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The Charleston Police Department had two wargs who worked in patrol, and I requested they meet us at the crime scene. The male was short, thin, and Scandinavian in coloring. The female was a head taller, in faded civvies with the CPD logo, and could have been cast as a shield maiden in a Viking documentary.
She was also deep in conversation on her phone, a growl present in her voice, her eyes gone amber.
“Agent Hollis,” the male greeted me. “We appreciate the call.”
A faint accent flavored his words, but not one I could place. New York maybe. Or New Orleans. There was a surprising amount of overlap between the two if you listened close.
“I regret the circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you both. I hope together we can solve this case before more innocents are hurt.” I indicated Clay, who gave no hint his personal style made this awkward. “This is Agent Kerr.” I nodded at Asa. “This is Agent Montenegro.”
Hidden within Clay’s wig, Colby kept still and quiet so as not to tip them off to her presence.
“I’m Officer Vandenburgh.” He hooked his thumb at his partner. “That is also Officer Vandenburgh.”
“Great delivery.” Clay acknowledged the man’s dry humor. “You ever consider standup comedy?”
“We have five kids under six.” He huffed a laugh. “I only tell knock-knock jokes, and the audience prefers I repeat the same ones over and over.” He scratched his cheek. “They like to shout out the punchlines.”
With a terse final word, Mrs. Officer Vandenburgh pocketed her cell. “Sorry about that.”
“Sitter issues?” Her husband sighed at her confirmation. “What did the terrors do this time?”
“Our triplets are teething, and our twin girls are over their little brothers chasing them and biting them.” She included us in her explanation. “Not even our mothers will watch them until they grow out of this.”
Aside from Colby, I had no experience with kids. I could sympathize with the Vandenburghs’ mothers for not wanting to be responsible for entertaining five kids who could turn into wolves and gnaw on them.
“Enough about us,” Mr. Officer Vandenburgh, noticing my awkward silence, broke in. “Where is she?”
Shewas a stretch. There wasn’t enough to confirm gender without testing, though the sneaker might give us a hint.
“The remains are this way.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “We didn’t disturb the scene.”
Aside from shooing off seagulls eager for an easy meal, we had no reason to venture down to the beach. The leg had washed ashore, securing our evidence and leaving us to wait on the police. Normal protocol it was not, but so many missing human children were a ticking time bomb. We had been authorized to use all available resources to put an end to this as fast and discreetly as possible.
And if that meant asking for an assist from officers with the keenest noses in the business, then so be it.
“God,” Mrs. Officer Vandenburgh breathed. “That poor child.”
“Might be a boating accident,” her husband murmured. “A three-blade propeller can inflict one hundred and sixty impacts in one second. Amputations aren’t that rare, even in adults. What makes you think this is one of yours?”
“The smell,” I answered for us. “You didn’t notice?”
“Yeah.” Mr. Officer Vandenburgh flushed to the tips of his ears. “We just figured it was…”
“Me.”
“Sorry about that.” His wife palmed the metal railing. “We don’t see many black witches up this way.”
Now that was interesting, and it was news to me. “You don’t say.”
Mrs. Officer—much easier to think of her that way—leapt the railing and stuck an impressive landing.
“I figured it was a peninsula thing.” He gripped the rail next. “I hear that magic and water don’t mix.”
For now, I had no reason to believe, aside from the smell, that a black witch might be involved. The truth was, you didn’t have to be a witch to dabble in the dark arts, and I couldn’t afford to get fixated on the idea this was yet another case with a Black Hat rogue agenda.
That was how mistakes got made. How killers walked free. Neither of which was an option here.
