Hot Blooded Read online

  “Oh,” Walter said. “No, that’s a rougarou.”

  I sagged in the seat. “So, no demons.”

  “Sorry, Bane,” Walter said. “I...I heard about Nya. I understand…”

  I was going to have to stop him before he rolled out the pity-wagon. “Thanks, Walter,” I said quickly. “We’ll take the rougarou in South Dakota.”

  Walter paused. “I’m sorry, Bane. Eliza called for that one already.” Man. Today just wasn’t my day. “I do have that hunt in Columbus still. Nobody’s called in for that one yet.” Yeah, probably because they don’t want to spend their afternoon doing supernatural laundry.

  “What is it?” I asked, already regretting this. If I was lucky, maybe whatever it was would be worth half a soul.

  “It’s actually hard to say,” Walter said. “There was a murder-suicide at the Columbus airport a couple of weeks ago and now there is a supernatural signature coming from the airport.”

  “So...a haunting?” I asked. Hauntings weren’t usually worth anything on the soul scale, but it would be something to do until we had something better to do.

  Walter made a non-committal noise. “I’m not getting the low-frequency buzz of a haunting. I think it might be something else.”

  “Ok,” I said. “Do you know if there was anything interesting or strange about the murder-suicide? I mean, besides the fact that it was a murder-suicide?”

  “The vision was a pine tree, being chopped down from both sides. Two men, arguing. The tree began to fall. One man pushed it over...onto the other one. Then, he stabbed himself with something, in the chest and then the neck.”

  “Lumberjacks at the airport?” I asked. “Has the airport been doing renovations or something and actually cutting down trees?”

  Walter gave a huff of annoyance. “It was metaphorical, Bane. I’ve only been at this for fifty years. I looked it up while I was pulling details together on the other hunts. The pine tree is the logo for AmFirst Airlines. I checked the papers. Fred Wilkerson and Murray Freck were the murder-suicide victims. They worked for AmFirst.”

  “Which one did the murder-suiciding?” I asked.

  “Fred,” Walter said. “But I feel two strong signatures. There was a lot of anger and hostility between them. It feels like Fred just got the first blow in before Murray could.”

  “Ok, are we talking pissed off airplane mechanics, flight attendants, pilots?” I asked.

  “No,” Walter said. “They both worked at the ‘lost luggage’ counter for AmFirst.”

  “Starting to piece together why they murder-suicided,” I said.

  “Well if you don’t want it,” Walter said, beginning to sound indignant.

  “No, no, we’ll take it,” I said. I was already regretting this. But, something to hunt was better than nothing. I changed lanes and took the fork for 64 North. “Just out of curiosity,” I said to Walter. “You haven’t heard anything that might be Sister Smile up to her long-pig, pork rind munching habits again, have you?”

  Walter sighed. “Sorry, Bane. I’ve got nothing on demons or Sister Smile and Joel. I know you’re looking for either one or both of them at all times. If I hear anything, you’re my first phone call. Even before the weather report. How’s that?” I could hear the pity in his voice again, but I decided to take it.

  “I’d sure appreciate it,” I said. “Thanks, Walter.”

  “Good hunting,” Walter said and he hung up.

  Noah was smiling when I dropped the phone back into the seat between us. “What?” I asked.

  “So, it sounds like we won’t be going to Mississippi to be eaten alive by mosquitoes and hell beasts,” Noah said. “And based on your expression, we aren’t getting the hunt for whatever a rougarou is in South Dakota. Which, I’ll be honest, after seeing Roy’s injury in Kansas City, I wasn’t looking forward to running into one.”

  “Do you want me to pull over so you can throw yourself a parade?” I asked Noah. “Your shit-eating grin really should be accompanied by a float and a huge balloon filled with hot air.”

  “Oh, I’m good,” Noah said. “I’m just savoring the fact that we’re going on the hunt that I wanted to go on, for once.”

  “Glad we could make your hunting dreams come true,” I muttered.

  “So, it’s a haunting in Columbus?” Noah asked.

  I shrugged. “Walter says it doesn’t ‘feel’ like a haunting. Apparently, a couple of disgruntled workers at the Columbus airport had it out with each other, murder-suicide style, and now there’s a supernatural vibe coming from there.”

  Noah’s smile fell off his face so quickly, I expected to glance down and see it in his lap. “Murder-suicide?” He asked. I nodded. “They weren’t like, flying a plane when it happened or something, were they?”

  I shook my head. “No, apparently they worked in the lost-luggage office.”

  Noah shook his head. “Well, that explains a lot.”

  It was only about a three and a half-hour drive from Rosetta’s house to Columbus. It was a little after noon when we took the exit to the airport.

  “Ok,” Noah said, fidgeting in the seat next to me. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to an airport, but I’m pretty sure they still won’t allow sawed-offs or machetes in the terminal, let alone a ten-gauge shotgun.”

  “Probably a safe assumption,” I said, slowing down for the turnoff to short-term parking.

  “So...how are we going to do this?” Noah asked. “And I mean, there will be people everywhere. How are we supposed to hunt something when there are so many people just hanging around? I mean, they could get hurt.” Noah’s voice was entering the anxiety-babbling range.

  I turned to look at him. “Deep breaths, Noah.”

  He took a breath and then looked at me, eyes wide, waiting for me to tell him my brilliant plan.

  “We’ll wing it,” I said. I pulled into a parking space and cut the engine.

  “Wing it?” Noah asked, his voice rising an octave. “I don’t know about you,” Noah said. “But I sure as hell am not going to try to smuggle something in, get caught by the airport Gestapo and then hauled off into one of those scary, windowless backrooms to get a body-cavity search from an off-duty WWE wrestler, moonlighting as security.”

  I paused and looked at Noah. “Seriously, where do you come up with these scenarios?”

  Noah shrugged. “I’ve heard things.”

  I shook my head and got out. I heard the squeak of the passenger side door and Noah moved to the passenger side of the toolbox while I opened the driver’s side and pulled out the pink fanny pack. “Noah, if I had any more dog tranquilizers, I’d probably be considering the pros and cons of blow-darting you right now.” He gave me a dirty look. “Seriously, just take a breath. We need to scope things out first. Once we figure out what exactly we’re hunting, we’ll be able to form a plan. Ok?”

  Noah took a breath. “Ok, so we’re just scouting right now?” I nodded and clipped on the fanny pack. I pulled the pill bottle out and tucked it under the front seat. It was nice to have a second bottle. The two pills a day dosage had just started since Nya’s death. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe the visions got worse when my guilt and despair leveled up.

  “I thought we were just going to scout,” Noah said.

  “We are.”

  “Then why are you wearing that ‘car-accident beacon’,” Noah asked, nodding at the fanny pack.

  “Precautions,” I said. I reached into the toolbox and found the open bag of road salt. I started stuffing handfuls into the fanny pack and Noah came around the truck to watch. “Just in case. I doubt security will give a shit about a fanny pack full of road salt.”

  “Unless they think it’s heroine,” Noah muttered. “Or crystal meth.”

  “Well, they can taste it,” I said.

  Noah closed his eyes. “So you’re going to, what, thrust your hips at the security guard and tell him to taste what’s in your fanny?”

  “Eww,” I said to Noah. “No. Look, you’r
e freaking out over nothing. Salt isn’t going to set off their metal detector or their drug-sniffing dogs and at least I’ll have something to protect myself if the supernatural in there decides to get handsy. Now, do you want some?”

  “Yes,” Noah said on a sigh. I filled one of his cargo shorts pockets with the road salt and I dug around in the bottom of the toolbox for my E.M.F. reader.

  “Ok, that thing might get us searched,” Noah said, looking at the exposed wires on the cobbled-together reader. “That looks like a bomb.”

  “It’s an E.M.F. reader,” I said. I pulled out a pair of headphones. Well, “pair” wasn’t quite accurate. Somewhere along the line, I’d gotten one of the earbuds stuck on something and in my hurry, ripped it off. There was a single earbud remaining, but it was still enough to get the job done.

  “Stuff that thing in your fanny pack,” Noah said. “Let’s try to get at least inside the front doors before we’re tackled to the ground.”

  “Fine, bossy,” I said, stuffing it into the pack and spilling road salt on the ground. “There. Happy now?”

  “Thrilled,” Noah said. I made sure Lucy was locked up and we took off towards the front entrance. When we were inside, I was on the verge of pulling out the E.M.F. reader when I noticed the security guards look our way. Best to wait until we got closer to our final destination. At least we hadn’t had to go through security or the metal detectors that actual passengers had to roll through. We followed the signs and made it down to the baggage claim area. There was an area of baggage claim with the pine tree logo for AmFirst on most of the signs. The AmFirst lost luggage office was a single glass door set into the far wall. Instead of heading straight for it, I started a lazy circle around the baggage carousels.

  “What are you doing?” Noah hissed. “The ‘lost bags’ office is over there.” Noah pointed to the wall.

  “I know,” I said, searching the ground.

  “Then why are we screwing around over here?” I ignored him and moved around the end of the far carousel where there was a garbage can. Pay dirt. I picked up a pair of discarded baggage claim stubs that hadn’t made it into the trash.

  “Do you want to be Lucia or,” I squinted down at the name on the stub. “Tracy?”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “I’m already regretting this.”

  “Lucia it is,” I said, handing him the stub.

  “Give me Tracy,” Noah said, thrusting it back at me. “I don’t think I could pass for a Lucia.” I traded stubs with him and started back towards the office. “Uh, we don’t have these people’s IDs. They aren’t going to believe us.”

  “Deep breaths, Noah,” I said. I pushed through the door to the ‘lost luggage’ office and looked around. It was empty. There was a bell on the counter and there was a bell on the door that had jingled when we’d come in. I was halfway to the counter when a door behind it opened and a young gal stuck her head out. She winced at the sight of us and then I saw her forcing the wince up into a helpful smile.

  “What can I do for you?” The gal asked, coming out to the counter. The name on her badge said, “Margo”.

  “Hi,” I said. “Um, my bags didn’t get off the plane. Or at least, they didn’t come around the carousel thingy.”

  Margo’s smile tightened. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. That’s why we’re here. Do you have your claim tag?”

  I handed her the stub. She studied it and I felt my heart starting to pound, trying to think of what to say if she asked for my ID. It was in my bag? Would that work?

  “Well, Lucia, let’s see what the computer can come up with.” She scanned the tag and stared at the screen while she waited for it to load. I started to breathe again and I looked around, trying to figure out a way to bring up the murder-suicide so that I could squeeze some intel out of her.

  “It looks like you guys just repainted,” I said. It was true. The tiny office smelled like fresh paint.

  Margo nodded. “Yeah, after the...incident. We had to.”

  “Incident?” I asked, my eyes going wide. I leaned forward on the counter next to her, channeling as much of Nya’s feigned interest as I could. Margo was young and she looked really bored.

  “Yeah,” Margo said, scrolling down the screen. She didn’t add anything else. Thanks, Margo, you’re not giving me a lot to work with here.

  “Oh, I think I read about that,” I said. “Some guy went nuts and killed another guy? That was here?”

  Margo nodded. “And it was my day off. Of course. Everyone else working that day got to take the rest of the shift off with full-pay.”

  “Did you know the guys?” I asked, trying to prod, but not too hard.

  Margo shrugged. “Kind of. Murray had been here for a really long time. Fred had just transferred from the AmFirst headquarters in Dallas.” She shook her head. “Man, I only had to work four shifts with the two of them together but, that was still four too many.”

  “Really?” I asked, pouring on the conspiratorial tone. Keep it coming, Margo. She sighed when she looked at the screen.

  “The computer says this bag was checked in off the plane.” She glared at her phone. “That means the baggage handlers must have set it down somewhere. I’ll need to call.”

  “What a pain in the butt,” I said, hoping she was too distracted to notice me probing for more information. “I’ll bet the two old guys always made you deal with the problem customers.”

  “Try all of the customers,” Margo said. She grabbed a sticky note pad and wrote something down on it, copying it from the screen. “They were always fighting, snipping at each other over counter space, sticky notes, pens. My god, I’ve never seen two men fight over a stupid pen like those two did.”

  “A pen?” I asked.

  Margo rolled her eyes and reached for her phone. “This stupid ‘space pen’ that someone lost in here. I guess it’s been here for a couple of years. Murray just had to have that pen every shift. And then of course Fred found out about the pen and he just had to have it. So much bickering over something so stupid…” She paused and turned her attention to the phone. “Hi, it’s Margo from Lost Luggage. I have Lucia Donaldson here. Her bag didn’t make it to the carousel. The computer says it was scanned in.” She paused for a moment and looked up at me. “This might take a minute. They’re checking.”

  I nodded and Margo went back to talking to them. I moved back across the room and with my back to Margo, I unzipped the fanny pack and pulled out the E.M.F. reader. I put the single earbud in and flipped it on. It hummed in my hand and I heard the high pitched tones of it picking up on the electro-magnetic frequencies when I turned slightly, ignoring the worried expression on Noah’s face. We were definitely in the right spot. Margo had the phone pressed to her ear and she’d picked up the cradle and turned her back to us. I moved over to the counter and I almost went deaf as the E.M.F. grew louder and shriller the closer I got to Margo. Yeah, there was definitely something going on here.

  “Jimmy, if you’re screwing with me and that bag is sitting on the Tarmac by the baggage cart, like the one from yesterday, I’m going to come back there and stuff you in the baggage cart, capiche? Look again and call me back.” I flipped off the E.M.F. reader and turned my back to her so I could return it to the fanny pack. Some more road salt fell out onto the carpet. “He’s looking again,” Margo said. “He swears up and down that they sent every piece of luggage that arrived on the flight from Albuquerque.”

  “No worries,” I said to Margo, turning back to smile at her. “I really appreciate you looking into it.”