“That’s a possibility,” she thought aloud. “With my luck, I’ll probably get eaten by a pack of octopi.”
“This is no time to entertain humor,” Thea said. “You shouldn’t be putting yourself in any needless danger. Diving? Why don’t you just jump off the Banfield Bridge and see how many seconds it takes you to hit the water.”
Kate clucked her tongue. “I am certified to dive, you know.” She questioned why Thea hadn’t mentioned the statue, that it had been stolen from her. If she did say something about it, then she would also have to admit she had lied and stolen it in the first place, two things Thea wouldn’t do.
“The storm is coming, and the Goddess will kill again,” was all Thea said before she hung up the phone.
Great. Kate walked back to her desk and listened to the local weather channel on the radio. She didn’t believe in things like prophetic storms and curses, and she said it aloud to herself after hearing the storm warning advisory for the central Oregon coast.
***
Wells slowed his patrol car to 25 mph on the main street of Multnomah Village. He drove to the house of Suzanne Jones, a friend of Brooke Jennings who had called this morning regarding concerns she’d had about her friend’s death. She said she had something important to tell him.
It didn’t sit well with him. Not only because Brooke Jennings had died of natural causes—M.E. John Collins couldn’t have made an error—and that Brooke had been a practicing witch in the same coven as Jevanna Waters, whose death had also started out as an accident, but because of the way Suzanne Jones had said it. Whether or not her information provided any insight into Brooke’s case, something had struck her deep enough to put a chill behind her words. Essentially, so long as nothing suspicious developed from this visit, he considered the case closed. No secrets. No hidden threats. Just the usual routine questioning, he told himself.
Nevertheless, Jev’s sister, Kate, and Thea had been at the scene of another crime.
Thea. He had dreamt of her face last night, a woman he found just as attractive as she was unsettling. He found himself returning to the moment when she walked by him on Brooke’s porch, the way her body brushed against his arm ever so lightly. He shivered once more, then shook his head and returned his attention back to work.
He parked his midnight-blue patrol car in front of Suzanne’s house, 2304 Sherwood Lane, a gray bungalow with plum trim and an assortment of wind chimes dangling from the roof’s edge. Two young girls walked down the block, too young to be living alone, and his thoughts took a sharp turn to Julie again. Like these girls’ parents, he couldn’t watch her at all hours either. Julie had crossed into womanhood, and she had to learn to protect herself, but how in a world filled with danger? The movement of a curtain in Suzanne’s front window caught his attention. He covered his worries behind a welcoming smile and stepped from his car.
The melody of the chimes rang softly as he walked up her steps to the front door. Though most people would have found the sound calming, it rattled him instead—as if someone or something awaited him.
Overhead, a flock of crows dove into a fir tree in the middle of Suzanne’s yard. Their cries escalated and resounded with the strength of numbers. He gaped at the branches and realized what he had thought were limbs and pine cones were actually crows, hundreds of them nestled in the tree. A meeting of animal minds. In the sky, streams of crows flocked to the overcrowded fir tree in Suzanne’s yard. Of all places, Wells thought, the gathering had to be in the yard of the witch he was visiting.
Suzanne opened the door before he had a chance to knock.
“Hello, Suzanne Jones?”
“Hi, Detective Wells. Please, come in.”
Suzanne had dark, multi-colored hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She dressed in punk fashion: tall, black leather boots, a plaid
“This is no time to entertain humor,” Thea said. “You shouldn’t be putting yourself in any needless danger. Diving? Why don’t you just jump off the Banfield Bridge and see how many seconds it takes you to hit the water.”
Kate clucked her tongue. “I am certified to dive, you know.” She questioned why Thea hadn’t mentioned the statue, that it had been stolen from her. If she did say something about it, then she would also have to admit she had lied and stolen it in the first place, two things Thea wouldn’t do.
“The storm is coming, and the Goddess will kill again,” was all Thea said before she hung up the phone.
Great. Kate walked back to her desk and listened to the local weather channel on the radio. She didn’t believe in things like prophetic storms and curses, and she said it aloud to herself after hearing the storm warning advisory for the central Oregon coast.
***
Wells slowed his patrol car to 25 mph on the main street of Multnomah Village. He drove to the house of Suzanne Jones, a friend of Brooke Jennings who had called this morning regarding concerns she’d had about her friend’s death. She said she had something important to tell him.
It didn’t sit well with him. Not only because Brooke Jennings had died of natural causes—M.E. John Collins couldn’t have made an error—and that Brooke had been a practicing witch in the same coven as Jevanna Waters, whose death had also started out as an accident, but because of the way Suzanne Jones had said it. Whether or not her information provided any insight into Brooke’s case, something had struck her deep enough to put a chill behind her words. Essentially, so long as nothing suspicious developed from this visit, he considered the case closed. No secrets. No hidden threats. Just the usual routine questioning, he told himself.
Nevertheless, Jev’s sister, Kate, and Thea had been at the scene of another crime.
Thea. He had dreamt of her face last night, a woman he found just as attractive as she was unsettling. He found himself returning to the moment when she walked by him on Brooke’s porch, the way her body brushed against his arm ever so lightly. He shivered once more, then shook his head and returned his attention back to work.
He parked his midnight-blue patrol car in front of Suzanne’s house, 2304 Sherwood Lane, a gray bungalow with plum trim and an assortment of wind chimes dangling from the roof’s edge. Two young girls walked down the block, too young to be living alone, and his thoughts took a sharp turn to Julie again. Like these girls’ parents, he couldn’t watch her at all hours either. Julie had crossed into womanhood, and she had to learn to protect herself, but how in a world filled with danger? The movement of a curtain in Suzanne’s front window caught his attention. He covered his worries behind a welcoming smile and stepped from his car.
The melody of the chimes rang softly as he walked up her steps to the front door. Though most people would have found the sound calming, it rattled him instead—as if someone or something awaited him.
Overhead, a flock of crows dove into a fir tree in the middle of Suzanne’s yard. Their cries escalated and resounded with the strength of numbers. He gaped at the branches and realized what he had thought were limbs and pine cones were actually crows, hundreds of them nestled in the tree. A meeting of animal minds. In the sky, streams of crows flocked to the overcrowded fir tree in Suzanne’s yard. Of all places, Wells thought, the gathering had to be in the yard of the witch he was visiting.
Suzanne opened the door before he had a chance to knock.
“Hello, Suzanne Jones?”
“Hi, Detective Wells. Please, come in.”
Suzanne had dark, multi-colored hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She dressed in punk fashion: tall, black leather boots, a plaid
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