“The grume polices their own. There are so few hags left in Charleston, they tend to travel in pairs and avoid other paras. They do kill humans, but nothing outside their allotment as a predatory paranormal species.” Mr. Officer thought about it. “There haven’t been any verified hag kills in the past fifty years.”
“They clean up after themselves,” Mrs. Officer explained. “That doesn’t mean they weren’t killing.”
“They just didn’t leave a mess behind,” Mr. Officer agreed. “Hard to track that kind of activity.”
That was the whole point. Healthy predators hid their tracks. Only the sick earned Black Hat attention.
“You think the grume is behind this?” Mrs. Officer crossed her arms over her chest. “No one on the force was around fifty years ago. The whole not-aging thing means we rotate pack members throughout the Southeast to keep the faces fresh. We wouldn’t even know what to look for, really.”
Good behavior would explain why the officers hadn’t suspected boo hag involvement from the get-go. It also lent weight to Jilo’s claims and validated her reasons for stepping forward to help us solve this case.
“We’ve received a tip that might be the case,” I allowed, “but we don’t have evidence to back it up yet.”
Aside from Jilo’s slinky cat routine, I meant. But that didn’t prove another boo hag was responsible. Only that she wanted us to believe a former member of the grume was behind the murders. That seemed unlikely, if the Vandenburghs doubted their involvement enough to avoid mentioning them as possible suspects.
“Let us know if that changes.” Mr. Officer frowned. “We might be able to help.”
“We’ll keep you updated,” I only slightly fibbed. “We’ll know more soon.”
As in, as soon as the sun went down, and we met Jilo.
On that note, we left the wait for the cleaners to the locals and piled back into our SUV.
Not that Black Hat was big on teamwork outside the team to which you were assigned, but I wrote a quick report I sent to Marty to pass along to the other agents and to the director.
The problem with pairing up so many different species with such similar pasts was you formed packs. Or covens. Or clans. And those got territorial. Since no one had actual territory, they fixated on cases assigned to them. They guarded them with predatory glee and attacked anyone who attempted to steal them or had the bad luck to be assigned to the case as backup, thus forcing them to “trespass.”
Things got violent when that happened, more often than not. So it was meanspirited of me to envision them floating in hot tubs, eating pizza, and watching sports or skin flicks to avoid work.
Even if they did that exact thing.
As one of the few females who rated the initiation to Black Hat, the boys’ club spent my formative years attempting to shock me. The joke was on them. I had been so lost to my own addictions by then, I didn’t care what they said or did or watched. I had my own movies playing in my head.
Blood. Meat. Violence.
Power.
Even thinking it made my mouth water.
Some things never change.
But I had.
At least now I could tell it was wrong to catch the beat of a person’s heart and salivate.
“Colby hasn’t checked in yet.” I thumped my phone against my thigh. “It’s not like her to sleep so much.”
“This is her first real case, and she’s dedicated to solving it.” Asa cut his eyes to me. “Perhaps she’s been sneaking in extra screen time to work angles past her curfew?”
The Bureau lifestyle carried a weight of responsibility no child should be forced to shoulder.
Maybe it was that simple.
Stress.
Stress made people tired, right?
“We’re keeping an eye on her.” Clay thumped the back of my seat. “She’s going to be fine.”
His refusal to allow for any other possible outcome buoyed me, and I was grateful for his faith.
“What’s next on the agenda?” Clay leaned forward between Asa and me. “Where do we go now?”
“We’re going to walk the streets,” I decided on a whim. “See if we can pick up that black magic smell.”
It would also keep me from obsessing about the feral hog back in Samford until we met with Jilo.
Asa appeared to consider this. “Do you think it will lead us to where the boo hags nest?”
“It’s better than twiddling our thumbs. Mine are starting to get blisters.”