Midnight Hunter. Kait Ballenger
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of his Red Sox cap. The Jersey native was purportedly an ardent fan, but Shane often thought his constant sporting of the cap had more to do with hiding his very obvious facial scar than his love of baseball.
“The casket was intact,” Shane said. “There was just no corpse.”
Nothing about this situation sat right with him. Dead bodies did not just get up and move on their own, nor did piles of bones. Unless...
“It was like she’d stood up out of her grave and moseyed away,” Ash said, his thoughts mimicking Shane’s own.
“Like a damn zombie? Shit. I don’t know whether that’s awesome or fucking horrifying.” Jace chuckled to himself. “Now that Frankie’s too pregnant to run the pack and Alejandro’s filling in, she’s catching up on The Walking Dead. Wait until I tell her she really better prepare for a fucking zombie apocalypse.” As the division’s werewolf hunter, it had been more than a little perplexing when Jace McCannon had fallen in love with Rochester’s first female werewolf packmaster. It had created one hell of a mess and a shitload of paperwork. If anyone was a thorn in Damon’s side, it was Jace. He was a hothead and played by his own rules in a way none of the other hunters dared. But Jace was damn good at his job, loyal to his friends and family to a fault and had calmed down considerably in the past several months with his girlfriend now expecting twin girls. Despite all Jace’s vices, Shane was proud to consider him a friend.
“Man, I love that show.” Trent grinned from ear to ear. The scar beneath his eye puckered and wrinkled.
Just as Damon opened his mouth to say something, the answer hit Shane like an oncoming freight train.
Black magic. The answer was black magic.
He had been racking his brain trying to figure out what would cause Mrs. Foley’s remains to go missing, and that was it. When he had read about Mr. Foley reportedly being haunted by his wife before his death, his first thought had been a poltergeist. That was where Ash had come in. His area of expertise was ghosts, including poltergeists, basically any spirit crossing over from the great unknown or who just hadn’t headed that way yet. But ghosts didn’t take their corporeal bodies with them, so once they had found her body was missing, the pieces no longer added up to a haunting.
Aside from the disgusting possibility of plain old human necrophilia—he shuddered at that thought—the only reason Shane could think of for the body being absent was if someone was using it for black magic, and that particular specialty ran right up his alley. If he was right, this case had just turned into something altogether different.
“I think I know why the body is missing,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.
All eyes turned toward him.
He stood just the slightest bit straighter, like he did when he was teaching a lecture hall full of undergraduate students. “I think it’s black magic. That’s the only reason I can think of for someone taking the time to dig up her body, even resealing the coffin to hide what they’d done. That could potentially explain why Mr. Foley thought his wife was haunting him before he was murdered, as well. It could’ve been a spell.”
His fellow hunters remained silent, but none of their faces registered disapproval.
Damon spoke first. “If you think that’s likely, the case is yours.”
Shane blinked several times, uncertain if he’d heard Damon correctly. This case, a major case involving a murder, was his? “Really?” The moment he said it he wanted to whap himself in the head for not coming up with a more eloquent response.
Damon nodded. “You’re likely smarter than everyone in this room combined, so I don’t doubt your judgment.”
Jace huffed. “Hey, I get the kid’s smart and all, but I resent that comment. Are you calling the rest of us idiots?”
Damon swiveled his chair toward Jace with a scowl. “You’re damn right, I am.” The words came out almost as a growl.
Shane ignored the ensuing bickering between Jace and Damon. That kind of background noise was always there when it came to their meetings. He couldn’t help but feel a little stunned. Originally, he hadn’t expected to be involved much, aside from bringing the issue to the division’s attention. Murders were rarely something he dealt with in his particular role in the division, at least not as the head hunter on a case. He went over crime scene photos, assisted his fellow hunters in research and DNA analysis and provided general tech-support, but his fellow team members hunted down the killers.
His role as a hunter wasn’t like that. When it came to hunting witches, there was subtlety involved. Unlike most supernaturals, witches weren’t known for killing humans outright, at least no more often than murder occurred in the general population. It happened occasionally, but for the most part witches either kept to themselves or stuck to more bloodless crimes. In Shane’s mind, he liked to think of it as hunting white-collar supernatural criminals, while his fellow hunters took care of the less savory killing machines.
His job was more challenging than his fellow hunters’ jobs, but it was different. Their positions required calculated force, whereas his relied more on quick wit. They dealt with two different consequences, too. While they cleaned up dead bodies, he monitored the underbelly of Wall Street, making sure witches weren’t casting spells to let them embezzle money undetected or commit other sorts of unsavory crimes. He didn’t want to think about the numbers of big bankers and corporate executives who were practicing black magic.
Shane glanced toward Damon and Jace as they argued like two old women—two very large, muscular, hairy old women. “I’m going to need the official crime scene photos.”
Damon shot one last glowering glare at Jace before turning his sharp eyes toward Shane. “Done. Whatever you need.” He glanced around to the other hunters. “If that’s everything, you’re free to leave.”
Trent raised his hand. “Wait a second. Where’s David?”
David Aronowitz, their resident demon hunter and exorcist, was surprisingly absent from tonight’s meeting, which was unusual for him. The motorcycle-riding Rochester native really had a talent for frying demonic spawn, and he rarely missed a day on the job.
“He asked for the night off,” Damon replied.
Jace grinned. Having known each other since high school, he and David were sometimes more like brothers than friends. “He told me he’s taking Allsún out on a date. I’m damn glad those two are back together after all these years. David was a miserable son of a bitch without her.” Jace shook his head. “Don’t get me started on that shit he pulled in Ireland. Damn if I couldn’t still wring his neck for that.”
“I hear ya on that one.” Ash nodded, real slow. No surprise. He did most things real slow. It was just the Southern boy in him.
Damon waved a hand at them. “All of you—out. Do I need to tell you twice? Get to work. And don’t forget, we have a hunter from Detroit coming in for a consult in the next few days. If you cross paths with him in the meantime, play nice.”
The hunters exited one by one. Usually Shane was one of the last to leave, hanging around to use some of the division’s equipment to complete his tech work or look up some obscure fact for one of the other hunter’s cases, but today he was the first out the door. He felt as if there should have been a little spring in his step after being handed such a major case, one that was far outside his usual duties. He enjoyed his job. The thought of taking down a group of black-magic practitioners—or even just one—that was playing with fire as dangerous as raising the dead should have invigorated him, but it didn’t. A ball of dread bundled in the pit of his stomach.
White magic was benign, gifted to witches through birth, and was of no interest to the Execution Underground. Black magic was its evil counterpart, practiced both by those born as witches and those who chose to follow dark magic’s evil path.
Until now, there had been no signs of black magic brewing in Rochester, and he could only see things getting worse from