“You going to check on yours?”
“My adoptive parents are in the middle of the ocean. Anniversary cruise. My birth parents are dead.”
“Both?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know.”
She shrugged. It was not the time for confidences such as the fact that her mother had been slaughtered, along with everyone else in her coven, while trying to raise a demon. Everyone but me, that is.
And her father . . . she still didn’t even know what his name was or what had happened to him. Some days she thought about actually trying to find him, but she was worried that she wouldn’t like what she found. And even if he was some nice, normal guy, how would he react to her popping up in his nice, normal life with the load of chaos that came with being her?
“Don’t go all maudlin on me,” he said.
“I think the guy who shot his partner in the head has no say in how I behave. At least not for the rest of the day.”
He nodded. “Barely grazed the temple, remember? Hardly a scratch. But fair enough. Since the rest of our day is only going to consist of this car ride, I think I can agree to that.”
“Good.”
“But you got to admit that is the teeniest, tiniest little scrape in the world. I mean, you probably scratched yourself on a tree instead. For all we know, I might have actually wounded the cat burglar chick.”
“Oh, trust me. I know the difference between a twig and a bullet,” she said. “And you don’t want me to start thinking too much about what happened out there, right?”
He swore, and she leaned back in her seat, smiling to herself.
She struggled to stay awake as they drove back. After a few minutes of silence, Lance put the rock station back on. Unfortunately, the driving beats felt like they were trying to drill through her skull. Lance must have noticed because he turned it off after a few minutes. She didn’t want to jinx her good luck by thanking him for the consideration.
When they were a few blocks from her apartment building, he spoke up. “Shall we reconvene around five or so? Draft out a game plan?”
“Sounds like a good idea. Remember, though, you’re going to still have to be nice to me.”
“Nope. I agreed to be nice for the remainder of the day. Sun’s down by then, officially making it night.”
She groaned. “Seriously? You’re going to play semantics with me?”
“Got no one else to play it with,” he said, straight-faced.
She thought about hitting him, but despite the fact that her injuries were for the most part healed, she still ached everywhere, particularly her arms.
“Fine. After sundown you don’t have to be nice anymore.”
“That’s better.”
It was nearly nine in the morning when Lance dropped her off. She staggered into the apartment building and made it upstairs, dragging herself every foot of the way. When she finally got inside, Jill waved to her from the kitchen. She was poring over a stack of books at the kitchen table.
Jill was an archaeologist. She was finishing up her master’s in anthropology at the university so she could eventually teach in her chosen field. A Bay Area native, she had taken a couple of years off between her undergraduate work in Boston and her graduate studies to work at various dig sites around the world.
Samantha waved back and headed down the hall to her room. Once inside, she put away her gun and badge and kicked off her shoes. She stared longingly at the bed but wanted to shower first.
Her phone rang and she grabbed it. It was Anthony. She wasn’t ready to deal with him, but she needed someone to talk to, and who else was there, truly, who would be able to understand and maybe even help?
She answered the call.
“Hello?” she said. Was her voice shaking, or was it her imagination?
There was silence on the other end.
“Hello?” she asked again.
Still more silence. She pulled the phone away from her ear to see if the call had dropped, but they were still connected.
“Anthony, are you there?”
“Yes. I’m just shocked that you are.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for picking up, or sorry for all the times you didn’t?”
“Both,” she admitted.
She could hear him sigh heavily. “Well, at least that’s something.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Okay. It’s strange here.”
“San Francisco is its own kind of weird, that’s for sure.”
“How is Salem?”
“Back to its same old sleepy self. And I’m fine, by the way.”
She winced. “Glad to hear it.”
“So, why did you answer?” he asked.
She cleared her throat and fingered her cross. “I had a rough night. I had to tell a young girl her mother had been murdered.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice suddenly sympathetic.
Of course, Anthony could relate. Doubtless it had been some policeman who’d told him the same thing when he was a child. Having your mother murdered by witches didn’t lead to a happy life. She just hoped that Robin would have a better time of it than Anthony had.
“And the weirdness here just got a whole lot weirder.”
“How much weirder?” he asked.
“Salem kind of weirder.”
There was a long pause and then Anthony said, “That’s not good.”
“No. No, it isn’t.”
It felt good to talk to somebody she could actually confide in, someone who knew her, knew who she was, who she used to be. She closed her eyes and wished that he were there. She just wanted someone to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.
It was so crazy. She was pretty sure it was one of the only universally female things, that need to be held and told things were going to be okay. Even if it was a lie, it was good to hear those words when you were stressed out of your mind.
Of course, if it weren’t for her being an idiot, Anthony might actually be here to do that very thing. There was amazing chemistry between them, but the history and the baggage of it were staggering. How did you have a relationship with a man when you knew he’d been hunting you for years, blaming you because you were part of the coven that sacrificed his mother?
She hadn’t yet been able to move beyond that, and despite whatever he might say, she knew that Anthony hadn’t either.
“So, you want to tell me about it?” he asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I’ve got a question for you. Have you ever heard of a body being petrified? Like literally?”
“Like wood petrification?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“No. I think I would have remembered that. I could do some research, though, if that would help.”
It would, but she was even loathe to accept his help in doing that. She didn’t want to see him get hurt. He had already been in the line of fire with her once before. Plus, she was afraid of breaking his heart. What if she could never really recover from everything that had happened to her, to them?
But then the part of her that was a cop took over. “Yes, please, that would be great. I need all the help I can get on this one.”
“Anyone out there you can actually talk to about what’s happening?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m happy to do whatever I can, help you think through it, whatever.”
“I appreciate that,” she said.
“Anything I can do to make your job easier, let me.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s not kind; it’s entirely selfish.”
“You’re not selfish at all,” she protested. In fact, he had been nothing but
unselfish and patient during this entire process. She was sorry she’d been ducking his calls for so long. It was just that she didn’t know what she wanted from him and she didn’t feel it fair to lead him on.
“You know, Samantha, I—”
She panicked as her mind raced ahead to what he might be about to say.
Suddenly Samantha heard a slamming sound and the earth began to shake.
4
Samantha stood for a moment, phone in hand and senses reeling. It wasn’t just the floor; the entire room was shaking
Her panicked thoughts latched on to an explanation. Witches! They’ve found me. They’ve come for me. They—
“Earthquake!” Jill shouted.
Samantha threw open her door and stood in the doorway. Across the hall, Jill was doing the same, a grimace twisting her lips. Fear squeezed Samantha’s chest. She had made the ground shake before and had witnessed other witches doing it as well. But this was totally different. This was wild and uncontrolled, Mother Nature showing humanity that she was still in charge despite its own lofty achievements.
The building was swaying; she could feel it. Jill must have read the panic in her eyes.
“The building is supposed to move,” she said.
“Samantha, what’s wrong?” She could hear Anthony through the phone.
And just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.
Samantha slid to a sitting position in her doorway. “Earthquake. Everything’s fine, but I have to call you back,” she said to Anthony.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I promise.”
She hung up and rested her head in her hands for a few moments.
“Your first earthquake, huh?”
“Yes.”
“It was longer than most, but not too hard. Shaker, not a roller.”
Samantha glanced up, and a retort froze on her lips.
Jill’s hair was brown.
“You okay? It really rattled you, didn’t it?” Jill asked, suddenly sounding sympathetic.
“Weren’t you blond a couple of hours ago?”
Jill’s eyes widened. “Blond? You have to be kidding. It’s hard enough to get taken seriously as a woman without being blond. Nope. All natural—that’s me.” Jill crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe she was still standing in.
And without meaning to, Samantha reached out, instinctively trying to sense if there was magic involved, a glamour, mind control, something. But it was still Jill and she was being sincere and Samantha didn’t sense magic around her.
She closed her eyes again and leaned her head back against the doorframe. This is what going insane feels like.
“What’s wrong?” Jill asked.
“Tough night.”
“A homicide?”
“Yeah.”
Jill paused a moment before asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Samantha thought for a moment. Jill rarely asked, respecting the necessarily secretive nature of Samantha’s investigations. Given the victim and the location of the body, that information would at least be spread around by local press within a couple of hours, if it wasn’t already on the news.
“A woman was killed. We had to break the news to her teenage daughter.”
“That’s terrible,” Jill said. “I can’t even imagine how you begin to deal with something like that.”
Samantha opened her eyes and forced a smile. “Yeah, all the dead bodies you have to deal with are centuries old and there’s no one to mourn them.”
“That’s why I’m an archaeologist and not a crime scene investigator.”
“I’ve got to get a couple of hours’ sleep before getting back on the case,” Samantha admitted. Just the thought of trying to talk to Anthony about anything suddenly seemed overwhelming. “What’s your day like?”
“I’ve got a meeting this morning with a woman. Part of the research for my thesis.”
Jill was getting her master’s in anthropology, and she was doing her thesis on the mission era in California and the effect of the Spanish settlements on the native populations, particularly relating to changes in religion and mythology. Jill was serious about her studies and had learned a couple of the oldest dialects spoken in the area as part of her program.
“Anyone interesting?”
“A friend of the family’s. Colorful. She’s a historian and a local celebrity. She knows a lot about the ancient lore of the area.”
Alarm bells were suddenly going off in Samantha’s head, and she sat up straight, spinning to fully face Jill.
“What’s wrong?” Jill asked.
“You’re not going to see Winona Lightfoot, by any chance?”
“Yes. Do you know her?”
Not again. Not twice in one night. Not when I’m so tired I just want to pass out here in the hallway.
“Jill, you might want to sit down here with me,” Samantha said, patting the carpet.
“Why? What’s going on?” Jill asked.
And her face slowly drained of color, because deep down, she already knew the answer. Samantha could see the flicker of comprehension in her eyes, followed immediately by dread.
“Winona was the one killed last night.”
Jill pressed a hand to her mouth as her eyes widened even more. “No, that’s not possible!”
“I’m afraid it is. Her body was found at the Natural History Museum.”
Slowly, Jill slid down onto the floor next to her. “But I’m supposed to meet her today. She can’t be dead.”
“She is. That was the call I went out for last night.”
Jill looked at her sharply. “Wait, what? The call you got? That’s not possible.”
“What makes you say that?”
“After you left, I was too wired to go back to sleep. I checked my phone and saw that Winona had texted me, asking if we could meet in the morning instead of the afternoon like we’d originally planned.”
“What time did she text you?” Samantha asked, suddenly very alert.
“It hadn’t been that long. I texted back agreeing, asking what time. And—”
Jill broke off and looked like she was about to start hyperventilating. Her cheeks had lost all color, and she was taking fast, shallow breaths.
Samantha grabbed her hand. “And what?”
“She sent me another text after that saying ten thirty.”
“Jill, where’s your phone?” Samantha asked, jumping to her feet.
“On the kitchen table next to my purse.”
Seconds later, Samantha had the phone and was staring at the string of messages.
Jill joined her shortly. “What does it mean?” she asked.
“We didn’t find Winona’s phone at the crime scene. And these texts were sent after she was killed.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that whoever was texting you, it wasn’t Winona. It was probably her killer.”
“Oh my—why? Why would someone do that?”
Jill’s voice had risen an octave and she was going into a full-fledged panic. So much for only dealing with centuries’ old bodies.
Maybe to kill you too, Samantha thought. She kept it to herself, though, not wanting to frighten Jill more than she had to at the moment.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to help you figure it out. And you could help us solve her murder.”
Jill sat down at the kitchen table, and Samantha walked over to the fridge and got them both some orange juice. She set Jill’s glass down in front of her and saw that tears were shimmering in her eyes.
“You got anything strong to put in it?” Jill asked, nodding toward the juice.
“Not right now. I need you alert and sharp. Can you do that for me?”
Jill nodded. “I�
��ll try.”
“Okay. I’ve just got to make a quick phone call and then we’re going to talk about your meeting with Winona.”
Samantha headed back to her room and then realized she was still clutching her own phone in her left hand. She called Lance and, a moment later, he answered.
“You better have a good excuse for calling me.”
“I think the killer has Winona’s phone. Someone texted my roommate, Jill, with it after she was already dead.”
“Jill. Remind me—cute, petite brunette, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Samantha said, shaking her head silently. Lance remembered her as a brunette and not a blonde. She must just be slipping.
“So, what’s your gal pal got to do with the corpse? If the words ‘pillow fight’ aren’t part of your answer, I’m hanging up and going back to bed.”
“Stop being an ass,” Samantha snapped.
“You know me—I’m proud to be an Ass—”
“Shut up! Okay, listen. Jill was set to interview Winona this afternoon as part of her master’s thesis. Whoever has Winona’s phone changed the meeting time from this afternoon to this morning—ten thirty, to be exact.”
“That gives us, what, less than two hours? Okay, I’m awake.”
“Good. See if we can track that phone. I’ll text you the number. I’m going to talk to Jill again.”
“And let’s see just who shows up to this meeting,” Lance said. “And what they want with Jill. Maybe it’s something the two women were researching?”
“I don’t know, but hopefully we’ll find out. Unlike with Winona, the murderer seems to have picked a more public place, so hopefully they won’t be trying to kill Jill.”
“All right. I’ll call as soon as I have something. But for the record, I think you’re just trying to take advantage of my daylight agreement.”
“You’ll never know,” Samantha couldn’t resist firing back at him.
Hanging up with him, she turned and made her way back to the kitchen. Jill had her head down on the table and her shoulders were shaking. Samantha sat down next to her and rubbed her back.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not. You’re not the one who has to tell my mother that her friend is dead.”
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