I frowned. “Are you saying Ronnie is transgender?”
“What? No, Margaret is your guy’s mother.” He waited, clearly wanting me to ask how he’d figured it out.
“Go ahead. Impress me with your brilliance.”
“If you insist.” He still had the most charming smile. “I checked traffic-camera footage all around your shop before and after Ronnie visited this morning. He parked three blocks away. He was driving an old van, black with tinted windows. Gray trim. The license plate is registered to Margaret Kensington. I found an obituary for her from two years ago. It mentioned a son, Ronald Kensington.”
I’d hoped for more, but I’d solved cases with less. I’d once tracked a demon-possessed rat through half of Chicago with nothing but a half-eaten moldy jelly donut for a starting point.
“Not bad.” I would have found Ronnie’s information eventually, but without access to the city’s cameras, it would have taken me days or weeks. I jotted the information into a small notepad. “Thank you, Duke. I really do appreciate it.”
“Maybe one of these nights after you’ve dealt with this kid Ronnie, you and I—”
If I could have trusted him to keep things casual, I would have jumped him on the spot. But we both knew better. “Please don’t go there.”
He raised his hands. “As friends. Just to catch up.” He shoved his hands in his pockets—an accomplishment in itself, given how snug those jeans were. “You might have a point about my wounded pride. I suppose it’s possible I’ve nursed that grudge a little too long.”
I set a check for five hundred dollars on the corner of his desk. “I’m not good at friendships. You know that.”
“Then you should practice more.” He picked up the check and rolled his eyes. “I swear you’re the only person in Salem who still writes paper checks.”
“Text me if you learn anything more about this kid.” I started toward the door.
He waved the check between his fingers. “You and your money are welcome back any time.”
“It’s good to see you again,” I said, and meant it.
• • •
It’s impossible to sneak up on a full-blooded succubus. They can feel your desires from a mile away. My range is closer to fifty yards. Most of the time, that was plenty.
I was almost to my car when I felt them watching me. Three males, all young and energetic. Teenagers, from the feel. There was a rawness to their energy. Their blood was flowing fast, but it wasn’t sexual. Not directly. This was a different kind of anticipation. They were here for violence.
It was getting dark. To one side of the road was a boarded-up three-story brick building. No help there. The houses on the other side were little better. Blinds and curtains covered most of the windows.
Ah, well. Even if someone was watching, this would be over before they could do anything. Statistically speaking, most street fights ended in less than a minute. My personal best was six seconds.
I turned around and folded my arms, giving them a glare that should have made it clear I wasn’t in the mood.
I half-expected to see Ronnie. I wouldn’t have put it past the creep to have tailed me when I left home. But these boys were younger, closer to Morgan’s age. Two were White, one Black. They wore matching black hoodies with the hoods pulled up. The middle one had glasses. The one on the right had a gold stud in his nose. The left one wore a silver class ring with a green stone.
All three carried squirt guns, and not the cheap kind. These were one step away from firefighting equipment, with two-liter tanks and long barrels.
Squirt guns could mean this was a prank: kids getting their kicks by spraying down random passers-by. Maybe I’d misread the anticipation coming off the three boys...but I doubted it. If this was a prank, they’d have someone filming, and their energy would be lighter.
Which meant they’d chosen those weapons deliberately. Which meant that almost certainly wasn’t tap water dripping from the end of Gold Stud’s barrel.
I shifted my purse strap to my other shoulder so it was secure across my torso.
“We don’t want your money,” said Glasses.
Class Ring nodded. “We know what you are. We’re here to send you home.”
Notwhobutwhat. This was the second time today. Had someone put a sign on my back? “Is this an immigrant thing? I got my green card decades ago.”
Gold Stud raised his gun. “Home to Hell, demoness. Tell us where to find the rest of your kind, and we’ll make this quick.”
“Kids your age don’t know any other way.” I tensed my hands. The nails stretched. The edges curled and folded in on the middle, forming thick, curved claws. My mother’s claws were strong enough to puncture steel. Mine weren’t as powerful, but they’d do a number on skin and muscle.
