“Touch it again.” I chuckled softly. “See what happens.”
“For the love of God,” Clay begged, “do not touch it again. Whatever it is.”
The ick factor in his voice was almost on par with the one that had been in mine earlier.
“Well, if it isn’t the willing sacrifice.” I squinted into the sun. “This was the boat you chose? Really?”
“I didn’t choose the boat, the boat chose me.”
“Mmm-hmm.” The boat wasn’t the one wearing dental floss as a bikini and seducing innocent tourists down to the beach, but whatever. “Before or after you met Glinda the Good Witch?”
“I’ll have you know,” he said in a haughty voice, “her last name is Lasky.”
The three of us leaned on the railing, ignoring the catcalls and blaring music coming from the front.
“An unraveled person,” Clay said, his voice heavy, “has got to be the weirdest shit we’ve ever seen.”
I cleared my throat at his potty mouth and shot his pocket a pointed look he decided to ignore.
As far as he was concerned, he had purchased his privacy from Colby until we got home. A paid system I couldn’t allow to continue without us creating an epic quest-worthy moth monster I would get stuck slaying so he could remain her white knight.
“Not even black witches go full-on mummy with their victims’ skins.”
The right spell achieved the same outcome without the hassle of hiding a body afterward.
An anecdote from one of the director’s lectures rose to the forefront of my mind with hazy edges.
“There’s a coven that steals souls to wear.” I couldn’t recall their name. “They’re outliers, though.”
They maintained an archive of souls who leapt at the chance to possess any witch requiring a disguise for coven business.
At the time, I remember thinking it was the coolest trick ever to have a closet full of victims to wear.
Now I saw it for the waste of life that it was, and I was ashamed to admit it had once impressed me.
“Witchborn fae,” Asa murmured. “I’ve heard rumors they live in Atlanta, but I haven’t encountered one.”
The witch link might not have piqued his interest, but I bet he filed away all sorts of mixed-species trivia.
That foothold in the case helped me climb to my next question. “Do we need to pursue them as a lead?”
“I’ve got friends down that way. I’ll put in a few calls, see what I can learn.” Clay tamed his hair from his eyes. “We’ll set Shorty on cyber sleuthing when we get back to the suites.”
“Good idea.” I gazed out at the dolphins leaping and playing. “She’s been in the field a lot this trip.”
Colby was used to the computer screen acting as a buffer. The distance helped her to compartmentalize. It gave her extra layers of separation between her and our victims. Not that she considered herself one.
No, I was the one forever battling the instinct to bubble wrap life for her, as if I could hide all its sharp edges.
“Colby will tell you if it’s too much.” Asa sounded certain. “She’s a smart girl.”
“She wants in too much not to take it seriously.” Clay sent his pocket a fond smile. “Plus, she has us. We’ll pull her back from the edge if she steps too close.” He rubbed my shoulder. “It’s better for her to help than be left at home feeling helpless.”
A shudder rippled through me as a crystalline memory of the night I met Colby flooded my mind.
She had been afraid, so very afraid. I had killed the Silver Stag, but his spell was draining her. A soul couldn’t survive outside its shell for long. She was dying all over again. Slowly. Painfully. As she clawed at any means to hold on to life, she begged me for help. To save her. Me. As if I knew how to save anyone.
For her, I had learned, but I still heard those pitiful, desperate screams in my dreams.