Witch Hunt, A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy (The Maurin Kincaide Series) Read Free

Amarelle? I can’t have him running his mouth to the press, you know,” he asked suspiciously.
    “Call me Mahalia, please. I wouldn’t think of it, Captain. I think he just took pity on an old woman.” She gave my arm a light squeeze as we walked into the medical examiner’s room.
    Old woman, my ass! I’ve seen exactly what Mahalia can do; whatever she had done to get the medical examiner to talk had better wear off quickly.
    Mahalia walked right up to the table. The sheet wasn’t pulled over the girl’s face. She was young and pretty. What a waste. I was hoping Mahalia didn’t know her, and that she wasn’t a witch. Not knowing the name of the dead always makes it easier; it makes it less real.
    “Her name is Laura Youngston. She recently moved to Salem. She wasn’t a full-blooded witch, but she was making great progress in developing her latent gifts. Maurin, if you would? I’d like to know who did this.” Mahalia motioned me over to her.
    She was holding my hand, but not because she needed the support. Mahalia knew me pretty well and asking me to read a dead girl would have definitely caused the old Maurin to bolt. I’ve never read a dead person before, but Mahalia was so confident in me that I felt as if I had to at least give it a try. I moved closer to the body. It was better if I just referred to her that way, I decided.
    Matthison was mumbling to himself. “She’s never been able to do that before. Would’ve been helpful…”
    “Oh, I think you’d be quite surprised what our Maurin is capable of, Captain. Go ahead, dear,” Mahalia said as she nudged me. Her voice was calm and sweet, as if she were pointing me toward a plate of cookies and a glass of milk instead of a corpse.
    It was suddenly hot in here, which was odd for a morgue, so I knew that it was brought on by my nerves. I unbuttoned my black wool peacoat and moved in a little closer. I tried to tamp down the butterflies in my stomach as I lifted the sheet to expose her hands - and then I remembered that they weren’t attached anymore. This felt wrong, so very wrong. I felt like some sicko necrophiliac or psychopath. I felt as if I were invading the dead girl’s space, or violating her privacy. I let the sheet fall and looked at Matthison.
    “I need to see the hands,” I said. My tongue suddenly felt thick and dry in my mouth, like a piece of dentist’s cotton that no longer belonged there.
    Matthison winced. “I’ll get Norm.”
    A couple of minutes later he came back in with Dr. Norman Walters. They were complete opposites. Matthison is tall, fit and well dressed, while Dr. Walters looked like an overweight Columbo. I could see the looks Normal - I mean Norman - Walters was giving me. Guess I can’t blame him, though. I’d think the same thing about someone asking to hold a dead girl’s amputated hands if I were him. He put a metal bin on one of those implement stands and rolled it over. And then he left, but not before giving me one last look. Suspicion and fear flickered in his eyes briefly, and then disappeared. Walters closed the door gently behind him, as if the dead girl were simply napping on the cold, hard table.
    “He didn’t say that I could touch them. He didn’t say anything, actually. Did you tell him what I needed to do? Of course you did. That’s why he didn’t say anything.” I was stalling.
    “Yes, that’s why he was looking at you like you had six heads. Do you what you need to do, Maurin, so we can get out of here. Twenty years of practice does not make this place any more pleasant.” He pushed the tray a little closer.
    The delicate hands were palm up in the bin, thankfully. I didn’t want to touch them anymore than I had to. I reached into the bin, my fingertips barely grazing hers. I was immediately overwhelmed with pain, excruciating, crippling pain. I couldn’t see anything beyond it.
    I bit back the scream building in my throat. If I let it out, then the pain would completely overtake me.