Gray Witch (Black Hat Bureau 5)

4

The Waffle Iron was a burnt shell with nothing to indicate it was once a favorite local dive. Charred beams had cracked in half against the metal skeleton of the building. Glass speckled the parking lot, and melted plastic trays lent pops of color to the blackened remains. Only a gnarled tree jutting through the asphalt had survived the blaze.

“Still smells like grease and burnt toast.” Clay rested a hand over his stomach. “Maybe I’m just hungry.”

“There’s a memorial.” Asa stood beside a teddy bear holding flowers. “For a kidnapping?”

“There was a cat.” An old man stepped out from behind the tree, which had been too small to conceal a person of his size. “A familiar.”

“Familiar,” I repeated, thinking on his sudden appearance, “as in a witch’s familiar?”

Catplus familiar equaled witch in everyone’s mind, right?

Thanks to books and movies, most everyone was, well, familiar with the term.

Now to figure out if that made him a fiction junkie or a fellow creature.

“What other kind of familiar is there?” He scratched his balding head. “What are you three doing here?”

“We’re with the FBI.” Clay watched the man closely. “We’re investigating the Waffle Iron arson.”

“If you’re FBI, I’ll eat my hat.” The man wheezed a laugh. “Don’t think you fool me, golem.”

Definitely not human.

“You have us at a disadvantage.” Asa dipped his head at the man. “I’m Asa Montenegro.”

“You’ve got fae in you.” He brightened. “I’m Wilbur.” He gestured to the puny tree. “I’m a dryad.”

“My mother is Aos Sí,” Asa agreed, leaving it at that. “This is my mate, Rue Hollis.”

My mate, my mate, my mate.

A herd of elephants stomped my stomach flat as a pancake. More of a crepe, really.

I opened my mouth, but nonsense words fell out, which earned me a soft laugh from Asa.

“Good of you to take pity on her.” Wilbur clicked his tongue. “Poor girl must have dabbled too long in the dark arts. She’s an incoherent mess.” He shook his head. “She’s a pretty thing, though. I see why you kept your vow. I sense her power. She’ll give you fine children. Perhaps a nanny might ease—”

“No one is easing anything,” I snarled, that buzz filling my head again. “Asa is mine.”

“Bursts of clarity only make it worse.” Wilbur squeezed Asa’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Beside me, Clay was laughing so hard, his entire body bounced with each breath-stealing chortle.

“I’ll take care of her while you work.” Clay dissolved into giggles, slung his arm around my shoulders, and forced me to bear part of his weight. “A walk will calm her.”

We hit the discolored sidewalk leading into town, leaving Asa behind to interview the crochety dryad. We had gone a few blocks before Clay caught his breath and stood on his own. Wisely, he didn’t let go.

“Before you break into a car and drive off into the sunset to escape the word mate, let me explain what I know about dryads.” He clenched his grip on me. “They despise black witches for thwarting natural law.”

An ice cream parlor still in the process of opening beckoned him with promises of its classic flavors made fresh daily. This wasn’t the first time we had eaten ice cream for lunch. With the right toppings, you could almost hit all the major food groups. The gummy version of them anyway.

“There’s a good chance Wilbur would have attacked you once he satisfied his curiosity about Asa.” A bell tinkled above the door when he shoved me through it. “Dryads are rarer than ever the last several decades. Pollution and deforestation are killing off a beneficial species we depend on to keep Earth hospitable. It would be a pity to kill one.”

“Especially since he emerged at the scene,” I slathered on the sarcasm, “and he might have valuable information he can pass on?”

“Ace claiming you made the dryad hesitate.” Clay ignored the gibe. “It gave us time to get out of there.”