Page 22 of Bewitched By the Pumpkin Queen

Sheriff Dunmire grunts, collecting the coffee-stained shards of his mug in a paper towel. He’s wrestling with the words, you can tell, and for once it’s not about which donut to eat next.“Well. The investigation’s gone icy.” He gives Jasper the kind of once-over typically reserved for cursed artifacts before sliding the remnants into the trash. “No progress. No suspects. Not a single witness or magical trace, and you know we have some damn good scryers on the payroll.”

“We think whoever is doing this is tranquilizing their victims first.” Jasper announces. “The last thing I remember before Delia brought me back, was having some sort of gun pulled on me. Can’t remember anything past that though.”

Margo starts clicking the pen in her hand, “A tranquilizer?” she asks, her brows reaching for the ceiling. “All the toxicology reports came back clean. There were no traces of anesthetics or sedatives.” She goes to her desk, her fingers typing quickly on the keyboard in front of her, her eyes scanning the file so fast I almost expect the computer to start smoking. “Everything came back negative.”

"Maybe it's something magical then?" I suggest, leaning forward to peer at her screen. "Something that wouldn't show up on standard tests?"

Sheriff Dunmire crosses his arms, his uniform straining slightly against his broad shoulders. "We ran supernatural panels too. Nothing."

“Whoever is behind this, is covering their tracks extremely well," Jasper says, his voice flat and analytical.

My thoughts tumble over each other, restless and desperate, even as I try to make sense of how someone could have erased every trace of their crime—on both the mortal and the magical plane. You don’t just murder a supernatural being, steal their heart, and vanish into the fog.

“See why we’re at a standstill?” Sheriff Dunmire rubs his temples, and I can almost hear the beginnings of a migraine whistling through his skull.

I do.

We've exhausted every lead, every clue. Now we're just waiting for the next body to drop, for the next supernatural to have their heart carved out while we scramble to catch up. The clock is ticking, and we're no closer to stopping whoever's hunting our kind.

The sheriff clears his throat, "Look, Jasper, this whole situation is…" He gestures vaguely at Jasper's reanimated form. "Well, it's a damn shame. I wish I had more to tell you." His voice drops, taking on the gravelly tone. "But every killer leaves breadcrumbs. This one will slip up eventually. And when they do, they’ll regret ever stepping foot in my town.”

The sheriff's promise hangs in the air for a moment before evaporating. My fingers twitch at my sides as I catch Jasper's eye. The police have nothing. No leads, no suspects, just empty reassurances. I straighten my spine, decision crystallizing. If the authorities can't solve my husband's murder, we'll hunt down his killer ourselves. The Council and their precious rules be damned.

I've already resurrected the dead.

What's a few more magical felonies at this point?