Page 99 of Bewicched

“That wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything.” Tears glisten in his eyes but it’s impossible not to see the calculation hiding behind them. “He made me. This guy. He kidnapped me and made me do it. Made me take pictures. He had a gun.”

Osso steps up. “You found them, researched them, stalked them. We’ve seen your notes. Your findings on your experiments. It’s impressive what you did. No one would have guessed someone your age could’ve accomplished something like this.” He shakes his head as though awed in spite of himself.

The kid has a thin, angular face, sandy brown hair, and dead blue eyes. Bony shoulders poke at his t-shirt. If you saw him riding his bike down the street, you wouldn’t look twice. Up close, as Osso is, he sees the sociopath lurking behind the innocent façade.

“I know what you’re doing. I’m not stupid, you know. You can’t trick me into confessing something I didn’t do.” His chin tips up defiantly.

“I wouldn’t try that. Not with you. Not with a kid who created a torture chamber like that.” He shakes his head, subtly moving his huge frame to the side, blocking the kid’s view of Hernández. “Just between us,” he adds, leaning in. “How’d you pick them? Is there a commonality we’re not seeing? Or did you pick them because they were different?”

The kid glances at all the activity around him. It’s like when they’d found his workshop, exciting and scary. “Hypothetically?”

Osso nods. “Sure.”

“Maybe. I don’t know, but maybe because they were there and stupid enough to walk into the trap.”

Osso nods again, like he’s giving this response his full attention and finds it fascinating.

“I mean, I don’t know, right? It was that other guy, but I bet they were annoying little babies who couldn’t even imagine their lives not being perfect. I—that guy just helped ’em grow up. I told him to stop, though. I thought he was just kidding around. I didn’t think he was going to kill anyone.”

“Uh-huh.” Osso drops the faux interest. The fierce expression on his face makes the kid lean back, unable to move farther away because of the cop standing directly behind him.

“I don’t care if you believe me. It’s true.” He shrugs one of his bony shoulders. “I’m just a kid,” he says again. “It’s not like you could throw me in prison.”

“That’s true,” Osso responds, his voice a deep rumble.

“And even if I was convicted for the stuff that guy did, a couple of years in juvie and I’m out.” He looks around Detective Osso at Detective Hernández, his gaze moving up and down. “Some people should worry about me getting out in a few years and maybe not liking the cops who made up all this stuff about me.”

The kid returns his attention to Detective Osso. “My life has been tough. Doctors will tell the judge I was too young to know right from wrong. And I don’t have parents, just that old bitch in there. I never knew my dad and my mom got sick and died. See? You should be helping me, not arresting me for stuff that isn’t even my fault.”

Detective Osso nods to the uniformed cop to take the kid to the car, to bring him to the station and then turns his back on the kid. Detective Hernández does the same.

“Hey, wait. Wait!” The killer is escorted away. He continues to look over his shoulder, trying to get the detectives’ attention back on him, where it belongs. When they go around the side of the house toward the driveway, he stops struggling. Seems pointless. He sizes up the officer with him. “Can you get me my phone back? That’s my phone. He doesn’t have the right to take it. It’s mine.” He’d feel better if he could look at the pictures on it, relive them. He’d feel better if he could just do that.

On a gasp, I sat up in bed and then let out a long, slow breath. They got him. Dropping back onto the pillow, I stared up at my ceiling. This was normally when I’d go bake, but I couldn’t because I didn’t want to wake up Declan.Damn.

“You okay up there?” he called.

Jeez. His hearing was ridiculous. “They arrested the killer.”

A moment later, he was standing beside my bed. “How do you know?”

“Saw it.” I pointed to my head.

“You sure it wasn’t a nightmare or something? You said you always have those.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sure. This had the clarity of a prophetic dream, like when I saw what happened with you and the wolves. My nightmares are a jumble of a million horrible things I’ve seen, relentlessly trying to swamp me. This was different. Hernández and Osso will come tomorrow”—I checked the clock—“today to tell me about it.”

He let out a breath, patting my knee beneath the comforter. “You did it. Because of you, that guy won’t kill anyone else.”

I nodded, sitting back up. “Christopher was already gone before Hernández came to me. Ana, though, she was taken after. I wish I could have—”

“Don’t. You did everything you could. You found her and her killer. And I’m sure he had his eye on other kids who will get to grow up now because of you.”

That sounded nice, but I wasn’t there yet. “Could you sleep up here so I can go down and bake? I’m not going to be able to fall asleep again.”

He studied my bed. “Lie down on a comfortable bed instead of a too-small couch? I don’t know…”

“Ha ha,” I said, jumping out of bed. I slept in a tank top and panties, but it was particularly dark up here with my skylight blacked out. I went to my closet and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. I found my slippers and was toeing into them when Declan cleared his throat.

“I feel honor-bound to tell you that werewolves have excellent night vision and now I won’t be able to sleep either, as I’ll never get the image of you in your underwear out of my head.”

I checked the clock again. “Good. I’ll make you a big breakfast and then you can get to work on my deck.”

He fell back on the bed with a groan. “I’ll be there in a minute. First I need a cold shower.”

“Do what you need to do,” I said, jogging down the stairs. Instead of the kitchen, though, I went to the back door, opening it on the cold and wind. Sunrise was still hours away, but I called, “Good morning, Charlie! Good morning, Herbert!” I looked down into the water directly beneath me—I missed my deck. “Good morning, Cecil. I hope you and your friend are doing well.” A tentacle broke the surface and then slipped under the waves again. And there, three posts away, was the tennis ball.

We still had a sorcerer to catch, but my friends were okay. I had a hot guy upstairs and a possible visit from my dad. The detectives would be showing up in a few hours for their key lime tartlets and I was pretty sure they were bringing me a new case. I didn’t know how it had happened, but my life had become insane…and I didn’t hate it.