Threading the Bones (Kali James Book 2) by L.A. McBride

Author:L.A. McBride [McBride, L.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: One Tree Press
Published: 2022-07-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Necessity made for strange bedfellows indeed. In my case, it had me video calling the witch who had voted a mere day ago to have me put down like a rabid dog.

“Kali,” Celeste greeted me, her voice breathy like she’d been running. If she had been running, nothing in her appearance gave her away. Her makeup was flawless and her corkscrew curls perfect. She wore an off-the-shoulder white blouse that contrasted with her golden-brown complexion, making her look like she was ready for tropical nights and fruity drinks. Celeste was the kind of movie-star beautiful that made you stare despite your best intentions. Since I didn’t know many witches, I didn’t know if it was all nature, or if she’d given it a helping hand.

And then, because I was prone to tangents, I wondered if witches sold the equivalent of magical cosmetic surgery. They could make some serious bank by delivering Botox-free beauty.

“How is your search for the ritual going?” Celeste asked, cutting through my musings.

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I was hoping you could help me with a lead.”

“Of course,” Celeste said amicably. “I’ll do what I can.”

I glanced at Riley over the top of my laptop. She gave the back of my laptop a double middle finger salute and mumbled something about karma. I looked back at Celeste’s serene expression and weighed the best approach.

“Don’t pussy foot around,” Jack said, bristling.

I jerked in surprise. But then, it was my own fault he was popping in since I’d invited him. Jack might have been a pain in the ass, but the man spent a lot of years digging up stories other people tried to cover up. Having a hard-nosed reporter in my corner, albeit a dead one, couldn’t hurt.

I took Jack’s advice. “I need your help to find Samara’s grimoire.”

Celeste’s expression shuttered, and she pressed her lips together. “Samara?”

“Yes.” I waited, hoping she’d crack.

I grew up in a house full of cops—both my father and my older brother Drew were on the force. One thing I picked up from their dinnertime stories of interrogations was the power of silence. People quickly grew uncomfortable when it stretched out too long. Most people would rush to fill the void, telling you things they would’ve rather kept unsaid.

Celeste didn’t crack.

“The witch,” I prompted, even though she knew exactly who I meant.

“I’m not sure I can tell you much about a witch who has been dead for almost seventy years.”

“She’s lying.” Jack strolled over, pointing at Celeste’s face on the laptop. “Look at the slight pinch between her eyes. And here,” he said, tapping the bottom of the screen where her hands rested on the table. “She’s fidgeting.”

He was right. Her ill-concealed tension signaled that she knew more than she was willing to tell me. I had been hoping Celeste would feel guilty enough about her vote to kill me that she’d be more forthcoming.

I tried another approach. “When I was searching for the ritual, I came across an old grimoire—much older than Samara’s time,” I amended when Celeste looked confused.

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