Witch it Real Good by Dakota Cassidy

Author:Dakota Cassidy [Cassidy, Dakota]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dakota Cassidy

Chapter 11

“I don’t think that’s me, Stephania.”

“How do you know? Maybe you were undercover? Maybe you don’t remember having the picture taken? Maybe you weren’t even aware the picture was being taken?” I said in protest.

Win narrowed his eyes and scanned the picture again. “I suppose that’s possible, but memory hasn’t been my issue thus far. My issues have been mostly motor-skill related.”

I nodded. That was fair, but—

Hal held up a finger. “Can I interject here?”

“Of course, Hal,” Win offered cordially. “We welcome any and all brainstorming when discussing my murder.”

Hal snickered, but then she straightened her spine. “You know, I heard in the case of someone taking a host body, they lose their memories. Maybe you really don’t remember, and it has nothing to do with you as much as it does taking over Balthazar’s body.”

I wholeheartedly agreed. “What Hal said, Win. It’s not a crack at your memory at all, but a side-effect of habituating someone else’s host body.”

Yet, Win blustered and frowned. “But this doesn’t even look like something I’d wear, Stephania. For example, look at his clothes. I would never, not in a hundred lifetimes, wear gold chains in multiples anywhere upon my person.”

“Then who is it? Let’s theorize. A close family member, like a cousin? I know lots of cousins who look a lot alike, especially if their mothers or father are strikingly similar. So who else would look so much like you? Your biological father, maybe?”

Win frowned again at the picture of himself, or fake Win, or whoever the heck it was. “He looks much too young to be my father, Stephania. That feels a bit of a stretch.”

I squinted at the picture and decided he was probably right. The man in the picture was leaning his right shoulder against a brick building, a building cut off in the photo by the photographer.

His hand was deep in his pocket, which made him almost look like a model posing in GQ. Except for those gold chains. They were excessive to say the least and more Italian mob than high fashion.

It was a black-and-white photo, so there was no distinguishing much of the detail of his clothing, but he wore a pair of dark dress shoes I’d almost swear were Ferragamos, due to the buckles on the front.

I don’t know much, but I do know a pair of designer shoes, and those buckles on them looked so familiar—but above all, they looked current. Like a pair I might have seen recently, skimming the Internet for shoes. If they were a pair of current shoes then Win was right. The man in the picture didn’t look at all old enough to be his father.

That thought made me look again for any signs he might be an older man. His hair was a little on the longish side, brushed back and parted at the side, but as thick as Win’s, the light blazer over his dark shirt draping open, revealed a slender waist.

His trousers were sharply pleated down the front just the way Win would have had them pressed.

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