I shoved my sandwiches into the press. “And how, pray tell, do you know that?”
She grinned. “Been doing a little covert research via Google and fell down the rabbit hole of links. There’s some sick fuckers out there, let me tell you.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” The sandwich press began to sizzle as the cheese started to ooze. I grabbed a plate, slid the two sandwiches onto it, and then turned off the press. “The one thing I do want to know is, how are the hunters getting these bracelets into the hands of their victims? I wouldn’t have thought they’d randomly accept one from any old stranger off the street.”
“No.” Belle followed me across to the table, placed the two coffees down, then snagged half a sandwich and sat on the other side. “There’s plenty of weekend markets around. Maybe they’re selling them there?”
“But they’ve only ten—”
“Unless they’ve hit up more than one witch.”
“That’s possible. The ones I visited today might not have had the skill or power to create command bracelets, but I daresay there are plenty of others who could.”
“And there’s no saying that they’ve bought them all in Victoria, either.” She picked up her cappuccino and took a sip. “If you’re going to hunt werewolves, I suspect you’d better get in and get out quick.”
“That’s possibly why our hunters weren’t afraid of being seen on the cameras. Aside from the fact they were disguised, they’re not actually intending to be around long.”
“More than likely.” Belle reached for another sandwich but I slapped her hand away. “Damn it, woman, I haven’t had dinner and I’m starved.”
She chuckled. “I won’t ask what caused this starvation factor, because it’s very evident in the contented swirl of your aura.”
I grinned and didn’t deny it. “I might go talk to Ashworth tomorrow and see what he knows about control bracelets. There might be a way we can track them—aside from sensing the magic when it comes within range.”
“You’d think there would be,” Belle said. “University is a five-year commitment for any witch, after all. I bet they learn all sorts of interesting shit we don’t know about.”
“We do have one advantage over them, though.” I licked the last bit of melted cheese from my fingers and then picked up my coffee and leaned back in my chair. “We have all your grandmother’s books.”
“We do indeed. I might go check the index and see if there’s anything on locating specific spell elements we might be able to use.”
“It’s worth a shot.” I paused as a phone began to ring. “Is that mine?”
Belle snorted and thrust to her feet. “You know damn well it is.”
I grinned as she dug it out of my bag, tossed it across the table, and asked, “You want a bit of cake?”
“I’ll have some pud and custard if there’s any left.”
“Shall I reheat it in the microwave?”
“No, thanks.” I glanced at the phone’s screen, saw it was Ashworth, and hit the answer button. “If you’re calling to bitch at still being in hospital, I will hang up.”
“I’m not in hospital nor am I ringing to bitch.”
I frowned at the edge in his voice. “What’s happened?”
“I just got a very strange call from Chester.”
“He’s a strange man,” I said, amused, “so that’s not unexpected.”
“True, but this was something else. It had my trouble radar stirring.”
My amusement died. I wasn’t about to discount Ashworth’s trouble radar any more than I would mine. “What did he say?”
“That he’s not dead. That he’s still fucking alive,” Ashworth replied. “I can only think he’s talking about our dead witch.”
I frowned. “But our dead witch is dead—we have his body in the morgue to prove it. Unless he’s risen as a zombie, that’s impossible.”
And even if he had become a zombie, he still couldn’t be called alive because zombies were merely reanimated flesh. They had no soul, no willpower, and no capacity to think or act. Their “life” was totally dependent on the strength and skill of the witch who’d raised them.