“Can your necromancer buddy explain how Smithfield is controlling Old Man Fang without burying his remains on property he owns?”
“Who says he didn’t?” Clay crunched on a snack in the background. “Shorty has a theory.”
“For starters, Johnathan Smithfield isn’t his real name.” She snorted. “Who uses John Smith as an alias?”
Silence was the only answer, given I hadn’t put it together.
“It’s Bernard Lacky,” she chattered on without noticing my pause. “He’s a black witch.”
As usual, I found myself asking my little moth girl, “How do you know these things?”
“She hacked the Kellies and used their proprietary facial recognition software to identify him.” Clay steadily munched. “Using the screengrabs from the surveillance footage, she found a match.”
“I located a deed to a property in his name.” Colby continued to amaze. “It’s three miles from your location. It’s family land. Inherited. He’s never lived there, and there are no structures on the property, but it’s near a cemetery.”
“That sounds about on par with where Derry took us.” I checked with Asa. “Where we found the note.”
“Note?” Clay quit snacking. “What note?”
I slid my hand into my pocket, fingers caressing the crumpled edge, but I couldn’t make my voice work.
“Lacky claims to have access to Vonda Winterbourne’s bones.” Asa rested his hand on my thigh. “Rue has already had Aedan contact—”
“Saint,” I croaked. “We shouldn’t use his name.”
Ears were everywhere. Eyes too. Dad was safer if we got in the habit of using a nickname for him, and Mom had given him the perfect one.
“We haven’t received word from Saint or Aedan,” Asa continued, “but if Saint believes the threat is credible, then I can’t imagine he won’t come.”
“And if he does,” I predicted numbly, “there will be a bloodbath.”
“Aww, hell, yes.” Clay whooped in the background, eager to see action. “Colby and I are packing up and heading your way.”
Colby sucked in a sharp breath at his swearing, but I could hear the thrill in it.
Given my earlier lapse, I let his go without fussing, earning me a raised eyebrow from Asa that I repaid with a shrug.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Asa’s brow pinched. “Having Colby so close to…?”
“…a black witch,” I finished for him. “Dad won’t hurt her.” I made myself believe it. “But I don’t want to wave her under his nose either.”
“Shorty will be fine.” Clay made it a promise. “We’re bored sitting here with nothing to do.”
“I have dragons to raise,” she said loftily, “but Clay is driving me crazy with his pacing.”
“Rude.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “I thought we were besties.”
“We are,” she said, “but I can’t cook, or eat what you cook, and those are your top two hobbies.”
“We do have a surplus of croquembouche.” He sounded sheepish. “I made a fort.”
Uncertain I heard him right but afraid I had, I asked anyway, “You made a croquembouche…fort?”
“Choux pastry puffs make surprisingly good building blocks, and caramel is the best glue.”
“Okay.” Torn between fear of Clay being unsupervised in a kitchen and dread burning me up from the inside whenever I thought about Mom, I caved to his request. “I could use the moral support.”
“I must have leftover caramel in my ears.” Clay whistled. “That almost sounded like a plea for help.”