The chief agreed this scene was outside his jurisdiction, and he left around noon,” Jackett drawled, his voice a familiar-sounding Tennessee cadence. “I’ll find out what’s happ’nin’, but I got to say, what the witch is describing is all by the book. It ain’t uncommon to hold a person of interest and, according to established protocol, to make sure any children are safe for the duration. Social services will hold a custodial ruling as soon as possible and see that the child is returned to the rightful family member, but short term, the safe place is with a foster home.”
“I don’t think so,” the leader said. “Foster homes are notoriously dangerous, especially to children of witches.”
“It’s protocol, ma’am,” the sheriff said, his tone composed and unemotional.
“Really?” T. Laine said. “Protocol can be interpreted. This sounds like extreme measures to me. Measures that might suggest Catriona is dangerous just for being a witch, measures that would pit the magic workers we need at this scene against us in law enforcement, at a particularly bad time. We are not looking at a death working or curse. You aren’t even certain that this isn’t an accident of some sort. Catriona isn’t a death witch, so she isn’t a suspect.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Jackett said, equably. “I ain’t here to argue. But in the interest of interspecies harmony, I can make a call.”
“We aren’t different spe—” she started.
Occam stepped up to the sheriff, all man-to-man, a hand on the older man’s shoulder. The change in the sheriff’s demeanor was immediate: his shoulders relaxed and his face lost the hardness he’d worn when watching all the womenfolk.
I’d seen just that reaction among churchmen. Fear of women created a need to control them, especially among weak men who didn’t know their place in the world and feared anything that might take their little bit of power from them. T. Laine’s eyes went narrow and hard at the obvious body language. Occam’s tactics would not have worked for a woman. Had Lainie stepped up all backslapping bonhomie, a man like Jackett would have been put off. Of course, had Jackett been a woman, Lainie might have had the best results. Sexism was a peculiar thing.
Occam pulled Jackett back into our little group and said, “From what I’ve heard of him, FBI Senior Special Agent Macauley Smythe is a racist, a misogynist, and a witch hater. Everybody here knows it. Most all your people saw it when he handcuffed the witch in question and hauled her away. He was not gentle. He enjoyed it a mite too much.” Occam looked around, as if to point out the numbers of people who had seen the unprofessional and unnecessary tactics. “I think you might want to do more than call the chief of police and the FBI office. Maybe you would consider a personal appearance and make sure nothing untoward is happenin’ to Catriona Doyle, a woman currently living in your county. A citizen of Ireland, with rights under U.S. and international law. A citizen protected by her embassy. Your cooperation and assistance might make the Nashville witches a tad more willing to assist us. And we do need their assistance to keep all your people and our people and the civilian victims here alive.”
Jackett was a middle-aged man with a paunch that moved when he took a deep breath. He didn’t look happy at being maneuvered into doing anything to help the witches, but sheriffs are political beings. They want to keep the voting public happy and anything that got in the way of finding Stella Mae’s killer would be bad for Jackett’s future occupational and happiness factor. “I reckon I can do that for you’uns.”
I jerked at the familiar church-speak, but no one else seemed to notice.
“And woe betide the man or woman who harms her or her child,” the coven leader said, loud enough to be heard.
“That a threat?” Jackett called back, not sounding as though a threat would bother him much.
“Never,” the witch said. But the smile she sent the sheriff said otherwise.
Sheriff Jackett hesitated, watching the witch, before he pulled his key fob from a pocket and walked to his car. No one spoke as the official vehicle departed. Into the uncomfortable silence, T. Laine stepped forward and extended her hand to the coven leader. Softly she said, “Special Agent T. Laine Kent, of the Kent witch clan.”