“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.