whiskey witches 02 - blood moon magick by s m blooding Page A

thought.”
    Paige cringed and reapplied her smile. She didn’t disagree with him, but she really wished he’d kept that to himself.
    Sam thought for a moment, then shrugged and took a step back. “Sounds fair. Well, come in. It’s damned cold out there.”
    Paige glared at Dexx and led the way through the creaky screen door.
    Sam wandered into the small kitchen of the dark cabin.
    The living room housed a couch in 1970’s burnt orange, a loveseat in 1960’s pea green, and a new leather recliner. A wood coffee table dominated the middle of the room. A small stand supported a box TV.
    Paige had never been claustrophobic before, but her skin became a little clammy in the tight space.
    “Sit, sit.”
    Tony took the pea-green loveseat. “This is Sam Waugh. He came here from Montana in—what, Sam—the 1970’s?”
    She’d been born in the 1970’s. Just barely.
    “That’s about right,” Sam said from the small kitchen behind them. The room was open from the living room to the kitchen, so there were no boundaries.
    Paige remained standing. If she sat on the sofa, her back would be toward Sam, and she wanted to read his body language as he talked.
    “We’re having tea.” Sam put the kettle on the stove and lit a burner with a slight hissing pop of gas.
    Dexx sank onto the sofa, his expression rounding in horror. He bounced a little, but he’d sunk into the thing, his knees nearly meeting his chin.
    Tony grinned.
    Dexx scooted forward to perch on the edge.
    Sam came to the living room and eased into his recliner. “What do you think I can tell you?”
    Paige sat on the edge of the couch with Dexx, testing the cushion with her hand. The thing had died many, many years ago. She couldn’t find any structure under the cushions at all.
    “First of all,” Tony said, “you are a leader in this community. People look up to you.”
    Sam shrugged with a dry expression.
    “I need Detective Whiskey’s assistance on this case. The only way the people of this town will cooperate with her is if you give her the nod of approval.”
    “Hmm.” Sam leaned back in his chair.
    “You’re also a shaman,” Tony said, folding his hands in front of him. “People come to you for guidance.”
    “Yeah. Yeah, they do.”
    “Is there anything you can tell us about the missing people? Did they come to you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Anything that made them special?”
    Pushing his lips out, Sam thought for a moment, then shook his head.
    Demons liked to play on insecurities. “Did any of them come to you before they were taken? Were they having problems accepting their abilities? I don’t know how it works with shifters, but…”
    Sam studied her, then seemed to come to a decision as the tension released from his face. “We don’t start shifting until we reach adolescence. So, yes, a few of them came to me for guidance. It’s a big change.”
    “I can imagine.”
    “I bet you can. But when we get older, our animal guide becomes stronger, and there are times when it is more difficult to control them.”
    Paige clasped her hands. “But wouldn’t controlling the spirit animal only anger it?”
    Sam’s blue eyes sharpened as he turned his gaze toward her. “Yes.”
    She hoped she wasn’t pissing him off. “Then, wouldn’t it be better to not try to control it?”
    He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re really a witch?”
    She shrugged.
    “Hmm. Anyway, to answer your question. Yes.”
    “How did you become a shaman?”
    His wrinkled lips ironed out into a smile. “My grandmother. She was Sioux and a medicine woman. When my father died and my mother abandoned me, she took me in, raised me in the old ways.”
    “Sioux, huh? You don’t look Native American.” He looked, for intents and purposes, to be Caucasian.
    “How do you think Native Americans are supposed to look?”
    Shit. Foot in mouth. Mayday. Mayday. “Did they all come to you for guidance? Within the days or weeks prior to them disappearing?”
    He took in a deep