Page 51 of Thunder Road

“Thanks.” Vic headed to join her.

Vic snuck a glance on the security camera board to get a look at his visitor before entering the room. The only description that fit was motorcycle goth. Maret looked to be in her early thirties,somewhat younger than Samuels, with dark hair tinted magenta toward the ends. Slender and tall, she wore a fringed black leather biker jacket, black jeans, and real-deal short leather boots that weren’t a fashion statement.

He opened the door and tried to look like a safe contact. “Ms. Maret? I’m Detective D’amato.” Vic knew from Simon that the names witches used in public were not their real names, a way to protect themselves from those who would try to gain power over them.

Maret looked up. “Detective. Thank you for seeing me. Chad spoke well of you.” Her raspy voice suggested she shared her partner’s fondness for cigarettes, and she smelled of menthol and verbena.

Vic moved to sit down across from her. “He spoke highly of you too. Thank you for coming to the station. How can I help?”

Up close, Vic revised his guestimate to be late thirties. She had a protective tattoo on the side of her neck, and more ink peeked from the neckline of her shirt. A Helm of Awe circle covered the back of her right hand, with an additional Norse rune on the top of each finger. On her left hand, the symbol of the goddess overlay a pentacle within a circle.

Rings of braded silver adorned her hands, which had long nails painted midnight purple. Maret wore several silver charms on chains around her neck, and Vic recognized the designs as ones Simon often inscribed. By all the measures Vic knew to look for, Maret seemed legit.

“Chad told me that the creature the club made their deal with isn’t a demon, it’s a troll, and that you know people who can bind it,” she replied, skeptical and challenging.

“That’s right. I don’t have magic, but my husband and his friends do. He’s pulling together a coalition of people from different magical traditions to work the incantation that originally created the lighthouses’ protection. That can’t destroythe troll, but it should limit the harm he can do.” Vic didn’t bat an eye, which seemed to surprise her.

Maret glanced at the ring on Vic’s left hand and then gave him a measured look. “Magic and gay cops. What’s the world coming to?”

Despite Maret’s attitude, Vic liked her and suspected that at least some of her confrontational approach was defensive.

“Samuels said you head up the club’s coven and might be interested in helping stop the troll. I’ve already mentioned you to Simon, who is gathering the team, and he said you and yours would be welcome.” Vic held his breath, unsure whether Maret had come to scoff or was open to joining the effort.

“What would we have to do?” Maret’s body language signaled mistrust. Vic didn’t blame her. Cops weren’t usually in the habit of recruiting witches. He considered it to be a minor miracle she had even shown up to hear him out.

“A core group is going to North Island to work the incantation that created the protections over a hundred years ago. The spells gradually lost power when there stopped being live-in lighthouse keepers to renew the wardings. This should restore the protections, which limits the troll—among other things.”

“Visitors aren’t allowed on North Island,” Maret challenged.

“Simon’s got connections,” Vic replied. “While he and the core group are doing that, any other witches, wiccans, root workers, and folks who want to lend their power to the effort are gathering at his store on the boardwalk. The club has agreed to protect that location, as well as heading off trouble around the homeless shelters, where the troll has been snacking between offerings.”

“Yeah, he told me. Can’t say I was thrilled that he agreed, but he does as he pleases.” She shrugged. “Can you drop any names of these witchy types? Maybe I’ve heard of them.”

Vic met her gaze, knowing that she was testing both his knowledge and the legitimacy of the effort. “Miss Eppie, a local root worker. Gabriella Hernandez, who owns the botanica. Their friends with abilities. The retired nuns from St. Cyprian’s. And from Charleston, the St. Expeditus Society, and a witch named Rowan.”

Maret raised an eyebrow and dropped the attitude. “Holy shit. They’re the real deal. How the fuck?—”

“Simon’s the real deal too,” Vic replied. “They’re his network. We’ve worked together before.”

Maret tapped her long nails on the table. “You know, I thought I’d come here and bust your chops about fake magic and feeding the club a line of bullshit. But damned if you actually know what the hell you’re talking about. Good on you. This might work—and your folks might live through it.”

“That’s the plan.” Vic was careful not to let anything Maret said get under his skin. Despite her skepticism, he sensed she had real power and hoped she would agree to help.

“Chad told me about the club being the muscle,” Maret added. “They’d better not be cannon fodder.”

Vic shook his head. “No, ma’am. Simon plans to provide protective amulets to everyone who wants one, as well as setting up their area with wardings to keep the troll at a distance. He’s hoping there’s no confrontation and that the creature focuses on the witches at the lighthouse. The club is acting as security in case the troll can manipulate humans to do its bidding and attack. Basic crowd control.”

Maret didn’t respond immediately, but her posture eased, and Vic sensed that his answers surprised her. If she wasn’t exactly pleased, at least she hadn’t gotten angry.

“What’s the catch? I get Chad thinks the club owes you one for looking into Carter’s death. But what about my folks? What do we owe you?”

“Nothing.” Vic tried not to sound impatient. “We all get to live troll-free as long as the protections and wardings are replenished. Just a bunch of people with special abilities stopping a common threat.”

“Jesus, you make it sound like you’re assembling a team of comic book superheroes.” Maret rolled her eyes. Vic got the insight that she was enjoying sparring with him and that if she hadn’t decided to join them, she’d have already left. “We don’t have to wear matching Spandex super suits, do we? Because I have standards.”

Vic stifled a smile. “No matching outfits aside from your club jackets. I promise.”

Maret gave a sharp nod. “All right then. You’ve got some witches on your side—this time. Where do you need us and when?”

---