“A masque?” Asa glanced back at Olsen. “That’s old magic.”

Glamour accomplished the same thing, really, and it was easier to cast and dispel. More versatile too.

A masque was exactly what you would think. A mask of dried skin, a face, that you wore over your own. It drew the power to transform you into that person, and only that person, from the target’s own death.

“The killer must have been well and truly pissed at Olsen to expend that much magic on a trinket.”

Masques had limited use, given each was only good for one face, but that had never been the point.

Their creation was rooted in punishment rather than practicality.

“The killer moves on the girl. The girl robs him of his prize.” Clay mulled it over. “Olsen hears her scream and comes running. The killer murders Olsen in a fit of rage.”

“The killer assumes Olsen’s identity, but he doesn’t know Olsen is on vacation.” Asa continued his search for more evidence. “He didn’t plan for this. His first kills, and he’s already made two mistakes.” He gazed across the space. “Maybe he decides he’s found an ideal scapegoat to pin his crimes on when he’s done. He makes the best of it by setting up shop at Olsen’s place, and that’s when he makes the masque.”

“If we’re even half right, we’ve flushed out the killer.” That was the good news. The bad news was, “That means he’ll be on the move.”

Harder to corner prey when it knows it’s being hunted and by whom. The killer’s acting skills tricked Clay and Asa into believing him. No doubt, he would have fooled me too. He had channeled the rage over his discovery into an authentic facsimile of grief. He hurled accusations at them about how no one cared his daughter was missing to keep them off-balance and defensive.

They left, we all did, with a sense of having disturbed a good man, a good father, in mourning.

“He slept and ate here.” Clay indicated food in the fridge and sheets on the couch. “But that’s it.”

“The car is gone.” Asa pulled out his phone. “I’ll issue a BOLO for it and Olsen.”

“Keep it on our network,” Clay advised. “We don’t want humans confronting him.”

“That will greatly reduce its efficiency,” Asa pointed out. “There are more teams in the area but…”

As predicted, those teams were happy to let Black Hat’s black witch take on the rogue black witch solo.

“He’s right.” I sided with Clay. “We don’t want to give him an excuse to further involve humans.”

Asa took his calls outside, as if privacy was an issue, but I bet the smell was tweaking his sensitive nose.

“He’s going to run to his safe place.” Clay surveyed the area one last time. “We find that, we find clues.”

“Let’s hope we get lucky with the APB.” I exited the trailer. “Otherwise, we might lose him.”

There were days between the discovery of his victims and his search for new ones. We were in the lull.

“He was already hunting.” I filled my lungs with fresh air. “He might have his first victim chosen.”

I moseyed over to Asa to see if he had made any progress while Clay reported the crime to the Bureau, which would further complicate the situation between the director and the enraged trolls.

“Are you sure?” Asa paced a tight line. “Yes.” He came to sudden halt. “Give me the address.”

Ending the call, Asa tapped his phone against his chin. “We have a lead.”

“You don’t look thrilled about it.” I was of the opinion any lead was a good lead. “What’s the deal?”

“Olsen owned a tract of land about an hour from here. It’s a thirty-acre forested spread.”

And that, friends, was where he had invested his money. “His hunting grounds.”

A troll could only ape human for so long before instinct demanded he obey his nature.

Plus, they required room to spread out their caches. Thirty acres was plenty for that.

Tags: Hailey Edwards Black Hat Bureau Fantasy
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