Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

“Got any ideas?”

“Actually, I do.”

Chapter 29

Ian’s idea for identifying our culprit involved visiting every elderly man and woman in Lake Bluff and surrounding areas and gifting them with a buzzard feather.

According to him, the Raven Mocker should appear as a withered senior citizen—cronelike with the weight of the days it had stolen. Such an appearance for a witch seemed too cliché, but then, clichés became clichés for a reason.

Before we’d left on our odyssey, we’d stopped in town, where I’d bought enough underwear, jeans, and shirts to last me a week. Ian had bought postcards to run through his computer.

While I’d taken a shower and changed, he’d made up fairly professional-looking flyers for his new clinic, then attached a buzzard feather to each of them. People didn’t seem to think that was any odder than the sheriff, wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, escorting the new doctor, also in jeans and a black T-shirt, but wearing cowboy boots instead of sneakers, from door to door.

No one had burst into flames or cried, “I’m melting!” Not one person had hesitated to take the buzzard feather at all.

“How many buzzards are now bald?” I asked.

“Buzzards are kind of bald anyway.”

“Are you sure these things repel a witch? What’s supposed to happen?”

“Extreme aversion to the feather.”

“Cringe, cry, run away?”

“Maybe all three.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How many witches have you dealt with?”

“Enough.”

“Any Raven Mockers?”

“Not personally, no.”

“Swell.” Was it too much to ask that he’d be an expert in this field? Apparently.

We continued to visit the elderly. We continued to have no luck. We never ran out of feathers, though. I swear the basket was like the proverbial fish and bread for the masses; the more elderly there were, the more feathers we had.

I’d checked in and told Cal I was taking a personal day, which he assumed was because of the fire, and I let him. Once Claire got to work and heard about the incident, she called and made me promise to come to dinner.

Since I needed to update her on the latest in paranormal occurrences, I accepted. When she found out I was spending the day with Ian, she invited him, too. I felt weird about that, like it was a date, but the least I could do was provide him with dinner.

Later, Sam called. The investigator had ruled the fire accidental. Even though the night had been clear, enough people had heard thunder and seen what they swore was lightning to blame just that for my torched roof. I knew better, but what could I say? A shape-shifting witch had thrown sparks out her ass and onto my shingles? I’d get the insurance money regardless, so I kept my mouth shut.

We finished my list of old folks without having one person behave oddly. However, there were at least half a dozen on the list who hadn’t been home, including Quatie, which disturbed me more than I liked. Where could she be? It wasn’t as though she belonged to the local book club or women’s society. She didn’t even drive.

“We’ll make Quatie’s place our first stop tomorrow,” Ian said.

Just as we had at every house where we hadn’t been able to hand one to the resident directly, I tacked the buzzard feather to the front porch. If it didn’t reveal the Raven Mocker, the feather could then protect the holder from the Raven Mocker. Ian’s test became a charm.

We rang the doorbell at the Cartwrights’ at 6:00 p.m. Ian had insisted on stopping at Goldman’s Save U and buying a bottle of wine and some flowers for Claire. I brought the bright orange pacifier in the shape of a basketball that I’d been unable to resist buying for Noah. Malachi would just have to be content with the pleasure of our company.

The do

or flew open. Claire didn’t even say hello before she hugged me so hard I coughed.

“What’s wrong with you?” She had me worried. “Where’s Noah? Mal!”