Spellbound

by Kelley Armstrong

  "He probably figured he could handle it. I know what that's like."

  "But would you let her hurt your family? Would you eventually give in and zap a psychopath ghost into a body, then wash your hands of it, be glad the bitch was someone else's problem? He got his wife badly hurt, and got a lot of people killed. He almost got you killed. Now he wants to talk to say he's sorry? Piss on him."

  Schmidt did want to talk. He said it was a "matter of urgency" and "something I needed to know." But with Leah back in her hell dimension, what could he need to tell me? Like Adam said, he was just feeling guilty.

  I still called. If he only wanted to apologize, I'd let him know what I thought of that. And I'd let him know exactly what Leah had done. The number rang through to an answering machine. I hung up without leaving a message.

  eleven

  A my Lynn Tucker was dead. That would be a lot more comforting if my witch-hunter actually was Amy Lynn Tucker.

  As we sat at a picnic table in Arizona outside a dorm, the dead girl's roommate gave us the news that Amy had died a few months earlier.

  "We had no idea," Adam said. "The DMV still has this address."

  "I doubt her parents have told them. Under the circumstances . . ." She chewed her lip. "Well, I don't think they'd want to talk about it much. It was suicide. She hung herself up there--" She gestured over our heads and I looked up at the tree, but she shook her head. "In our room. I've been trying to get a new one ever since, but they say I can't switch until next term."

  As Adam talked to the girl, I gazed out at the campus. It was picture-perfect--a small, private Baptist college, which explained why classes were running so late in the term.

  I leaned across the table. "Are you sure Amy died in March?"

  "Of course, she's sure." Adam faked a whisper. "Someone made a mistake, okay? Case closed."

  "Mistake?" the girl said. "What kind of mistake?"

  Adam looked uncomfortable.

  I barreled ahead. "Like we said, we're private investigators. Amy was the subject of a case we're working. Only, according to our case"--I set down my picture of the witch-hunter--"Amy here was seen only last month."

  "That's not Amy," the roommate said. "It's her sister. I mean, cousin. Amy called Roni her sister, because her parents raised her, but she's really a cousin . . . I think."

  "Roni?"

  "Veronica. She went to school here, too. She dropped out after Amy died."

  We sat in our rental car outside the Tucker residence. It didn't look like the home of trained assassins. More like the home of trained preschool teachers. A pretty little suburban ranch with bright blue shutters, a red VW Beetle in the drive, and a swing on the porch. Even had a picket fence, painted yellow.

  "Clearly the abode of evil," I said.

  "Creeps me out, too," Adam said. "Okay, let's get this over with."

  He was opening his door when my phone sounded. The ring tone was The Doors, like all of mine. In this case, "Take It as It Comes."

  "I thought you confiscated Paige's cell phone before she left?" Adam said.

  "I did."

  I answered with a cautious "Hello," wondering--and fearing--who might have broken into our house and stolen Paige's phone.

  "Good, you're there. Did you get my message?"

  The husky voice was unmistakable. "Paige?"

  "Um, yes. Who else would be using my phone? I know, we were due back tomorrow, but we caught an earlier flight. I'd ask why my Prius is missing, and Adam's Jeep is parked in its place, but I'm a lot more concerned about the fact that his vehicle was obviously in an accident. And your bike isn't looking any better."

  "I can explain."

  "Are you okay?" Her voice dropped an octave. "That's what I'm worried about, Savannah. You didn't seem okay when we talked yesterday morning. That's why we came home early. Seeing that bike and Jeep, I'm more worried than ever. Are you all right?"

  I swallowed. No, I'm not all right. I wasn't all right before and now I'm really, really not all right, and I wish I could come home.

  I looked at the Tucker house, then over at Adam. He was sending a text on his phone.

  "Savannah?" Paige said.

  "I'm here. But you need to get--"

  Adam waved for me to stop. His phone rang--the ring tone for Lucas. He handed it to me and took mine. "Savannah?" I heard Paige saying.

  Adam opened the car door. "Hey, it's me. Savannah was just about to say you need to get my car fixed. That's why I took yours. Ransom."

  I answered Adam's phone and whispered, "Just a sec."

  "Whoa. No!" Adam said as he climbed out. "That's not what I meant. Ransom, not a trade. Your Prius is very cute and very ecofriendly and very, very Paige." He shut the door.

  "Savannah?" Lucas said.

  "Sorry. Adam was just--"

  "Distracting Paige, which is why he texted me to go into another room and call him. Whatever happened, Savannah, keeping it from Paige is not--"

  "A witch-hunter is trying to kill me."

  Silence.

  "Lucas?"

  "I'm quite certain you're joking. However, you don't sound as if you are."

  "I'm not. There are these women called witch-hunters who--"

  "I'm familiar with the legend, Savannah. But it's just that, a legend."

  "Yeah? Tell that to the bitch who's been trying to kill me." I told him the story.

  When I finished, he was quiet for a minute, then said, "While I'm not convinced the person stalking you is a witch-hunter, she does appear to be hunting witches, so the precise nature of her affiliation is unimportant. You and Adam need to--"

  "Stop her. I know. And you need to get Paige out of Portland, in case this chick circles back there looking for me. Can you take her to Miami? I know you don't like relying on the Cabal."

  "Under the circumstances, it's probably the safest place for her. Unless you need our help . . ."

  "We don't. Whatever this kid is, she's only a kid and she's human." And I'm sure as hell not adding to your worries by telling you about my power outage. "We can handle it."

  "I presume this hunter is responsible for the vehicular damage then?"

  I hesitated. "Actually, no. That would be the case I was investigating while you guys were gone, which turned out . . . I think we'd better get Paige in on this explanation. Can you call her and put me on speaker?"

  "So," I said, when I was finished telling them about the events in Columbus and the return of Leah O'Donnell. "The moral of this story is never to let Paige kill anyone ever again. She sucks at it, and I'll have to go back and do it right."

  "I'll remember that," Paige said. "So you're all okay?"

  "Yes. For the hundredth time, I'm fine."

  "I'll stop asking when I believe it," she murmured. "So what are you doing now?"

  "Workaholic that I am, I found another case right away. One that may need a full council investigation."

  I told them about Jaime's show and the death of Walter Alston.

  "Jaime should get to Miami," Lucas said quickly. "She needs to be under Cabal protection, so she isn't targeted to raise Lucifer. That's probably the best place for us, too. If there's been trouble, someone in the Cabal will have heard rumors."

  Paige moaned about getting on another plane, but Lucas adroitly steered her to the conclusion that they really had to go to Miami. Immediately.

  The minute I stepped onto the front walk, my head started to ache. Just a soft pulse that got stronger as we drew near the house. A witch-hunter was inside. I hoped it was my little friend, but suspected that would be too easy.

  Since we'd been sitting outside the Tucker house talking to Paige and Lucas for a while, we weren't surprised when the door opened before we could knock.

  A middle-aged woman with a cane stood in the doorway. Mrs. Tucker, I presumed. "If you're from the insurance company, hoping to catch me doing something I shouldn't, you'll need to do a better job of undercover surveillance than that." She waved at the car. Then she saw me an
d stopped.

  "Oh," she said after a moment.

  "Nope, not insurance investigators," I said. "Though we are offering a form of insurance today. The kind that keeps your niece from getting killed."

  I brushed past her into the house, nearly knocking her off her feet.

  "Yes, I'm rude," I said when she let out a squawk of outrage. "And the more times Roni tries to kill me, the worse my mood will get."

  In the living room, I stopped and looked around. Boring neutral shades livened up by cushions and pictures in bright, primary colors. Functional, easy-to-clean furniture. A playpen in the corner. Grandchildren? Home day care? The playpen was filled with toys, stashed away between babysitting sessions.

  "You can't be here," the woman said. "You're--"

  "The wicked witch. So the legends are true. You can recognize us on sight."

  I plunked down on the sofa. The woman hesitated in the doorway.

  "Come in," I said. "Get comfy. Don't bother offering tea, though. I don't think I'd like your blend."

  She stepped in, then glanced at Adam. He stayed where he was, as if guarding the exit.

  "You can't--" she began.

  "--do this. I know. You're supposed to be the one harassing me." I pointed at the chair. "Sit. Or I'll help you."

  She sat.

  "Here's the deal," I said. "I want Veronica to stop trying to kill me. Yes, I know, that's your mandate--rid the world of witches--but I'm starting to take it personally."

  "Especially since she's never done a damned thing to deserve it," Adam said. "I'm taking that personally. You're lucky she's offering you a deal, because if it was up to me?"

  He reached out and touched the edge of the drapes. A puff of smoke, then a lick of flame. The woman gasped and leapt to her feet.

  Adam pinched the flame out. "But it's not up to me."

  "Stop Veronica," I said. "If you don't, I will--permanently. Then I'll come back here and let him do it his way, and we'll turn the tables on the rest of your clan. Open season on witch-hunters. You've only survived this long because no one believes in you. A few calls from me, and that changes."

  "I can't stop Veronica."

  "Can't or won't?"

  Her dark eyes lifted to mine. "Can't. And if she's trying to kill you, then as much as it pains me to say this, you probably will need to use lethal force to stop her. I wish it could be another way but . . ." She took a deep breath. "It's gone too far for that. She's no longer one of us. I don't think she ever was."

  "Meaning . . . ?"

  "We don't follow the old ways anymore. Killing witches. We came to realize we were killing indiscriminately, under the misguided presumption that all witches were evil."

  "And when did you have this epiphany? Last week? Roni didn't get the memo?"

  "Roni wasn't supposed to hunt witches. Yes, when I was her age, I was still expected to follow the old traditions. But my generation decided to change things."

  "Ushering in the age of the enlightened witch-hunter?"

  "I know you're mocking me, but yes, that's how we see ourselves now. We target only those who use their magic for evil, and even then, we attempt to steer them from their path with nonlethal means."

  "Right."

  "I can prove it." She got to her feet. "Our files are in my bedroom. May I get them?"

  I said she could, then followed her upstairs, Adam right behind us. She opened a locked box in her bedroom closet and took out an account book. Most of the record was only names and dates. Dates of deaths. In the last decade, though, the entries looked more like our case files at the agency. Following up rumors on dark witches and trying to thwart their enterprises through assault and blackmail.

  I handed the book to Adam. "If you're still keeping paper files, I'm guessing you don't have a copier or scanner handy."

  "No."

  "Then we'll have to take that. We'll send it back after we've made a copy."

  "What? No. Absolutely not--"

  A hiss cut her short. She looked over to see Adam lighting a page on fire. She lunged for him, but he only lifted the book over his head and held out his glowing fingers to her.

  "Either we have a copy or no one has a copy," he said. "We'll make one and courier the original back."

  When she agreed, he put the flames out and we returned to the living room.

  "So you're a kinder, gentler model of witch-hunter," I said as we sat down. "Doesn't seem like that's working out so well for your next generation. Roni following the old ways. Amy taking a shortcut to the afterlife."

  She flinched. "I . . . am not convinced Amy took her own life."

  "Let me guess, you think Roni had something to do with it."

  "My daughter had no reason to kill herself. I'm sure every parent says that. But the only thing that troubled Amy was her cousin. They were like sisters. More than that. Best friends since they were babies. Veronica wasn't even two yet when my sister died. She had her child young, before she'd completed her assignments."

  "Kills, you mean. She had Roni before she'd made her kills."

  The woman nodded. "She was on her final one when she was caught by the witch. She didn't survive."

  The woman's gaze dropped in fresh grief. I didn't feel the urge to commiserate. Get killed trying to murder someone? That's the kind of death penalty I can wholeheartedly endorse. I suspected that death was the motivation behind their eventual "enlightenment." They hadn't realized some witches were good; they'd realized some were dangerous.

  "Roni grew up wanting revenge. We thought she'd outgrow it. She didn't. The more we argued, the more determined she got, until it became an obsession. One she wanted Amy to share."

  "And when Amy didn't, Roni killed her? Faked her suicide? That doesn't make a lot of sense to me."

  "I don't think it was like that. I believe they argued and Roni killed her accidentally. Then she staged her suicide. We know many ways to hide the signs of murder."

  I didn't doubt it.

  twelve

  "You know," Adam said as we left the copy shop. "Someday, we should really work on our interrogation routine. I think one of us is supposed to be the good cop."

  "Pfft. Good is overrated."

  He laughed.

  "All right then," I said. "Let's courier that book back to Mrs. Tucker, and check this thing out in the privacy of our motel room."

  On the drive, we discussed our next big hurdle. Finding Veronica Tucker.

  "I think a trap is our best bet," I said as I climbed out of the rental car. "She's less likely to strike while you're around. If I'm alone, she'll feel more confident making a hit."

  I braced for him to argue, but he nodded. "Not my first choice, but we need to end this. We can't properly investigate this activist group while watching over our shoulders for a witch-hunter. We're going to need to lure her in." He opened the motel room door, then stopped, gazed at the floor. "Or we could just wait for her to make contact."

  There, on the worn carpet, was a folded sheet of paper that had been shoved under the door. In big block letters, it read SAVANNAH LEVINE. As I bent, Adam caught my hand.

  "If it's a letter bomb, she forgot the envelope," I said.

  He kicked the folded sheet over. When it didn't explode, he reached down and picked it up, then backed us out of the room.

  Savannah Levine,

  I know you went to my aunt's house today, and I know what she told you, but it's a lie. It's all lies. I'm not the one trying to kill you. I need your help and you need mine. Meet me at the Karma Kafe at 3 P.M.

  Veronica Tucker

  Folded in the letter was a homemade business card.

  I waved the letter at Adam. "She wants to help me. She's not trying to kill me at all. Certainly not by leaving this letter, hoping I'm dumb enough to show up at her meeting so she can attack me or poison my coffee."

  "Well, that's good to hear. I'd hate for something like that to happen. Almost as much as I'd hate for you to decide you're going to that meeting to turn the
tables on her."

  "Duh, no. Now who thinks I'm stupid? I'm not going to that meeting. We are."

  Picture a place called the Karma Kafe and it'll save me the bother of describing it. There was nothing in it you wouldn't expect, from the Buddha flowerpots to the wallpaper decorated with symbols that probably said, "If you bought this just because it looked pretty, may Buddha piss in your coffee, you culturally ignorant moron." Even the servers were decorated with symbols. I have no idea what they said, but I'm sure there was a henna artist down the street laughing her ass off every time they stopped by for fresh ink.

  I ordered coffee. Oh, sorry, "koffee" made from fair trade beans grown in some place I'd never heard of--probably Hindi for New Jersey. From the taste of it, my guess on the wallpaper message was right.

  Right after that first sip, my head started to hurt. When I turned, I saw Veronica Tucker.

  "I didn't think you'd come," she said.

  "Is that why you're ten minutes late? Better have a good excuse, because making me wait isn't the right way to start this conversation."

  She babbled something as she sat. I just stared at her until she trailed off and started folding her napkin, fingers creasing the edges.

  "You called me here to talk," I said. "The meter's running."

  "I didn't try to kill you."

  "Heard that already. Now go back and start at the beginning. You went to Columbus to kill Tiffany Radu . . ."

  "That was my mission. I'm sure my aunt told you that the witch-hunters have changed. It's a lie. Some did. But my family wanted revenge for my mother's death, so they only pretended to go along with the others. Secretly they were raising us to follow the old ways. We didn't want to. I think that's why Amy died."

  "I hope you mean that's the reason you think she killed herself, and not that her mother murdered her because she refused to go witch-hunting. Grounding, yes. Cutting off her allowance, sure. But I ain't buying murder."

  Roni shook her head. "No, Aunt Annette wouldn't kill her own daughter. But I think someone in our family did kill Amy. There's my aunt Rachel, too, and her daughter Chrissy. Chrissy did her tour two years ago and it wasn't easy, so when Aunt Annette considered letting Amy and me get out of it, they really weren't happy."

  "Your tour? Seriously. That's what you call it? As in tour of duty? Or post-grad tour? See the country, kill a few witches . . ."