Black Wings, Gray Skies (Black Hat Bureau 4)

“Keep an eye on the girls.” I squinted against the sun. “Make sure they get home before dark.”

“Okay.” He muffled the receiver. “Hey, Arden. Sorry for taking a personal call on store time.”

“You’re fine.” An edge of curiosity seeped into her tone. “I thought you were laying low?”

Much like me, he was trapped in the narrative we spun to explain his presence. We couldn’t very well tell the town he was okay now because I murdered his sister in a duel. Or that he was insta rich and, oh yeah, daemon royalty adjacent. No. He would have to remain a victim in the eyes of the town until they saw him heal and grow, and they determined he had come out the other side victorious.

The process was familiar, since I had gone through it myself. Samford had embraced me, shown me how to find happiness in simple things, and given me space and time to mend the damage done to me over a lifetime of choosing the darker path each and every time it presented itself to me.

“I am,” he rushed to assure her, “but there’s a feral hog nosing around town.”

“Wildlife relocation, right?” Her interest sounded genuine. “I forgot you did that.”

Yet another lie spun to protect him, and to cover for him helping us hunt supernatural creatures.

“Only in special cases these days.”

A laugh from Arden caused Aedan to catch his breath, and it made me want to pop an ibuprofen.

“Isn’t your client still on the phone?”

“I gotta go,” he told me quickly. “I’ll touch base if I catch that hog near town again.”

The call ended, and I smiled to know my sort of cousin was on the job.

But who was this feral hog, and what did it mean that he had come looking for me?

And why was I suddenly craving bacon?

The gourmet donuts Clay provided for breakfast had been amazing.

A dozen stuffed with cranberry jam, coated in a goat cheese glaze, topped with candied rosemary. And a dozen made from corn lemon shortbread, filled with sweet corn custard, topped with a blueberry glaze.

Basically, bacon or no bacon, my stomach had no right to complain.

The ranger’s presentation was wrapping up as I made my way back to the guys. I listened to the tail end of it then updated them on the feral hog situation. Until we knew more, I was willing to stay in Charleston. But the second piggy raised a red flag, I was flying home, case be damned. I owed Camber and Arden that much.

“Let’s meander toward the back stairs.” Clay led the way. “The cannon alcoves are down there.”

A few of our fellow passengers decided to sprawl on the small patch of lawn and stare out at the ocean. They looked content with their lives, happy for the sun and an excuse to spend the day outdoors. What they didn’t look was wary the same thing that happened to Andreas could happen again.

“The calm is eerie.” Asa watched the tourists. “No one is concerned about their children.”

Twenty-four hours after a boy disappeared, they should have been afraid for them.

Honestly?

They should have stayed home.

Plenty of folks avoided the news for the sake of their mental health, me among them when I wasn’t on a case, but you would expect someone to have said something to parents about the disappearance before they walked up to the ticket window.

“This cover-up is bigger than the cleaners.” I checked with my gut. “A spell was cast over this island.”

Too bad the moisture in the air would have begun eroding the spell as soon as it was cast, so any signature the practitioner left behind would be smudged beyond recognition.

“A spell?” Clay cocked his head. “Wouldn’t we have felt it?”

“Any magic would have to overcome the volume of tourists and the salt water, which is running water.” I figured they both knew the issues inherent with that, but thinking out loud helped me. “The best they could have done was anchor a spell to a foundational object on this island. Say, Battery Huger.”