"I--"
"Whatever. So Amy dies and you decide to toe the line by letting your aunts send you to Columbus to off Tiffany Radu."
"I didn't kill Tiffany. I planned to. Kill her and get it over with. I heard the rumors. She was using her powers to help her husband's white slave trade, and she probably helped him kill those girls when they wouldn't go into slavery."
"Because every slaver wants a couple of drug-addled party girls like Ginny Thompson and Brandi Degas. That illegal business Tiffany was helping him with? Importing cheap prescription drugs from Canada. A sleazy way to make money, but nothing anyone deserves to die for. Next time you want to justify murder, do your research. Of course, that could mean you lose your justification, so I can see why you didn't."
She flushed. "Okay, I was wrong about Tiffany, but I didn't kill her. Like I said, I was going to. My aunts told me how. Sneak in while she napped and inject her with poison. But by that time, you'd come to town. I could tell you were a witch. I was curious, so I followed you around a bit. That's all I did. Only my aunts found out and they ordered me to kill you, too. But you were trying to stop Tiffany and Cody, too. That's when I decided I couldn't go through with it."
"Yet Tiffany still ends up dead. During her nap. Injected with poison."
"Because that was their plan. They did it. I tried to talk to you at the hospital, but you blasted me right off my feet. Even in your sleep you knew I was there. So I took off. I found you again at the motel. I was trying to figure out how to tell you without getting attacked. When you came after me, I panicked again and ran."
"And tried killing me in Seattle. Shoving me into traffic. Oh, wait. That wasn't you. It was them."
"Did you see me?" Her chin lifted. "Have you ever seen me trying to kill you? Did the nurse catch me doing something to you in the hospital? Were the cookies I brought poisoned? No. Someone is trying to kill you, but you have no proof it's me. They want you to jump to that conclusion. They want you to kill me."
"Right. Of course. Because if they kill me, I'll kill you. I can come back as a ghost and haunt you to death. Good plan."
She shook her head, shifting in her seat, frustrated by my refusal to buy into her perfectly rational story. "How did they kill Tiffany? Lethal dose of poison. Then they push you onto a busy street? What are the chances of you dying from that?"
"But I'm on to you. Tiffany wasn't. Everything so far has failed, so you're forced to resort to desperate measures. And if that fails, lure me to a meeting and lower my guard by appealing to my sympathetic side." I leaned forward. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have a sympathetic side."
"Just listen--"
"I am listening. You didn't kill Tiffany. Your evil relatives did. The same relatives who claim you're the evil one, that you're acting on your own. Who's right?" I put my elbows on the table, getting close enough to see the flakes on her chapped lips. "I don't give a shit. I have my own problems, and you're the one most easily solved. Come near me again--for any reason--and I'll swat you down. Understood?"
Her lips tightened. "It's not me you need to worry about. You'll see that soon enough. Maybe when you read my obituary."
"Nah, I'm pretty sure your folks aren't going to pay for one." I stood. "If we're done here . . . ?"
She pushed back her chair, stood, and stalked out before I could leave.
"So what do you think?" I said to Adam as I drove us back to our motel.
"If you're asking anyone's opinion--even mine--you aren't completely sure yourself. Same here. It smells like bullshit, but doesn't stink any worse than the story her aunt gave us. I suspect the truth is caught in the middle. Unfortunately, so are you. Nothing you can do either way."
"Just keep moving forward and watching my back."
I'm sure he knew what I was thinking. If Veronica Tucker died, I'd blame myself. If another witch was murdered because of Veronica Tucker, I'd blame myself. If I focused on figuring out the truth here and, meanwhile, Jaime or Hope was targeted by that crazy bunch of activists, I'd blame myself. I'd pretty much bought myself a ticket to Guilt Island any way I turned.
Best I could do was look at my options and decide "which one could I live with the least." Number three, no question. So follow my own advice--move forward and watch my back.
The big question, though, was where I was moving forward to.
"Miami," Adam said. "That girl or her aunties get within a mile of Cortez headquarters and they'll find themselves locked up, awaiting interrogation from someone a whole lot nastier than you or me."
I shook my head. "The Cabal won't give a shit about some chicks killing off witches."
"The Cabal might not, but Lucas will, meaning Benicio will and, as far as I'm concerned, they are the Cortez Cabal."
When I didn't answer, he looked over. "You need to tell Lucas and Paige about your spell problem sooner or later."
"You think I'm avoiding Miami so I don't have to tell Lucas and Paige? Uh no. I'm avoiding Miami until I'm sure I won't lead a witch-hunter to Paige. We have other things we can follow up on for now."
"Like what?"
"I'll call Lucas from the motel. I'm sure he'll have something."
Lucas had nothing. Not too surprising, considering he'd only landed in Miami an hour ago.
"We'll just chill out here, then," I said.
"In the city where these witch-hunters reside?" Lucas's voice rose on the speakerphone, a rare show of incredulity. "After you've made contact with them?"
Across the room, Adam nodded in emphatic agreement.
"I'd like you here," Lucas said. "Jaime is en route, as is Jeremy. Elena, Hope, and Karl will be following tonight. They've called a council meeting--"
"I'm not council."
"I am," Adam said.
"You go then."
He gave me a look, then said to Lucas, "Savannah's concerned about leading the witch-hunter back to Paige." He mouthed Which is bullshit to me. "We've got a few things to do first, but we'll come to Miami tomorrow."
Next I called Sean. My half brother was chief operating officer of the Nast Cabal. How the guy ever climbed so high, when he'd somehow failed to inherit any of our family's less savory traits, is a testament to just how damned good he is at his job. That and our grandfather's desperate need to hold on to some part of our father. He ignored Sean's gentle nature; Sean ignored the company's baser nature. It all worked out . . . in a completely dysfunctional way guaranteed to blow up spectacularly someday. I just hoped my brother didn't suffer the brunt of the explosion.
When Sean's cell phone rang through to voice mail, I decided to try the office.
His line was picked up on the second ring.
"Hello, Savannah."
The icy tone meant it wasn't Sean. I gripped the phone a little tighter. It was Bryce, Sean's younger brother. Biologically, that means he's also my half brother, but Bryce refuses to acknowledge any relationship. That used to hurt. Okay, it still does.
In the beginning, I thought Bryce was just worried I was after his inheritance. But that's not it. His mother left Kristof a few years before he met my mother, but Bryce is still convinced my mother drove his off. That's easier than believing his mother abandoned him when he was barely old enough to walk. I can't imagine how horrible that must feel, which makes it really hard for me to hate the guy, and I think that only pisses him off all the more.
"Hey, Bryce. How're you doing?"
"Sean's not here. He's in Hong Kong. Didn't he tell you?"
Shit. I'd forgotten. I didn't say that, though. Bryce hated sharing Sean, and if he thought I didn't rate getting our brother's travel plans, then I wasn't going to rob him of the victory.
"Damn. Has he been gone long?"
"Five days."
"Then he wouldn't be able to help me anyway. Maybe you can."
A snorted laugh. "Seriously? Um, no. Even if I could--"
"I have information that the Cabal might want. That's why I was calling Sean. Hoping to warn him and check out a
rumor."
I glanced at Adam. He was in the bathroom shaving, having skipped it this morning. The door was open and he could hear my conversation, but he didn't turn. With anyone other than Bryce, I'd have given up after the first rebuff. With Bryce, I had this weird compulsion to keep offering my hand in peace, no matter how many times he spat on it. I guess Adam knew that.
"I'm not Sean," Bryce said. "I don't offer Cabal secrets in return for your useless scraps, Savannah. Maybe you can take advantage of him, but--"
"Sean never gives me Cabal secrets." And you know it, because you know Sean. "All I'm asking for is confirmation or denial of a rumor."
"What's this warning you want to give?"
Again, anyone else and I'd have insisted on quid pro quo. Instead, I told him about the so-called liberation movement.
He snorted. "Seriously? You think we haven't heard that? Where have you been for the past week, Savannah? Partying? A junior security team has been assigned to investigate, but we sure as hell aren't battening down the hatches because a few kids have started shouting 'Free the Supernaturals.' Please."
"It's more than that. They've killed--" Now Adam looked up. I chomped my tongue. I hadn't meant to give that away. I was like a little girl, so desperate for her big brother's approval she'll do anything to get it.
"Killed who?" Bryce asked.
"A sorcerer, I think," I lied. "That's what I heard anyway."
"More rumors. It's like dealing with children. A bogeyman jumps out and they run screaming to the council. And the council is stupid enough to actually listen and go bogeyman hunting."
"We're just following up on information we received," I said. "Including the tip that this movement was trying to recruit near Nast headquarters and the Cabal snatched them up."
"Is that what you heard?"
"Is it true? If you guys have them and you aren't interested in interrogating them, you could turn them over to the council."
"Could we? Really?"
"Do you have them?"
"Good-bye, Savannah."
He hung up. I sat there with the phone to my ear for at least a minute. Then I said to Adam, still shaving, "Next time I start tripping over myself to be nice to Bryce, slap me, okay? Just slap me."
"You didn't give much away."
"I wasn't going to get anything either. I know better. Which means I should have done this first." I called Sean's cell phone back and left a message, explaining the situation and my talk with Bryce, asking him to call when he could.
As I disconnected, someone rapped at the door.
"I paid for another night in case we need it," Adam said. "That's probably housekeeping."
I opened the door. There stood a short, gaunt man dressed in clothes covered in a decade of filth.
"Not housekeeping," I called, then turned to the homeless man. "Look, I'm sure this saves time, knocking on doors instead of sitting on the corner, but you've got to pick a better class of motel. Folks here are as likely to take your money as give you some."
The man lifted his head. His beard was streaked with dried vomit. There was a dent the size of a golf ball in his temple, and a chunk of skull was missing. Brain matter oozed through.
"It's for you," I called to Adam.
The dead homeless guy grunted and pushed past me into the room.
thirteen
"It's a zombie," I said to Adam, now standing in the open bathroom doorway.
"You think?" He turned to the dead guy. "Kimerion, I presume?"
"Yes. Have I interrupted an intimate moment?"
Adam arched an eyebrow, then cast a pointed look at me--fully dressed--then at the bed, still made with our laptops on it.
"Only a passing familiarity with human intimacy, I take it?" Adam said.
"You never know," I said. "Maybe the people he hangs out with just lie on the bed together and surf porn sites on their laptops. Evolution at its finest."
"Or its cleanest," Kimerion said. "Human reproduction is so messy. All those bodily fluids."
"Speaking of bodily fluids . . ." I pointed to the snail's trail of putrefaction he had left in his wake. "Next time you need a dead body? Shopping is much better at the morgue. Cleaned up, stitched up, and prettied up. You'd look almost human."
He curled his lip, revealing teeth the color of maggots. Or maybe they were maggots.
"Don't take another step." I went into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, put it on the chair, and motioned for him to sit. As he did, I spritzed him.
"My aftershave?" Adam said.
"It's cheaper than my perfume." I turned to Kimerion. "So, who stole my thunder?"
"I don't know yet."
"Then what is this? A social visit?"
He gave me a withering look. "No. I found something else you might consider useful. I realized that may happen as I continue this investigation, and if it does, we may wish to extend our agreement to cover it."
"So you want to be paid for the leads that don't actually solve the case?" I turned to Adam. "Why don't we do that? If we're investigating, and we find out someone's screwing around or cheating his company, we can sell that information to the highest bidder."
"We could. If we were demons."
"Ah, right. There's the rub. Our pesky human consciences." I glanced back at Kimerion. "We're not bargaining for every useless scrap--"
"Not even if it pertains to a recent case of yours? A certain Volo half-demon's untimely departure from her hell dimension?"
When I blinked, he smiled. "I thought that might change your mind. Did you stop to wonder how Leah O'Donnell escaped? It's not that easily accomplished, as may be evidenced by the fact that your world isn't currently overrun by the spirit of every evildoer in history."
"Yes, it's harder than escaping from Alcatraz. So I've heard. But it does happen. I've heard that, too."
"True. But Leah O'Donnell, while possessing a great power and a remarkable amount of animal cunning, lacked the intellect necessary to carry out her plan. So why was she able to escape hell when so many of her betters cannot?"
"You have the answer?"
"No. But when Leah was freed, she tormented a necromancer, who may know more. I can give you the name--"
"Got it."
Kimerion hesitated.
"Gary Schmidt," I said.
"Who told you that? Another demon?"
Adam cut in before I could answer. "Not important."
"So it was another demon." Kimerion gripped the chair so hard a finger snapped off. "I do not appreciate competing for the attention of mortals, even Asmondai's son."
"But you would appreciate knowing what Schmidt tells us, right?"
The demi-demon hesitated, then shrugged. "It could help us find out what has become of the witch's powers. So sharing that information would be in your best interests. Otherwise . . ." Another shrug. "It is of no import."
"No? Then we won't trouble you with it."
Kimerion grumbled and shifted and tried again to insist he was only doing us a favor, letting us bring him any information we might learn from Schmidt so he could put it into context for us. Finally, he gave up the pretense and spat, "Asmondai wants to know who freed the Volo."
"Then say so," Adam said. "Don't set us on this trail pretending you're doing us a favor. Who does Asmondai think freed Leah?"
"I am not privy to my master's thoughts."
Kimerion was lying, but when I glanced over, Adam only dipped his chin, telling me he knew Kimerion wasn't telling the truth. He circled the question a few times, before Kimerion said, "I can give you more leads. Not answers, but leads."
"In return for what?"
"A boon. A simple one, which will buy you all the extraneous information uncovered in the course of my investigation."
"What's the boon? I'll tell you right now, we don't do sacrifices. And if it's sex?" I pointed at the bed. "There's the laptop. Knock yourself out."
His lip curled again. "I don't concern myself with petty physical pleasures. The b
oon I ask is far more ephemeral. You know the daughter of Lucifer. I wish an audience with her. A brief audience, arranged at her convenience and with whatever restrictions you deem necessary--blindfolds, bindings, wards."
Kimerion wouldn't tell us why he wanted to speak to Hope, but Adam probed until it was clear this was a political move. Kimerion wanted to open a dialogue with someone who might prove useful. Adam then hammered out every last detail of the proposed meeting. How long would it last? When would it take place? Could others be present? Did he intend to ask her for something? If so, would he agree that her refusal would mark the immediate end of the discussion?
After a solid twenty minutes of negotiation they came to an agreement. For the information Kimerion had now, Adam would convey the request to Hope. He obviously couldn't agree to a meeting for her. If she refused, Kimerion would stop supplying details.
Adam formalized the deal with a brief ritual. It wasn't necessary. In fact, most demons balk at it, the same way shady business partners will balk at putting a contract in writing. Kimerion didn't complain, just sat there, calmly rotting, until it was finished.
"Okay," I said. "Now what's this about Leah's escape?"
"She had help," Kimerion said. "That's clear to anyone with any knowledge of hell dimensions. They cannot escape without outside assistance. I would suggest you ask more questions. How did she get out? More importantly, why would someone help her? No one on our side could have aided her escape. It's not possible."
"You mean a demon didn't do it. So it was another ghost."
"I'd look farther up the food chain. Again, that's only speculation. My suggestion is to ask this necromancer, Schmidt, for more."
That was all Kimerion had. Hardly game-changing information, but it was worth the cost of asking Hope for an audience.
As he shuffled to the door, he stopped and glanced back. "Have you ever had any contact with your mother's sire, witch?"
"Balaam? Um, no. He missed all my birthdays growing up. I'm still pissed."
"And your mother? Were they close?"
"Is this a trick question? Of course not. Lord demons make most deadbeat dads look like father of the year. They sow their seed and scram. Adam doesn't know Asmondai. Hope doesn't know Lucifer. My mother didn't know Balaam. If you think otherwise, then we'd better shop for a demon helper who's a little more in touch with his world."