“That’s actually why we’re here,” Ethan said. “We’re looking for a sorcerer—someone not of the Order, but actively practicing. The magic is likely to be dark, or at least unusual.”
“What kind of unusual?”
“Alchemy.”
Annabelle’s eyebrows lifted. “Alchemy. That’s not a word you hear very often.” She frowned. “I’m doing the darkest magic around here that I’m aware of, and that’s only because it’s literally dark,” she said, waving a hand in the air to indicate the nighttime. “You’ve checked with the Order?”
“One of our colleagues is doing so,” Ethan said. “Although we’ve found them to be relatively useless.”
“No argument there. The MVD Association exists because the Order didn’t consider us sorcerers. In Europe, in Asia, India, magic-doers of all types are part of the same conglomeration. But in the good ol’ U.S. of A., we are not good enough to join their party.”
“Supernaturals pick the oddest swords to fall upon,” Ethan said.
“You are preaching to the choir.”
“What about a shifter named Caleb Franklin?” I asked. “He lived nearby. Did you happen to know him?”
She pursed her lips as she considered. “Caleb Franklin.” She shook her head. “No, that doesn’t ring a bell, either. And I don’t think I know any shifters.”
“How about this man?” I asked, pulling out my phone and showing her the grainy photograph Jeff had captured.
She frowned. “Hard to tell from the picture, but I don’t think so. I feel like I’d have remembered the beard.” Her eyes widened, and she lifted her gaze to mine. “Is this about what happened to that poor shifter at Wrigley? I mean, they didn’t release his name, but a vampire and shifter were involved, right?”
“Caleb Franklin is that shifter,” Ethan confirmed. “We believe he was killed by a vampire, and may have been involved in the alchemy. Alchemical symbols were found nearby.”
“I’d have liked to have seen them,” she said. “I mean, I’m sorry for his death, but it’s interesting the way that rare magic is. Like walking down the street and seeing, I don’t know, a diplodocus or something.”
It was the kind of joke I’d have appreciated, if a concussion hadn’t immediately shaken the ground beneath us. I gripped Ethan’s arm with clawed fingers.
What. The. Hell?
He patted my hand supportively, but I could tell he’d gone on full alert.
“And that’s my cue,” Annabelle said, moving closer to the gravestone and resting a hand on a marble curlicue. “Mr. Leeds knows I’m here and thinks I’m ignoring him, so I need to let him talk. I don’t, he’ll get angrier and angrier. And that’s when ghouls become a real possibility.”
I managed a weak smile. “That must keep your dance card full.”
“It does.”
“Do you mind if we observe?” Ethan asked. “And please say no if it would disrupt your process.”
“Or add to their potential ghoulishness,” I added. “Because we don’t want to do that.” God, did we not want that!
Annabelle smiled. “I don’t mind at all. But you’ll want to take a step back and cover your ears. Sometimes they come up screaming.”
Every cell in my body shuddered in simultaneous horror.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHAKE THE BONES