Lucas frowned. "Dark magic? As in ritual sacrifice?"
"Eve would be your best bet for anything dark," Paige said. "But I'm guessing if you're asking us, she's out of contact again. My experience with stuff like this is practically zero. I've witnessed ritual sacrifice." Her face went pale at the memory. "Not intentionally. Some kind of high-level protection ritual."
"That's the primary use," Lucas said. "A life given for a life protected. Ritual sacrifice is very rare. If I encounter it, it's peripheral to a case I'm investigating. When a Cabal passes a sentence of execution they may perform ritual sacrifice as the method of execution. Purely a matter of economics."
Paige nodded. "If they're already killing someone, might as well use it."
"But in all cases, the soul passes over," Lucas said. "It's even written into the Cabal legal code that if an executed victim is used for ritual sacrifice, an independent necromancer must be on hand to confirm that the soul has safely passed over."
"That's the Cabal version of the Geneva convention. They can only torture you until you're dead."
"Huh." I sipped my coffee, thinking. "What about Druidic sacrifice?"
"Rare these days," Paige said. "Even rarer than dark-magic sacrifice. Remember Esus? He didn't even try to ask for a human sacrifice. We gave him his pint of blood and he was happy. But even if a Druid was performing human sacrifice, it doesn't explain damaged souls. It's the act that matters. A show of respect for the Druidic deity."
I drank more coffee. Hoped the caffeine would help my brain work faster.
"What you have are damaged souls," Lucas said. "Somehow they've been fragmented or drained, and there's no magic we know of that works that way. That doesn't mean such a thing cannot exist--simply that it defies the basic principles of sacrifice. We'll look into it further after we get through tomorrow."
"That's fine. In the meantime maybe you can steer me in the right direction and I can run with it. Paige has the council records, right? I can search those, see whether I find anything similar."
"You could, but they're, uh, on a disk, which is...somewhere in this mess. I decided they'd be more secure here than at home. I'll find it for you after tomorrow, though."
"Oh. Well...is there someone I can speak to, then? A contact in dark magic?"
Lucas shook his head. "One needs to be careful with this sort of thing. Expressing excessive interest in dark magic can be extremely dangerous. You should leave this to us."
Even when I showed up on their doorstep, I couldn't get anywhere. Just give us the details, Jaime, and let us do the work. I argued for a while, but it was clear they weren't giving me anything that could get me into any trouble.
SAVANNAH CALLED me a cab, then stepped outside to wait with me. "So, you need to talk to someone about dark magic."
"Eavesdropping?"
"Beats working. I might be able to help."
"Oh? What would you--" I stopped. "Your mom, of course."
"Nah, Mom didn't teach me that sort of stuff. Nothing darker than a chaos spell--and even then, only to protect myself. She kept that part of her life separate."
"I should have guessed that."
"Doesn't mean she was ashamed of it. It's just not the kind of stuff she'd talk about around her kid. But I know someone who will talk about it." She took out a BlackBerry. "A dark witch my mom knew. She tracked me down last year, saying she wanted to talk, share some stories about Mom."
"That was nice of her."
Savannah gave me a look. "You think I bought that shit? She just wanted to make contact with Eve Levine's daughter before her competition did. That's one thing my mom did teach me. Someone like that always wants something."
"So you didn't meet with her."
She smiled. "Never said that. The corollary lesson from Mom? People like this might want something from me, but I can use that--turn it around and get something from them." She glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. "We've been in e-mail contact, and met a couple of times. She's useful. Paige and Lucas can't get information from someone like this. But me? I just pull some 'confused teenager' bullshit and she's putty in my hands. She'd tell me anything in hopes of winning Eve Levine's daughter as an ally. An idiot, but a useful idiot."
The look in her eyes chilled me.
"So, yeah, I've used her," Savannah continued. "Just to get stuff for Paige and Lucas. Without them knowing, of course. If they found out I was even talking to someone like this, they'd shit bricks...then use them to wall me up in my room for life."
"In that case, I'd better not wave your name around to get access to this woman."
Savannah hesitated. "You're right. But you can use Mom's. Tell Molly you'll grant her an exclusive audience with Eve Levine and she'll give you anything you want."
I shook my head. "Not without asking your mom first, and she's out of contact right now."
"Huh." Savannah fingered her BlackBerry, toying with it as she thought. Then she smiled. "Molly's boyfriend died last winter. Half-demon. They'd lived together for years and when I saw her this summer, she was still really broken up. Let's say you offer to put her in touch with him..."
I hesitated.
"You can offer to try. She'll still have some of his belongings and can even take you to his grave, so that gives you, what, about a ninety percent chance of success?"
"Eighty...maybe."
"Good enough. Don't promise, but say if you can't, you'll arrange a backup session with some other dearly departed." She flipped her BlackBerry around, tapping on an address. "She's just across the border in Vancouver."
VANCOUVER, WASHINGTON, was a cab ride from Portland. I checked my watch. Jeremy would be here in about two hours. As much as I wanted to meet him at the airport, I wanted to impress him even more, which I could do if I'd found and scoped out Molly Crane's house before he arrived to help interview her.
I called Elena and asked whether Jeremy had her cell phone with him--the only one in the family.
"I tried giving it to him, but he wouldn't take it. You know how he is. God forbid I should drive home without an emergency line. I told him to buy a prepaid phone. He had no idea what I was talking about, but of course he wouldn't admit it. You'll have to help him. Might have to show him how to use it too."
I laughed, remembering the first time I'd met Jeremy. When Paige introduced us, I'd been hoping, really hoping, for that "Oh, my God, the Jaime Vegas?" reaction...and had gotten only a polite hello, prompting Savannah to inform him that I was on TV sometimes--which hadn't changed his expression one whit. Elena had teased Jeremy about his lack of technological savvy, kidding that he didn't know what a TV was. And, perhaps for the first time in my life, I'd realized I was glad. I could make my own impression.
When I told Elena that I'd hoped to get a message to him about meeting elsewhere, she said, "If you don't mind me relaying that message, I can give it to him. He'll find a pay phone as soon as he arrives, to check on the kids."
Of course he would. Perfect. I found a coffee shop near Molly's address as a meeting place, then called Elena back.
NOW, TO prepare for the interview. As hard as the other council members worked to keep the celebrity necro away from anything that might break her manicured nails--or leave her death on their conscience--I'd been taking notes, and I understood enough about interviewing a hostile witness to know one does not blindly walk up to a potential dark-magic contact and say, "Hi, my name's Jaime and I'd like to ask you a few questions about ritual sacrifice." Before it even reached the point of introductions, I should determine the best method of approach, map out escape routes. Be prepared.
Molly Crane lived at 52 Hawthorne Lane. Coming into the area by cab, I'd had a feeling this was going to be the second time today I was surprised by where I ended up.
I was savvy enough to know that even if Molly was a dark witch, I was unlikely to find myself in a dingy alley outside an unmarked black-market spell shop. Such a shop might exist, but only in the back rooms of an otherwise
normal business. Yet, except for the plaza where I'd found the coffee house, the neighborhood was residential, with row after row of matching houses, all with minivans and basketball hoops, the lawns pristine, kids' toys on the drives. I had the driver drop me off at the coffee shop, then I walked down three streets: Hemlock, Cedar and Hawthorne. Suburbia: a place where they cut down trees and name streets in their memory.
The house at 52 Hawthorne was a tidy bungalow on a street of tidy bungalows. The small house wasn't anything fancy, but in the drive stood a gleaming Mercedes SUV, as if Molly couldn't resist indulging herself a little. The basketball hoop over the garage suggested kids, but there were no toys to be seen. Maybe they were too old for pedal cars. Maybe they preferred spell practice to hoop practice. Or maybe she had no kids, and the net just came with the house--a standard feature like a paved driveway.
I started with a very slow walk past. Noted that the backyard was enclosed by a privacy fence. Noted a calico cat, but no sign of a guard dog...though anything could be behind that fence. Noted a light shining from a window overlooking the drive, a window with kitchenlike curtains.
It seemed safe enough--I was just a nicely dressed forty-something walking down a suburban street. And yet, when the door to Molly's house opened and a woman's figure darkened the doorway, I realized I had a problem.
If I came back later with Jeremy, she'd recognize me and know I'd been checking out her house, which would start the interview off badly. Yet I wasn't ready to question her. So I made a split-second plan. I'd look her way and if she wasn't watching me I'd take a chance and keep walking.
I looked. Our eyes met.
As I headed up her sidewalk, I got my first good look at the woman. She was probably in her late thirties. Short blond hair worn in an easy-maintenance but stylish tousle. An elfin face with bright green eyes. Small and compact, she was dressed in a designer sweat suit, maybe heading to the gym, maybe just wanting to look as if she were.
"Molly Crane?"
A bright smile, the welcome mitigated by a wary look in her eyes. I searched those eyes for some sign of recognition. With an average American, my chances of being recognized are on a par with any C-list movie celebrity. To those who follow spiritualists or certain talk shows, my face is unmistakable.
In the supernatural community, though, my face recognition goes up...usually accompanied by either disapproval or contempt. Spellcasters like Molly Crane can use their talents to make a living, but God forbid I should do the same.
I saw that "I know her from somewhere" spark in Molly's eyes, and cursed. I would have been safer using a false name, but she'd realize who I was the moment I mentioned ghosts.
I climbed the steps and extended my hand. "Jaime Vegas."
Her eyes lit up in recognition. "My daughter and her friends tape you on Keni Bales every month. Please come in."
COMEDY OF ERRORS
THERE WAS NO WAY TO REFUSE without making Molly suspicious, so I stepped inside.
"Did I hear something about you serving on the council now?" Molly said as she led me into her living room. "I suppose that's what you're here about? Council business?"
Damn. Another detail I'd been hoping to keep to myself. If Molly didn't want to deal with Paige and Lucas, she might not be so keen to speak to another council member.
I took the chair nearest the hall doorway. "Not so much council business as delegate business. Helping a fellow necromancer with a minor problem--one too small to warrant the council's attention. More of a research issue, actually. A puzzle I'm trying to solve so we can document it."
"Oh?" Intrigued, but not suspicious. "So what brings you to me?"
Another smile, this one wry. "Well, I'd say you came recommended as the top witch of the dark arts and I couldn't even imagine asking anyone else, but blatant flattery doesn't work so well on people outside of Hollywood."
She laughed, relaxing now. "We have our egos, but they don't impede brain function."
"Truth is that, yes, you came highly recommended, but when I took a close look at the possibilities, you seemed the most--" a mock throat clearing, "--approachable."
She laughed hard at that. "Now, that I believe. Between the weirdos and the recluses, it can be hard finding a viable contact among our bunch."
"I was also told that there might be something I can offer you in return. Which is what I want to do. I'm not asking for favors."
"Oh? Now I am intrigued. Can I get you something to drink before you satisfy my curiosity? Coffee? Tea? Soda? Bottled water?"
I opted for the water. There are too many things a witch can do with a brewed beverage.
When she came back, I gave her a version of the story, with this fellow necromancer being bothered by spirits who couldn't make contact. So far, I said, my investigation suggested a magical explanation.
When I finished, Molly nodded, thoughtful, then said, "I'm sure you've been told that doesn't sound like the results of normal ritual sacrifice."
"I have."
"Perhaps I can help but--" She met my gaze, eyes deceptively mild. "You offered an exchange?"
"I've heard you lost someone this year," I said. "Your common-law partner, I believe. A half-demon."
She hesitated, gaze down, then nodded slowly. "Mike. Yes."
I switched to my "dealing with the grief-stricken" voice. "If you'd like to make contact with him, I could try. With articles belonging to him plus access to his grave site, there's a good chance I can do it. Not perfect. But maybe a...ninety percent chance."
Molly said nothing, just stared down into the glass cupped in her hands. Still grieving, as Savannah had said. Or maybe wondering if I was trying to con her.
I hurried on. "If I don't make contact, I'll owe you. I will contact someone for you. Guaranteed."
Still she stared into her glass, her thumbs now caressing the sides.
Unlike humans, supernaturals know there's an afterlife. There must be, or there couldn't be necromancers. Through us, they also know that most ghosts are happy enough. If you know this, then perhaps contacting a loved one isn't such a wise idea. What if he's stopped grieving for his lost life, and you only rip open those wounds? What if you rip the scabs off your own grief?
"If you'd rather not contact him, maybe there's something else--"
Her head snapped up. "Why wouldn't I want to contact him?"
"I just meant--I'm not trying to renege on the offer. I certainly will try, if that's what you want. But if this isn't what you want, then I'd completely understand--"
"Would you?"
Molly's voice had gone cold. She set her drink aside, deliberately. My gaze swung to the door. She followed it and gave a brittle smile.
"Thinking of leaving already, Jaime? And why might that be?"
I laughed. "Leaving? No. I was just wondering--"
I leapt from the chair. Her hand flew up, lips moving in a sorcerer's knockback spell. I tried to duck, as Lucas taught me, but wasn't fast enough. Instead of hitting me in the torso, it slammed into my shoulder, whipping me around. My feet flew out. I saw the edge of the coffee table sailing up to meet me. Tried to twist. Too late. Impact. Pain. Darkness.
I AWOKE to the blast of a car horn. Something held me down, tightening around my wrists and ankles when I moved. I opened my mouth to call out, but tasted plastic and glue.
Everything was as dark as when I'd fallen. Blindfolded? I moved my head, testing for that pulling sensation against my temples. Sadly, I know what a blindfold feels like. Know what being kidnapped feels like too. For a second, that's all I could think: Goddamn it, not again.
But when I moved, instead of a blindfold, I felt something scratchy against my bare hands and face. Like an old blanket. Bound, gagged and covered.
The floor vibrated beneath me. The steady hum of moving tires. I remembered the horn blast that woke me. I was in a vehicle. In the trunk--No, I wouldn't be able to see light in a trunk. I pictured the car in Molly's drive. An SUV.
She'd bound and gagged
me, then managed to haul me into the garage, drove in, put me in the back and was now taking me...
Where?
Well, I was pretty sure it wasn't out for daiquiris.
I'd taken self-defense courses. They'd given me more confidence than skill, but one piece of advice I remembered was that if someone tries to get you into a vehicle, you do everything you can to fight it, because you can be damned sure that wherever he's taking you, it's someplace private, to do something you won't like.
I had to get out before Molly--or whoever was driving--got wherever we were going. But how? I was trapped. I had no spells. No demonic powers. No superhuman strength. I was just a necromancer. Defenseless.
Bullshit.
Ordinary women got out of situations like this all the time. Okay, maybe not this exact situation, but if you took the black witch out of the equation, it wasn't that much different than any kidnapping. I wasn't sure what the statistics were for escaping a kidnapper, but I told myself they were pretty good.
As I shifted, the blanket scratched my cheek and it made me think of why I was covered in one--because I wasn't in a trunk, meaning someone could look into Molly's SUV, see the rear seat folded down and a bound woman in the luggage compartment. Goal one, then? Remove the blanket.
I'd just moved when a voice stopped me.
"You got home from school okay? And your sister?"
Molly. In the driver's seat. On her cell phone. Talking to her children. I allowed myself a flutter of relief before I started wiggling again, squirming out from under the blanket.
"There's a box of Twinkies in the cupboard over the stove, but don't let Tish see where you found them. They're meant for school. Tell her it's a special treat and Mommy's sorry she wasn't home to see her after school."
A sliver of light appeared above my eyes. I kept wriggling until the edge of the blanket slid down past my nose, then took a deep breath of cool air. In front of me, Molly's head was hidden behind the headrest, only her arm visible as she held her cell phone.
"I might be late, but I'll pick up dinner and call you on the way to find out what you want."
The blanket slid down to my neck. There. Finally. Another deep inhale through my nose as I relaxed. Then I looked up...way up...at the tinted window, and realized the chances of anyone peering in from a passing transport and seeing me here were next to none. I had to get closer to that window.
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