“Yeah.” I allowed myself a breath to be grateful. “I only wish it wasn’t so complicated.”
“Eh.” Clay checked in on Colby. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
“Are you guys done yet?” Colby tossed off her headset before he could answer. “I have to tell you this.”
“What?” I glanced over my shoulder. “And it better not be another paid ad for Mystic Realms.”
“The Boo Brothers burned down a Waffle Iron.” Her antennae quivered as she read off her phone. “Looks like yesterday or the day before.”
“Heresy.” Clay pinned the back of his hand to his forehead. “To think, I used to admire them.”
“But—” she cut Clay’s hysterics short, “—they also kidnapped a customer. A teenager. Samuel Todd.” She glanced up at me. “They claimed he was a demon.”
“Like an actual daemon?” I tilted my head. “Or hellfire and brimstone demon?”
“Probably a human enjoying their pecan waffle demon,” Clay muttered. “This is sacrilege.”
There was a slight chance this wasn’t the Boos at all but imposters hoping to cash in on the sensation.
Fifteen years had little or no effect on a paranormal body, but it was significant to humans.
These guys weren’t in shape to pull the crazy stunts of their youth without popping ibuprofen like candy afterward. Even if they were fit, even if they were yoga enthusiasts, the wear and tear on a human was evident when they pitted themselves against creatures who lived the next best thing to forever.
Then again, maybe the fact they pegged humans as “demons” nine times out of ten was for that reason.
Easier to capture, easier to kill, easier to pat yourself on the back for ridding the world of evil later.
That would make them sociopaths, not folk heroes, but they were master spin doctors.
“This is not good.” I skimmed the first case to announce the Boos were back. “They’re on a roll.”
“More kidnappings?” Asa drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Or more arson?”
“Murders.” I rubbed my forehead. “Four of them so far, all of them public.”
“They want our attention,” Asa surmised. “They want us to come for them.”
“They do seem to be waving red flags in front of bulls,” I agreed. “But they’re not hanging around for the press. They’re not awarding interviews. They’re not printing T-shirts with their faces on them. They seem to be in hiding.” I rolled that around in my head. “That’s not like them. They lived for the spotlight.”
“Someone helped them disappear at the height of their popularity.” Clay made a thoughtful sound. “The Boos have paranormal benefactors. Makes sense they would step in to pull the Boos’ feet away from the fire before they all got burned. Maybe disappearing was the cost of the Boos’ freedom?”
“Then why allow them to stir up trouble again?” I shut my laptop. “Unless the Boos are rebelling?”
“Or they’re setting a trap,” Asa mused, forehead tight in thought.
“The benefactors or the Boos?”
“The benefactors were never identified,” he reminded me. “Their artifacts weren’t recovered either.”
The Boos, wherever they had gone, almost certainly took their hunting gear with them. I bet the director was more pissed about losing a potential treasure trove of black magic trifles than the Boos themselves.
“That reminds me.” I should have asked before now. “Where is the director?”
“Parish didn’t say.” Clay tapped his foot. “He pretended not to hear me when I asked that very thing.”
“You are highly ignorable.” A smile crept up on me. “I block you out five or six times a day, minimum.”
“The director strikes me as the type to make his stand behind impenetrable walls.”