“Look on the bright side, you’re not actually insane.” Babette beamed.
That only made Daphne scowl. “Who are you, and why did you steal the video footage?”
“Still none of your business. We want to know what happened after you left the museum with the man in the cape,” Yolanda demanded.
“I don’t remember leaving. I think he drugged me.”
“When did you wake up?” The older woman kept up her interrogation.
“This morning.” It seemed like days ago.
“You were in your apartment according to the report.” Yolanda appeared well acquainted with the facts of her case.
She nodded. “And I swear Azrael was with me.”
“The horseman?” Babette asked eagerly.
“What horse?”
“She means the man in the cloak,” Yolanda stated.
“Yes. But when I answered the door, he somehow managed to hide, and hide good, because when the cops went in the bedroom, they couldn’t find him.”
The two women eyed each other, as if exchanging some communication. But Babette aimed her next words at Daphne. “Did he ever say anything about who he was or where he came from?”
“Why are you asking so many questions about Azrael?” She remembered his name with as much ease as his handsome face.
“He is a person of interest.”
“Azrael is a criminal?” she exclaimed. “You have to tell the police. Once they know he’s real, they’ll know I’m telling the truth. That I did nothing wrong.”
Babette slung her arm around Daphne and offered a squeeze. “Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. I promise, once we find the dude in the cloak, we’ll make sure your situation is handled.”
“What if you don’t catch him?”
“I’ve got you covered, babe,” Babette promised.
The older lady made a sound. “If you’re done flirting, can we get back to our real reason for being here?”
“Don’t get your granny panties in a twist, Auntie. It’s called putting the target at ease.”
Daphne’s eyes widened. “Target?” she squeaked. “I thought you believed me when I said I didn’t do anything.”
“I do. Calm down, babe.” Babette tried to soothe, but Daphne pulled away.
“What if I don’t want to help?”
“You don’t have a choice if you want to be released,” growled the lady. “So why not speed up that process by answering our questions? Starting with the men you saw. You spoke with man in the cloak. Called him by name?”
“He said his name is Azrael—”
“Like the cat?” Babette interrupted.
“What cat?” the older woman asked.
Babette rolled her eyes and said, “Gargamel’s of course.” Anyone who’d watched the Smurfs would understand.
Daphne shook her head. “He is not named after a feline, apparently.”
“Did he give you a last name?”
“No.” Daphne shifted and took a few steps toward the window. The other women didn’t move or say anything. “We never got that far. Mostly, I saw him fight, thought I was hallucinating his existence, and then he put me to sleep.”
“Just sleep? You implied he was in your apartment when you woke.”
“He was.” And she couldn’t help but recall him in her bed.
“Look at those cheeks. Did something happen? If I get a doll, will you show me where he touched you?” Babette asked. “If we can’t find a doll, then you can put your hands on me.”
“Babette!”
It was in that moment, as Babette winked at her, that Daphne realized the shocking statement was meant to do one thing only. Drive her aunt a little bonkers. It worked like a charm.
“I can see why you’re having a hard time finding someone to partner with. Really, Babette. You need to control that mouth of yours.”
“But, Auntie, I do my best work with my lips. Just ask my last girlfriend.” Babette purposely antagonized her aunt.
The aunt had a cool smile as she said, “Your last girlfriend? You mean the one that used you to try and harm the family with plans to take over the world?”
Babette winced. “Are you all going to harp on it the rest of my life? Yes, I slept with pure evil. Yes, I am a dumbass. Especially since the sex was only mediocre.”
Daphne was a spectator to the most dysfunctional dynamic she’d ever encountered. She couldn’t help but ask, “Do you always fight like this?”
“Fight?” The lady snorted. “Just a lively discussion.”
“Yeah, because in a fight, things always get broken. Now, speaking of broken shit, pictures we saw of the crime scene showed a mess at the museum. Apparently, some kind of glass bottle was broken?” Babette swiped her phone and showed a marker with a number beside a jagged chunk of the amphora.
“The bottle was broken on purpose. Smoky Man grabbed it and dropped it when Azrael tossed the dagger at him.”
“Smoky Man being?” Yolanda asked for clarification. As if any of this made any sense.
“The guy who came out of the vent. Only he wasn’t a guy when he did it, but like some dark mist that turned into a guy.” It sounded just as crazy now as when she’d told the detectives earlier, yet these two women didn’t bat an eye. Rather they drew close to confer.
“Do we know of anyone who turns into smoke?”
“Nope.” Babette popped the P. She eyed Daphne. “Before the knife got thrown, did they say anything about it?”
“No, they wanted the glass bottle.”
“The now broken one?” The older woman sounded unsure.
She nodded.
“That makes no sense,” she huffed. “What of the dagger?”
“When Smoky Man was about to take off with the bottle, Azrael threw it. But it never hit because the guy turned into a fog, and it fell to the ground.”
“No knife was recovered at the scene.”
“That’s because before Azrael made me leave, he put it in his pocket. Which I know I should have stopped, but in the moment, I didn’t actually think it was all really happening.” She still had a hard time believing it wasn’t a dream.
“So this Azrael has it?”
“Yes.”
“And the last time you saw him was in your bedroom?” Babette prodded.
“He was there when I went to answer the door for the cops, but gone when they checked. And I don’t know how. I live too high for him to jump, and there’s nothing to climb.”
“Can he turn into smoke too?” Babette asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him if he could.”
“He probably just hid,” the older woman said pointedly.
“Doesn’t matter how he hid from the cops. That wasn’t cool leaving her to deal with them alone,” Babette exclaimed. “What an asshole. It’s why I won’t date men. Chicks before pricks,” she said with a fist pump. “Right, Daphne?”
“Would you please contain yourself, Babette? We are here to gather information, not for you to find your next conquest.”
“She’s straight, Auntie.” Babette rolled her eyes. “And even if she weren’t, I know how to act serious.”