamstress and costumer. She worked on Mardi Gras costumes pretty much all year, every year I can remember.” A smile of pride touched his mouth as we exited the building. “She was always in high demand ’cause of how good her stuff was.”
“You ever do that as a side job?” I asked. “Or does that take the fun out of it?”
He unlocked his car and waited until we were both in before answering. “I tried my freshman year at Northwestern State but didn’t have the time for it. Too much going on with football and classes, and I didn’t want to lose my scholarship.”