“Whoever supposedly restored them did a shitty job. The crack is new and seems to have happened overnight.” He stares at me, waiting for me to counter. “It looks like it’s going to fall to pieces.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I snap, needing to remind myself to calm down. “They’re old. They have some wear and tear, of course.”
“Yeah, you’re right about them being old.” He shifts his gaze to Thomas and Gilbert, and I know what he’s thinking. In gargoyle form, the guys look like they were made yesterday. It struck me when I first saw them.
“It sounded like your dad isn’t a fan of the paranormal. How’d you get interested in it?” I ask, hating that I’m chastising the kid for being curious and following his instincts. Yeah, he’s an entitled asshole, but that doesn’t mean he’s hopeless. And having him at odds with me isn’t going to help my case.
“Why do you care?”
I shrug. “I don’t, really. I just find it interesting that you have such different beliefs.”
His shoulders tense and he furrows his brow. “Do you believe in the paranormal?”
“I’ve seen some things I can’t explain,” I say, leaving it at that. “Thanks again for boarding up the window. You should get going so you’re not late for school.”
With a curt nod, he goes to his car, throws the bag in the back, and pulls out of the driveway. I wait until he’s down the road to run inside and go out onto the porch roof from my bedroom window. Jacques is up on another peak, one I can’t get to, but I’m at least able to get a better look.
I don’t see any fresh blood but looking at the crack in the stone makes me sick. Going back inside, I straighten up my bedroom and go downstairs, turning on the TV in the living room. Today is going to go by so slowly and sitting around the house isn’t going to make it any better.
Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, I turn on the TV and end up falling asleep for a few hours. I get something to eat once I’m up, and sit at the kitchen table to try to think.
I have two pressing issues, and I’m torn between which one to focus on first. Catching the murderer is important. But so is not dying, which makes figuring out who sent the ghouls move to the top of my list. I won’t be a very good detective if I’m dead, after all.
“The blood in the basement,” I say out loud, absentmindedly looking out the window. “The ghost and the stolen body. The fake murder weapon.” Had the same people who set up the basement planted the bat? Did they realize their mistake of using animal blood and decide to go for the real deal this time around?
The bat was planted as false evidence to get me out of the house. Once I arrived at the scene, someone stuffed the hex bag under my license plate so I would lead the ghouls home.
They know I’m a witch. They might know about the guys. And they know I’m a detective working on the murders of Lily and Josh, and knew enough to know what kind of murder weapon we’re looking for. We’ve been careful to keep details out of the media, but things get leaked. Family members know, and one small comment to someone can lead to news going viral overnight.
“They knew the bat would be found,” I say to myself. The owner of the dog said he walks him every night around the same time when he gets off work. He lived in the area and of course knew about the murder and was hyper-vigilant to anything out of the ordinary. They were counting on the dog sniffing out the blood.
And the basement…I still have nothing. Stealing a body is a serious crime, and the case is still open. With no leads, of course. Since it’s not my case, I haven’t followed it closely, but now I think I need to go into the office and check on any new findings.
Everything is connected somehow. I will figure it out.
* * *
I’ve never feltthis frazzled before, and I’ve worked on some high-profile cases. Being frustrated with a case is something I can handle. Solving murders takes time and isn’t at all like it is in TV crime shows, where evidence is clear and things are either black or white. Investigations take time, and there’s a lot more paperwork involved than most people think.
The difficulty of a case doesn’t get to me, no, it’s the hard time I’m having right now separating myself from work. I feel like a shitty detective, and the loss of my sense of identity is about to send me into a tailspin. I need to be Detective Bisset, all work and no play, focusing on the case until the murderer is caught and the streets of Philly are a bit safer than they were before.
But I can’t stop thinking about Jacques, and doing a spell to help the guys, or the fact that I fought fucking ghouls this morning.
I put my Charger in park and cross the street. Wind chimes ding above me as I push open the door to Lyra’s Magic Shoppe. There are a few people in here, and things are back in order. Pulling my list from my purse, I walk around, getting almost everything I need.
“Detective,” Lyra says, face paling.
“I’m just here to shop.” I set the stuff down on the counter and she relaxes.
“Oh, good.” I watch her as she rings me up, noting the redness around her eyes from crying. “Interesting combination of herbs,” she mumbles. “What type of spell are you attempting?”
“Nothing in particular,” I say with ease. “I’m just getting a few things to have on hand.”
“You should get the vervain then too. It keeps vampires away.”
Hah. Could have used that a few weeks ago. “Sure. I’ll take some.”
“We just got a fresh shipment in.” She grabs a bag for me and goes on to tell me everything else I should add to my “base supply,” which is really her way of making a few extra bucks.
