Page 66 of Bewicched

“It is,” Detective Osso said, as he walked back in. “He’s like me, Sofia, when it comes to hearing and scent.”

Hernández’s brow furrowed as she looked back and forth between the men. “Exactly like you?”

“Not exactly,” he said, crouching down by the dead nurse a moment before looking up at Dave. “Who are you and what do you know about this?”

“Dave.”

Detective Osso waited a beat and then pushed, “Dave what?”

Dave pulled his wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open, showing his ID.

Osso copied down the info and then stood, waiting for Dave to answer the second half of his question.

“Sorry, just one thing, Detective Osso.” I walked across the room to stand directly in front of him, my back to Detective Hernández. I mouthed,Does she know about you?

After a charged moment, he tipped his head in a way I interpreted as yes.

I threw a muffling spell at the door and then, eyebrows raised in question, I checked in with everyone assembled. Dave shrugged. Declan nodded. My mother dried her face with a tissue in her bag and said, “I trust your judgment.”

“What’s going on? Arwyn?” Detective Hernández was looking decidedly nervous.

“Okay. I think we need to stop trading in partial truths,” I began.

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

I really hoped I was making the right decision. “Cards on the table. You already know that Detective Osso is a bear shifter.” I turned to him. “Am I using the correct term?”

He nodded. “Close enough.”

Hernández looked panicked for only a moment before her expression smoothed out. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s okay,” Osso said. “These two are wicches”—he gestured to Mom and me—“that one is a werewolf, and judging by the scent of sulfur, I’d say this one is a demon.”

Dave nodded.

Hernández looked like she might stroke out, so I hurried on to explain. “A wicche who works with demons to gain power and cause pain is called a sorcerer. They’re evil. Normal wicches, like Mom and me, have been around for millennia. We’re born with our powers and do no harm to the mundane world. A demon—not this one—was working with a sorcerer to pull my aunt into a coma.”

Hernández crossed herself and stepped away from Dave, almost backing into Declan. You could see it on her face. She remembered what Declan was and took another step to the side.

“Sorry,” I said. “I know this is a lot. I’m trying to give you the quick version. Our own healers couldn’t help Sylvia, which is how she ended up in this hospital. We don’t normally come to places like this for fear of our true natures coming to light.

“I met this demon,” I said, gesturing to Dave, “a little while ago. He seemed decent enough, so I contacted him to see if he’d be willing to come here and try to figure out who the sorcerer and demon targeting my aunt are.”

“And did you?” Hernández asked Dave.

“Yes and no,” he responded. “Yes, I know the demon, but that’s no help in this situation. He wouldn’t name his symbiot, which isn’t surprising. I caught a glimpse of her in his thoughts, when his defenses were low.”

Hernández scribbled a few notes and then flinched.

“It’s best not to take notes on any of this,” Dave said.

The detective stared a moment longer at the now blank sheet of paper and then put the notebook in her pocket.

“The woman he’s working with has big green Corey eyes. She was in shadow, huddled behind Abigail.”

“Abigail?” my mom repeated.

“That’s what I saw. Abigail’s not involved in this, but someone who worked with her is.”

---