“Sound like good law-abiding citizens,” I said. Making Beau spill the beans faster would require more magic than my father and I could put together.
“Pretty much. Last Saturday, they were drinking beer and fishing in the Blue River Forest. They’d been at it for a few hours, in which they went halfway through a small keg from Jekyll Brewery.”
A small keg in post-Shift Atlanta held three gallons, which meant the two Eakle brothers had put away about a six-pack and change each.
“The day turned hot. Since nobody was around, they’d taken off their clothes to go swimming, when a ‘big gold horse’ with wings walked out of the woods on the opposite bank and started drinking. The two geniuses decided to try to catch it and made it partway across the river, when, according to them, ‘a winged devil’ landed on the horse and told them to run before he devoured their souls.”
Well, that escalated quickly. Winged devil, huh. “And this devil rode the horse?”
“Supposedly.”
So the winged horses were rideable.
“Apparently, the Eakle boys took him seriously, because they got the hell out of the river and ran naked and screaming through the woods right into a Girl Scout campground, where two rival troops of Girl Scouts were having an archery competition. The Girl Scouts joined forces to subdue the interlopers.”
Ascanio snorted.
Beau’s eyes shone. “When my deputies got there, they were trussed up like two hogs. Jeremiah Eakle sustained an arrow shot to his left buttock. It was determined not to be life-threatening, so the arrow was extracted, and we booked them for indecent exposure and intoxication in a public place. They’ve sobered up and were released on their own recognizance. They don’t remember much, except for the soul-devouring bit.”
Just my luck.
“However, I, being an experienced member of law enforcement, sent one of my deputies to check out their story and collect their clothes, and she recovered some evidence from the scene. Evidence that may be of interest to you.”
Why did I get the sudden feeling that this would cost me? “May I see that evidence?”
“I need a favor,” Beau said.
Of course. “Shoot.”
“There is an elderly woman. Jene Boudreaux.”
He pronounced “Jene” as Zhe-nay.
“She is in her eighties, lives alone, and her neighbors have been reporting odd things. Weird noises, disconcerting smells, and one of them swears he saw her pick up a dead pigeon his cat didn’t finish off the lawn and take it into her house. So I had my people do a health and welfare check. If she was starving and resorting to picking up dead pigeons, we have a moral obligation to do something about it. My deputy went out there. She was muttering under her breath and then out of nowhere she lunged at him and bit him on the shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He took her in after that.”
“Did you check her teeth?” I asked. The teeth were one of the first parts to show signs of a human turning into something else.
“Yes. Normal human teeth. I had a chat with her. We didn’t get anywhere. So we put her in a cell and called down to the psychiatric unit in the city to come and evaluate her. She was in that cell for about an hour. When Connie went to do her rounds, she found the cell door open and the old lady was gone.”
Better and better. “Nobody saw her leave?”
Beau shook his head. “And the cameras weren’t running, since the magic was up. A group of kids walking home from school saw her take off for the woods. We tried to follow her with bloodhounds, but the dogs refused to track. She’s been gone about ten hours. Since you have not one but two members of the Pack at your disposal, here’s the deal. You track down Jene Boudreaux, and I’ll let you examine the evidence you need.”
Even if the evidence was crap, I still owed Beau. “I’ll take that deal, but I want to see her house. I’d like to know what I’m walking into.”
“Fine by me.” Beau raised his voice. “Robby!”
A lanky blond deputy materialized in the doorway.
“This is Robert Holland,” Beau said. “Robert will go with you and provide assistance and legal authority.”
“Folks,” Holland nodded at us.
“Mrs. Boudreaux has been a part of our community for all of her life,” Beau said. “Her husband drove my sons to school in his armored bus when he was alive. She is known to people. I want it to be understood that even if Mrs. Boudreaux isn’t herself, Deputy Holland is the one who gives the all clear. If violence is inevitable, it must be authorized by one of us.”
Fine by me.
• • •
JENE BOUDREAUX LIVED in a small older house typical of the pre-Shift Georgia suburbs: one story, about twelve hundred square feet, a wooden fence and an abundance of plants and hedges up front. The plants had seen better days and the hedges were blocking the windows.
Twenty feet from the house, Derek and Ascanio stopped in unison.
“Odd smell?” I guessed.
“Mm-hm.” Derek inhaled and grimaced. “Smells like hot iron.”
A few feet from the door I smelled it too, a thick, sharp odor. It didn’t smell like anything in particular; it was its own ugly scent that cut across my senses like a knife. Something bad lived here.
Robert Holland put the key into the lock and opened the door. “We confiscated the keys when we arrested her.”
“Did you get to see her at all during any of this?”