The Hexorcist Page 9

  Pascal was pale to the point of being transparent (although he coated his face with makeup so he looked like a fake vampire, which was part of his schtick), but he went so white Ofelia was legitimately worried he would fall over.

  “I’m sorry.” She moved closer to him. “I’m so sorry. I know you were close. I just thought you would’ve already heard.”

  “No.” His shoulders slouched and he lowered his head. “I hadn’t heard. I wasn’t in the store last night. I went to the Garden District for an event. I just ... I can’t believe this happened. How did she die?”

  Ofelia shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. “She was murdered. Her throat was slashed and she was left in Pirate Alley.”

  “Murdered?” It was rare to see Pascal completely flabbergasted. “I don’t understand how this happened. I just ... this is too much.”

  “I’m really sorry.” Ofelia meant it. She hadn’t exactly been thrilled with Henrietta at the time of her death, but nobody deserved that sort of ending, least of all a woman who fought so hard to find a certain status in her life.

  “Is that why you came here?” Pascal queried when he’d sufficiently recovered. As a vampire, he’d lived for centuries. He’d seen his fair share of humans he was close to die. He could compartmentalize with the best of them. “Are you trying to find out if I had any knowledge of who would want to kill her?”

  “Basically,” Ofelia confirmed. “There’s more.” She laid out the entire story, including the hex bag. When she was finished, she watched Pascal’s face closely for his reaction. Since he’d managed to return to his normal self, there wasn’t much to see.

  “And you think she killed this man to get back at hotel management?” He cocked a dubious eyebrow. “That sounds unlikely to me.”

  “You were close to her. You know as well as anyone that she had a vindictive side.”

  “Oh, most certainly.” He bobbed his head without hesitation. “She would dish out payback like you do drinks. That doesn’t mean she was willing to kill to send a message to someone else. She might kill the individual who wronged her, but not an innocent bystander.”

  Ofelia pursed her lips, considering. “Has she said anything to you of late? Do you know if she was feuding with anyone? I can’t shake the feeling that this is bigger than what it appears to be.”

  “You’re assuming the two instances are tied together. It could be a coincidence.”

  “I don’t really believe in coincidences.”

  Pascal let loose a sigh, long and drawn out. “In this particular case, it seems unlikely,” he agreed. “The thing is, Henrietta had been pulling away over the past few months. It wasn’t that she ended our friendship or anything. It was just ... she wanted distance.”

  That sounded fishy to Ofelia. “You guys were really close, though. Why would she do that?”

  “Because I could detect the change in her.”

  “Which was?”

  “I believe she was sick, although I have no idea what was dragging her down. She definitely had some health issues, though. She didn’t want to confide in me about them, and by nature of what I am, I could scent the difference in her body chemistry. I believe she distanced herself from me because she didn’t want to talk about it.”

  Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. Ofelia pictured the woman she’d spent time with the previous day. “She didn’t appear sick.”

  “She would’ve taken great pains to cover it up. She didn’t like people pitying her. Oh, sure, she would work the grift and spin a sob story for the tourists to earn an extra buck. When it came to those who knew her, though — those she didn’t want to appear weak in front of — she was always putting on a show.”

  Honestly, that made sense to Ofelia. “If she was sick, medical bills would’ve been dragging her down. Did she have insurance through the hotel?”

  “I believe she did.”

  “Which means she would’ve lost that insurance when she was fired. That had to be a blow.”

  “I still don’t believe she would’ve killed someone as a message to someone else, no matter how sick and desperate she was. You might not have liked her, but she did have standards, lines she wouldn’t cross, and I believe that was one of them.”

  He readjusted his cape. He believed in being as theatrical as possible, to the point where he played Interview with a Vampire on a continuous loop on the screen in the corner of the store. He was obsessed with the movie, once admitting to Ofelia that vampires pretending to be humans pretending to be vampires was a life goal. He’d embraced it to the best of his ability.

  “I’m sorry she’s gone,” he continued. “I don’t think she had anyone to pay for a proper service for her. I would like to take on that expense. Do you know who I should contact at the police department?”

  “The detective’s name is Zacharias Sully.” Ofelia made a face at mention of the man. “He’s over questioning my father right now.”

  “Oscar? Why?”

  “He heard a rumor that Henrietta and my father were dating.”

  He snorted. “Oh, well, he obviously doesn’t realize your father only swims in the kiddie pool when it comes to dates. If he was hanging around Henrietta, it was for another reason.”

  Ofelia had come to the same conclusion herself. “Yeah. I’m going to question him about it later. For now, I need to keep digging on Henrietta. I guess that means going to her apartment.”

  “You should be careful breaking in,” Pascal warned. “If you get caught ... well, you know the outcome. It sounds to me as if this detective will be swinging by her place before long. You should be careful.”

  “I need to get there before he does.” Ofelia straightened, determined. “If there’s something in there worth chasing, something supernatural, I need to get my hands on it. He won’t even realize what he’s dealing with.”

  “Just be careful. If you get arrested, though, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll lay bail.”

  It was an oddly generous offer. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. What are friends for?”

  BREAKING AND ENTERING WAS a skill Ofelia had honed over time. She didn’t even need the typical tools of the trade. She had magic at her fingertips, after all. It was the one good thing she’d gotten from her mother, along with a sarcastic tongue that was capable of making grown men cry within five seconds flat.

  She knew which apartment building Henrietta lived in. Once there, it was simply a matter of questioning one of the trusting souls who also resided there and magically forcing the older woman to give up the apartment number.

  Henrietta lived in a corner apartment on the third floor. That meant breaking in was easy because there was very little foot traffic in that part of the building, and one muttered spell later, Ofelia found herself in Henrietta’s inner sanctum. The apartment honestly made her sad. Henrietta owned very little of note. There were only a few token tchotchkes on the shelves, several books scattered around the living room. Ofelia wasn’t there for totems anyway.

  She was efficient as she worked her way through the apartment. There was nothing of interest in the small living room and kitchen. The bedroom, however, was a different story. There, on the nightstand, was a folder filled with a bevy of medical bills from one of the centers in the heart of town. She recognized the address — it was close to the Superdome — but there was nothing in the documents to tell her what ailment Henrietta was suffering from.

  “It must’ve been serious,” she muttered to herself as she flipped through the pages. Each bill accounted for thousands of dollars, money she was certain Henrietta didn’t have. “How were you going to deal with this?”

  Ofelia flopped back on the unmade bed and stared at the ceiling. She felt guilty, which was an emotion she was familiar with given her father’s history. If she’d only stood with her mother and brother at the time, things might be vastly different. She couldn’t go back in time, though. No one had that power ... at least that she was aware of. All she
could do was look to the future, and that was more muddled than she would’ve liked.

  She had no idea if Henrietta’s illness played into what happened. Again, though, she wasn’t a big proponent of coincidences. Things were lining up to point to a certain trail of events. Henrietta was sick. She needed money. A young man was dead, one of Henrietta’s hex bags discovered in his room. He died from a curse. There could be no arguing that fact. Still, though, Pascal was right. As horrible as she was at times, Henrietta was unlikely to take the life of an innocent. So, what was going on?

  After a good twenty minutes of contemplating the intricacies of Henrietta’s rather sad life, Ofelia closed the folder and returned it to the nightstand. The bills couldn’t help her. All they did was offer edification. She would leave them for Sully to discover on his own. It was time to vacate the premises. He would make his way to the apartment before the day was out ... and probably sooner rather than later.

  She was lost in thought when she made her way back toward the door, so much so that she didn’t notice the change in the atmosphere when it was already too late to do anything about it. She pulled up short when she sensed him, her eyes going wide when they snagged with his.

  Sully stood in the center of the small living room, his hands clutched into fists at his sides, and the look he scorched her with promised mayhem.

  “Well, isn’t this interesting?” he drawled.

  Ofelia worked her jaw, searching for a lie that would get her out of this situation. It wasn’t surprising that she couldn’t come up with a single thing that sounded plausible. “I can explain,” she offered lamely.

  “Well, I’m all ears.” He folded his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms bulging. There wasn’t as much as a hint of flirtatious energy in his glare. “Please, tell me what you’re doing here. And, while you’re at it, perhaps you should explain how you got in? Do you have a key?”

  “Um ... no.” Ofelia’s face burned with embarrassment. She had no idea how to get out of this one. She was already internally debating who she would call to lay bail — Pascal had offered, but she didn’t feel it was fair to tap him — when she squared her shoulders. Her only shot, she decided, was being aggressive. There was a chance, however slim, that he would back down. “What are you doing here? Did you break in?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m a detective. The superintendent let me in. Back to you. What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t have to answer your questions. You’re not the boss of me.” It was bold, but she had to try. She squared her shoulders and attempted to maneuver around him. “I’ll just be going.”

  His hand whipped out, snakelike quick, and grabbed her arm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Again, the strange heat between them flared. This time, though, there was anger and not sexual chemistry fueling the exchange.

  “Don’t touch me!” Ofelia lashed out with her magic, slapping him back with a hard burst of power that took the form of a sparkly bolt of energy.

  He was clearly surprised by the development, but he didn’t release his grip despite the burn coursing through his arm. “What are you?” The question came out in a hiss.

  “None of your business.” Ofelia tried again, this time doubling her magical output. She didn’t want to hurt him. In truth, the little bit of magic she used the first go-around should’ve been enough to drop him. The fact that it didn’t had her curious. Escape was the only thing on her mind at the present moment, however. She couldn’t see past that. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to manhandle women? We don’t like it.”

  This time the magical blow was enough to have Sully reeling back. The instant the magic hit him, his fingers elongated into black claws, making Ofelia’s mouth go slack.

  He was a shifter. Shouldn’t she have known that? He didn’t have a red aura like normal shifters, though. His was purple ... and glorious. It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him. She’d never seen a shimmery aura quite like his. The claws didn’t belong to a wolf. They were different, feline in their composition.

  She gasped as she tried to get a better look, all thought of fleeing dissipating. “I think the better question is: What are you?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “Well, I asked you second and I’m a woman. As a gentleman, that means you have to answer first.”

  The statement was so ridiculous Sully could do nothing but roll his eyes. “Oh, that’s not a thing.” He sucked in a breath to calm himself, willing his claws to retract. It took considerable effort, but within a few seconds, he was completely back to normal. Other than the heavy breathing, of course. That was apparently sticking around. “What are you?”

  She pursed her lips. She could still run. She had enough power at her disposal that she could knock him out, leave him behind. What good would that do her, though? He knew where she lived, where she worked. It wasn’t as if she could flee the city. Krewe was her entire life.

  “A witch,” she replied finally. “I’m a witch.”

  “I should’ve figured.” He rolled his neck and rubbed at the tension pooling at the spot where it met his spine.

  “What are you?” she pressed. “I told you my secret. I’m dying to know yours.”

  “I’m a shifter.”

  She shot him a “well, duh” look. “Oh, really? I never would’ve guessed ... what with your hands shifting like that. I know you’re a shifter. You’re not a wolf shifter, though. You’re something else.”

  He narrowed his eyes. In the bad lighting, they almost looked cat-like. “Panther. I’m a panther shifter.”

  She was officially dumbfounded. “I thought your kind was extinct.”

  “Not exactly.” He glanced around the apartment. “I think we should talk.”

  Ofelia wasn’t keen on the idea, but she didn’t see where she had a lot of options in front of her. “Okay, but if you try kneading your claws on me, we’re going to have issues.”

  Despite the serious situation, he managed a laugh. “I’ll try to refrain. Don’t hex me, though. I’m not in the mood.”

  “No promises.”

  Ten

  They went for coffee because it seemed the thing to do. There was a shop right around the corner, one that was off the beaten path, and they managed to snag a private table on the patio away from the few other customers.

  They proceeded to sit there in silence for a full five minutes.

  “One of us should probably speak,” Ofelia supplied after a few minutes.

  “Probably,” he agreed.

  She waited another beat. “I meant for you to talk first because I’m not going to do it.”

  It was a serious situation, but Sully’s lips quirked as he fought the urge to smile. “What would you like me to say?”

  “Well, first off, I thought panther shifters were extinct. I swear nobody has seen one in at least thirty years.”

  “Well, that’s obviously not true.” He held up his hands by way of proof, although thankfully they didn’t turn claw-like for a second time. “While panther births are down, we’re far from extinct. Most of my kind tend to live in South America these days.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll have to ask them that. I grew up in Baton Rouge. That wasn’t a lie.” There were certain parts of the story he covered up, though, he silently added. As for outright lies, he hadn’t told any ... yet. “What about you? What kind of witch are you?”

  “I’m an Aquarius.”

  He frowned. “You know what I mean.”

  She made a grunting sound as she readjusted on her chair. It had been her idea to sit outside, but the bistro chairs were hardly comfortable. “I’m a fire witch, with a little air thrown in for good measure. I’m not all that limited in what I can do, though. I can tap into all four elements, although I’m clearly stronger in two of them.”

  “Which side of your family did you acquire this talent from?”

  “Both.”

  Oddly, that made
sense to him. “That’s why you’re two things.”

  She bobbed her head. “Pretty much. My mother is a practicing air witch. The fire comes from my father.”

  “I can see that.” His smile came more easily this time. “You could’ve told me what you were.”

  “And why would I do that? It’s not exactly something I volunteer. Half the New Orleans Police Department is paranormal. The other half is human ... and it’s never wise to own up to being something other than normal when you’re dealing with humans who have ready access to guns.”

  Sully opened his mouth to dispute the charge — he felt he should stand up for his brethren — but ultimately he couldn’t argue with the statement. She wasn’t wrong. “Fine. You couldn’t simply volunteer what you are. You’ve been lying to me, though. There had to be a way for you to tip me off to the truth without lying.”

  “Not that I can think of.” Her tone was breezy as she leaned back in her chair and extended her long legs in front of her. “I had no choice but to lie. You’ll never convince me otherwise.”

  His lips curved down. She was a lot of work. Like ... a lot. He still couldn’t shake her scent, though. It made him fuzzy around the edges if he allowed his mind to wander. “I need to know what you know.”

  “Are you going to tell me what you know in return?”

  He balked. “No. I’m the detective. You’re a bartender. I can’t share information with you.”

  Ofelia studiously studied her fingernails. “That’s interesting ... because I don’t know anything.”

  His frown only grew more pronounced. “Oh, don’t be like this. I have a job to do. You’re the one who broke into a dead woman’s home. I could arrest you for that.”

  She snorted in response. “Good luck with that. Since there are fifteen witnesses on this block alone who can testify to the fact that we were having a friendly coffee after I allegedly broke into Henrietta’s apartment, I’m guessing you’re going to have trouble making that stick.”