Cursed Moon (Prospero's War) (19 page)

I grabbed her uninjured hand in mine and squeezed. “This doesn’t have to be you falling off the wagon. Maybe it’s just a wake-up call. You tried it and it sucked. Now you know and can never try it again.”

She looked down at our hands. Her teeth worried her bottom lip for a second. Then she whispered, “That’s the problem.” She looked up, and her eyes were bright with fear. “It didn’t suck, Kate.”

I closed my eyes and cursed. A memory elbowed its way to the front of my brain. Holding the Gray Wolf potion in my hand. The tingle of energy zinging up my arm. The rush of adrenaline making my pulse sprint. The surge of power that bordered on lust. No, I agreed silently, it didn’t suck at all.

Let her off the hook, my conscience begged.

But I couldn’t. In my gut I knew it was a mistake to enable
her just to ease my own guilty conscience. “This ends today,” I said. “No more.”

Her expression morphed from regretful to rebellious. “Don’t take that tone with me, Detective. I’m not some freaker strung out on a five-dollar dirty magic potion.”

I raised a brow. “Not yet.”

She paled as if I’d struck her. “What are you gonna do, report me to your precious team? Send Morales over to put me in cuffs?”

I sighed. “It’s not like that and you know it. I’m worried about you, Pen. Have you forgotten the last time you got hooked on potions?”

Her gaze skittered away from mine. “This is different.”

I stared her down. “The pain you’re experiencing isn’t easy, but it won’t kill you. But we both know an addiction will. Your heart is still weak from the last time.”

A decade earlier, Pen had been a stressed graduate student who fueled her studying binges with an energy potion supplied to her from one of her classmates. On her twenty-third birthday, she had a massive heart attack.

A wave of emotion rose like a tide in my chest. I blinked quickly before I lost my ability to deliver the tough love she needed. “If I find out you’ve taken another potion, I won’t be coming back around.”

My words lay between us like a bomb. In the other room, the sound of Baba bustling through the front door echoed through the tiny apartment. “Kate? Pen?”

Pen ignored her. “In here,” I called, glancing toward the bedroom door.

“I want you to leave.”

I swung back around, my mouth open in shock. “Pen—”

She jerked so suddenly, I was worried she’d hurt herself. “Get out!”

Baba appeared at the door, a worried expression on her wrinkled face. “Kate?”

I held out a hand to quiet her for a moment. “Think real hard before you tell me to leave again,” I said in a low tone. “Because it won’t be easy to get me to come back.”

She looked me directly in my eyes. “Go back to your precious team. That’s where you’d rather be anyway.”

Her words were like jabs to my gut.

“Girls?” Baba said.

Instead of responding to either of them, I rose with as much dignity as I could muster. I collected my coat and shrugged into it on my way toward the door.

“Pen? Tell her to stay.”

I shook my head at the old woman. “She made her decision.”

Baba paled. Clearly she believed this fight was all about Pen’s potion use. I wasn’t going to be the one to correct that assumption. “Make sure you check your purse before you leave. If she steals anything else, I suggest you file charges.”

“Bitch,” Pen hissed.

I looked back at my best friend. Her hair stuck up in spiky tufts, and her skin was pale. Dark circles made her eyes look like black holes.

“Get well soon, Pen.”

With that I turned and walked out the door with the echo of my best friend’s sobs chasing me all the way out of the apartment.

October 25

Waxing Gibbous

T
he next afternoon I rolled into the gym feeling like I’d spent the night sleeping on rocks. Frustration and anger over my argument with Pen had pushed at my pressure points until I was tossing and turning like the princess and the fucking pea. I’d finally given up trying to sleep before the sun rose.

I’d been a cop for five years. In that time, I’d heard every excuse in the book from potion junkies. My life would have been a hell of a lot easier in some ways if I’d never quit magic. I certainly would have had more money. Most likely, I’d be the head of the Votary Coven, assuming no one put a bullet in me and I hadn’t gone down with Uncle Abe.

I had walked away not because it was the easy thing, but because it was the right thing. So my tolerance for other people’s excuses for weak behavior was pretty much zero. Especially
people I knew were capable of being strong, like Pen. She’d put herself through college and created a nice life for herself despite a very troubled past. If she thought I was going to stand by and watch her throw all that away, she was sorely mistaken.

“Yo, Prospero!” Shadi called the instant I walked into the gym.

“What?” I snapped.

She paused and widened her eyes. “Who pissed in your cereal?”

“How much time you got?”

She laughed. “Might have something here could change your luck.” She waved a file folder like it was chocolate or a bottle of good whiskey.

“What’s that?”

“I spent my night going over the information we got from Dionysus’s landlord.”

“And?”

“I found him, Kate.”

I went very still, praying she wasn’t fucking with me. “
Found him
found him?”

“The name he used on his lease matched an alias used by an escaped mental patient from New York.”

“Holy shit, Shadi.” I couldn’t help it. Despite my best efforts to be in a pissy mood, a smile broke out across my face. “Tell me everything.”

She waved me over to a desk and opened the folder. Inside were several printed pages that looked like hospital forms.

“His real name is Scott McQueen.”

“Scott McQueen.” I sampled the name on my tongue. “Seems too… Mundane.”

Shadi nodded. “Figure that’s why he decided to call himself Dionysus.”

“What else you got?”

She pulled out some forms. “Called in a favor from some MEA agents who called in some of their own favors to get access to his files. I was worried we’d need a warrant, but turns out the MEA in New York already had his records on file.”

I frowned. “They’re looking for the same guy?”

She nodded. “Scott was arrested five years ago for murdering his parents. The guy went nuts at trial, claiming his father had been abusing him for years and his mother turned a blind eye.”

I frowned. “Did the jury believe him?”

She shook her head. “His father was a judge and his mother was on the board of every charity in their town. Real upstanding folks.” She shrugged. “Anyway, didn’t matter really because his behavior was so erratic everyone believed he’d just gone insane and killed them. What did him in was one day in court he tackled a guard and got ahold of the S and P spray the guy was carrying. Before anyone could stop him, he sprayed himself in the face with the stuff.”

I whistled low. “Ouch.”

She nodded. “No shit. Anyway, they sentenced him to a prison for the criminally insane. And that should have been the end of it.”

I crossed my arms and leaned back against the desk to wait for her to continue.

“About six months ago, there was a riot among the inmates.” She looked up. “Several guards were injured. A few inmates killed. Took a full day to lock the place down. But when they did, guess who wasn’t accounted for?”

My brows shot to my hairline. “Scotty McQueen.”

She nodded. “Before he left, he raided the prison’s infirmary and stole all of the potions in their stockroom.”

“How did the MEA get involved?”

“The agent I spoke to said he first hit their radar in Boston.
Local wizes started reporting thefts. Thought they had a new Raven in town. After a few weeks, though, the activity died down. But then the MEA in Chicago had similar reports. Same MO. Near as they can tell he’s been moving from city to city funding his moves by robbing the top covens in each city.”

“And now he’s in Babylon.”

She nodded. “But his moves here haven’t fit the pattern.”

“Why?”

“First of all, he stayed under the radar before. Didn’t taunt cops or city officials like he’s done here. The Dionysus thing is new, too. Reports we have out of the other cities don’t show any mention of a name.”

“So why put on a special show for Babylon?”

She shrugged. “Could be this was his destination the whole time. He seems too organized for this to be a random place to pull off the Blue Moon plan.”

I chewed my bottom lip and thought it over. “What do we know about his parents?”

“I need to do some more digging,” she said. “I did see some notes from the mental hospital that he kept up the abuse story even after he was sent away.”

“Nothing new for a criminal to deny guilt.”

“Yeah, but one of his therapists seemed to believe him.”

“You got a name?”

Shadi glanced down at the report. “Dr. Flamel.”

“Hmm,” I said. “According to O’Lachlan, McQueen is preaching to his followers about stripping society of its masks. Might be a connection to his parents putting on a front.” I shrugged. “Or he’s just batshit insane.”

“Clearly he’s that. Question is why’d he bring all that crazy to our town?”

“See if you can track down Flamel. Maybe he can give us some insight about why McQueen chose Babylon. Also ask if there’s any specific connection to the full moon.”

“I tried and couldn’t find anything specific, but I’ll try to get in touch with some of our agents in New York.” She nodded and slapped the folder shut. “Anything else?”

“Is Gardner around?”

She shook her head. “She was here earlier, but she got a call and ran off in a hurry.”

I frowned. “All right. I’ll catch her later.” I paused and smiled at her. “Thanks for finding this intel.”

She grinned back. “I just hope it helps us nab this SOB.”

“Amen, sister.” While she returned to her bloodhounding, I went to my desk and set down all my things. About that time, Morales came out of the door that led to the old locker room. His hair was wet, which meant he’d gotten to work early to make use of the old punching bags and grabbed a shower after. “What’s up, Prospero?”

“You talk to Shadi already?”

“Yes, ma’am. Odd, ain’t it, that he chose Babylon?”

“That’s what I said.” I sat with my hip perched on the edge of my desk. “She’s looking for a local connection.”

He nodded, as if he’d made the same call when he’d talked to Shadi. “How’s Pen?”

My lips twisted. “She’s fine.”

“I hope you weren’t too hard on her.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re joking. Of course I was hard on her.”

He shook his head. “You ever have a broken rib, Cupcake?”

“No, but I’ve broken other bones.”

“All I’m sayin’ is she’s been through a lot. Taking one potion
to ease the pain doesn’t mean she’s going to start riding the magic dragon again.”

“Whatever,” I said, crossing my arms. Before I could change the subject to one less likely to get me yelling, his phone buzzed.

He checked caller ID first. “What’s up, sir?”

Whatever Gardner’s response was, it made Morales’s brow slam together. “Got it,” he said in a clipped tone that could only mean trouble. “We’ll be there ASAP.”

He punched the End button and looked up at me. “Let’s roll, Cupcake.”

The luxury apartment building stood out like a garish rhinestone in a pile of rust. Volos had built the Phoenix along the Steel River as part of his plans to revitalize the Cauldron’s dying neighborhoods.

When the call came from Gardner to meet her at this address, she’d been sketchy with the details. Just that we needed to meet her there ASAP. When we’d arrived, the entire block was cordoned off and police lights flashed like strobes.

Morales and I ran into Mez on our way toward the building.

“You know what’s happening?” I asked the wizard. His dreads were their natural brown color that day. Instead of his normal vintage-inspired uniform, he wore a pair of faded jeans and a concert T-shirt from the alchemical band Spirit of Vitriol’s
Solutio
tour.

He held up his phone. “Just got a text to meet her at this address.”

“Judging from the production out here, we’re not looking at another theft.”

In the city of Babylon, personal theft was categorized as
a felony, and any calls coming in for those sorts of crimes required four units to respond. But there had to be ten uniformed cops just outside the building, and through the glass doors of the building I could see dozens more milling around the building’s lobby.

“Murder?” Morales said.

Thinking about Aphrodite’s potions, I countered, “Or sexual assault.”

At that we all fell silent. We flashed our credentials at the police tape. “Special Agent Gardner around?” I asked the shift supervisor near the front doors.

“Top floor.”

Morales froze beside me. “Isn’t Volos’s apartment up there?”

The blood rushed from my face. I nodded and took off toward the building with the guys on my tail.

We took the stairs to the fourth floor because the CSI team was busy dusting the elevator for prints. On our way up we passed several other officers, who all wore the stoic expressions cops get at particularly gruesome crime scenes.

By the time we reached the top floor, my heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the stairs we climbed and everything to do with worry. All the signs so far indicated a violent crime had occurred. The thought that the victim might be John scared me more than I was comfortable admitting to myself.

Once we reached the hallway, I expected to turn right, toward the door I knew to be John’s. Instead, all the action was centered on a door on the opposite end of the long hallway. Momentarily disoriented, I veered left and stopped in my tracks. About halfway down the hallway, a female uni was taking a statement from none other than John Volos.

The tightness in my chest eased a fraction, but before relief could totally claim me, a hotter emotion reared up. Deep down
I knew the anger was directed at myself, but I wasn’t evolved enough to claim it. Instead I spun it around and aimed it directly at the man I’d been worried about two seconds earlier.

“Watch yourself, Cupcake,” Morales said under his breath. “You’re glaring at Volos like he killed your best friend.”

I realized that my hands were clenched into fists and my jaw was tight. I forcibly relaxed my muscles.

A quick glance down the hall revealed that John was watching me. His eyes were narrowed with concern. A silent question passed from him to me—
What’s wrong?

I shook my head. I didn’t want his concern. I didn’t want to talk to him about how I was pissed at myself for caring whether he was alive or dead. And I certainly didn’t want to focus on the fact that in his faded jeans, mussed hair, and bare feet he looked a lot like the old John I used to love.

“I’m fine,” I snapped at Morales. “Let’s go.”

I marched forward, studiously avoiding Volos’s probing gaze. I heard Morales greet the tycoon and saw Mez nod a greeting from the corner of my eye. I barely spared him a glance and kept walking.

“Hello, Kate,” he called. I waved a hand over my shoulder and kept going.

The CSI supervisor, a real hard-ass named Perkins, greeted us at the apartment’s door and insisted we all don booties and gloves. “What’s the deal?” I asked him.

“Homicide. You might want masks, too. It’s pretty ripe.”

I shook my head. It’s not that I enjoyed the smell of death, but the ability to handle a rotting corpse was somewhat of a mark of honor among the BPD. Only rookies and pussies wore masks, and God help you if you yakked. Especially in front of one of the CSI guys, who’d give you holy hell for contaminating the crime scene.