Brody prods me. I don’t want to, but I don’t have another option, do I? The closest thing we have to a suspect is missing, and our DNA samples aren’t getting hits on the system. Not to mention we’re all waiting for Annabelle Porter to show up, be it dead or alive.
Now is not the time to be prejudiced toward people’s beliefs.
“Sure. That sounds great.”
“Fabulous.” Color fills her cheeks as she smiles warmly. “Bring coffee, will you? I live upstairs and the machine broke. Thanks, doll.” She winks, and before I can agree or disagree, she turns her back to me and explains the healing properties of something or another to someone.
“She seems real nice,” Brody says in a way that would make any woman squirm, glancing back over his shoulder when I lead him away.
“No, you’re not comin’ with me tomorrow.” I figure I should make that point before he tries to seduce her.
“Dammit.”
Idiot.
The front of Wistful, Dina’s store, is the number-one reason I’ve never entered it. It’s all fancy and mystical. Deep-purple curtains sweep over the corners, tied back with silver-white ropes. Black, velvet-looking stands hold rocks and crystals, books, candles, and even a couple of knifes. Honestly, I have no idea what any of them are.
Except the soaps. I recognize the soaps.
Regretfully, I get out of the car, pull my purse from the passenger’s seat, and take the tray with the coffee from the center console. I have no idea what she likes since she didn’t say, but apparently, Rosie has the memory of an elephant and remembered her usual order.
I get the feeling that Ms. White’s coffee machine isn’t so much broken as it is nonexistent.
The things I do for information.
I knock on the frosted-glass window set in the plum-colored door. Oh, it matches the drapes in the window. Someone’s been on Pinterest and taken notes on color coordination.
Perhaps I should try that in all of that spare time I have.
If it weren’t so lame, I’d be laughing at myself right now.
Thankfully, Dina approaches the door and cuts through my inner monologue. It’s ridiculously early, but she looks as though she could step onto a catwalk and not look out of place.
“Come in, come in!” She smiles at me, her lips coated with ruby-red gloss. She opens the door wide and steps to the side.
“Thanks.” I follow her into the dimly lit store and pause.
Dina catches my hesitation and reaches to the wall with a tiny smile curving her lips. There’s a tiny click, and then the room floods with light. The sudden brightness makes me blink harshly, and I center myself so I don’t step back. Fuck knows my heels haven’t been kind to me in the last twenty-four hours.
“Oh, you can set those down here on the register,” she says, looking at the coffee. “Or bring them out to the back. Sorry—with the fair here, I don’t have much time at the store.”
“Don’t worry. I’m so sorry to bother you. Yours is the left, by the way.” I set the holder try on the register counter and pass Dina her coffee.
“Put your purse under the counter, doll. I’ll lock the door.”
I set my beloved Coach purse—all right, so the thing is two weeks old. Don’t judge me—behind her register as she locks the door and guides me out to the back. I double back for my coffee then scoot back behind her. We move so quickly that I can’t really take in the store, but the back room I notice all right.
There are boxes everywhere. It appears to be a form of organized chaos. If I had the office like this, Grecia would come after me until I sorted it out.
“I know, I know.” Dina puts her coffee on a dusty bookshelf and looks at me sheepishly. She presses her hands together in front of her chest, grinning. “I’m not all too organized, but to me, it makes sense.”
“Yeah. I feel the same about my closet.” I look around in awe. There really are a lot of boxes here.
“So, what can I help you with?” She gives me one final glance before kneeling and grabbing a pocket knife. She slices the tape on the top of one box, opens it, then pushes it to the side. After she brings another forward, she repeats.
“I was hoping you could tell me something about Satanism.”
She stills, her knife embedded halfway down the tape. Slowly, she turns her face until her startlingly blue eyes meet mine. Then she pushes her silver hair out of her face. “I’m sorry?”
My lips part, but nothing comes out. Instead of speaking, I take a deep breath and look down at my cup, fiddling with the protector thing Rosie puts on it to stop you from burning your hands. “I’m not interested for personal reasons,” I say quietly. Slowly. “Professional.”
“The murders? I didn’t know you were a cop.”
“I’m not. I have a client who…may have connections to it, and I’d like to know more before I dive in headfirst.”
I’m pretty sure she can see right through that lame lie, but if she can, she doesn’t give any indication.
Her shoulders drop and she goes back to opening her box. “Honestly, I don’t know much, doll. While I believe in Satan and respect him, I don’t worship him. I’ll stick to the goddesses.”
Whoever they may be. “I understand. It was a long shot. Thanks anyway.” I turn away.
“I can help though.”
“You can?” I look over my shoulder.
Dina nods, albeit reluctantly. She puts the knife down and moves a couple of boxes, revealing a chaise longue, which is surprisingly free of the dust that coats many other areas of this room. She waves toward it, and I take a seat.
“As a practitioner of magic, I’ve made it my job to know the basics of many religions. My mother owned this store before me and she was very…judgmental of others, shall we say. It blighted my childhood.”
That’ll explain why this store has always been here. At least, to me.
“Satanism isn’t what people think. Do they believe and worship the devil? Yes, doll. They do. I’m not gonna sugarcoat that shit. But it’s not all blood sacrifices or brutal things like you see in the movies. It’s a very…sexual…religion. They believe sex—more specifically, orgasm—has power. That’s the power they use to draw the devil, but it’s always consensual. Even if the receiver of the orgasm—the vessel, if you will—is a virgin. Some young girls in a sect are bred for that very reason.” She stands and removes books from the box then sets them on a shelf. “It sounds brutal, but it isn’t. They have the power to refuse at any time. After all, religion is very personal.”
“Of course. But they do have rituals?”
“They’re no different than the rituals I share with my coven or than a Christian attending church every Sunday.”
A coven? There’s a whole bunch of people like her?
Good God.
“Okay. Do they have like…a book or something? Like a bible? Or the book thingy you have?”
“A Book of Shadows?” She doesn’t look offended. Just mildly amused at my lack of knowledge. “Yes. I believe it’s The Satanic Bible… Something like that.”
“I guess you don’t have one, huh?”
“’Fraid not. Just because I understand it doesn’t mean my customers do. They see that and they’re likely to freak out.” She finishes unpacking the box, flips it over, cuts, and flattens it. “You can probably get one online. Anyway, like I said, that’s about all I know. They’re perfectly harmless, for the most part. Of course, you get some crazy bastards who take their belief too far and think Satan wants them to kill people, but they’re a very small few. No different than Catholics who believe Jesus manifests in their porridge each morning.”
Except you rarely hear of Catholics killing people in Jesus’ name. I keep that little tidbit to myself. I’m not sure she’ll share my sense of humor.
“Thanks, Dina. You’ve been real helpful.” I grip the edge of the seat to help myself stand, but I stop when I hear a loud banging on the front door.