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“Are you the one who did it?” Beatrice asked.
The man said, “Yes. I followed Bruce’s instructions.”
Beatrice stepped closer to the man and studied him. He was taller than her, but that didn’t matter. He was a delusional human, a hitman. She stepped closer, holding his gaze and never blinking. The man’s shoulders dropped a bit, and a single bead of sweat trailed down his face.
Beatrice raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Are you nervous, Mr., Mr., what’s your name?”
The man’s body stiffened. “Trevor. Trever Wilcox.”
Beatrice allowed Trevor’s unease to increase, enjoying his helplessness. When the strong smell of urine burned her nose, she lowered her eyes, shook her head, and clicked her tongue. Trevor’s face burned a deep red, and he covered his crotch with his hands.
“Oh, my. I’m afraid you’ll need to clean up before you leave.” She pointed down the hall. “There’s a powder room down that hall.” She turned around and walked away with Morris at her side.
“How would you like me to take care of Mr. Wilcox?”
“Rex told me he’s lost three guards, thanks to our panther. Do you think he’d be a good replacement?”
“I’m not sure, Ma’am. He seems to have control issues.”
Beatrice snickered. “You do have a great sense of humor, Morris. I’ve always liked that about you.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Beatrice opened the French doors and stepped onto the deck, breathing in the night. The full moon was bright enough to see the large yard beneath the deck. One man attended to a bonfire, and two women, dressed in hooded ceremonial robes, waited.
She walked over to the female body lying on a makeshift pallet. A thin sheet covered her peaceful, limp body. Blood had soaked through the sheet, making a macabre pattern of red flowers. Her eyes were wide, frozen by the fear she must have felt knowing her life was ending. For a heartbeat, Beatrice felt remorse. Victoria didn’t deserve a violent end, but she would thank Beatrice when she rose from death and grew into the power of a Tribe witch.
Beatrice suspected she was the right person, and after investigating her, she was certain. She grew up in a small Maryland town and dreamed of heading out to California, where she would become a famous actress. It was a tale as old as time.
One of the women took off the hood. Beatrice smiled. Over the last several months, Heather Fairchild had become a close friend. She reminded Beatrice so much of her sister. Despite the rift between them, there were times when Beatrice missed Isabeau so much that it hurt.
When the sniveling demon, Keyser, first brought her the black box, she’d been amused. His confidence was too off-putting. He came into her home with the silly notion that she would fund his project. If he knew her as much as he pretended to, he would have never assumed she’d help him. She was never a helper.
The day after Keyser ruined her boots, Heather approached Beatrice, offering to continue the work she’d started with Keyser. It didn’t make a lot of sense for a Tribe witch to be working with a demon to create a weapon that would change the supernatural world. Beatrice never questioned her motives, and Heather never offered. The only thing that mattered was Heather was brilliant and rich.
“It’s ready,” Heather said.
Beatrice asked the men to carry the stretcher down to the yard. Heather directed the men to place it on a makeshift altar. The other woman brought over a large basin of water and towels. She lifted the sheet.
Heather took the sheet out of her hands. “I’ll do it, Madelyn.”
Madelyn nodded and stepped back.
Beatrice told Madelyn, “You have done an adequate job, but we will do this ourselves. You can wait for me in the house.”
The woman bowed and walked to the house.
Beatrice asked the man who was attending the fire to leave as well.
Beatrice ran a hand down the side of Victoria’s face. The mottled patches of deep purple bruises created a jarring transformation. She cleaned off the dried blood from Victoria’s face and ran her fingers through the woman’s knotted hair. Heather used magic to straighten two broken fingers and a broken rib. She cleaned the blood trailing from between the woman’s legs and took off a shoe that had somehow managed to stay on. Her stomach burned when she smelled Trevor’s scent. Beatrice knew Victoria was strong, but she hadn’t expected her to put up that much of a fight. Bruce’s instructions had been to attack Victoria enough to scare her and then kill her. Bruce must not have explained everything to Trevor.
Trevor would not live to see another day.
Beatrice found a knife and a bowl on the ground next to the fire. She set them next to the body.
“I share my gift with you, and you will soon see that the pain you suffered will be turned into strength,” Beatrice said.
Beatrice gently kissed Victoria’s mouth and ran a hand over her eyes, shutting them. She used the knife to cut her hand and squeezed the blood into the bowl.
