Hex Appeal (P.N. Elrod) (Kitty Norville 4.60)

“Where are you?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Andy, please—I know. I know you made the shell. I know you’re taking this personally. But you need help. This man—he’s not like anything you’ve come up against before.”

“Dammit!” He spat it into the phone, then heaved a big sigh, and said, “Not you, Holly, I’m sorry, but he made it to his car. Son of a bitch. I had him. I had him.”

“Did you see a license plate?”

“No. Couldn’t even make out the car real clear; all them things look alike to me anyway. Was blue, that’s all I can tell you.” His breathing eased a little, and he said, in a much different tone, “Holly Anne, I never meant to lie to you. Not for a second. I just couldn’t tell you. Not that. I let you down. I let that gal down, and if I could take it back, I would.”

“The killer didn’t hire you.”

“No. Money and job came by courier. Courier’s the man I found dead. He couldn’t tell me nothing.”

“So who were you following?”

“Got a tip about the witch,” Andy said. “He drove off afore the killer went for his car. I got the name of the witch; he ain’t getting away. Killer’s still a mystery, and I damn sure want to solve it.”

I heard him starting up an engine. “Andy, did you take my car?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that. Needed to move fast. Look, I may still be able to pick up his trail. We’ll talk about all this later, and I’ll explain proper.”

“Andy, it’s serious, what you did. You know that, don’t you?”

“Dead girl brought back to torture and murder? I know it is.” He sounded grim and quietly heartsick. “Ain’t the first time I made a mistake, but this one hurts. Hurts bad.”

“You didn’t make any others…?”

There was a short silence, then he said, “Gotta go, Holly Anne. Please forgive me.”

And then he hung up, without telling me where he was, or what he was planning to do.

* * *

It was a long couple of hours before the phone rang again. I grabbed it up in relief, but it wasn’t Andy, after all.

“Got another crime scene and another dead-again,” said Detective Prieto. He sounded tired and harassed. “Get a piece of paper. I’ll wait here for you.”

My heart was pounding painfully. “Is Andy—?”

“Is Andy what?” he snapped back. “Ain’t seen him, and do me a favor, don’t bring him. The son of a bitch creeps me out.”

Oh, thank God. It wasn’t Andy he’d found, then, which had been my instant and horrifying fear. “I—I don’t have a car.”

“Well, take a taxi, then, but don’t expect the city to be picking up the tab. Hurry it up if you’re coming. I can’t keep this place secure for long.” He read me the address, which I wrote down, then called a taxi for pickup.

I tried calling Andy’s phone, but it went straight to voice mail. The sound of his recorded voice, so awkward and uncomfortable with this newfangled messaging, made my heart break all over again.

He’d already broken it in two by lying to me, even if it was a lie of omission, and now, there was the horrifying possibility that he’d created more bodies to be filled with sleeping souls. More girls to wake to torture and death.

No wonder he didn’t want to talk to me. He had to stop it. I knew that he wouldn’t let go until he’d accomplished that, at any cost.

The taxi honked about five minutes later, and I felt sick as I opened the cabinet to retrieve my go-bag … and found it missing. I’d left it in the car, which Andy was driving. Not that I had the heart, or the stomach, to try to resurrect one of these poor, tortured souls, but it was habit to have it with me. A bit of constancy and comfort that I’d have to do without.

I gave him the address, and the taxi driver struggled with GPS coordinates until he finally said, “Lady, that’s some kind of park. You sure—?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”