Page 30 of Sins of the Fathers
“RJ,” Tucker interrupted, although Grady didn’t think he minded as much as he pretended to.
“RJ,” Gibson amended, “is a psychic—and until I straightened him out, a damn good con man.”
“Yeah, youstraightened me out. Let’s go with that,” Tucker snorted.
Gibson gave him a look. “Are you telling this story or am I?”
Tucker gave a royal wave and gulped his beer. “By all means. Continue.”
Gibson rolled his eyes, and Grady glimpsed sly humor behind his all-business facade. “I’m a witch—mainly necromancy, but I have some other handy skills as well. That’s how I ended up with the Tennessee Bureau of Supernatural Investigation. Given Tucker’s talents, and his penchant for escaping, my bosses made him a deal. Join the team, stay clean, and his record gets erased.”
“Wasn’t there an old TV show like that?” Dawson joked. “I think I’ve caught Uncle Denny watching re-runs late night.”
“Several,” Gibson deadpanned. “Everyone figured out what we already knew—we worked better when we were on the same side. Although he did lead me on a merry chase,” he admitted with a grin.
“I let him chase me until I caught him,” Tucker supplied with a knowing wink. “I get visions, and he sees dead people. Good partnership.”
“You’re a necromancer,” Dawson repeated, stuck on something Gibson said a few minutes before. “So why don’t you just bring the murder victims back to life and ask who killed them?”
Gibson grimaced. “Yeah, no. For one thing—that’s not as easy as it sounds. And even if I did—assuming I could—what comes back isn’t always the same.People don’t see their killer if they’re shot from a distance or attacked from behind. They might not know who had it in for them—you’d be surprised how often someone is surprised to wind up dead. Ghosts are very unreliable witnesses.”
“Do your visions help prevent crimes or catch the perps?” Grady turned to Tucker.
“Sometimes. I can get images from a crime scene that can steer us in the right direction, or I’ll get a warning that we’re walking into a trap. Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as on TV. I don’t just go into a trance and see the murderer. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be admissible evidence. We’d still have to prove it the old-fashioned way.”
“I don’t raise the dead—but I can usually summon their ghosts. They can be chatty and helpful, even if they aren’t aware that what they know is valuable,” Gibson jumped in.
“Did you get much from the bikers’ ghosts?” Grady asked. “I’m assuming you’ve talked with them.”
Gibson drained his beer and set the bottle aside. “Not everyone who dies hangs around afterward. Two of the souls had already departed by the time we got to the scene. The other remembered his name and knew he was dead. He didn’t get a good look at what clawed him up, except that it was ‘big as a man’ and had yellow eyes.”
Grady and Dawson exchanged a glance. “Sounds like some type of were-creature. Wolf or a big cat, maybe?”
Gibson nodded. “That’s our theory. But the supernatural forensics came back with an interesting tidbit—traces of magic. Found the same thing with those dead coyote shifters.”
“Magic?” Dawson leaned forward. “What kind?”
“We think it was a binding or a tracking spell,” Tucker replied. “Which raises the question—who’s the witch, and why were they involved?”
“We don’t have a forensics team, but we’ve got friends who are pretty good at digging up answers,” Dawson said. “Those guys at the bar who attacked us had rap sheets a mile long—most of it anti-cryptid bullshit and violent humans-only groups, plus assault, weapons violations, and petty crimes.”
“Knox thinks someone realized he overheard their plans to make trouble and decided to shut him up permanently,” Grady said, recounting what they had learned from his brother. “The fake nurse also had HDF ties and a revoked license. As far as anyone could find with the coyotes, they got in trouble with their pack, went out on their own, had some minor shady dealings, and ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He didn’t credit Denny’s hacker friends as the source of the information.
Gibson and Tucker nodded. “That matches what we’ve turned up. Someone wanted to send a message, so they killed the coyote shifters—and probably the bikers too,” Gibson said.
“Since the stories of the bushwhacker ghosts never had them clawing people to shreds, we think whoever is behind all this co-opted the legend to give themselves cover,” Tucker continued the thought.
“You think the same witch was involved with both?” Dawson echoed. “Playing for both teams?”
“Not just playing—possibly running the show,” Gibson answered. “Ophelia Locklear has been involved with the vampire side of the Syndicate for a very long time. She may be a vampire herself or some other type of immortal. We think she’s using the HDF and SPS as pawns—we’re just not sure what her game is.”
Gibson’s words sent a shiver of ice down Grady’s spine. “How long? More than thirty years?” He ignored Dawson’s speculative gaze for the moment.
“Maybe. Why?” Gibson replied, eyes narrowing.
“My grandfather, Frank Richardson, was a hunter. I’m still trying to piece together what happened, but what I know for sure is that he and his wife were killed in a fire or explosion. His son, my father Aaron, was adopted by Michael King—Dawson’s grandfather,” Grady recounted. “Then years later, Dawson’s parents were killed in a suspicious plane crash, and less than a year ago, Dad was killed in a werewolf hunt that wasn’t a standard hunt. And just now, there have been two attempts on Knox’s life.”
“You think someone—possibly a witch—might have orchestrated all of that?” Tucker looked skeptical.
