Prague Murder (4 page)

“You are a witch?”

Ingrid nodded. And then expanded, “Sort of. Technically.”

“I am not sure what you mean by that,” Igor said.

“I’m very bad at magic. Mostly I can’t do anything normal witches can do. I make excellent coffee.”

The two investigators looked at each other and then back at her.

“But you are part of a coven?” This was said doubtfully. Some covens only let you in if you were good. Sage Island wasn’t like that. She guessed Sage Island Coven would be out of the ordinary in Prague given the looks on their faces.

“Sage Island Coven accepts all who want to learn or be part. I don’t really want to learn, but my best friend’s aunt is the coven leader, and she loves us. She makes us participate.”

A look of understanding crossed the men’s faces. She figured that they thought she was only part of the coven because of Hazel. But that wasn’t true. All witches really were welcome. But her coven didn’t really matter to this case or these men.

“How do you know Cathy and Carol?”

Ingrid explained that they didn’t. The interview was quick. When it was over, she asked a question, “How long are you keeping us here?”

The two investigators gazes met, and then one of them said ambiguously, “We’ll do what we can to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”

It had been dark when the man had fallen into her arms. No one had been paying attention to him. It was possible that any of the four of them or anyone nearby could have killed him. But given the darkness, and the lack of knowledge of what had happened, it was also possible that anyone in that courtyard could have been the killer.

But very, very unlikely that anyone from the outside had killed him.

Ingrid guessed that she and whoever he had come with were on the very top of that suspect list. She also suspected that they would do everything possible to figure out the killer long before they let the tour go on their way. She was a tired dove.
Tired.
She had jet-lag so bad she wanted to cry. She wanted—no needed—to go to her pretty bed in her pretty hotel and sleep until she woke, take a bath in that massive corner tub, and then order in some of those dumpling things. She was then going to sleep again.

This had to stop.

This investigation needed to be over with.

“Why don’t you just truth serum everyone?”

Shock colored the faces of the investigators and then Igor said, “I don’t know how you do things in America, but you can not just force people to take potions.”

“I don’t really know how they do things in America, either,” Ingrid said. “I suppose I’d be happy about,” she struggled before she came up with, “
Czech
ethics
if I were your killer. But then again, I’d like to leave this place before the end of time. And I’m not too concerned about the rights of whoever killed that guy.”

She let the door close behind her and made her way back to the bench next to Emily. They came for Emily next, and Ingrid wasn’t surprised when they gave her a long look before they took her friend to that little room that might as well be a cell.

* * * * * * * *

“The victim’s name is Joe Laszlo. He was an American from someplace called Gresham, Oregon.” It was Carol who spoke. She dropped down next to her sister putting her backpack between her feet and leaning towards the others. “I talked to someone who had gone on another tour with him. I guess he thought he was a weredog. He turned into a black lab , but get this—he hated dogs. What a strange world we live in—where people believe in things like magic and changing shape. I feel like more people should be required to read non-fiction and less allowed to read novels.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Cathy said. “Novels don’t make people crazy. Some people just need help.”

“Well this man needed a lot of help,” Carol replied. “It’s unfortunate that he was failed so thoroughly.”

Ingrid snorted, but didn’t look up from her phone. She felt like it would be in her best relationship interest to be the one who informed Gabe he’d be getting a call from Presidium cops about the suspicious American and a murder rap. By the time she’d rewritten it seventeen times, Emily had returned and was watching over Ingrid’s shoulder as she sent the fateful text. Hopefully Gabe was sleeping.

Ingrid had no idea what time it was on Sage Island, but she was absolutely certain, she wasn’t in the mood to explain herself right now. She felt the eyes of the two sisters on her and glanced up.

“You don’t think he needed help?”

Ingrid paused, trying to understand that question and realizing that the sisters referred to the dead guy. Yes, you need help if you can turn into a dog and hate dogs. She searched for answers that might work and then said, “Everyone needs help sometimes. But Gresham can’t be a real place,” Ingrid said. “It can’t be. It sounds stupid.”

“I think I might have been there,” Emily replied. “I got lost in Portland with Mary. I think Gresham is over there.”

“Stop telling lies,” Ingrid said, looking at Carol who seemed to be enjoying having found things out too much. “How do you know about this guy, Carol?”

“I talked to Igor who had talked to Katie who is his wife. She’s the little woman who is crying on him.”

“Igor the cop?” Ingrid asked.

“No, Igor is the name of the guy pretending to be a vampire for the tour. He says he is one when I asked him. He’s staying in character even though the murder happened. I am going to fill out a comment card saying how impressed I was with him. Even though he should probably set aside the act to honor the dead.”

Cathy nodded and then seemed to think better of it. She hedged and then said, “I don’t know, Carol. If I were Joe, I wouldn’t like someone pretending to be a vampire over my body.”

“I don’t think he’d mind,” Ingrid said dryly, “seeing as how he thought he could become a dog at times.”

“I suppose…” Cathy didn’t seem to agree, but she was too nice to start an argument when the dead guy’s wife had just walked into the room.

“I wonder what she can do,” Ingrid said to Emily but Carol was the one who answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I would think that any person who was married to someone who believes they can shapeshift might just have her own version of reality. Did you hear what she thought she was?”

“It’s ridiculous. It doesn’t seem nice to say,” Carol said, but without further prodding she leaned forward to whisper, “She told Igor that her father was a necromancer but her mother was a shapeshifter. She says she can turn into a humming bird.”

“That’s probably why she flits about like she does.” Emily said, “It has been bugging me. How she doesn’t seem to walk. It’s like she just disappears and then appears across the room.”

“You know what’s bugging me,” Ingrid said, “How it’s cold in here, and they won’t use the obvious tools to bring this to an end. They should at least just use those
obvious
tools
on the willing and let them get back to their hotel rooms with their perfect beds and room service and things like coffee and food. It’s cold in here. And creepy, and I swear to Hecate that if I see that murdered nun, I am going to flip all the fits these proper Czech doves can imagine.”

Chapter 4

“Don’t make me slap you,” Emily said. “I am tired of that stuff.”

“What stuff?” Carol and Cathy asked in unison but neither of the friends explained. They weren’t going to tell the normals about truth serum.

“Don’t lie, liar dove,” Ingrid said in reply. Her face was shocked, and Emily supposed she could see why. She
did
love truth serum. Too much. Ingrid finished with narrowed eyes, “You love it.”

“But, not on ME. On others. I like it when others suffer and I can laugh.”

Cathy’s eyes widened and she shifted uncomfortably.

“Not suffer—suffer,” Ingrid tried to explain. “She just doesn’t feel very bad when people get in trouble for what they really thought and did.”

“Neither do I,” Carol agreed, nodding emphatically. “People shouldn’t be able to live behind the lies they tell themselves.”

Emily leaned her head back against the wall. This was ridiculous. The truth was, she didn’t care about this guy. And they weren’t doing anything to fix things. Her phone rang and she looked down to see Gabe’s name. The picture was of Gabe and Ingrid together and her eyes rose as she realized he was calling
her
instead of the woman he loved.

Emily stood and walked across the room, smiling comfortingly over her shoulder at her best friend.

“You better explain yourself,” she answered, “because I am not telling on Ingrid.”

“Ingrid said that she’s another suspect in a murder investigation.” The deep, gravely voice of Gabe sounded semi-panicked.

“Well…” Emily considered and then said, “We probably all are.”

“Stop,” Gabe ordered. “Tell me everything from the beginning.”

Emily explained what had happened, and she could hear Gabe’s teeth grinding. She finally had to interrupt, “Look, Ingrid knows all kinds of vanity spells, and her teeth are perfect, but I don’t know if she can fix what you’re doing to your mouth. And
I
sure can’t. It’s not our fault. This body fell on her. I mean…how do you prepare for that?”

“
Why,”
Gabe pled, “Are you on a
haunted
Prague tour?”

“Hazel told us to go or we’d get in trouble.”

“Hazel?” The question was very careful. Emily could tell he wanted to curse and stomp and maybe throw something at Hazel. He was
angry
angry.

Emily grinned. Gabe better be careful, but what she said was, “Oooooh, Hazel is in trouble.”

“Emily,” Ingrid shouted. She jerked her head towards the end of the hall where a bloody, wet nun walked down the hall towards them. Her eyes were pools of blackness, and black veins covered all the exposed flesh. Her hair flew out behind her as if there was a gale strong enough blow back her hair—but of course—
only
her hair. Everyone else was standing in a hallway safe from all the elements. It was a ghost storm.

Holy Hecate’s sweet-tooth, what the hell!

“Oh for the love of Hecate,” Emily said to Gabe, “The ghost just showed up. Are you kidding me right now?”

“Ghost?”

“We’re fine. She’s a normal deal, I guess. I gotta go. I can’t leave Ingrid alone when there is a ghost. She has crazy in her eyes big time.”

“Emily,” Gabe said before she could hang up, “Take care of her.”

His voice was not concerned. It was anxiety-ridden hoarse with worry and madness.

“It’s what I do.”

Her heart felt all warm and fuzzy that he was including her until he added, “When you’re not getting her into trouble.”

“I’m going to punch you hard when I get home, jerk.”

She hung up on him before he could infuriate her further.

* * * * * * * *

“Do you see that,” Cathy whispered her eyes fixed on the nun.

“Yes,” Ingrid said flatly. She met the ghost’s gaze and the long-dead woman’s mouth opened in a wail that no one could hear.

“Is that the ghost who died? The one they drowned as a witch?”

“Given the pentacle on the poor dead dove’s forehead, I would guess yes,” Ingrid said. Her eyes were fixed on the ghost and then she yelled, “Emily.”

She jerked her head towards the ghost and waited for her friend to come back. If this dead dove started throwing people around like Em’s dead ex had, Ingrid was out. You know what, she thought, I
am
out. She pulled out her too-expensive shoulder bag and began digging through. She’d thrown in all the truth serum she’d had and had bought more in New York City.

She rose and walked over to the tour guide. “It’s late,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied with his eyes on the ghost.

“There has to be a place here that makes coffee. I have a supernatural ability to make good coffee. Let’s make some and get people comfortable. People are going to start noticing the ghost and quit being so nice about staying for the cops.”

“You think they’ll try to run?”

“No,” Ingrid said, “I think they’ll demand to leave. This needs to be solved now, if they’re going to find the killer and quite frankly and maybe horribly, I don’t care that much who killed that guy right now. Not with that ghost eyeing us like her next revenge victims.”

“Little Agnes is not an aggressive ghost,” he said. “She’s very calm. Feeds on the people who enjoy being spooked and the fury of supernaturals at her death. She even saved one girl’s life when the kid tried to kill herself.”

“Ew,” Ingrid didn’t like being fed on. In any way. She added, her gaze on the ghost and where she had stopped to lean her head back and wail. When the ghost turned towards the courtyard and disappeared into the wall, Ingrid asked, “And she normally weeps blood and screams?”

“Ahhhh,” Igor-the-tour-guide hedged and then admitted, “No. Okay.”