“I know what you mean, but I don’t remember. Dad made my sister and me memorize it, and I know I’m supposed to call them first, so I must have.”

I prompted her with a few questions about her attacker’s voice, regional accent, word usage, anything that might have stuck in her mind more than a physical description, but she could tell me little more than that he didn’t sound like he came from “around here.”

“Oh, there was one thing he did say that seemedweird. When he started choking me. It seemed like he was talking to someone, but there wasn’t anyone there. Like he was talking to himself, only he used a name.”

I perked up. “Do you remember it?”

“I think it was Nasha,” Dana said. “That’s what it sounded like.”

“Ask her what exactly he said,” I said, and Jaime did.

“He said he was doing this for this person, this Nasha,” Dana said.

“Ritual sacrifice,” I said.

Jaime nodded. We continued to prod Dana’s memory, but she’d obviously been only partially conscious when she’d heard her attacker speak. Next we moved back to her attacker. He was likely supernatural, and may have done something to indicate his race, but Dana couldn’t recall anything. As the daughter of a witch and a half-demon, she was familiar with both spell-casting and demonic shows of power, but her attacker had demonstrated neither.

“That’s great, hon,” Jaime said when I indicated that I’d run out of questions. “You’ve been a big help. Thank you very much.”

Dana smiled through Jaime. “I should be thanking you. And I will, when I wake up. I’ll take you guys out for lunch. On me. Well, on me and my dad.”

“Su—sure, kiddo,” Jaime said, gaze flicking away. “We’ll do that.” She glanced at me. “Can I send her back now?”

I nodded, and capped my pen. “Tell her I’ll see her when she wakes up.”

A few minutes later, Jaime stood and rubbed her shoulders.

“You okay?” I asked.

She made a noncommittal noise and reached for her handbag. I stifled a yawn, then stepped into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

“So, do you have any idea when she’ll regain consciousness?” I said as I came out.

“She won’t.”

I stopped and turned slowly. Jaime was fussing with something in her purse.

“What?” I said.

Jaime didn’t look up. “She’s crossed over. She’s gone.”

“But you—you said—”

“I know what I said.”

“You told her she was fine. How could you—?”

Jaime’s gaze snapped to mine. “And what was I supposed to say? Sorry, kid, you’re dead, you just don’t know ityet?”

“Oh, my god.” I sunk into the nearest chair. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean—I didn’t mean—putting you through that—”

“Comes with the territory. If not me, then someone else, right? You need to catch this bastard, and this was the best way to get information, so…” She rubbed her hand over her face. “I could really use a drink. And some company. If you don’t mind.”

I scrambled from the chair. “Sure.”

Two-for-One Special

THOUGH I WAS STILL IN SHOCK OVER DANA’S FATE, MY feelings had to take a backseat to Jaime’s. She was the one who needed support, and I was happy to provide it.

I’d seen a jazz bar down the road, the kind of place with big plush booths you could get lost in and a live band that never played loud enough to challenge conversation. We could go there, have a few drinks, and talk through our difficult evening, maybe come to a better understanding of one another.

“No, I am so serious!” Jaime shrieked, waving her Cosmopolitan and sending a tidal wave over the glass. “This guy was sitting in his seat, with his pants undone, dick sticking out, hoping that’d get my attention.”

The blond guy on Jaime’s left leaned into her. “And did it?”

“Hell, no. A four-inch dick? I don’t even slow down for that. Zipped right past him…and hoped he zipped up before the old lady beside him had a stroke.”

“Would eight inches do it?” asked the dark-haired guy on her right.

“Depends on the face that goes with it. Now ten…ten and we’d be talking. Twelve, and I’d summon his f**king dog if he asked me.”

A roar of laughter. I stared into my Mojito and wished I’d made it a double Scotch, neat. I didn’t drink Scotch, but suddenly, it seemed like a really good idea.

Around us, music pulsed so loud it rippled Jaime’s Cosmo puddle. I thought of wiping it up, but decided to wait until another stoned dancer stumbled off the floor and fell onto our table. It’d happened twice so far and was bound to happen again. I only hoped he or she would be wearing enough to soak up Jaime’s spilled drink.

We’d been here nearly two hours, having never come within half a block of the jazz club. Jaime had heard the thumping music from outside and dragged me in for “just one drink.” I’d had two. She was on number six. For the first two, she’d ignored all attention from the bar’s male patrons. By the third, she’d begun sizing up the interested parties. When number five arrived, she’d made her selection from a quintet of stockbroker types who’d been watching us from the bar, and had waved over the two cutest and offered them seats on either side of her, squashing three into a bench made for two.