Witch Hunt(37)

I didn’t see any demons there, but I still eased the safety off the gun as I slipped inside. The door whined shut behind me.
“Is anyone here?” I asked, raising my voice. “My name is Agent Cèsar Hawke and I’m with the Office of Preternatural Affairs. I have questions.”
“I have answers,” someone said from behind me.
No way in hell someone had gotten behind me.
I spun to see a woman. A human woman. She had bushy brown hair, a hunched back, innocent-looking eyes. Couldn’t have been any older than a gawky fifteen or sixteen. She wore black velvet—heavy skirt, sleeves that draped to her fingertips—and a boned corset. Delicate iron jewelry dangled at her neck and over her forehead. Black symbols had been painted on her cheeks, one under each eye.
She gave me a nervous smile. She was holding some kind of stone scepter that looked much too fancy for an awkward teenager.
“Are you a good man, Agent Cèsar Hawke?”
You want to talk about things that make me useless? Women were number one. Children were number two. Combine both of them by sticking a vulnerable young girl in front of me, and I turn into a giant sucker. This kid was way too young to be dressing up like an infernal priestess and hanging out in Helltown, no matter what she’d done or who she thought she was.
Every single one of my protective instincts went nuts in an instant. Like a big raging beast was trying to break out of my chest.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, lowering the gun. “Who are you?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Who am I? Who are you?”
“I’m Cèsar,” I said again, slower this time, even though she’d already said my name. “What are you doing here? How did you end up in Helltown?”
Her smile turned weird. Her eyes unfocused. “I think you are probably a good man, Cèsar, but that doesn’t change anything.”
Wait, her eyes weren’t unfocused.
They had just focused behind me.
I turned.
And there she was: Isobel Stonecrow, holding a folding chair in both hands like she thought she was a WWE wrestler.
She swung. The chair struck.
I was out before I hit the ground.



I didn’t feel it when I went unconscious. It was like I blinked, and suddenly I was in a chair with ropes tethering my ankles and left wrist. Isobel Stonecrow was kneeling on my right side, quickly knotting the cord on that arm.
I couldn’t react as quickly as I normally would have. The world was swimming around me, spinning and flipping and blurring like I’d just had another rough night with a bottle of tequila. I swiped at Isobel too slowly. By the time my fist grabbed at the place her throat had been, she had already dodged, grabbed my arm, and pinned it back to the chair.
She wasn’t alone. Another priestess of the Hand of Death was behind her, watching with an amused grin that she couldn’t hide behind her fingers.
Yeah, laugh it up.
“He’s ridiculously handsome,” the priestess said, giving Isobel a thumbs up. “Nicely done.”
The corner of Isobel’s mouth twitched. “Can I have a minute, Elora?”
“You can have fifteen. Or maybe twenty. However much you need.” Was she waggling her eyebrows? Jesus. Women.
The priestess slipped past Isobel. I twisted, trying to see where she was going. I couldn’t turn far. For all I knew, there were a dozen priestesses back there giggling at me really quietly.
“What the fuck, Izzy?” I asked once I was reasonably certain that we were alone.
One thick eyebrow arched, lips twisting. “Nobody calls me Izzy.”
I didn’t even know why it had slipped out like that. I sure as heck wasn’t feeling in a “pet names” mood with her. Probably the concussion talking.
Tried to jerk my wrist free. She had already knotted the rope. Damn, she was fast.
“You hang out in Helltown?” I asked as she backed away from me.
“Sometimes,” Isobel said. “It’s a place to settle when I’m not on the road. I have friends here.”
Friends? More like coworkers. She was wearing the robes of the priestesses of the Hand of Death, all black velvet and glittering iron jewelry. I would have been lying if I said that the way the corset lifted her breasts wasn’t totally awesome. But even if I’m a sucker for beautiful women—and I am—I’ve got my limits.
“Let me go,” I said.
“All I want to do is help. Don’t be afraid.”
A scoff. “I’m not afraid.” Not that afraid, anyway. But you try being held hostage by someone in Helltown without losing your cool. I’d heard stories of agents going into Helltown and never coming out again—some of them rumors, some of them definitely not. I didn’t want to be another cold case. I might have been sweating a little.