The Hoodoo Detective (32 page)

The vampires froze.

“Put my wife down.” Nostrils flaring, Donovan strode toward the Old Man.

Gently, they tilted Riga, lowered her feet to the ground.

She leapt away from them.

They edged away from Donovan. One of the women whimpered.

“You...” The Old Man sputtered. “What...? You have no power. Pay no attention to him. Kill him.”

The vampires swayed, as if uncertain.

“Did you hear me?” The Old Man shrieked. “Tear him to pieces.”

A female vampire in a gold evening gown lurched forward, her hair a dark cascade. She lunged, her hand thrusting deep inside Donovan's chest.

Riga screamed. “No!”

A look of puzzlement crossed Donovan's face.

The vampire jerked her hand back. Animal howls grew low in her throat, short, surprised cries. There was the smell of rotting flesh, dissolution.

The vampires murmured, retreated.

Donovan blinked, his brows swooping together.

Clutching her arm, the vampire spasmed, fell to her knees. Her screams came longer now. She thrashed on the ground. Her hand crumpled in on itself, turned gray and then black.

Donovan strode to Riga. “What the hell is happening? Are you all right?”

Riga stared at him. “They can’t touch you.”

A final shriek and the vampire collapsed forward. Her hair turned gray, then white. Her form caved inward, turned to dust.

“That does it.” The Old Man reached behind his back and pulled out a gun. Aimed.

The dog leapt, biting his arm. A shot cracked the air.

Donovan jerked, spun against the stone sphinx.

The gun clattered to the ground, and the dog placed a massive paw on it. Head lowered, his lips peeled back exposing gleaming canines.

Riga rushed to Donovan. Pressure on the wound. Had to put pressure on the wound. Where was it? She ran her hands over his body. Where was it?

“Ow.” Donovan levered himself upright.

Fear rocketed through her brain. “Where are you hurt?” Her voice was high and thin.

Growls and shouts echoed behind her.

Pen rattled the gate. “What's happening? Aunt Riga!”

“Forget my shoulder,” he said. “I'm fine. Where's the gun?”

She whipped her head around. The vampires stood apart from them, watching. The dog menaced the Old Man, frozen on the ground.

“Take care of the Old Man,” she snarled.

Smiling coldly, Marek nodded.

She turned to Donovan and ripped back his jacket.

“Riga, I'm okay,” he said.

In the dark she couldn't see a stain on his black shirt. She ran her hand lightly over his chest, shoulder. No tears in the fabric, no dampness. “I don't understand. Something hit you.”

Footsteps pounded down the road.

“Is Pen all right?” he asked.

“It sounds like it. She's locked in the crypt.”

“Pen!” Wolfe shouted and hurried to her.

Ash ran up beside them and dropped to one knee. “What's the situation?”

“Donovan's been wounded in the shoulder. There are two kidnappers on the hill, and one on the ground over there.” Riga turned and pointed.

The vampires and the Old Man were gone.

“I see someone.” Ash darted up the hill.

“I'm not wounded in the shoulder,” Donovan said.

“Something hit you.” Fingers clumsy, Riga unbuttoned Donovan's shirt and wrenched it apart, exposing a darkening bruise.

“I must have been caught by a bit of stone that ricocheted.” He grimaced. “I'm going to help Ash. Go to Pen.”

She pulled him upright and watched him hurry after Ash. Shaking her head, she strode down the center of the road, toward her niece. “Pen!”

“Aunt Riga!” A metal gate rattled. Pen peered anxiously through the iron bars to the crypt.

Wolfe examined the padlock.

“Don't worry, we'll get you out,” Riga shouted.

Headlights flared on the road, blinding her. There was a roar, and a car slammed into Riga's hip, flinging her upward, a rag doll. Time slowed, helpless rage cascading through her. There was a blur of pain, and everything went black.

Riga woke in a hospital, her mouth feeling like cotton.

Donovan stared out the window, his back to her. Sunlight streamed around him, lighting a halo around his black hair.

“Aunt Riga?” Pen leapt from a chair beside the door. Her hair was lank, her cheeks tear-streaked.

Donovan whirled.

Riga blinked, her brain musty, fuzzy.

He came to her bedside, took her hand. “How are you feeling?”

Her hip, arm, and back ached. Her palms burned. “I'm fine. Pen, are you all right?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…” She gulped.

“What were you doing all this time in New Orleans?” Riga asked.

“Filming. I wanted to show Sam I could do more, and I wanted to learn more about the local magic. There’s this god, an old man who appears at the crossroads. He seemed like a version of the Greek god, Hermes, and… It doesn’t matter.” She clawed a hand through her hair. “I was such an idiot.”

“You’re an adult, but life for us is different. Just stay in touch next time,” Riga said. She knew it wasn’t a mistake Pen would repeat.

Pen swallowed, moved toward the door. “I’ll give you two some time alone.”

“Pen?” Riga asked.

She stopped, one hand on the doorknob.

“The Crazy Cat video… You posted it, didn’t you?”

Her niece nodded.

“Why?” Riga said.

“Because you were awesome.”

She left, closing the door quietly behind her.

“How is she?” Riga asked. “Really.”

“Ashamed,” Donovan said. “Angry. Feeling vulnerable, I think.”

The anger would subside. The sense of vulnerability would take longer. “She wasn't hurt though? Not physically? She was unconscious when I found her.”

“The doctors couldn't find a thing.”

“They must have had her under a spell. And her mother?”

“Furious at both of you.”

“Not unexpected. And well-deserved. God, I don't think I could ever be a mother. I was frustrated by Rebecca's denial, but... I can't blame her.”

Donovan's face shadowed.

“But what about you?” she asked. “What hit you? Are you all right?”

“Just a bruise. Probably a chip of masonry off the crypt, like I thought. I'm unhurt.”

“Masonry? You dropped like you'd been shot.”

“He was shooting at me. I was just getting out of the way.”

“Of a bullet?” She tried to sit up, and a riot of pain exploded in her lower body. “Wait. What happened? Why am I here?”

“Dirk. He and your aunts realized they were in the wrong place and came charging to the rescue.”

“He hit me?” The memory returned of the twin blazing lights. “With a car?”

“Yeah.” Donovan rubbed the knuckles on his right hand. “You should know I punched your co-star.”

“Donovan, I wanted to be the one to punch him. What was it like?”

“Satisfying.” He rubbed his swollen knuckles. “He went down on his ass.”

“Please tell me someone got it on film.”

“Unfortunately, last night was the one time Wolfe and Angus listened to you and didn't bring cameras.”

“Figures.”

“Riga.” Donovan leaned down and kissed her, a slow, gentle caress.

Her heart fluttered, then expanded, and for a moment she was unsure where she ended and he began.

He straightened, and they simply looked at each other for a long time.

Finally, she cleared her throat. “What happened while I was asleep?”

“Jenny and Hannah are being prosecuted for the kidnapping and the murders.”

Though she’d tried, Jenny hadn’t committed murder. But Riga didn’t much care what she was prosecuted for as long as she went away for a long time. “And the Old Man?”

Donovan shook his head. “They haven't found him. Riga, what happened to you in the cemetery? At first I couldn't get in — there was some sort of barrier. And then, suddenly, it dropped. When I found you, you seemed to be... floating.”

“Vampires. The Old Man was controlling them. And then you arrived, and he lost control. I told them to take care of him—”

“A rather vague order.”

“Ye-es.” Riga wanted to believe that it had been an accident, words misspoken in the heat of battle. But in her heart, she’d known. Like Jenny, she hadn't quite committed murder, but she was an accessory.

And she wanted to be a mother? She didn’t deserve it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

That the Old Man was dead she had little doubt. All the vampires had to do was gag him to keep the necromancer from controlling them again.

She'd killed him.

But she wasn’t like Jenny. She’d been angry and afraid… And now she was justifying herself.

“Donovan, I don't think I can do this again.”

“The odds of you being run down by an action star with poor night vision twice are low.”

“No, I mean—”

A young doctor walked into the room, frowning at a chart in his hands. Looking up, he smiled. “I see you're awake. How are you feeling?”

Riga forced a smile. “Sore.”

“That's to be expected, under the circumstances. You were lucky. You've got a nasty bump on your skull and some hairline fractures but no bad breaks. You and the baby should be fine.”

Riga's breath caught.

“What?” Riga and Donovan said in unison.

“You didn't know? About five weeks along, I'd say. I'll make sure you've got a copy of these records for your family doctor back in... Nevada, is it?”

“A baby?” Donovan’s face lit with joy. “A baby! Riga!” His smile slipped. “But all the drinking—”

“But I haven't been drinking,” she said, “not really.”

“Did you suspect?” Donovan asked.

“No. Alcohol just tasted strange to me. Actually, most everything does.”

“Some women experience that,” the doctor said. “Tastes change during pregnancy. It's nothing to worry about. I think we'll keep you one more day, but I don't see any problems. Congratulations.” The doctor left them.

A baby. She placed her hands on her abdomen, fear and hope tangling inside her.

Donovan paced, his limbs quivering with suppressed excitement. “It's too early to tell anyone.”

“Yes.”

“But God, I want to tell everyone.” He whirled to her and pointed. “And Dirk's not getting anywhere near you. We should let your doctor know. I can fly him here, and we can all return to Tahoe together. Do you even have a doctor?”

“I'm not an invalid,” Riga said.

They looked at each other and laughed.

“All right,” she said. “Today, I'm an invalid. But the doctor said I'm fine.”

He dragged a chair beside her bed and sat, taking her hand. “Are you okay? Really okay? I know this business with Pen has been tough on you.”

She thought of the Old Man, gone. And she thought of another old man she'd met at a crossroads. A trickster. An opportunity.

She reached for Donovan and stroked his jaw, rough with stubble. “I'm ready.”

Leave a Review

If you enjoyed this book (and even if you didn’t) please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Then contact me on my
author page
, let me know where the review is, and I’ll send you a free copy of The Metaphysical Detective.

OTHER BOOKS IN THE RIGA HAYWORTH SERIES

The Metaphysical Detective, Book One

The Alchemical Detective, Book Two

The Shamanic Detective, Book Three

The Infernal Detective, Book Four

The Elemental Detective, Book Five

OTHER BOOKS BY KIRSTEN WEISS

Steam and Sensibility, a Steampunk Novel of Suspense

Notes and Huge Thank You’s

I’d like to thank the many people who assisted me with this book. First, to my beta reader team: Nora Jean Stone and Nancy Gazo and Jennifer O’Dell – thanks for finding all those typos and the missing dog catches. And also to other members of my street team who’ve been terrifically supportive – Elizabeth Barton, Sherri Coats, Amanda Ray, Rose Clayborne, Marcia McCord, Robin Rodricks, Deb Boyer, Veronica Rivera, and Carol Nemeth. You guys are awesome!

If you’re looking for information on hoodoo, I can highly recommend anything by Catherine Yronwode. That said, I remain as perplexed about hoodoo as Riga is. There’s lots of conflicting and contradictory information out there. The vampire theory in this book is not original. Dion Fortune, an early 20
^th
century occultist and author of the classic Psychic Self-Defense, put it forward, and I’ve no idea if it was original to her or something she picked up in her occult wanderings.

Any mistakes I’ve made in the book are my own.

About the Author

Kirsten Weiss is the author of the Riga Hayworth paranormal mystery series: The Metaphysical Detective, The Alchemical Detective, The Shamanic Detective, The Infernal Detective, and The Elemental Detective. She’s also the author of a steampunk novel, Steam and Sensibility.

Kirsten worked overseas for nearly fourteen years, in the fringes of the former USSR and deep in the Afghan war zone. Her experiences abroad not only gave her glimpses into the darker side of human nature, but also sparked an interest in the effects of mysticism and mythology, and how both are woven into our daily lives.

Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes paranormal mysteries, blending her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem.

Kirsten has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer reruns and drinking good wine.

You can connect with Kirsten through the social media sites below, and if the mood strikes you, send her an e-mail at [email protected]

Kirsten's Website: http://kirstenweiss.com