Whiskey Witches, F.J. Blooding [ap literature book list .TXT] 📗

In the drifting darkness, Paige could make out the vague outlines of houses and trees. She knew this street. Her head hurt too much to concentrate, though. The setting morphed and walls grew up around her from the fog.

“Paige. What took you so long?”

Paige spun in a slow circle. She was dreaming, right? Maybe not. The walls, the ceiling, books, and everything were far too real. She could focus on any of it. So not a dream.

A tall, well-dressed man with black hair and eyes walked toward her with a warm, welcoming smile. He looked relieved as he clasped her hand in both of his. She found herself smiling at him before he even opened his mouth. There was just something…very comforting about him, like a favorite sweatshirt found buried in the back of the closet.

“You didn’t have to make an appointment to come see me. You know that.”

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

He turned from her and walked into an office. “They’ve been gathering. I was hoping to see you much sooner than this. What was so pressing in Denver? I haven’t heard of anything rising there. This should have been your first priority. Someone is obviously trying to get your attention.”

Her eyes narrowed. “My attention?”

“Did you miss the connection to the Pilmner case? This killer’s using the same symbols, but we know it’s not the same guy. He’s in prison serving several life sentences.”

“Pilmner? What?”

“Paige. You’re better than this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We need to figure out who knows about you and—” He interrupted himself and raised his chin. Disappointment filtered across his face. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Dr. Balnore Ramirez.” Paige suddenly recalled his name. She’d seen it in the case files. “You were seeing Ashley Fort, the second victim in the St. Francisville murders.”

The doctor’s open expression slammed shut as he pulled back and took a careful seat in his leather chair. He crossed one leg over the other, one elbow propped on his desk. He picked up a pen and rolled it in his fingers watching her warily.

Paige knew she was dreaming. This wasn’t the first time she’d replayed interviews. This was the first one she’d initiated in a dream, however.

“Are you sure you’re dreaming?”

She jerked in surprise. Was he reading her mind?

“Detective,” he said, his tone stern, his expression hard. “How can I be of assistance?”

A brown leather chair materialized behind her. Sinking into it, she took in a steadying breath. “Am I supposed to know you?”

His nostrils flared minutely. “Do you?”

She narrowed her gaze and shook her head.

He shrugged, his cheeks sucked into an expression of dark brooding. “Then you do not.”

What the hell was this guy’s problem? “Dr. Ramirez, I am here to investigate the murders of three individuals. You were the psychiatrist for Mrs. Fort—”

“I was Ashley’s psychologist.”

Paige gestured with her hand, brushing off his affront. “Psychologist. I need to know if she mentioned seeing anyone new. If maybe she mentioned something she and the victims were working on. I don’t know. Anything that might be helpful.”

The doctor rubbed his nose with his index finger. “Perhaps. How much do you believe?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are the witch detective.”

She rolled her eyes. That never got old.

“They found a key. Malika brought it out. They were scrying. You know, looking for something with magick.”

“I know what scrying is.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Ashley was scared. Didn’t like what she saw.”

Something about how he said the word, key, sent a chill down her spine. “What do you mean?”

“Ashley had foresight. Do you know what that means?”

“She believed she could see into the future.”

He tapped his fingers on the desk in a pointed staccato. “You don’t believe in that.”

Paige shrugged. “It could be she was just really good at logic puzzles.”

The doctor studied her. Whatever conclusions he came to remained locked behind his unchanging face. “She was scared. Said something dark was coming, that the magick was turning toward the left-hand path.” he picked up a pen from the desk, idly clicking it.

“What did she tell you about the key?”

The sudden weight in his gaze pinned her in place. “Only that they were trying to open it. Does that make sense to you?”

“No.” She tapped her pen on her notepad, squirming under the power of his attention.

“Check Mike and Malika’s alibis.”

“Who are they?”

“Lieutenant Mike Jones and his girlfriend Malika Moore.”

Those names hadn’t popped up in the case files.

“No. They wouldn’t have.”

Good goddamn! Was he reading her mind again? What was going on?

“Brian pulled Lieutenant Jones off the case when Ashley was killed.”

“So?”

“The two had been friends, but what the good chief didn’t know was they were a part of a coven.”

That was important information, but wait. What? “Coven?”

Dr. Ramirez nodded.

How was she getting this information in a dream?

“Are you sure this is a dream?” The corner of his lips rose slightly as if in playful challenge.

Paige’s pulse quickened. “What else could it be?”

“You sought me out like you used to. We’re communicating like we did before Leah.”

Her heart clenched and she swallowed. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

Dr. Ramirez pursed his lips. “Why are you still blocked? The wards should have been dropped a long time ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your missing years.” He opened a book on his desk and idly trailed a finger down the page.

Her entire body stilled. “How do you know about that?”

“I was there. Have you tried to get your memories back? Are you waiting for them to magically reappear?”

“Who are you?”

“Do you realize what your inaction has cost? To those around you? To the world at large?”

“What are you talking about? My inaction?”

Dr. Ramirez closed the book and breathed several times. With a sudden movement, he slammed his flat hand against the desk, his gaze boring into hers.

Paige tried to leap out of the chair to get away from him, but his pure black eyes held her in place.

Demon!

“Yes, a demon.”

Her mind went sideways, like she’d had one too many glasses of wine. Her ears rang. She couldn’t focus.

“What are you doing, Peanut?”

A flash of light hit her eyes. Visions swirled through her skull. Conversations ricocheted in her ears.

“Peanut.”

She turned and glanced up at Balnore Ramirez dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. The sun shone bright. They stood outside Grandma Alma’s large house. She smiled and hugged him in greeting. “Bal, I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

His expression filled with worry.

Paige blinked, pulling herself out of the vision, white-knuckling the arms of the chair.

He rolled his chair around the desk. “Why did you call me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her heart raced. She had to get back some semblance of control. She gripped her pen and fell back to what she knew best. “Investigating a series of murders.” Her voice trembled. Anger flared within her, burning the fear away slowly.