At least he did until I got there.
She hadn’t launched the psychic attack, but had she led the threat right to him? That didn’t make sense. If the boy’s spirit really did have a connection to Drake, he wouldn’t need her to locate Drake’s energy.
With sage smoldering in the big abalone shell in the corner of the room, she cued up her ten-minute meditation music and picked up a pen. She opened the notebook, closed her eyes, and took a cleansing breath, lowering the tip of the pen to the blank pages.
Automatic writing often gave her answers she never expected, sometimes before she understood the questions she should be asking. By clearing her mind and allowing her pen to move without her conscious awareness, her spirit guides could communicate messages to her. And having the notes on the page meant she wouldn’t forget any important details. Visions from meditations often faded away like the fog of dreams. Writing them down gave her a permanent record.
Pages turned, and her pen never stopped moving. When the music ended, she allowed herself the time to finish a final message and then opened her eyes. Scanning the scribbled, messy pages, she searched for a lead, for a connection her conscious mind had missed.
She tapped her finger over one crooked line of text. Why did the boy come to you instead of going directly to his uncle? He had no attachment to you or to the location at Oatland Island. So who did?
Could that be the missing piece? She circled the final three words over and over.
If the witches were after Drake and could somehow cage the spirit of the little boy like he’d alluded to, why involve Heather at all? Unless she was the bridge to lead them to their target. Drake hadn’t been attacked until she arrived. Could the witches have been following her? Instead of protecting Drake, warning him, she may have actually brought the danger to his doorstep.
Her chest tightened. She didn’t have any connections to a coven.
At least not that she was aware of…
She reached for her cell phone and quickly fired off a text to David.
If you’re still awake, call me.
For the past two years, she hadn’t communicated with him unless he initiated the contact. She was a subcontractor, nothing more. It had taken months to accept it, but she finally did. These days she didn’t even think about reaching out to him. Tonight changed all that. Something was happening in Savannah, and she couldn’t fix it all on her own.
Her phone rang, David’s name filling the screen.
“Hey, David. Thanks for calling.”
“Are you all right?” His voice didn’t seem foggy or tired even though it was well past midnight.
“I’m fine. But I need a favor.”
“I owe you many.” He cleared his throat, all business again. “What’s going on?”
“I think one of the men we met in the Bonaventure Cemetery was attacked tonight. Psychically or magically, I’m not sure which yet.”
“Those guys are trouble, Heather.” His tone was slow and direct. “Whatever they’re involved in, you don’t want to be a part of it.”
She frowned, focusing on the dancing line of smoke rising from the sage bundle. “I’m already involved. The trouble came to me, and I may have led it right to him.”
“Him?”
“Drake Cole.”
“Damn it. Stay away from him, Heather. You’ll get hurt.”
She shook her head even though he couldn’t see it. “Like I did with you?”
Okay, that was petty, but she couldn’t help it. Whenever David started trying to “protect” her from others, she never hesitated to remind him about the cold, heartless moment he walked away from her without looking back.
David’s tone softened. “There’s more to Drake and his friends than you know.”
“Like what?” she asked, although she was 99.9 percent sure she already knew what his answer would be.
“I can’t tell you.” He sighed. “But you need to trust me.”
“What I need is some information on the rise of paranormal activity in Savannah, and last time I checked, Department 13 keeps a finger on the metaphysical pulse around here.”
“Shit.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Please, Heather. Let this go. I don’t want to see you caught in the crossfire.”
“I can take care of myself.” She picked up her notebook, glancing over the notes. One word was repeated on almost every page. Coven. “And see if there’s a new coven in town.”
“A coven?” He let out a humorless chuckle. “There are plenty of witches in Savannah. Want to let me know what I’m looking for?”
“I’m not sure yet, but a ghost boy came to me tonight asking for my help. He claimed witches pulled him out of the ocean. He had a British accent and clothing that predated anything anyone would’ve worn on Oatland Island.” She stared down at her notebook. “He wanted me to protect Drake.”
“Damn it.” David cursed through gritted teeth. “I’ll see what I can find, but I’m doing this for you, not them.” His voice took on a darker tone. “If he hurts you…”
“No.” She interrupted. “You and I work together, that’s it. Your arrangement, not mine. So you don’t get to pretend to be my knight in shining armor.” She cleared her throat. “I appreciate your help. Call me if you find anything about a new coven in Savannah dabbling in black magic. Thanks, David.”
She ended the call before he could respond. If there were any other way, she would have taken it, but Department 13 was her best bet for information. David had always been tight-lipped about his work, but she’d helped him solve a few cases over the past couple years by communicating with deceased agents and informants, and she’d gleaned enough from those contacts to understand that the mission of the top secret government agency was to protect Americans from paranormal threats. They did that by keeping tabs on all major metaphysical occurrences and collecting both intel and relics that the rest of the world
