Hallow Be the Haunt (Krewe of Hunters #22.5)(20)

A crazed trio of murdering witches was alive and well, but Halloween and tourism must go on, he mused.

Maybe he was taking this one a little too closely. But rather than focus on that he slid behind the driver’s seat to head to the refurbished warehouse in the CBD where the party was being held. He didn’t speak as they drove.

“Jake, you’re in danger all the time.”

“And I’ve been through rigorous classes in self-defense.”

“I’ve been with you through all of this for a long time.”

He didn’t answer her. Finding parking now was truly a project, so he concentrated on that instead. He had to drive around the area a few times and then slide into a parallel spot just as someone else was pulling out of it.

But they’d arrived. They could see others, dressed in all manner of costumes, ready to enjoy the party. He took Ashley’s hand as they headed on in, stopping at the door for Jake to tell the bouncer they’d been invited by Sammy Riley.

Then they were in. And Jake started looking for witches—and trios.

Sammy found them almost instantly. He hugged Ashley and congratulated her, saying how glad he was they’d come. “Hey, some of the band guys are old friends of yours—yours too, Ashley. Remember when you were kids? Well, when we were all kids. Jake and his guitar. Both of you and your vocals.”

“I was never going to be Jimmy Page,” Jake said. Most people knew Page as one of the founders of the band Led Zeppelin, but Jake considered him to be the best guitar player in the world.

“He’s a liar. He still plays all the time.” Ashley laughed. “Three guitars in the living room alone.”

“Maybe you could have been Jimmy Page,” Sammy said. “But never mind. Jimmy Page is Jimmy Page.”

“And I’m really satisfied and fulfilled with what I do,” Jake said under his breath.

“Still, you could sit in,” Sammy said. “And Ashley… Hey, man, maybe you could do that medley thing? That “Battle Hymn of the Republic with Dixie” riff you used to play. That would be really cool.”

“Maybe. Think we’ll hang for a while,” Jake said.

“Sure. Have fun. See you in a bit. I’m on.”

They made their way down to the floor before a large stage. The band introduced the “Ghouls at Halloween,” and Sammy took part in a really cute little skit about ghouls who wanted to dress up as children to get candy for Halloween.

Jake half watched the stage.

And half watched the audience.

He realized someone was watching him as well.

It was a man dressed as a vampire—“Vampire Lestat,” he realized, from the Anne Rice books. Such costumes were popular.

He was maybe just about six-feet. Average build.

Like half the males in the area.

But this guy looked as if he wanted to come and talk to Jake.

He almost moved over toward the man. But just then, Ashley tugged at his sleeve.

“Jake, there!”

He turned quickly.

A trio had come to stand near the stage, watching the players.

They weren’t witches.

They were clowns.

Evil clowns. Well, he thought, it was a party filled with musicians, artists, and writers. The attendees were definitely honoring beloved authors such as Anne Rice and Steven King. The clowns might have come right out of a novel.

They were moving toward a man dressed as King Henry VIII. There was something about their movement that caught his attention.

“Stay here,” Jake told Ashley.

He started their way, glad the gun in his holster was his own bureau-issued Glock and not the costume piece that had come with the outfit. His black cape covered the truth of it.

It wasn’t easy getting through the crowd.

Even as he neared them, the clowns had moved. One of them had seen him. And known. Known that he was coming for them.

The clowns turned and started heading out.

They’d be heading straight toward Ashley.

He changed his own pace. And as the clowns seemed to converge on Ashley, he shouted out. “FBI! Get down!”

His words were met with applause and laughter. It was, after all, a costume party.

The clowns were almost upon Ashley. They stopped. And they stared.

Something about her—or the costume she was wearing—had given them pause.

They broke apart—twenty feet from Ashley.

And began to run.

Jake went after them. Logic said he had to go after the closest, but even the closest was blocked by a throng of people.

Ashley was safe—from the clowns at least.

Jake burst out onto the street. “Where’d the clowns go?” he demanded of the bouncer.

“The clowns? Buddy, this place is full of clowns.”

He saw one down the street and ran. This clown stopped, terrified, as Jake reached him and caught him by the arm.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

The clown was a young man—high school age. He was purely terrified, and seeing his face now and the makeup on it, Jake knew he hadn’t been one of the masked clowns that had drawn his attention inside.

Beaten, he determined to find his way back to Ashley as quickly as possible.

He needed to do three things. Get to Ashley. Find out just who the hell was wearing the Henry VIII costume. And figure out why in hell the clowns would have been after him.