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“My ears have been aflame all morning,” a voice croaked so close my first instinct was to reexamine the bird. Beyond the corvid’s black feathers, his back against the striped fabric of the wall, stood a tall, thin man shuffling a deck of tarot cards. He wore a black embroidered tailcoat paired with a fine dress shirt and pants. He was a remarkably handsome man, blonde and bearded, eyes green and intelligent, set on a face with tanned skin and high cheekbones. He gestured one gloved hand toward a small table to his left set for three.
“And now my heart’s on fire, too. Won’t you join me, Miss Davins?”
Caelan touched the small of my back. “Careful now,” he whispered.
“Why ever so, sheriff?” the shaman asked, touching a hand to his chest and pouting. “Do you feel I’ve been naughty, perhaps a bit misbehaved?” He winked one green eye. I felt it like a promise deep within. “It’s far too early in the day for my kind of mischief.”
“I’ll join you,” I volunteered, studying the man. If Mr. Shan was right and this supposed shaman could swap any number of faces, or was being used as the host of whatever came to me in my dreams, today’s guise mattered little.
Caelan appeared frustrated by a similar thought as he glanced from me, to the chairs, to the man's white, flat smile.
“Such a delight to hear, darling!” the man said, hurrying to pull out a chair. “And you, sheriff?”
Caelan motioned to a rack of t-shirts and general kitschy items meant for dabblers and folks who wanted something fun to buy around Halloween. “Still browsing.”
“Fine collection of silver along the back wall.” Sitting only after I did, the shaman laced his fingers together and set his chin on his hands. “Seems it’s the pair of us kittens, Marcy. What brings you to my humble abode?”
“What's your name?” I asked.
He twirled the end of his beard. “No, 'how did you know mine?'”
I offered him a one-sided shrug. “You have your ways.”
“Curiosity often kills cats, doesn't it?” His smile was absent true fangs, but pointed nonetheless. “You may call me Zakar.”
“That's not your name,” I said, monitoring Caelan's patrol of the shop.
“It's what you may call me, my dear deputy.” He spoke in a slow, eloquent tone, as if each word were honey-dipped, in an accent familiar and foreign to me. “My other names are dead. We’d be inviting the spirits in if they got a hold of one of those.”
The hair on the back of my neck rose. The early dreams of the green-eyed man had faded into hazy snippets of sensual memory, but at his prompt returned in vivid detail. I remembered this face, these emerald eyes, his lean body grinding mine into the table. He held my hands captive over my head, using his mouth to work my neck raw.
“So red,” Zakar said, snapping me back to reality with a brush of his gloved hand on my forearm. “Are you alright, my dear? Do you need to lie down?”
I pulled my hands into my lap. “Do you know why we're here?”
“Wearing those dreadfully plain clothes? I’d suggest the usual reason couples slip through my front door; however, you’ve trotted in on a reaper’s arm, a most disobedient one at that. Rather disappointing, if you ask me.” His expression darkened as his attention flicked briefly onto my companion. “I’m afraid your visit is the result of an investigation into the terrible tragedy that has befallen the werewolf community.” He lifted a finger to pause my interruption. “Several Metacomet relations have asked after my services in locating their loved ones.”
“And have you?”
The sadness in his voice failed to reach his eyes. “Alas, revealing their location is beyond this mere magician's capabilities.”
“What do you know about raising the dead?”
“I know people believe the dead can be raised.”
“And what do you believe?”
“I believe in possibilities, my dear. An almost infinite amount of them exist between the realm of angels and the lair of the one who lurks beneath the deepest sea.”
The shop bell chimed.
Zakar rose. I jumped to my feet as he did. “Ah, this I did not anticipate. Meeting you has been a pleasure, Marcy. I look forward to our next dalliance.” His smile made my skin prickle with anticipation.
A petite woman with brown hair pulled back from her face stepped through the door. She had hard eyes and shared the same no-nonsense expression as her partner, a man a bit taller than Caelan, with the same black hair and striking amber eyes. He caught sight of the sheriff, who hadn’t moved since the door opened.
“Harlowe!” the man shouted, opening his arms. “Looking good, bro!”
Caelan nodded. “Better than you, August.”
