I found the one person who might be able to help me. Viktoria St. Charles,” CJ said.
“I think you mean Viktorie. Or Vika, as her friends call her,” Cinder said, pronouncing it Vee-ka. “It’s a Russian name. She’s the pretty little witch who lives in the round house.”
“Round house?”
“That’s what some call it. I think it’s actually a hexagram. It was designed by a witch to perfectly align with the planets, stars, the moon and whatever else you witches worry about. I’ve been told it’s a cool place to see. Probably comparable to the spectacle you live in.”
“My flat is not a spectacle. It’s a means to survive.” A horrible, mind-eating, depressing means to survival. But his current mode of decorating style was the one bit of luck CJ had discovered to keep back his nasty passengers.
“So you’ve told me. Still seeking prismatic light?”
“Always.”
“What’s got you looking up the St. Charles witch? Or I should say witches. They are three sisters, but I think only two live in the round house. Gad, I hate calling it the round house. A hexagram is so not round.”
Cinder was some kind of numbers whiz, due to the fact he was originally the angel who created that sort of stuff—the whole mathematics shebang.
“If she is the woman I ran into last night,” CJ said, “then she was able to exorcise one of my demons.”
“Just like that? Without a hello, how do you do?”
“It was an auspicious sneeze, actually. And no, no introductions. In fact, she fled the scene soon after the accidental exorcism.” CJ rubbed a hand along his jaw. “She’s a cleaner, eh?”
“Yes. Nasty job.” Cinder gave a dramatic shudder. “Especially for two pretty women.”
“Speaking of pretty women.” CJ closed out the program and leaned back on the creaky office chair. “How’s the little woman?”
“You mean my tiny vixen?” The vampire grinned a mile wide, revealing the points of his fangs.
“That good, huh?”
Cinder nodded. “Love is the coolest thing, CJ. You should give it a try sometime.”
“So I’ve been told by my best friend, Lucian.”
“Bellisario? I haven’t seen that vamp in a while. And what about your brother? Didn’t TJ and his little kitty cat just get married?”
“Yep, and expecting a litter, I’ve been told.”
“A litter?”
TJ’s wife was a cat shifter, and CJ liked to tease his brother he was going to have a litter instead of a baby, which was unfeasible but still fun to joke about. “You know, she’s a cat.”
“I don’t think it works that way, man.”
“Just kidding. No one ever seems to get my jokes. So you in Paris for a while?”
“Parish and I have relocated here for the summer. I will be updating more hardware for the Council. Might even get a fancy scanner in here to scan books without breaking the spines. Bet that would make your day.”
“It would. The ancient grimoires are delicate. But I’ve no time to work on such a project. Now I’ve got the witch’s address, I’m on my way out.”
“All right, man, take it easy.”
“Say hi to Parish for me,” CJ said as he walked Cinder out of the office and headed for the fourth quarter.
Libby breezed into the bright, spotless spell room, swooshing a flutter of purple ruffles in eyesight, as Vika bent over a mortar of crushed lavender. The spider’s eyes listed in the ingredients she doled out carefully. Only needed half a dozen.
“Working on a sleeping draft?” Libby asked, leaning on the cool, white marble counter. She snapped her banana-scented gum. She cocked out a hip, hitting a pose as always. Rock star was Libby’s innate M.O., despite her lacking fame and the ability to carry a tune.
“For Becky. She’s been sleeping less than a hour a week lately.” The vampire, who was Vika’s best friend, had a lot to deal with, her dad being the devil’s fixer. Becky worried about him constantly. “I don’t need help. I know you had plans for today.”
Libby’s mood perked. On the other hand, when wasn’t her mood perky? The dress she wore was vintage, and the cinched skirt with wide white plastic belt reminded Vika of an old baking ad she’d once seen while paging through her grandmother’s magazines from the fifties. Always so spiffy, those pre-feminism women, when doing household chores.
“I figured I should stick around,” Libby said. “When do you want to head back to the crime scene to look around for the will-o’-the-wisp?”
Will-o’-the-wisp was another name for the corpse light or wandering soul that usually stayed firmly attached to Vika’s soul until the soul bringer arrived to scrub her clean.
“Soon as I’m done here. But I can do that myself. Really, Libby, go and have fun.”
“I wish you’d come along with me. The witches bazaar is always a riot.”
“I know. You’ve told me about all the eligible young witches.”
“I’m sure there’s a few to catch your eye. I know you like them tall, muscled and blond.”
“The opposite of your thick, brute and dark,” Vika answered with a grin. She tapped the last spider eye into the mortar and rolled the marble pestle over the contents with a satisfying crushing noise. “You think Reichardt liked the cookie?”
“Oh, Vika.” Libby sighed. “I dreamed about The Taking of the Cookie last night. You don’t want to know.”
“Yeah, you probably better keep that one to yourself. Would it matter if I said, once again, how wrong having a crush on a soul bringer is?”
“Nope. He’s the guy for me. I know it.”
Good luck with that. The guy was thousands of years old and hadn’t cracked a smile in a millennium, Vika felt sure. His life consisted of collecting souls, all day, all night, all the time. She imagined he did not have a social life, or even a concept of what socializing implied. And to consider love or romance? Forget about it.
“If they’ve any vetiver for sale today, would you pick me up a pint? I’m fresh out. Salamander got into the plant out in the garden and mowed that down smartly.”
“Will do.” Libby leaned in and kissed her on the brow. “Talk to you later, sis. Good luck tracking the soul. But if you can’t find it, I’ll put in a good word for you with Reichardt.”
Libby flounced out of the spell room, and Vika sighed. “If only that were possible.”
She knew well if she didn’t find the soul, Reichardt’s retaliation would be swift and just. She didn’t
