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“No?” Nox grinned at Nelson. “Take off your coat and loosen your tie. My study’s right through there but let’s swing through the kitchen, first.”
“I thought there would be voodoo dolls or more pentacles. This just looks like a retired professor’s house,” Nelson replied as he hung his coat, but left his tie firmly in place. His eyes darted wildly as he followed Nox, gathering and sorting details. Nox shook his head and used his shoulder to push the kitchen door open.
“Nope. No Vodou. Not my ancestors, not my practice,” he informed Nelson.
“What does that mean?” Nelson looked surprised again as he took in all the jars lining the shelves that wrapped around the kitchen. Nox added the skylight when the collection threatened to overwhelm the space and made it too dark.
“My ancestors aren’t from Africa or the Caribbean so it wouldn’t make sense for me to phone a…spiritual friend from those cultures.”
“You talk about practice and divination, but you say you’re not a witch or a druid,” Nelson prodded but Nox’s nose wrinkled as he considered the bundles of dried flowers and herbs hanging over the large butcher block work table.
“No. I never said I wasn’t. I don’t want people questioning my credibility or thinking I’m more of a weirdo than they already do so I just don’t acknowledge it. I can’t exactly hide this, though,” he said, gesturing at himself. “Nor do I want to, so I let people think what they want and keep it moving. But I suppose I am. My grandmother and great-grandmother were healers who taught me to leave jars of water on the terrace to get charged by the moon. My mom dabbled a little, too, and I guess they rubbed off on me.” He went to the pantry, where he kept his grains and looped an arm around a jar of oatmeal. Nox crossed to the shelves by the sink and found the bottle of “warm” bitters on his way back to the stove. “I think we can cure a lot of what ails us through diet, fresh air, sunshine, and meditation. And a little therapy in some cases.” He smiled over his shoulder as he worked.
“What about your father? Was he a druid?” Nelson asked as he leaned against the counter.
My, you do ask scary questions…
“He believed in crystal and moon theory, but most people would call us herbalists and what we do as homeopathy. Which is what most modern witchcraft is. My parents were anthropologists and teachers, first, Nelson. So am I.” Nox shrugged and went to gather the rest of the ingredients he’d need and put the kettle on. “How about a cup of tea to help take the edge off?” Nox asked him.
“Take the edge off?” Nelson’s hard gray eyes slanted skeptically before they swung to the stove. “What are you making?”
“You’re experiencing deep fatigue and you’re overwhelmed and frustrated. A cup of valerian, lavender, chamomile, and lemon balm tea with wildflower honey to start with.” Nox scooped leaves into a ball strainer and dropped it into a teacup before filling it from the kettle. “And you look like you could use a bowl of something warm and sweet, like oatmeal with…” Nox pushed the cup across the work table and went to the fridge, then swung the door open and reached for the produce drawer. “Blueberries are high in vitamin C and other antioxidants, such as flavonoids, that improve brain health and help with anxiety. This is going to be perfect, like a blueberry cobbler but more oats because they contain tryptophan which will help your serotonin levels.”
“So you aren’t a hoaxes-and-spells type of druid but you are a psychic,” Nelson’s nose scrunched as he raised the cup and sniffed but he hummed and took a cautious sip. His brows jumped and Nelson murmured something under his breath before taking a deeper drink.
“I can’t read people’s thoughts or see the future but I’m sensitive to other people’s feelings and can feel major shifts in moods. And I was there, Nelson. The last twenty-four hours have been hell and we still have a lot of ground to cover this evening. Let’s try to make it as pleasant as we can. We deserve it after New Castle and that motel.”
They shared a shudder and Nelson snorted into his tea. “How did you and Merlin find these girls before the FBI? Your databases can’t be better than ours,” Nelson challenged. He was more relaxed as he sipped, but his attention was fixed on Nox as he moved about the kitchen.
“Well…” Nox checked the oats in the pot and they were already bloated and had softened so he added a generous dollop of honey. The bitters he added next were made with whiskey, cinnamon, star anise, cardamom, and peppercorns. He used this particular blend in his old fashioneds and Nox often added it to anything with apples or berries for a hint of warmth. The blend of spices was also good for reducing anxiety. “Whoever’s taking these girls is smart, but they’re no match for Merlin Oglethorpe.” Nox chuckled as he filled a bowl and grabbed a spoon from the drawer by the stove. The blueberries were just beginning to pop in the caramel-colored oatmeal, creating streaks of purple syrup. He slid the bowl across the work table and Nelson was still wary but he picked it up and stirred as he inspected the contents.
“You’ve mentioned him about a dozen times, but how do you know this Merlin Oglethorpe and how do you know you can trust him?”
“I’ve…always known Merlin,” Nox said and waved for Nelson to follow as he pushed through the kitchen door and headed for the study. “He’s been a friend of the family forever on my mother’s side. He was close friends with my grandmother too. The crackpots and cauldrons community has its own bureau of investigation and his name is Merlin Oglethorpe. He knows every occultist in the DMV but he keeps tabs on covens up and down the East Coast. Merlin was familiar with one of the girls who went missing and heard rumbles from within the community long before the local police departments.”
“How is that possible?” Nelson asked between mouthfuls. “This is…fine.” He pointed at the bowl with the spoon before scooping more into his mouth. It was a relief and a delight to see Nelson finally eating and eating well.
“Those other girls didn’t have a mother like Sharon Cleary or a sister like Heidi who noticed they were missing right away but they missed coven gatherings or didn’t pick up their orders from occult shops or keep appointments for readings. They were missed within their little witchy circles and their concerns found their way back to Merlin. And those concerns were immediately related to me, as is usually the case when Merlin wants me to take something to the FBI.” As if to prove his point, the doorbell rang. “Speak of the devil,” Nox said as he turned in the middle of the foyer and paused. “He truly is a devil and…I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
The doorbell rang again, the chime echoing through the house. Nox winced hard. “He only rings the doorbell when he wants to make a scene. And can be very gay and…grabby and you’re…” gave his head a shake and silently wished Nelson luck.
“I’m what?” Nelson asked as Nox turned the handle. “And what do you mean by ‘grabby’?” He hissed at Nox as it was yanked open.
“It’s about time, young man!” Merlin drawled, passing Nox a fur-trimmed overcoat and a top hat. Merlin’s tiny black eyes went right to Nelson and widened with feral delight. “What do we have here?” He swept forward in a purple pinstripe suit, stretching a bejeweled hand at Nelson as he hurried across the foyer. Nelson backed away quickly, bumping into the stairs and dropping onto his ass as he hugged his bowl, bringing him almost nose-to-nose with Merlin, who stood at just under five feet.
“That’s Agent Nelson, Merlin. Please behave,” Nox begged while Nelson gave Merlin’s hand a weak tug.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Nelson said, causing Merlin to gasp and preen.
“Nox said he had found an agent to help us find these girls, but I had no idea that you’d be so…” He fluffed the lace on the collar of his black shirt as he batted long, thick artificial lashes at Nelson. Merlin pulled a silk paisley handkerchief from his pocket and used it to dab his bald head and brow. “Oof!” He declared with an appreciative groan.
“Oof?” Nelson mouthed as he looked up at Nox, making him laugh.
“Merlin is far hornier than a man his age has any right to be.”
“I beg your pardon!” Merlin said with a dramatic turn, pressing the hand holding the handkerchief against his chest. “Don’t listen to him, Agent Nelson. I am always a gentleman.”
