"I've seen some weird shit, Mills," I say. "But this takes the fucking cake."

"Yeah?" Abbie chuckles. "Well, this is only the beginning, M. I've seen shit a lot weirder than this."

I kirk an eyebrow, swallow the rest of my whiskey. "Try me."

We're at a spot called Mabby's in Sleepy Hollow. I've heard about this small town, about monsters crawling under beds and demons possessing the townspeople, about witches and warlocks. Now, I'm seeing it with my own eyes.

"Another time. For now, let's focus on the case." She orders another rum on ice and opens the file. "Why would one of your rats be in our town, opening up shop and killing everyone?"

"He's got to make a living while he's down here, for one. Two, it's a small town. Unsuspecting. Has a reputation for the supernatural. There's only one person in Harlem who comes close to that arena."

"Cage. You think the suspect is trying to run him out of town or something? Prove he's the biggest and baddest in Harlem? He must want to outshine and destroy Cage."

"Sounds about right. And he needs power to do it. Magic. A spell. Whatever the hell works. And he needs test subjects, to see just how invincible he really is. Que innocent bystanders."

"It seems to be working. Three people have already died. One person was crushed to death with their own car. The second victim was choked out in seconds. And the third was thrown against a building and killed on impact. Does he know Cage personally to have an issue with him?"

"There are a ton of people in Harlem who want to see Cage fall to his knees. They don't have to be his BFF. Some just hate the man because he poses a threat to them. He makes them look squeamish and scary as hell."

"Hmm." Abbie sighs, closes the file. "I don't know why anyone would dislike him without a good reason. I mean he's a superhero and defends the people in his city. Nothing wrong with that. Have you ever disliked him?"

"Me?" I laugh. "Girl, I've had...coffee with the damn man. I don't hate him, and I'm definitely not in love with him either. Plus, he's got a girl. He's a good person, good friend. That's it."

"Coffee? As in...sex?"

I nod over the rim of my glass. "Bingo."

"My friend would get a kick out of this euphemism. You did tell me you liked them with an edge." She laughs.

I met Abbie Mills at a fancy banquet, one that honored and awarded women in police departments who kicked ass and saved the day across New York State. That was five years ago. We kept in contact. It just so happens a case brings me to Sleepy Hollow this go round. When we met each other in New York City at the banquet, it was hard to part ways. I knew I wanted her in my life in whatever capacity I could have her, so we messaged and called each other. Occasionally, we took weekend and vacation trips to visit each other when we could. They were infrequent, but so, so worth it. Most of our time was spent between the sheets, and we talked all night until the stars disappeared.

We connected with each other. It wasn't just because we were cops or black women, but because we saw each other's truth. I saw the pain beneath her, and she saw the anger beneath me. She didn't open up to me right away, but slowly, she did. She let me see the parts of her that weren't so bright. And I let her see mine. We cried together on the tough days and laughed together on the good ones. I wanted for her what she wanted for me: to be fulfilled, to be whole, to be a little less lonely, to be loved out loud.

"I didn't know the man was damned bulletproof at first, but he did have an edge when I met him. Besides, he's not the only one with an edge I've liked, Mills. Or have had coffee with. Remember?"

I touch Abbie's hand, and she flips hers over, so we are palm to palm. Her light brown eyes tell everything until she tilts them to her drink.

"I remember. Good times." She smirks, then stands. "It's getting late. I should head out, M."

I remove my hand, nod. "Alright. Drive safe, Abbie."

"You, too. We'll meet at Madame Noelle's tomorrow morning. 9am work?"

"It's a date." I wink.

Abbie shakes her head and laughs. "Your crazy ass. See you tomorrow."

I watch her leave the bar while I get myself caught in what-ifs and our past coffee meetings.

Madame Noelle is the town psychic, palm reader, witch, all the above, damnit. She knows everything about everything from what Abbie told me. The shop is small. It's near black inside except for candles and a lamp. There's even a broom stick by the fucking door. I wasn't about to go in by myself.

"Hey. Sorry I'm late. Got held up at the precinct. I'm surprised you're not already questioning Madame Noelle. Interrogations are kind of your thing, right?"

I blink at her like she's lost her fucking mind. Hell no. I can take a lot of things, but I draw the line at witches.

"We're in your yard now. I figure I'd let you take the lead."

"So you're scared?"

"I'm a cop. What do I have to be scared of?"

"It's okay if you are."

"I'm not afraid, Mills."

"Right. Come on then. I'll take the lead as you put it."

The shop is as demented as it appears on the outside. It smells like cinnamon and moth balls. Display cases of skulls, drafty books, and odd parts of things line the tiny space. There's a table in the middle of the area, with two chairs.

"Witness, I've been expecting you. Have a seat," says the lady between the beaded doorway.

Her hair's big and curly. She might as well wear bed sheets; her dress is so drappy. She wears bracelets that tinkle and clink; they're mostly beads. The rings on her fingers are bulky. At least they're colorful.

"Yeah, we've got to talk," Abbie says, joining Madame Noelle at the table. "This is Misty Knight. She's—"

"An old lover—"

"—A friend helping on this case."

"She's a gorgeous one. A fighter. Headstrong. Much like you, Witness. She still has feelings for you."

Madame Noelle reads me with her eyes, and goosebumps sprout in places I don't want them to.

"Damon Williams," Abbie says. "What'd you do to him? Residents around town say he's been visiting your shop a few times each week, leaving with a box of items. Guests and workers at the motel report his behavior has been strange, odd. Explain."

"I've only given him what he wants. I provided a service to a needy customer. Nothing more."

Abbie thins her lips and leans forward in her chair. "He's killing innocent people and hasn't even gotten to his true target yet. That's okay to you?"

Abbie is petite, but a force. She fights hard, even harder than me. She's the Witness after all, the one protecting our world from all the monsters we see in TV shows and movies. When she first told me about her new "job," it scared the shit out of me. I didn't discuss it with her after that. I didn't want to know anything more, but after a while, I asked her about it. What does being a Witness require of her? How does she even explain these things on paper? The girl's amazing. There's no way in hell I'd be able to do what she does every day. She's much braver than me, for sure. That's one reason I fell for her. Her fearlessness drew me in.

"I only provide the service. I'm not responsible for his actions, Witness."

I cross my arms and begin to pace. She's making me impatient. Abbie's much calmer unlike me.

"No surprise there. What was it, huh? A spell, a ritual, a root, a potion? What?"

She shrugs, smirks. This bitch is really playing around. We don't have all day.

"You know I'll find out. I'll get answers one way or the other." She crosses her arms. "What did you give him to sell for you?"

"Old inventory."

I snap. "Cut the bullshit, Miss Cleo. More people will die if you don't fess the fuck up. What did you do?"

She smiles again and stands. "I've answered your questions, Witness. Leave my store."

Abbie sighs and rushes out the shop. She dials a number. It's her partner, Ichabod Crane. He's the other Witness. Abbie's told me about him over the phone. She said he's peculiar at first, but one gets used to his quirks. He's also British, tall, and sports a beard. I teased her about not sleeping with him, but she said he's married, which was another story in itself.

"What's the plan, Mills?"

"I'll go to the Archives and see what I can dig up about Damon's characteristics. You'll search his motel room and see what you find. I'll text you the address. Call if you find anything. Take some photos. We need what we can get."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Breaking and entering, huh?"

"Old habits die hard. What can I say?"

She was in and out of foster care growing up. Her dad ran off and her mom was in and out of mental institutions until she killed herself. Abbie resorted to drinking and petty crimes until she met Sheriff Corbin. He gave her a second chance, and she got her life on track. Needless to say, she knows how to break the law and get away with it at times.

"See you in a bit," I say.

She nods, starts to walk away. "And stop staring at my ass, Knight."

"You have a nice ass, Mills. Shoot me."

"Don't tempt me." She winks and gets in her car.

I've missed her too damn much. Miss Cleo has one thing right. I am still in love with Abbie. I'll give her that much.

Damon's motel room is junky. Fast food wrappers are everywhere. Sugar ants leave a trail by a cartoon of melted ice cream. His bed isn't made. Clothes are left across the floor. I don't even want to see the bathroom. I find his laptop on the table. It's open but requires a password.

I know a bit about him from asking around and checking his records back in Harlem. He's 31. Lives in the projects with his mom and cousin. Been in and out of jail for stealing and selling drugs. He came down to Sleepy Hollow two weeks ago, according to his mom. He normally calls or texts when he's out or will be gone for a long time. She hasn't heard from him since he's arrived here; it's unlike him. Before he left, he cussed and fussed about Luke and said all kinds of things about him. Like how he's taking over Harlem and how he can beat Luke to a street fight if he got the chance.

His password is easy to crack. He loves his mom, but Luke is at the top of his shit list. I type "lukecagemustdie," and I'm in. There's a website up: Madame Noelle's. He knows the cops are on his trail. Why in the world didn't he delete his Internet history or even switch motels? Or find a better password at that?

"Dumbass."

On the webpage, there's a potion she sells at her shop. That's what he's been taking. I snap a photo and then search around for what he's been selling. Nothing in the closet, so I look in all the drawers. I slide my hand under the mattress, move the pillows, and look under the bed.

"This dumbass. How has he even gotten away with murder in the first place?"

I find a stash of herbs. I get a photo of that, too. It's called Daze; they look like tea bags. I put one in my pocket. As I'm getting up, I hear the door unlock. It wasn't hard to get in here. Front desk clerks will fall for anything. I told her that something was going down on the second floor in Room 205 and that she needed to check it out. I quickly searched the log and found his name and room number before the clerk came back. Now, here I am, caught, with a wannabe Luke Cage. He's pissed. His fists ball, and his nose flares.

"Who the fuck are you?"

I cock my gun and shoot while he takes out a pocket knife. I try to run for the door, but I'm not fast enough. We tussle, and he slits my abdomen. I gauge his eyes and escape, bleeding. I drive quickly to the Archives and rush into the building. Abbie sits me down.

"What happened?"

"Damon showed up, but I've got what we need." I wince.

"Crane, get me a first aid kit."

He scurries around until he finds it. Abbie takes it from him, searches through it for gauze, wipes, and tape.

"Would you mind giving us a minute alone?" she says to him.

"Of course not. I shall go see if Irving needs some assistance. I hope you aren't injured too badly, Miss Knight. It's very nice to finally meet—"

"Crane, go. Now."

"Right. Excuse me."

He leaves, and I'm alone with Abbie.

"Getting rusty there, M?"

I'm insulted. "I'm never off my game. You know that, Mills."

"Then how the hell did you get caught?"

"It happens to the best of us, okay? Can you patch me up?"

She gets on her knees. "Take your shirt off."

"What?"

Suddenly, I feel shy.

"How else am I going to get to your wound? And I've seen you naked before. Remember? Arms up."

She swipes my shirt off and quickly opens an alcohol wipe.

"This isn't a good injury to have. Luckily, it's not too bad. You'll heal okay. This'll sting. Wanna squeeze my hand?"

"In your fucking dreams. I've had worse injuries than this. Just patch me up already."

She chuckles. "Always trying to be tough."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"You're one to talk."

I wince when she cleanses my wound. She carefully covers it and hands me back my shirt. I watch her stand and put the first aid kit on the long, wooden table that's covered in ancient books.

"Thanks for that, Abbie." My shirt's back on.

"No problem, M. All jokes aside, I'm glad you're okay."

I grab her hand and stare at the ground. "This isn't the time to do this, but… about what was said in the shop..."

"We're not talking about this, Misty."

I tug her closer to me and put my hand on her cheek. She closes her eyes.

"I've missed you." I nuzzle her nose.

"I've missed you, too."

She almost lets me taste her lips. Almost.

"We have work to do. I'm going to go find Crane."

I'm left alone, trying to remember to the full of her.