Free Lost Soul (Harbinger P.I. Book 1) by Adam J Wright Page B

modelled on something out of the Victorian era, and she carried a parasol that was made of black lace, fashioned into intricate, delicate patterns.
    But it wasn’t her beauty or anachronistic dress sense that startled me; as my gaze met hers, I knew I was looking into the eyes of a witch.
    When you’ve worked with the preternatural world for as long as I have, you tend to recognize other human beings who have had the same experiences. It’s like if two bodybuilders met at a party, they would instantly understand that they shared a common interest. In their case, of course, the huge muscles would be a dead giveaway. In the case of people who have experienced the other realms or magic, things that most human beings didn’t believe were real, the recognition was more subtle. It was at a subconscious level but it was there all the same.
    So I knew that this woman was no stranger to magic and, judging by her dress, I concluded that she was a witch. At the same time, she knew that I was also familiar with the supernatural world and came to her own conclusion about me.
    “Alec Harbinger,” she said as if she had known me all her life. “The preternatural investigator.”
    I’d been startled before but now I was taken aback. How did she know who I was? “Did you read my mind?”
    “No,” she said, shaking her head. Her long raven hair tumbled over her shoulders. “I read your advertisement. It was in the local newspaper.”
    “Ah, of course. And you are?”
    “Victoria Blackwell.” She offered a lace-gloved hand. “My sister Devon and I own Blackwell’s Books. You must come by sometime for tea. We have many books in our shop that might interest you.”
    “Good to know,” I said, shaking her hand. “Maybe I’ll drop by sometime and take a look.”
    “Yes, I’m sure we’ll see you soon.” She smiled and walked onto Main Street, turning left and heading down the street. I took a right turn toward my office but stopped before going inside. I watched Victoria Blackwell’s black-clad figure strolling along the sidewalk. Everyone in her vicinity gave her a wide berth and I guessed that even though those people didn’t believe in witchcraft beyond what they saw in movies or read in books, they instinctively sensed something “different” about the Blackwell sisters.
    Victoria disappeared through the door of an antiquated-looking building that had a sign reading BLACKWELL’S BOOKS over the door. I wondered if I’d underestimated the amount of preternatural activity in Dearmont. Witches tended to stick to areas where there were places of natural magical power, so if there were two witches running the bookshop in town, there was probably more to Dearmont than met the eye.
    I went inside and ascended the stairs to meet my new client.

Chapter 9
    I got to the top of the stairs and went into my office, walking past the bespectacled young man who was now sitting in a chair outside Felicity’s office and looking like he might throw up at any moment. His face was ashen, his eyes darting nervously behind the thick-rimmed glasses.
    Felicity came into my office as I was settling into my seat behind the desk. She closed the door behind her.
    “What’s with that guy out there?” I asked her. “He looks like he’s seen a ghost.”
    “He’s seen a monster.” She handed me a cup of coffee. “His name is Timothy Ellsworth. He thinks he’s been bitten by a werewolf.”
    “Werewolf? Why does he think that?”
    She shrugged. “That’s all he would tell me.”
    I sighed, hoping this was going to be a case that would fill our coffers and not just the ramblings of some guy who got bitten by a dog in the woods. “Okay, bring him in.”
    Felicity opened the door and called him in.
    Timothy Ellsworth came into the office and sat in the chair opposite me. The T-shirt he wore was an old Rush T-shirt and it looked too big for his scrawny frame, as if he had lost weight recently. “Timothy,” I said, “I’m Alec Harbinger.