Page 11 of Magic Unleashed

Griff nodded, standing and stepping into Fontaine’s office. The councilman himself sat behind an enormous oak desk, his tailored suit impeccable, every inch of him the picture of a seasoned politician. But Griff wasn’t fooled. He could feel the undercurrent of unease, the slight tension in Fontaine’s shoulders that belied his calm exterior.

“Detective,” Fontaine greeted, extending a hand. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Griff accepted the handshake, his grip firm as he locked eyes with the councilman. “I appreciate you making the time, Councilman. Just following up on a few leads concerning the recent uptick in... strange activity around the city.”

Fontaine’s smile wavered, just for a fraction of a second. “Strange activity? I’m not sure I follow, Detective.”

Griff settled into the chair opposite Fontaine’s desk, his dragon instincts humming just beneath the surface. He could sense the shift in Fontaine’s energy, the way his pulse quickened slightly. “I’m sure you’ve heard about a string of seeminglyrandom murders recently. Word on the street is that there are some... unusual alliances forming. People dabbling in things they shouldn’t—things that are best left alone—dangerous things.”

Fontaine’s face remained impassive, but Griff noticed the slight twitch of his fingers as they tapped the desk. “I can assure you, Detective, the city council is doing everything in its power to ensure the safety of New Orleans—coordinating with the police and other authorities. I don’t see how you could think I would be involved in any... unsavory dealings.”

Griff leaned forward, his gaze never leaving Fontaine’s face. “I’m not saying you are, Councilman. But I’ve learned that these things often have a way of creeping into places we least expect. Sometimes, people get involved without fully understanding what they’re getting into.”

Fontaine’s jaw tightened, and that’s when Griff saw it—a glimpse of something beneath the cuff of the councilman’s sleeve. A symbol, etched into his skin, faint but unmistakable. It was the same symbol Phoenix had described to him from the cult meeting.

Griff’s blood ran cold, but he kept his expression neutral. He couldn’t afford to tip his hand yet. Instead, he smiled and stood, offering a casual nod. “Well, I appreciate your time, Councilman. If you hear about anything unusual, don’t hesitate to reach out. We’re all trying to keep the city safe.”

Fontaine stood as well; his smile tight. “Of course, Detective. If I come across anything, I’ll be in touch.”

That symbol was all the confirmation he needed. Fontaine was involved, and he wasn’t just a pawn—he was in deep.

He was just leaving Fontaine’s office when his cell phone buzzed with a text.

Meet me at Café du Monde. You can buy me a coffee and beignets.

Griff had just locked up his Harley outside of Café du Monde, one of New Orleans’ most famous landmarks, when he spotted Geneva waiting for him at the entrance. Her hair, much darker than Phoenix’s but with the same telltale wave, caught in the breeze coming in from the water as she leaned against the wrought iron railing. She waved him over, a casual smile on her face, but Griff could sense the tension lurking beneath her easy demeanor.

He walked up, nodding in greeting. "Geneva."

"Griff," she responded, pushing herself off the railing. "I heard you had a meeting with Fontaine. I figured you could use a break."

Griff followed her into the café, the scent of fresh beignets and powdered sugar mingling with the thick aroma of chicory coffee. It was one of those perfect New Orleans mornings where the humidity was just shy of suffocating, but the promise of a storm in the distance kept the air charged.

Geneva found them a small table near the back, away from the crush of tourists. She wasted no time ordering a round of beignets and coffee, leaning back in her chair once the server left. "You look like you haven't slept."

Griff rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, feeling the weight of the past few nights pressing in. Between the investigation, the demon cult, and the increasingly complicated feelings he had for Phoenix, sleep had become a rare commodity. "Busy week."

Geneva nodded, her expression softening for a moment. "I know. It’s been crazy for me, too. The morgue’s been overflowing with bodies I can’t explain." She paused, her gaze sharpening as she leaned in a little. "Which brings me to why I wanted to talk to you."

Griff tensed, already suspecting what she was going to say. "It’s about the residue I had you test, isn’t it?"

"Yeah," she sighed, sitting back as the server brought their order. She took a slow sip of her coffee, as if gathering her thoughts. "I’ve confirmed your suspicions—there’s definitely dark magic at play. No doubt about that. The energy signature was off the charts, nothing like anything I’ve seen before."

Griff leaned forward, his fingers tightening around his own cup. "But?"

Geneva bit her lower lip, brushing powdered sugar from her fingers before meeting his eyes. "But… I haven’t been able to get anything conclusive. It’s like the residue is too degraded or mixed with something else. Whatever spell was used, it’s ancient and powerful. It left a trace, but nothing I can properly analyze in the lab."

Frustration simmered in Griff's chest. He had been counting on Geneva’s expertise to break open this case. "So, we're at a dead end?"

"Not necessarily." She hesitated for a second, looking unsure of how to proceed. "There’s someone who might be able to help, but... I need your permission first."

"Who?" Griff’s curiosity piqued, though a slight unease stirred in his gut.

"My aunt," Geneva replied, her voice dropping a notch. "You remember Aunt Maeve?"

Griff nodded slowly. “Yes, we spoke briefly last night.”

Geneva chuckled. For someone who spent a lot of time with dead bodies, she had a wicked sense of humor and a mischievous grin.

---