Waking the Witch

by Kelley Armstrong

  I laughed. "I can believe that. All right then. Just don't rush, okay?" I paused. "That didn't come out right. What I mean is--"

  "--that you're handling it just fine and you don't need me breathing down your neck. I won't."

  "Thank you."

  I'D TOLD MICHAEL to dress casual. I only had the one dress and he'd seen it. For tonight, I went with a nice blouse, then waited until Michael got out of his car, saw he was wearing chinos, and decided I could get away with jeans.

  I stuck to boots with low heels, though. I used to strap on three inches and didn't care if it made me taller than the guy. It was a test. Most failed. I'd learned to tone it down. The high heels still came out, just a little later.

  When Michael handed me his keys again, I knew I could have worn the heels. A guy who was cool with me being in the driver's seat wouldn't have minded me being an inch taller.

  "Did you get a chance to talk to Kayla?" I asked.

  "I tried, but she's decided I'm an asshole, and she's not budging. Paula was great, though, and I'm not really comfortable interviewing a kid." He glanced over at me. "Thanks, too, for the tips. I really appreciated that. In return I should tell you that I might know why Claire was talking to Cody. She didn't come here to join the commune. She came here to investigate it."

  "I thought she was a student."

  "She was. But she had a friend--Tamara--who joined the commune, and left after Ginny and Brandi died. Something had happened, Claire was sure of it, but she couldn't get anything out of her. Then Tamara took off and Claire couldn't find her. No one could."

  "She disappeared?"

  He nodded. "Claire was afraid whatever happened to her was connected to the commune. I helped Tamara's family file a missing person's report but ... let's just say they weren't the most engaged parents in the world. They as much as told the police they figured Claire was overreacting and Tamara just took off, which meant there wasn't much hope of an actual investigation."

  "So she launched her own. And you knew about it?"

  "No. Claire and I ..." He took a deep breath. "We're half siblings. Her mom married my dad after she was born, which was the soonest he could get a divorce from my mom."

  "Ouch."

  "Yeah. It's an old story. Dad knocks up his secretary and has to choose a family. He picked them. Mom tried to keep that from me, but I figured it out pretty fast. I didn't want to have anything to do with his new family, and he was fine with that. He wanted a complete do-over. I saw Claire maybe five times growing up. Then, the week she started college, she called, wanting to see me. I wasn't really looking for a baby sister, but if she wanted to make contact, that was fine."

  He eased back in his seat. "That first lunch was hellishly awkward. But ... there was something there. Enough for me to look her up when I had a seminar near her college the next month. We eventually got to the whole brother and sister thing. Calls every few weeks, e-mails, visits when we were nearby, Christmas and birthday presents.

  "When Tamara joined Alastair Koppel's group, Claire called me. Tamara and Claire had been friends forever. Grew up together, double-dated, planned to go to college together. Tamara didn't get in the same one as Claire, though, so they drifted apart over the next couple of years. Still kept in touch, just ... drifted. Claire blamed herself for that. She got caught up in school and made new friends. Tamara was struggling, and Claire knew it, and kept telling herself they'd spend this summer together and everything would be fine."

  "Then Tamara joined the commune."

  Michael nodded. "Claire freaked. She was sure her friend was mixed up in a cult. She wanted me to check it out. I pulled some strings, got the file, and found the FBI had looked into Alastair's operation after some parents complained. But they'd concluded it was nothing more than a New Age commune. After Tamara disappeared, I forwarded Claire's concerns to the local FBI. That was all I could do. I didn't know she was in Columbus until ... well, until she wasn't."

  Michael went quiet for a few minutes after that. Then he reached into the backseat and grabbed a folder.

  "This is for you," he said. "Notes on Claire. I thought ..." He shrugged. "It might help. You can read them later. Or, if you want to read them now, ask me questions ..."

  I pulled over and gave him the keys.

  THE FILE WAS a mix of the personal and the professional, the brother vying with the investigator. For most of it, the brother prevailed.

  There were photos of Claire, including some from her childhood that he must have gotten from his father. Tamara was in three of them--a small, freckled girl with earnest eyes, staring at the camera, with Claire beside her, arm thrown around her shoulders, grinning as if to say "cheer up, life's not so bad." Life had been bad for Tamara. The sketchy biography Michael included told the story of a child caught between divorced parents, neither of whom seemed to want her. A girl who'd grown into a young woman probably desperate for approval, for acceptance, for family. A young woman custom-made for Alastair's commune.

  Claire, on the other hand, would have needed to work hard to convince Megan and Alastair that she'd fit in. A passion for acting--she'd played leads in every high school production--had probably helped. Claire didn't need approval, acceptance, or family. She got all that at home. In high school, she was the kind of girl I'd have wanted to hate, but couldn't. Pretty, smart, and athletic, she'd have had every right to be a stuck-up bitch, but had spent her spare time organizing fund-raisers instead of partying with the football team. She'd been completing a social work degree when she died.

  Claire Kennedy was a girl who had cared. One who had taken the lead when no one else would. One who'd felt incredibly guilty when her friend disappeared. And one whose guilt made her fear the worst--that Alastair had killed Tamara for leaving them, or at least kidnapped her until she was properly brainwashed. Was it any wonder she'd decided to spend her summer term undercover at the commune? No. It was risky and naive, but it was exactly the kind of thing Claire Kennedy would have done.

  Why did Michael let me see this file? I could say he was a canny investigator. He knew it was important for me to see his sister as a person, not as an anonymous victim. But there was more to it than that. Giving me this said "I'm going to trust you, as hard as that might be for me." I hoped to repay that trust by finding his sister's killer.

  AFTER GETTING THE tire we went for Mexican and wore out our welcome with the staff, who kept coming by our table and casting looks at the growing line outside the door. We ignored them, and it was almost ten by the time we left.

  We'd each had only one drink, hours ago, so driving wasn't an issue. Michael offered me the keys again, but I let him take the wheel this time.

  We were passing a scenic outlook trail when Michael slowed, squinting at the sign.

  "I'm up for a walk if you are," I said. Something I'd had for dinner hadn't combined well with the ride. Fresh air would help.

  "It's closed after five," he said.

  "Which means it'll be empty."

  He parked. The sun was long gone, but a full moon lit the way. The trail wasn't that long. Nor was the outlook all that scenic.

  It was just a walking bridge over a river with banks maybe twenty feet high. A wooden railing kept people from stumbling off the high banks. I ducked under it and sat on the rocky edge, legs dangling. Michael hesitated, then followed.

  We sat in comfortable silence before he said, "Tell me about yourself."

  "Um, I did that for three hours at the restaurant. You talked about you. I talked about me ..."

  "No, we talked about our jobs and about my car and your bike. I want to know more about Savannah. You've heard my sordid childhood. Now it's your turn."

  Not an easy request to fulfill. As supernaturals we're taught to tread the line between cautious and cagey. It's worse to look as if we're holding something back. That went double with a cop.

  So I gave him the basic Savannah bio, leaving out names and places. I'd lived with my mom until I was twelve. Then she died a
nd I'd been taken in by a friend of the family. Our twosome soon expanded to three. My guardian's husband was a lawyer and investigator, and they'd opened their own firm. I'd worked there in school, then stayed on after.

  I mentioned getting Lucas's help fixing the dents in my bike, and Michael said, "So you still live close, I guess?"

  "Um, very close. Yes, I'm twenty-one and I still live at home."

  He blinked. "Twenty-one?"

  "Didn't you do your basic background check? What kind of cop are you?"

  "I did one, but only to confirm your employment. I didn't dig up personal info." He looked at me. "Why? Did you?"

  "I just made sure you were who you said you were. So how old did you think I was?"

  "Twenty-three, twenty-four. You act older."

  I laughed. "I do believe that's the first time anyone has said that about me. So, is it too young for you?"

  He leaned over, lips coming to mine, arms pulling me into a kiss, soft at first, tentative, then ... wow. The guy could kiss. I finally had to pull back to catch my breath.

  "Good answer?" he said.

  "Yep. You like them young."

  He flushed. "That was not the message."

  "Are you sure? Because it certainly seems--"

  He cut me off with another oxygen-depriving kiss. When I teetered a bit on the edge, he grabbed me like I'd been about to go over, one arm around my waist, the other clutching the rail.

  "I think we'd better back up," he said.

  "Mmm." I glanced over the embankment. "It's not that far down. Not fatal unless you land wrong."

  He hauled me back under the railing.

  "Chicken," I said.

  He snorted. "If I didn't move, you would have. You play a good game, Savannah, but you're not nearly as reckless as you seem."

  "Wanna bet?"

  I yanked off my boots and got up on the railing, balancing on it.

  "I rest my case," he said, pointing at the discarded boots.

  I stuck out my tongue.

  "I take back that 'seem older' part."

  "As well you should." I took a few steps along the railing, then hopped off. "So, are you going to tell me how old you are?"

  "Twenty-seven."

  "Relatively youthful. You might have to act more immature, though, so I don't feel bad."

  "I can probably manage that."

  He pulled me into another kiss and I was up against a tree pretty damned fast. He stuck to kissing, though. Like a high school make-out session. Only without the wandering hands, and with a guy who kissed a helluva lot better than anyone I'd dated in high school.

  When things inevitably got a little too steamy, he backed off me, saying, "Okay, time out, or I'm going to try something I really shouldn't on a public path."

  "You're right," I said. "We should cool it."

  "Damn."

  I laughed. "Sorry, but it's only our second date."

  "So there's a schedule?"

  "What if there is?"

  "Then I should know it."

  "To keep you from making any premature moves?"

  "No, so I can decide if it's worth it."

  I only laughed. We kissed a while longer, until I put on the brakes, and we sat down on the grass, looking up at the stars.

  When I snuck a look at him, I felt my pulse quicken. That surprised me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this happy on a date. This comfortable. This hopeful. It wasn't the racing heart I got when Adam was around, but it was something. It was definitely something.

  We sat there quietly for another minute, then Michael said, "So you said you worked through school. Which college?" When I didn't answer, he reddened. "Okay, that was presumptuous of me."

  "Nah. It's cool. No college. Maybe someday. I wasn't ready. I'd planned to go through for art, then realized it wasn't what I wanted to do with my life. You know how some kids deal by writing angsty poetry? That's what art was for me. I still enjoy it, but the older I get, the less I do. Good thing I realized that before I blew a bundle on tuition."

  "Smart move. I wish I'd taken a few years off. At eighteen, I barely knew what I wanted to do with my weekend, let alone my life."

  "You don't like being a cop?"

  He shrugged. "Don't love it, don't hate it. I won't stay in the job forever."

  "What do you want to do?"

  "I have no idea. I'm not exactly the most impulsive guy in the world. It takes me a while to make a decision." He paused. "I do know one thing I want, though."

  "What's that?"

  "A third date." He put his arms around me and kissed me again.

  twenty

  We dropped off the tire behind the garage and got back to the motel around eleven. As tempted as I was to invite Michael in, I settled for making out at the door. He made it easier by saying he had a few things to check out before he headed back to his motel. He promised to call me in the morning.

  I stood outside and watched him go. Was this something? It felt like something.

  YET AGAIN, I'D been dropped off for the night, but had no intention of staying in. Days were for interviewing witnesses and following leads; nights were for breaking into places. I wanted to get into Cody's office and, if I could, exact a little revenge for this afternoon.

  One problem with this plan? Cody's office, according to my map of Columbus, was on the outskirts, near the sawmill. He had another in Vancouver, but I suspected I stood a better chance of finding something damning here. There had to be plenty of buildings in Columbus that would make nicer--and more convenient--offices. So why would you keep a place out there? Only if you had business you didn't want to conduct in town.

  First, then, I needed my bike. The garage was a couple of blocks away. Columbus wasn't exactly a dangerous place to wander at night, so I headed over.

  My bike was inside a side bay, which the resident mechanic kid had either forgotten to lock or never bothered to. I rolled out my bike, got my tire, took my tool kit, and set to work.

  In the half hour I was there, two cars passed the Main Street intersection. The lack of activity only made me extra cautious. I'd cast a perimeter spell around the lot so I could concentrate on changing the tire. When I was finishing up, someone breached the spell, setting off a mental alarm.

  I looked up sharply. I stood. Even called out a "Hello?" just to let the intruder know I'd noticed him. Silence answered.

  I cast a sensing spell. Yep, definitely a presence. A human-size one.

  There was only one streetlamp near the garage, and my bike was under it. The full moon vanished behind clouds. When I stepped past the circle of light, I had to squint into the shadows. A flashlight would have helped. But I had a spell-powered one, so why would I weigh down my saddlebags with that? Well, maybe if I was being stalked by a human who shouldn't see me tossing a ball of light into the air.

  I cupped my hand and cast the light ball inside it, to look like a flashlight. Kind of. Then I strode toward the garage, the light leading the way.

  Metal tinkled across asphalt, like someone had kicked a screw. It came from the west side of the shop. I extinguished the light and ran that way just in time to see the heels of someone darting around the corner. White soles. Sneakers.

  Knockback spell at the ready, I rounded the rear of the garage. Empty. There was, however, a convenient Dumpster. I slid off my boots and crept along the wall until I was beside the bin. I listened and flexed my fingers, ready to cast at the first squeak of a shoe. When all stayed silent, I whispered a sensing spell. It came back positive.

  Cardboard boxes were scattered around the base. I found the sturdiest, grabbed the edge of the bin, and swung up onto the box. It started to collapse just as I lifted off it.

  The top of the bin was dented and filled with what I prayed was rainwater, not garbage sludge. I pushed to my feet and took one slow step across, knockback spell prepped to send my stalker reeling back the moment he noticed--

  A sharp intake of breath. Above me. I wheeled to catch only a
glimpse of someone dressed in black before he plummeted off the other side of the roof. Footsteps pounded pavement. I jumped down and tore off, but by the time I reached the street, it was empty.

  I stood on the sidewalk. Looked left. Looked right. Nothing. Shit!

  I cast my sensing spell. Someone was still nearby. I turned as a dark figure stepped from the shadows. My hands flew up in a knockback, cut short when I saw the scowling face of Bruyn's older officer.

  I glanced down at his shoes. Loafers. Dark soles. Damn.

  "Breaking and entering is a crime, Miss Levine," he said as he strode over to me.

  I looked around at the shops, mostly vacant. "Breaking in ... where? And if I was, I wouldn't park my bike under a streetlamp."

  His scowl deepened.

  "I'm fixing it," I waved at the tools still scattered around the bike. "The tire blew and they were keeping my bike here while I grabbed a new one from Vancouver. My bike. My tire. My tools. I didn't break in anywhere." Well, technically, I did, to get my bike, but I didn't see the need to mention that.

  "You shouldn't be wandering around alone at night," he said. "We've got a killer on the loose, who likes 'em young and pretty." He smiled, as if imagining me lying inside a ring of crime-scene tape.

  "I didn't realize how late it'd gotten," I said. "Thanks."

  I started back to my bike, then turned.

  "Did you see anyone else out here?" I asked. "I could have sworn I heard footsteps just a minute ago. That's why I was looking around."

  "Nobody but me. That's the way it should be, this time of night."

  He stood watch while I packed up my gear. I thanked him for that, though I knew he was just doing it to make sure I left. And I did. With this cop on the lookout, I couldn't exactly take off for Cody's office on the far side of town. And my bruised body was telling me it was ready for bed.

  Back at the motel, I grabbed a couple of cookies--one of Paige's and one from the cult. Paige's were better, but the others were decent enough. I was pulling off my clothes when my cell phone rang. "Break on Through," which I'd set as Jesse's ring tone.

  "Yes, I know, it's late," he said when I answered. "Did I wake you up?"

  "Nope. Just getting ready to turn in."

  "Good. I probably should have just texted, but I found something." A pause. "Not that you can do anything about it tonight. Never mind. It can wait."