“You need to register her. Take her to Dr. Adam to get her up to date on all her vaccinations. Has she been spayed?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, she isn’t mine.”
“She is now. With great treats comes great responsibility.” Justine flicked her fingers toward the door. “You’re dismissed.I just realized I missed Swedish.” She picked up her phone and resumed her lesson.
Justine might be on a winning streak, but I seemed to be losing no matter what I did.
Justine’s directiveswere the only ones I couldn’t ignore. With great reluctance and very slow typing skills, I sent an email to the Protector of the Region’s office. I’d met Vale during my recent investigation into the deaths of Judd and a Neighbor named Belinda. Vale was someone on my “avoid” list. He was a demigod, the eighth son of Enmesharra, the Mesopotamian god closely associated with the underworld. Although Vale was headquartered in nearby Savannah, he ruled over the entire southeastern territory of the United States. Despite my objections, he and Justine included Evermore in his domain. As far as I was concerned, the island was secret and off the grid for a reason and should remain a completely separate entity from the mainland. Of course, I had my own reasons for wanting to retain our independence, but, for better or worse, I answered to Justine.
Once I hit send, I called Dr. Adam and made an appointment to bring in Jinx. I rationalized the call by telling myself it would also be an opportunity to ask the druid about Darlene, to find out if he noticed anything out of the ordinary when he discovered her body.
With those unwanted tasks out of the way, I focused on Darlene’s potential murderer. I didn’t have much experience with shadow magic, but I knew someone who might.
As the oldest and most powerful witch on the island, Meemaw served as the top crone in the witch hierarchy. She’d proven to be an excellent resource for me and someone willingto bend the rules without flinching when necessary, mainly because she disliked following them herself.
I logged in to the security system and tracked down Meemaw’s most recent keycard swipe—the Magnolia pool. I found the crone seated on a chaise lounger, fully decked out in a shiny white track suit and a purple sequin sun visor. Geriatric white woman with a 1980s rapper aesthetic, party of one. She held a Kindle in one hand and a margarita in the other. For some residents, the Neighborhood was a permanent vacation. I envied them. In all my visions of the future, none of them involved lasting long enough to enjoy a life of leisure. I’d have to live vicariously through Neighbors.
“Afternoon, Meemaw.”
The witch stared intently at her Kindle. “Afternoon. Must be something awfully important if you decided to interrupt my book. I’m finally getting to a spicy scene after far too much yearning.”
“I like yearning.”
“You would.”
I noticed her naked hands. Meemaw usually wore rings on every finger, to complement the gold tooth where her right canine used to be.
“No rings today?”
“I don’t wear them to the pool. The chemicals ruin the metal.”
“You’re not wearing a swimsuit.”
She kept her focus on the Kindle. “People splash.”
I perched on the end of her lounger. “I’ve got a question for you.”
Meemaw’s head remained perfectly still, but her gaze flicked up to meet mine. “Is this question going to make me regret pausing where I am? Because I glimpsed the word ‘throbbing’ inthe next sentence, which I fully expect to be followed by the word ‘member.’”
“You won’t regret it. It involves hot gossip.”
She set the Kindle on her lap and looked at me. “You have my attention. Proceed.”
“I assume Margie told you about her monster encounter.”
“I thought they were demonic spirits.”
Damn. Word really did travel fast on the island. “Yes, they are. They’re called oni.”
“She’s still rattled. That’s why I’m here alone. She didn’t want to leave the condo today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Do I have permission to use magic should I encounter one of these creatures?”
“No. You call me.” Otherwise, I had no doubt Meemaw would take advantage of the situation. Soon I’d be receiving calls from all over the Neighborhood that Meemaw was using magic, and she would claim self-defense, even if that spell involved a free pitcher of beer from the local watering hole. Meemaw was hands down the wiliest witch on the island.
“I gather this is your version of exchanging pleasantries,” Meemaw said. “Why are you really here?”
