Trail of Dead (Scarlett Bernard #2)(11)
“What happened?”
Kirsten smiled a little. “Stella kept the girls home, and that day there was a pinkeye outbreak. It wouldn’t have been fun, but it wasn’t exactly life threatening, either. You can see how it was sometimes frustrating for Erin.” She sighed. “And now they’re both dead, and I’m just…so…” Her fists clenched over the pile of coaster bits.
Premonitions, suspicious deaths, magical theory…yep, I was way out of my depth. There was an obvious answer here: Jesse wanted to know more about the Old World’s connection to Erin’s death, and Kirsten wanted to figure out who’d killed Erin. It was a match made in heaven—if I could convince Kirsten to participate. “Kirsten, I’m sorry. But I’m not an investigator. Would you be willing to talk to Jesse about all this? Detective Cruz, I mean.”
She looked at me as though I’d just suggested that she mow her lawn naked. “Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “We don’t involve the police, Scarlett.”
“This is different. He already knows about the Old World, and Dashiell already knows about him. Jesse can help you.”
“I’m not concerned with Dashiell and the vampires. Detective Cruz is with the human police. Do you have any idea the things that have happened whenever authorities got involved with witches?”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes at that. “Kirsten, come on. We’re talking about LAPD, not the Spanish Inquisition. There are no witch hunts anymore.”
“Do you know how hard we worked, how many of us died, to get it this way?” she countered, her voice rising. “The second you invite an officer of the law into our problems, you’re opening a door that we might not be able to close again.”
I blinked. I would bet every penny in my meager savings account that Kirsten votes for the far left, spends more than $100 on a haircut, and eats sushi at least once a week. This old-fashioned hell-and-brimstone outlook came out of nowhere.
She saw the look on my face and sighed, dropping her current mangled coaster. “I’m sorry. It’s been an awful day.”
“No worries.”
“You don’t know much about me, Scarlett, but I come from many generations of witches. There were witch hunts in Sweden a century before the trials here in Salem, so there’s a certain attitude about the police that has been sort of…ingrained in me, you could say. I know Detective Cruz did good work in helping you find that man who killed the vampires, but I will not bring the police into witch affairs.”
“Look, I promise I understand where you’re coming from,” I said. “But last fall, when I got cornered into working with Jesse, he really proved himself. And he hasn’t shown any interest in persecuting the Old World since then.” This was true. After some initial shock, and excluding this current problem with his crime scene, Jesse seemed to view the Old World the way other people view tigers at the zoo: fascinating, exotic, and interesting to look at from a distance, but you wouldn’t want to go prying and poking into their business. For the last few months, he’d kept a respectful distance from Old World affairs. I very much approved of this attitude.
Kirsten sighed. “Maybe he hasn’t. I’m not so prejudiced as to assume all police detectives are ignorant and hateful. But look at it this way: he still has to follow rules and uphold laws, and you know those very rarely mesh with our need for containment. What happens if the killer is Old World?”
I sat back, thinking it over. It was a fair objection. Jesse believed in law and order. If the search led to a vampire or a werewolf, he might decide to just arrest them and damn the consequences. And there would be consequences.
I had spent less than three hours in this time zone, but I already had myself a classic rock/hard-spot scenario. If I didn’t give Jesse something, he’d go to Dashiell, which could get him killed. On the other hand, if I told him about the witches without Kirsten’s permission, I would probably lose my job—and maybe worse.
Christmas in New York was sounding pretty good right about now.
“Kirsten,” I began again. “Two witches being murdered in a week can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
“No.”
“And there is every possibility that whoever is doing this will kill again.”
“Yes.” She stared morosely at a broken coaster, then picked up one-half and started to bend it again. “I’ve done what I can. I’ve told all my witches about Denise and Erin, and I’ve canceled the Solstice Party.”
That surprised me. I don’t really socialize with the witches, but even I had heard of the Solstice Party. Every year, Kirsten throws a blowout celebration for the witches on the night of the winter solstice, usually December 21. It’s sort of like any other holiday party, as I understand it, but has a lot to do with the significance of the solstice to witchcraft, something I didn’t know much about. Okay, didn’t know anything about.
I pressed on. “Then you must know that you need help. Jesse is a trained investigator, and I trust him. I don’t know what will happen when he catches the person, but if you don’t ask him for help, someone else might die.”
That was harsh, but I knew all about having the death of loved ones on my conscience, and it wasn’t something I’d wish on Kirsten.
A long minute ticked by on the clock above the door, while Kirsten chewed on her lower lip and weighed what I’d said. Finally, she asked, “You’ll work with him? Keep him from exposing us, and keep him safe from magical attack? I don’t want any more deaths, especially a member of the police.” From the tone of her voice it was clear she was worried less about Jesse’s personal safety and more about getting the wrong kind of attention.