Free Black Magic Woman by Justin Gustainis

and your family get yourselves a decent night's sleep, okay? Tomorrow we'll get to work making your home safe again."
    "Who's 'we?'"
    "Me, along with a consultant I've called in, who'll be here late tonight or early tomorrow."
    "Consultant? What's this one's name—Van Helsing?"
    "Her name's Elizabeth Chastain, and she's one of the best in the country at what she does."
    "You mean she's some kind of… ghostbuster?"
    "No, I mean she's some kind of witch."

Chapter 6
    The hunter arrived in New York on a British Airways flight from London, although his journey had begun the day before, in the heat and dust of Johannesburg, South Africa. His lean body was aching after all those hours of cramming his six feet four inches into an airline seat in Coach that had clearly been designed with someone smaller in mind.
    As he entered the main terminal building, he quickly scanned the ragged semicircle of people, each one waiting to meet a passenger, a few holding small signs with names on them. He didn't see his own name, but wasn't concerned. They knew he was here. They would find him.
    The man's thin face had the weathered look of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors without the luxury of sunscreen. His eyes were the pale blue you sometimes see in fine Dresden china. They moved constantly, blinked rarely, and missed nothing. His tropical-weight gray suit, not cheap and not expensive, had already been rumpled when he'd boarded the plane in Jo'burg. By now, even its wrinkles had wrinkles.
    He retrieved his big, battered suitcase from the baggage carousel and made his way over to Customs. He had been standing in line for less than a minute when he was approached by a well-dressed, thirtyish black man carrying a briefcase.
    "Mister Van Dreenan?" The black man didn't sound the least bit tentative.
    "Detective Sergeant Van Dreenan, ja."
    The other man's eyes might have narrowed a little at Van Dreenan's use of the title, but if so, the expression was gone in an instant. He held up a small leather case containing a badge and a laminated ID card. "Special Agent Dale Fenton, FBI."
    Fenton slipped the leather case into a pocket and extended his hand. "Welcome to America." His handshake was brisk, businesslike.
    After shaking hands, Fenton stepped back and said, "Would you come with me, please?"
    He led Van Dreenan to a nearby office marked "Authorized Personnel Only." Inside, a pretty Chinese woman who'd been working at a computer looked up.
    "Oh, hi, Agent Fenton," she said pleasantly. "Is this the gentleman we spoke about?"
    Fenton nodded. Van Dreenan put down his suitcase and stepped forward. "Garth Van Dreenan," he said. He shook the woman's hand carefully, as if well aware how easy it would be to break the bones.
    "Veronica Chen," she said. "Welcome to the United States. May I have your passport and visa, please?"
    She slowly slid his passport over a scanner that looked similar to the kind used in supermarket checkout lanes, and was rewarded by several electronic beeps and the illumination of a small green light. Then, consulting his visa, she typed something into the computer, waited, then typed some more. She clicked the mouse, and on a shelf behind her a printer came to life and began slowly disgorging a document.
    Veronica Chen opened a drawer and produced a couple of pre-inked rubber stamps. She applied each one to both the passport and visa, then returned them to Van Dreenan. Pulling the sheet of paper from the printer, she placed it in front of Fenton. "Signature and badge number, please," she said to the FBI man. "And today's date."
    Fenton filled in the information quickly and returned the document. "Thanks, Veronica, appreciate your help." Then he turned to Van Dreenan and said, "You've just cleared Customs. Let's go."
    As they proceeded down a long hallway, Van Dreenan asked, "What was that form that you signed in there?"
    "That was me sparing a visiting fellow officer the indignity of having his baggage searched, by