“I might have added a spell or two,” Amy admitted. “Not for compulsion. Just to make sure he knew about the opportunity and saw the potential. Coming here and any threats to Scott will be entirely up to Santoro.”
She glanced at Armel’s holster. “Don’t forget, one of the wards makes it so guns won’t work inside the warehouse. That still leaves knives and fists, but it brings any attack to close range.”
“Be sure to turn off any alarms and silence your phones,” Becca reminded them.
“Not my first stake-out,” Armel grumbled, but he and the others still checked.
“Places, everyone!” Amy said just before nine, sounding like a stage manager. “It’s show time.”
Justin gave Scott a kiss. “Be safe. I love you.”
“You, too,” Scott replied.
Everything in Scott balked at letting his boyfriend walk away instead of facing the danger side by side. Justin found a hiding place behind one of the towers of crates where he could still see Scott, as did the others. The ghosts weren’t visible, but Scott still sensed their presence.
When this is over, we’ll be free, and we can create our new normal together.
Scott felt torn between wanting to avoid a dangerous confrontation and wishing the whole situation were over. Hewondered if Santoro would show up and how long they would have to wait.
Just after nine, the door opened, and Santoro walked in, accompanied by an older man with graying dark hair. Scott guessed he was Santoro’s witch, Samuel Wilmot. Santoro looked like a mid-level salesman, someone who specialized in cars or vacuum cleaners. Wilmot was an odd companion, since the older man had the gravitas of power, but also a clear streak of hubris.
“Hello, Scott. We haven’t met. Do you know who I am?” Santoro taunted.
“You had our plane shot down. Bill and Mike died in the crash. Your hitmen came after me to finish the job.” Scott outlined the crimes as they had rehearsed for the recording to pick up.
“And yet, here we are.” Santoro didn’t deny the accusations. “Because you wouldn’t fucking die. Nosy bastard should have left things alone.”
He pulled a gun from beneath his jacket and stepped closer, taking aim at Scott’s head. “Stand still, and this will be quick.”
The weapon clicked harmlessly. “What the fuck?” Santoro roared. He dropped the useless weapon and charged at Scott with a switchblade. “I…want…you…dead.”
Wilmot stepped forward and moved his hands as he called out the words to a spell. Nothing happened.
Justin started forward, ready to tackle Santoro. Scott grabbed the clipboard from the table and raised it like a shield, bracing for the attack.
The temperature plummeted, and a cloud of spirits rushed forward, enveloping Santoro and the witch and stopping them in their tracks. The ghosts became visible, people Santoro and Wilmot had betrayed and killed, and the shock on the men’s faces made it clear they recognized their attackers.
“You can’t be real. You’re dead,” Santoro shouted above the mayhem as the spirits set on him, intent on vengeance. They tore at his clothes and hair, clawed and pinched his skin, and immobilized him as they landed blow after blow.
Wilmot shouted curses and worked sigils with his hands, but nothing deterred the press of spirits.
“Enough!” Becca shouted as she and the others broke from cover. “Restrain them, but don’t kill them. We need them alive.”
Scott swore he could feel the spirits’ reluctance as they drew back, keeping Santoro and Wilmot pinned by invisible hands, stopping their attack.
Sheriff Armel strode up, brandishing handcuffs. “Mark Santoro, you are under arrest for attempted murder, murder for hire, and other crimes. Samuel Wilmot, you’ll be brought before a tribunal of your peers for the crimes you’ve committed.” He restrained them with iron cuffs spelled against magic and read them their rights.
Still reeling from the ghosts’ attack, neither man fought back.
“Are you okay?” Justin came to stand beside Scott.
“Yeah,” Scott said. “Just a little shaky, and I didn’t even have to throw a punch.”
“It worked.” Justin sounded awed and surprised. Their scheme had seemed like something out of a TV show, and they’d had their doubts, but damned if it hadn’t come together.
“Told you.” Amy grinned.
Becca looked toward the cloud of spirits still clustered around Santoro. “Thank you for your help. Your killer will pay for his crimes. We have your statements to add to the record so that your deaths will be recorded. If you are ready to rest, I can send you on.”
