Page 16 of Real Fake Hauntings

I patted his arm on my way to the pentagram. “You need to learn how to be in the moment. Live a little! Put on some dog ears or something.”

“Har, har,” he muttered, coming to stand by my side.

As with the other pentagrams, I took a bunch of photos, then checked for residual magic. Yup, a spell had also been performed here.

“Who discovered it?”

“One of my shifters smelled the blood during her morning run,” Hutton said.

“What time?”

“About four.”

“The witching hour,” I murmured.

“That’s three, isn’t it?”

“Who’s the witch here?”

He pressed his lips tightly and said nothing. Smart man. Wouldn’t want to wake up with a neon yellow face next time he needed one of my potions.

Like the symbols on Janet’s pentagram, the ones here were also slightly sloppy, drawn in a hurry. The culprit must’ve gotten scared a roaming shifter might smell the blood ahead of time. Hutton’s pack often went around the grounds in their wolf forms—that was the whole point of the pack living in a gated community with a forest inside. You could glamour your scent, but you couldn’t hide the smell of blood as easily.

“Whoever did these was a busy person,” I mulled aloud. “Four buildings in one night, all some distance from each other.”

“Or owned a car,” Hutton added unhelpfully.

“Any suspects come to mind? Anyone with a beef with the pack?”

“You’re seriously asking that?”

Once again, I found myself sweating under my jacket. “Right. Too many to count. What about people who’ve hung around the front entrance lately? Anyone try to get in from the forest side?”

Clawstone Park’s forest rear-ended near the cemetery and had no fence on that side. Patrols and old, very powerful wards meant to repel interest usually took care of any intruders.

“We always have idiots trying to get inside this time of year.”

“Maybe one got mad that you didn’t let them in and decided to prank you guys?” But no, that made no sense. Why put pentagrams on the other buildings too? Some foul names on this wall would’ve been enough. “Do you have security cameras?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should.”

He shrugged, as if the notion was of no importance. Was Ian the only security-conscious paranormal in town?

“What about your alibi?”

His eyes narrowed. “My alibi?”

“What were you doing last night?”

“Sleeping.”

“Alone?”

He growled. “None of your damn business.”

“Hmm. That’s not a very good alibi.”

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