Aside from the killer’s gender, which she let slip, she had given us nothing apart from her species.
“What you ought to be asking is what can I do for you?”
“Did I hallucinate the last five seconds of our conversation?”
“You asked me to tell you.” The cat whipped its tail. “I’m offering to show you.”
Flames ignited on my periphery, leaving Asa wearing a tattered jacket and shirt.
Thankfully, the daemon behaved during transition, and Asa’s pants remained on.
“There he is,” Jilo purred. “You’re easier on the eyes than your other half, I’ll give you that.”
“My other half, as you so eloquently put it, enjoys playing games. He’s quite adept with numbers.”
The bravado drained out of the cat, who barely dared to twitch so much as a whisker.
“That’s why, earlier today, I exchanged a handful of dollar bills for pennies, nickels, and dimes.”
Jilo took a step back, ears pinned to her scalp, her fur bristling. “No.”
Out of his pocket came a fistful of gleaming coins. “Do you like numbers too?”
Hissing, spitting, swearing, the cat spun to flee.
She didn’t get far before Asa flung those shiny discs bouncing across the asphalt in haphazard directions.
“One, two, three…” the cat yowled with fury, batting dimes into a pile, “…four, five, six…”
Confused, yet more than a little impressed, I asked Asa, “What am I watching here?”
“Boo hags are obsessed with counting. They’re compelled to do it. They have no choice.”
“Talk about an obscure kryptonite.”
Much sadder than pimento cheese.
“Local lore recommends leaving a straw broom propped outside your front door for protection. To enter your home, the boo hag must count every bristle. Marbles in a jar on your nightstand works too. So does a hairbrush on your dresser. I read you can leave a sieve or a colander hung on your doorknob as well.”
“The tourist trade is bullshit,” Jilo muttered under her breath. “Utter and complete bullshit.”
“The same ghost tour guide who mentioned confederate tea jokingly warned his group how to protect themselves while in the city,” Asa explained her anger. “I had never heard of a boo hag, so I decided to do a little research.”
“Your hearing is ridiculous,” I told him. “I didn’t catch anything past the poison.”
That was one daemon power I wouldn’t have minded inheriting, but I had plain old witch ears.
“It was a quiet night.” He slanted me a smile. “And the guide projected his voice well.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Your game won’t occupy me for long,” Jilo snarled, “and then I’ll come wring your pretty neck.”
“Do you know how to kill a problematic boo hag?” Asa angled his chin my way but kept his gaze on the cat. “Leave out a sufficient quantity of an item. They can’t stop counting once they’ve started, as our friend here has proven, and if the dawn finds them, they vanish into smoke.”
“You’re dead.” Hatred and avarice burned in the cat’s eyes. “You hear me? Dead.”
“I’m out of change.” Asa reached into his pocket a second time. “However, I do have this.” He held up a sachet like the ones tucked into our suites’ closets. “I wonder how many lavender buds are in this one?”