Page 6 of Wicche Hunt

“Dave said it was a good one—effective, that is. And Clive said it was life or death. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do in order to survive for the next fight. And Sam is a survivor.”

Declan let out a gust of breath. “Yeah, sometimes you do.” And we were back to the Alpha challenge. In order for Declan to survive, Logan had to die.

We were quiet for the rest of the drive, each lost in our own thoughts. When Declan pulled up to The Sea Wicche, there was already a familiar car parked in front.

“Looks like the good detective needs you again,” Declan said.

THREE

Admit it. She’s a Dick

As I slid out of Declan’s tall truck, Detective Hernández slammed her door and came around the front of her car to meet us. She was my age—twenty-eight. We’d gone to school together. We’d known of each other but hadn’t been friends. I was the weirdo with long, curly hair that was a mélange of brown, red, and gold. People had been accusing my mom and then me of dyeing my hair ever since I was a toddler.

Sofia Hernández, though, had been cool and liked by just about everyone. She was athletic, studious, and seemed genuinely kind. As I’d been on the outskirts of high school society, though, what did I know? The student who wears gloves all the time and occasionally drops to the ground in a seizure-like vision isn’t on everyone’s invite list.

She checked her watch. “Thank goodness. I was falling asleep.”

“You should have called. I could have given you our ETA,” I said, coiling up my hair and stuffing it down the back of my top. The wind was coming in strong off the ocean.

“I did. It went to voicemail. I was giving it another thirty minutes and then heading home.” Hernández ran a hand over her dark brown hair, checking the thick bun at the base of her skull, and nodded hello to Declan. She had big brown eyes framed by dark lashes and a cupid’s bow mouth, one she held in a firm line.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked. Yup. Two missed calls. “Sorry. We were driving back from San Francisco on the coast route. There are spots without cell service.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Kind of relaxing. Just sitting in the dark, listening to a podcast. Anyway, I wanted you to know a woman washed ashore today. She’s been identified as Pearl Corey.”

“Oh.” I went to sit on the steps of the gallery. “I knew it was coming. I saw her death. Still, it hits hard when my visions become reality. We weren’t close or anything, but she was a sweet little cousin I watched grow up at family functions.” I looked up at the detective as Declan sat beside me, wrapping an arm around me. “You’ve told her mom?”

Hernández nodded.

“I’ll tell mine. We’ll go visit Aunt Hester.” I thought about it a moment. “You didn’t sit outside my gallery waiting to tell me this.”

The detective shook her head. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I also want your help. She’s been in the water too long. They can’t get any evidence off her body at this point.” A strand of long hair came loose from her tight bun, and she tucked it behind her ear.

“Come on. Tell me you’re not asking me to read my poor dead cousin?”

Hernández didn’t flinch. “I’m asking you to read your cousin. I want her killer caught before he does this again. And I waited here because I have a friend who’s a coroner. She’s on the nightshift. Hopefully she won’t be weird about me bringing a consultant. The body’s been processed. It’s about to be turned over to her mother. We only have tonight to do this. If you agree, that is.”

“She hasn’t eaten,” Declan interjected. “Maybe we should—”

I patted his knee. “It’s better if I don’t. Less to come back up if the vision is bad.”

He pulled me closer. “Right.”

“It’s about a thirty-minute drive from here. I can take you and bring you back—if you agree,” she said.

I looked up at Declan and patted my backpack. I appreciated that he cared and wanted to protect me. It was an unusual experience in my life, but I had to go.

He nodded. “I’ll drive.” He took my gloved hand and pulled me up.

We let Hernández lead the way. Traffic was already light downtown and became nonexistent once we headed away from the city center. She eventually pulled over in front of a squat, nondescript white building with lettering that readMonterey County Coroner.

When the detective got out, she pocketed her phone and pointed to the front door. “Dr. Landscombe will let us in. I called and explained the situation on the way over. I had to do some arm twisting.”

Declan and I followed her up the cement walkway. I didn’t want to be here. Places like this were crawling with horrible memories, just waiting for me to accidentally brush a wrist or ankle against a doorknob or chair leg, waiting for me to relive someone’s greatest trauma.

A pale woman with pinched features, wearing a white coat, walked down the hall toward the glass front doors. She looked up at six-foot-six, bearded Declan and hesitated. Hernández waved and the woman started moving again, pushing open the door.

“Sorry,” the doctor said. “I was expecting two women.” She gave Hernández a look and said, “Come on, then,” leading us down a dingy white corridor. One of the fluorescent panels overhead flickered. This was the beginning of a horror movie.

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