Kait Ballenger - Midnight Hunter

Reminding herself that if it weren’t for the familiar sitting on his desktop, she wouldn’t be here, she sighed. “So what happens next?”

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the edge of his desk, thinking. “First, I need to know about your involvement with the black-magic covens in the area. Since you’re helping me, you have my word that I won’t report any of your activities to the Execution Underground, but I need to know.”

She frowned and lied straight through her teeth. “I told you already—I’m not involved with them.” Considering his clear opinion of her already, she couldn’t bring herself to admit she had a problem, that she had fallen back into old habits just before he showed up on her doorstep and had been itching to go back again ever since he’d left. He wouldn’t understand. No one ever did.

He nodded. “Okay, so despite not being involved with them—and good for you for staying away from them. I know how hard it can be to break an addiction...” He smiled at her.

She nearly cringed. The kindness in his eyes, as if he truly was happy for her, killed her. But how could he possibly know how hard it was?

“Despite that...do you know anything at all about any of them? Heard anything through the magical grapevine, maybe?”

“Magical grapevine?” She chuckled. “Damn, you really are a nerd.”

He laughed. “Unapologetically.” He held his hand up, fingers separated in the sign of a true Trekkie.

She snorted. “Wow. Yeah, supernerd. Better not show that to your adoring fans in your classroom, though. You might break their hearts and crush their girlish dreams.”

He shook his head. “I still can’t wrap my head around that.”

She shrugged. “Of course you can’t. You may be smart, but like all other nerds before you, you’re some kind of idiot savant, completely oblivious to the hordes of big-boobed sorority girls who take your class because they think you’re cute. The fact that you haven’t realized their intention is to stare longingly at your tight little ass instead of caring about the subject matter would be unbelievable if it weren’t completely predictable.”

He stared at her as if she’d grown three heads. “I’m glad I’ve been blissfully ignorant until now. But, that aside, we have two orders of business—figure out where that familiar came from and who’s targeting you, and start digging deeper into this case.” He reached inside his black computer bag and removed a manila envelope. He pushed it across the desk toward her.

She picked it up, slid out a folder and flipped to the first page just as David Bowie’s “Fame” sounded from inside his shirt pocket.

“Bowie, huh?” Not a bad choice. Probably one of the most influential artists still alive.

He reached for his phone. “It’s one of my fellow hunters and I swear he has more David Bowie T-shirts in his wardrobe than Bowie’s had tours, and considering Bowie’s been famous since the seventies, that’s saying something.” He answered the phone. “Hey, Ash.”

She returned her attention to the folder. Inside lay an article from the Democrat and Chronicle . She scanned the headline and read through the brief paragraphs. She shuffled through the other papers—a toxicology report, lab results and a coroner’s report on the murder victim discussed in the article.

When Shane pocketed his phone again, she set the papers down on the desk in front of him. “So a guy goes cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs crazy and thinks his dead wife is haunting him just before he’s murdered? I don’t get what this has to do with black magic.”

Shane slid everything back into the manila envelope and slipped it back inside his bag. “I didn’t, either, at first. I thought maybe he was actually being haunted, so I brought it to the attention of our ghost hunter. We went to the cemetery where Mrs. Foley was buried to ensure she had fully been put to rest, but when we dug up her casket, her corpse, along with any other indication that she’d once been laid to rest there, was gone.”

Vera’s eyes widened. “So what are you insinuating?”

Shane shook his head. “I’m not really sure at this point, but it seems too bizarre to be coincidental. My theory is that a black-magic coven is using Mrs. Foley’s corpse, probably for some kind of spell. I’m wondering if maybe they used scare tactics on Mr. Foley before his death that made him think his wife was haunting him. Maybe they had a vendetta against him for some reason. This is all just speculation, though. Until now, I haven’t been able to gain access to the scene of the husband’s murder. I asked my division leader for the photos, but he asked Ash to set up an actual visit to the scene, which was what Ash was just calling about. Do you think you can handle it?”

She pursed her lips together as she considered. A murder scene that was less than a week old, quite possibly complete with bloodstains? She didn’t have a weak stomach, but that didn’t exactly sound like a stroll through the park. “As long as the body isn’t there, I should be fine. I need more mental preparation time for a dead body, though.”

Shane stood and grabbed his computer bag off the desk. “No dead bodies. Mr. Foley has long since been moved to the morgue, and Mrs. Foley died two years ago. I can’t promise it won’t be eerie, though.” He shrugged the bag onto his shoulder.

Following his cue, she grabbed her backpack and swung it over her own shoulder. She waited for him to exit, but he just stood there.

He gestured toward the door. “You go first. Head to the edge of campus—I’ll pick you up there. Look for the Chevy Volt.”

She laughed. It figured he would drive a Volt. She admired how environmentally conscious it was, but a Volt was like the Rolls-Royce of yuppie cars. “I can’t just walk out to the parking lot with you now? That would be a lot easier.”

Shane ran a hand over his ponytail again. She recognized it now as his nervous tic. Damn, how she would love to free that ponytail and watch his hair, just long enough so it framed his jawline, cascade forward, then run her fingers through it.

“I don’t want anyone to see you getting into my car in the employee parking lot.”

Fantasy officially destroyed. Vera rolled her eyes. Seriously? Did he have to be so adamant that she not be seen with him? He could at least let her dream of the things she could do with him for a few minutes without ruining it with his disdain. A girl needed a good fantasy once in a while. With a huff, she exited his office, very aware of the fact that he was still there as she walked away.

Behind the closed door.

She smirked. How appropriate.

* * *

SHANE BREATHED A sigh of relief once Vera was sitting safely in the passenger seat of his car, hidden behind the darkness of the Volt’s tinted windows. The last thing he needed was suspicion they were fraternizing, because guilt would be written all over his face if anyone asked him about it. They drove to the northwest side of town in silence. Mr. and Mrs. Foley’s building sat nestled in between a brick apartment complex and a vacant lot filled with shredded tires, the occasional fast-food wrapper and various other pieces of garbage.

Shane parallel parked on the street before reaching into the backseat and removing his weapons bag, where he stored all his normal Execution Underground gear while on campus. He couldn’t exactly be seen with a gun on his belt in the middle of a lecture. He unloaded his new Walther PPK from the bag. Jace had insisted he needed something more “interesting” than a standard nine-millimeter issue and had nagged Shane until he picked out the PPK. He had to admit, the gun had style. He secured the magazine, clipped his holster over his belt and tucked the gun inside. He left the massive textbook-size occult reference filled with all his notes inside the bag.