What exactly was the purpose of a witch hunting faction?
To hunt witches.
Therefore...
The precinct could conduct their investigation however they pleased, but it had absolutely zero bearing on whether they continued their sacred hunts.
Witches brought nothing but plague, catastrophe, and disease!
The events unfolding now served as even greater validation of this core truth. Even in death, a witch brought misfortune, shattering their tranquil way of life.
Furthermore...
It had already claimed the lives of two of their own brothers.
Jim Rhodes lowered his chin, lightly tracing his fingers across the blackened medallion. "The magical trace left by this witch is entirely unfamiliar. Could it be a witch who recently arrived from out of town?"
The subordinate nodded in agreement. "Could it be that..."
Jim Rhodes shook his head, cutting him off.
He knew exactly what the subordinate wanted to imply—that those two men had been deployed to track and intercept Locke's group, only to end up dead, slain by a witch's magic.
That girl, Carrie?
Jim Rhodes raised his head, his eyes narrowing into slits as he recalled his attempt to probe her with a handshake, an opportunity she hadn't granted him in the slightest.
After all, Mrs. Katz had explicitly stated that this Carrie girl was fiercely obsessed with uncovering her daughter's whereabouts.
Had it not been for Carrie, none of this would have transpired.
The only friend a witch could possibly have was another witch.
But...
Whether Carrie was a witch or not was secondary. What truly caused Jim Rhodes to hesitate, wary of the potential fallout, was Locke, who had traveled alongside her.
They were the undisputed local lords in New Orleans. In the initial phases, they could absolutely rely on their vast network of local influence to suppress any foreign dragon that crossed the ocean.
But that was strictly under the premise that the foreign dragon was a common one.
Was Locke common?
Locke was a formidable foreign dragon backed by a net worth of hundreds of millions of dollars. As time wore on, even the most entrenched local lord would be thoroughly beaten into submission when faced with a relentless onslaught of pure capital.
"Forget it..."
Snapping out of his thoughts, Jim Rhodes shook his head, pursing his lips slightly. "We cannot proceed in that manner."
"Boss?"
"How is Marlen's physical condition faring right now?"
"...The physicians stated that it is terminal lung cancer."
"..."
Marlen was also a dedicated member of their witch hunting faction. Two weeks prior, during an operation to apprehend a witch, he had accidentally been struck by that witch's life-force curse. By the very next morning, Marlen discovered that his medical evaluation report—which had been perfectly normal the day prior—suddenly indicated he was in the terminal stages of lung cancer.
"I have a distinct feeling that there is something highly unusual about this Locke Broughton."
"What?"
"We must usher them out of our territory as quickly as possible."
Jim Rhodes took a deep breath, locking his eyes onto the surrounding members of the faction. "Locate Anila Katz's garments and deliver them directly to Marlen. They desire a culprit, so we shall present them with one."
The gathered men froze in complete astonishment.
"What?"
"Boss, this..."
"All witches deserve to burn!"
"Shut your mouth!"
Jim Rhodes sharply rebuffed them in a hushed tone. "There is something incredibly bizarre about this entire situation. Have you forgotten what year it is?"
The men exchanged bewildered glances, lowering their heads in silence.
Much like how certain individuals possess premonitions when approaching severe danger, Jim Rhodes currently felt a profound, unsettling tremor in his chest, an overwhelming sensation akin to an impending doomsday.
He trusted his intuition implicitly. It was precisely by relying on this very instinct that he had managed to survive the horrific, bloody conflicts against witches that ordinary humans could never perceive, sending one witch after another to their graves.
Furthermore.
This particular year was exceptionally distinct.
"They come with ill intent!"
Jim Rhodes turned his body, leading the way back. "We shall use Marlen to usher them out. They are not our true adversaries; the witches are. Ferret out the witch who slaughtered our brothers, and burn her to ashes!!!"
In an instant.
A fervent passion seemed to be thoroughly ignited among the men.
As for Marlen?
He was already in the terminal stages of lung cancer regardless, and maintaining his life on medical support was an incredibly expensive endeavor. Since the New Orleans Police Department was willing to assist them in shoulder the burden, it couldn't possibly be any more ideal.
"Oh?"
"What is it?"
En route to the main precinct, Locke suddenly blinked his eyes in mild surprise.
Seated in the passenger seat, Carrie looked over toward him with genuine curiosity.
The corners of Locke's mouth curled upward into a subtle smile.
Back at Lake Lery, his heightened perception had explicitly warned him that someone was harboring malice toward him, intending to execute some rather unpleasant maneuvers.
Undoubtedly, that specific intent had originated from Jim Rhodes.
But just now...
The perceptual alarm had completely dissolved.
This was quite a magnificent spectacle, the very first of its kind Locke had witnessed in his lifetime.
Could it be...
That a living, breathing survivor was finally about to emerge?
Locke mused silently in his heart.
Shortly after.
As they coasted past the local courthouse, Cop's police cruiser up ahead ground to a halt.
Exiting his vehicle.
Cop stared down at the sedan that had been thoroughly reduced to a charred heap of ash. Stepping forward, he presented his shield to the scene investigators, inquiring, "What transpired here?"
"A vehicular accident."
A detective who was a colleague of Cop's let out a brief chuckle. "Eyewitnesses observed this vehicle speeding recklessly along the thoroughfare before losing traction and slamming headfirst into the wall. Terribly poor luck; the fuel tank ignited instantaneously upon impact, triggering a massive explosion."
A profoundly unfortunate accident.
It didn't even warrant a specialized investigation.
The colleague spoke casually before shifting his gaze toward Cop. "By the way, how is that case of yours progressing?"
Snapping out of his thoughts, Cop offered a light smile. "Fairly decent. We are merely awaiting the official report from the medical examiner's office now."
Right at that moment.
Cop's mobile phone began to ring.
"Apologies, I must take this."
"No worries, see you back at the station."
Cop offered a polite smile to his colleague and connected the call. Within moments, his countenance darkened completely. After uttering a couple of clipped acknowledgements, he signaled to Kaynor and re-entered the cruiser.
Carrie tracked the shifting expressions on Cop's face through the glass. "Did someone call to threaten Cop?"
Locke nodded. "This is precisely why casino operations are more than happy to permit law enforcement personnel to run up a tab."
They never feared a person gambling; their only fear was that a person wouldn't borrow on credit.
Carrie pursed her lips slightly. "He helped us."
Locke cast a brief glance toward her, restarting the engine. "Indeed he did!"
Although Locke was hardly devoid of alternative contingencies, Cop had undeniably stepped up to assist him in a tangible manner. Even after receiving explicit threats from the gambling syndicate, the detective captain had still chosen to stand firmly on the side of resolving the homicide.
Very quickly.
They arrived outside the precinct entrance.
Exiting his vehicle, Cop checked the time on his wristwatch before looking back at Locke and Carrie as they walked up. "Let's move. We'll grab some lunch first, provided you two still possess an appetite."
Locke shrugged. "I'm perfectly fine."
Carrie stood beside him. "Whatever is fine."
Cop subsequently pointed toward a fast-food diner located directly across the street from the precinct, turning to Kaynor. "Kaynor, why don't you deliver the evidence bag containing the hairpin to the medical examiner's office first, and then join us over there?"
Kaynor offered a warm smile. "Understood."
The diner was a quintessential fast-food establishment.
Seating himself, Cop spoke to Locke in a teasing manner, "I certainly hope a millionaire like yourself can accustom your palate to this sort of fare."
Locke smiled smoothly. "Thornton..."
"Just call me Cop."
"Very well."
Locke flowed along with the suggestion seamlessly. "Cop, perhaps George neglected to mention to you that I am an orphan. An orphan whom no foster family was ever willing to take in."
Orphans, too, were categorized into distinct tiers.
For instance, an orphan who lost their parents later in life held a structurally higher status than an orphan who was abandoned at birth.
And even among those abandoned at birth, tiers were meticulously divided. An orphan backed by a stable foster placement stood far above those left entirely within the system. Furthermore, within the system itself, a 'compliant orphan' was favored significantly more than a 'defiant' one.
Therefore, Locke meant exactly what he said; in this lifetime, he had relied entirely on his own capabilities to violently carve his way out from the lowest rungs of society to establish his own empire.
Cop looked at Locke in genuine surprise, offering a sincere apology. "I see. George mentioned to me that you were backed by a substantial family trust."
Locke chuckled. "That trust was only uncovered when I reached the age of fifteen. Trust me, Cop, I am hardly the stereotypical millionaire you might hold in your imagination."
Cop nodded in understanding. "Fair enough. So, Locke, have you decided on what you'd like to order?"
"A burger!"
"The massive signature burger!"
Locke gestured toward the approaching waitress, pointing directly at the prominent display on the menu. "I'll take one of these, and a cola to go along with it."
Carrie spoke up, "I'll have a fruit salad and an orange juice, please."
Locke turned his gaze toward her.
Carrie blinked her eyes innocently. "I'm watching my weight."
Locke let out a brief chuckle.
Cop handed the menu back to the waitress. "The same for me, the signature burger, plus a glass of whiskey, on the rocks!"
Locke's eyes flashed with a hint of envy.
Once this year concluded, it would be 2006. He would be a year older, reaching eighteen. Yet, he still required another three full years before he could legally command a server to pour him a drink inside a public restaurant.
Right at that moment.
A wave of loud commotion erupted outside the diner.
Locke and Carrie traced the noise, observing a massive, dense crowd of young women marching past the diner front. They were brandishing an assortment of vibrant placards, chanting a chaotic mix of overlapping slogans.
"Martha, the usual for me!"
Detective Kaynor entered the diner at that moment, calling out her order to the waitress before sliding into the vacant space Cop had cleared for her. Watching the parade of demonstrators coast past outside, she looked toward Cop.
"Has the time for the centennial witch coven assembly arrived already?"
Cop nodded in affirmation. "It certainly appears so."
Locke looked toward Kaynor with a hint of genuine curiosity. "A witch coven assembly?"
Kaynor gave an hum of affirmation, before a realization seemed to dawn on her. "Ah, I forgot you two traveled here all the way from New York. This assembly is considered an integral part of New Orleans' local heritage. Are you familiar with the Salem Witch Trials?"
Locke nodded.
Kaynor offered a light smile, explaining further, "This region experienced its very own New Orleans Witch Trials historically. It didn't garner quite the same level of global notoriety as the Salem trials, but the grand witch assembly that occurred toward the end of 1695 was highly sensational."
During the exact period the Salem Witch Trials were unfolding in 1692, New Orleans was simultaneously conducting its own trials against suspected witches.
It was simply that the New Orleans iterations didn't achieve the same far-reaching historic infamy as Salem.
But...
Three years following the conclusion of the New Orleans trials, specifically toward the twilight of 1695, an event transpired that Salem had never replicated.
According to historical lore, toward the end of 1695, the scattered witches residing across the parameters of New Orleans organized a massive, sweeping assembly, attempting to aggressively give voice to the severely oppressed and persecuted witches of that era.
Carrie listened, thoroughly captivated by the historical tale. "What happened next? Did they emerge victorious?"
Kaynor shrugged casually. "Who knows. However, legend has it that when that vast gathering of witches assembled, the very first order of business they initiated was to formally elect a Supreme Witch!"
Carrie was slightly startled for a moment. "A Supreme Witch?"
That specific terminology...
Felt distinctly familiar.
She felt as though she had heard it spoken somewhere before.
Right.
She had likely heard it mentioned in passing by her mentor, Agatha Harkness.
***
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