Gray Witch (Black Hat Bureau 5)

“I got it.” I bit the cork—like a lady—and yanked it out with my teeth. “What in the—?”

A coin too wide to fit down the bottle’s neck popped out of the opening and landed in Aedan’s palm.

“That’s gold.” Colby’s eyes rounded. “Like real gold.”

“Pirate booty,” the daemon agreed. “Like Mystic Seas expansion pack.”

“I just had an out-of-body experience,” I told Clay. “I thought I heard a commercial fall out of his mouth.”

“You’re laying it on thick, Shorty.” He wiped the smile off his mouth. “You heard Rue.”

“I didn’t say anything.” She blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “I was admiring the coin.”

Most of the time, I could forget Colby was—or had been—a ten-year-old kid prior to her death.

And then she pulled something like this.

I ought to nip it in the bud, but I was too grateful she still had that spunk and sass to punish her for what kids the world over did to their parents and guardians. She was testing me, pushing her boundaries. She was proving the bright spark that saved her life burned brighter than ever within her. So what if I wasn’t traditional mom material? What Colby and I had defied labels, and that was okay.

“Go read.” Clay nudged me back toward the house. “We’ll catch periwinkles and give you a minute.”

Visions of daemon crabs danced in my head. “What are those?”

“Tiny aquatic snails with spiral shells.”

“I have those?”

“Most creeks do.”

Nodding my thanks, heart a knot in my throat, I trudged back to the house and plunked onto the porch.

The parchment crinkled in my hand as I withdrew the neat roll. I broke the thick wax seal, opened it with care, and blinked away the black motes sparkling in the ink as the letter shed the magic used to create it.

Dearest Daughter,

I dare not write what concerns press on my mind, but I promised you letters, and this is the first.

Forgive me for my clumsy attempt at reconciliation. I was wrong to involve your cousin. Your mother was the diplomat. I preferred to stand at her side and intimidate people into giving her what she wanted, not that she required my assistance. No one could say no to her, least of all me.

I will keep this missive brief out of concern your wards prevented you from receiving it. I enclosed a payment for your cousin, for his service. It is my understanding he lives on your property. It was him I hoped would find this and carry it to you. As you trust him, so will I.

If you find a spare moment, write back to me. No expectations. We can go—or not—from there.

All my love,

Your Father

“Are you all right?”

A discreet distance away, Asa waited for my reaction to this first contact.

“Nothing earth-shattering.” I handed it over. “More of a trial run for his delivery system.”

“A stamped envelope is too conventional,” Clay said, joining us. “Hiram is a master of the black arts.”

And he had used that talent to send me a message in a bottle, as if I were still a kid who would fish it out of the water with a squeal of delight and rush to the smudge that remained of Mom in my memory for a hand with the cork. It was…charming. More than that, it was whimsical. It made me wish I could tell if he and I had exchanged secret notes this way when I was a child. If this was a test, I had no hope of passing.

The director had stripped me to the bone, stolen every memory his grasping fingers could pluck from my head, the better to mold me in his image. Impressions lingered, vague sensations, but nothing concrete.