“Go to hell, bitch,” he sneered.

I lit a fireball in his stomach. Just a little one, but after Adam’s kick, it was enough to set him screaming and writhing.

“He kicked you pretty hard, huh?” I said. “I think you need a doctor. The sooner we can get through this, the sooner you can get to an emergency ward. Now, let’s try that again. What were you and Claire—”

“A girl, okay? She wanted to talk to me about a girl who’d been at the commune.”

“Name?”

“Pammy or Tammy. Something like that.” Tamara—Claire’s friend.

“And what did you have to do with this girl?”

“Nothing. We talked a few times. I bought her some stuff. She paid me back.”

“With sex.”

He glared up at me. “No, with seashells. Yes, with sex.”

“And the stuff you bought was drugs.”

“No, candy—”

I ignited another internal fireball. He screamed. Writhed. Called me a whole lotta names.

“I’m not doing anything,” I said. “Just standing here trying to talk to you. But obviously you’re hurt, so let’s say you cut the bullshit. If you gave her drugs for sex, say that, and this will go a lot faster.”

He confirmed it. Also confirmed that Tamara had been at the commune trying to get clean. Only she’d ended up whoring herself for a fix.

That conversation seemed to be the only connection between Claire and Cody. Still, it didn’t rule out murder. If she’d known he was dealing dope to Tamara, that was a life-ruining kind of accusation. Of course, he wasn’t going to admit that.

I tried to get more from Cody. Even used the persuasion spell. It failed, though, and I fell back on the tried-and-true internal fireball until Adam stepped in, motioning for me to cast a privacy spell so we could talk without Cody hearing.

“That’s enough,” he said. “He’s told you all he’s going to—”

“I can get more.”

“Sure you can. Keep torturing him and, eventually, he’ll admit he killed Ginny, Brandi, Claire, Michael, Tamara, Tiffany, and Jimmy Hoffa. You need more evidence, Savannah, or after a certain point, you can’t trust anything he says.”

He was right. And, to be honest, I was enjoying tormenting Cody just a little too much. So we left it there. And we left him there, on the ground beside his useless SUV.

WE GOT BACK to the motel to find a half-eaten cold pizza in our room, with a note from Jesse. He’d taken off pursuing a lead and left us the pizza. My stomach wasn’t ready for that. I was ready to sit down and let Adam dig in, but he insisted on checking out my injuries and getting them cleaned up, and by the time he finished, I was hungry enough for a couple of slices. We took our time eating it, talking and relaxing, and soon it was ten o’clock. Adam yawned and stretched.

“Bedtime already?” I said. “You really are getting old.”

He pitched a wadded-up napkin at me. “It was a hint for you, the girl who’s been stifling her own yawns for the last hour. A short nap this afternoon doesn’t make up for a missed night of sleep.”

I picked up my laptop. “I just want to check a few—”

He snatched it from me. “That’s my job. You get some rest and I’ll do the research.”

He settled into the armchair and put his feet up on the bed.

“Didn’t you say something about getting a room?” I said.

“It’s late.”

“It’s barely ten, and the place is half empty.”

“I’m good here.” When I started to argue, he said, “I’m pretty sure Cody’s not coming back for revenge tonight, but I’m not counting on it. Besides, someone’s been following you, and it may be the same someone who killed Tiffany Radu.”

“I—”

“You can look after yourself, I know. But someone also might have killed a guy you were working this case with, so something tells me I’m safer here, too.”

“Fine, but you’re not spending the night in a chair. It’s a big bed. Just keep your shorts on and stay on your side this time.”

“Hey, the last time I was the one who ended up with a fat lip, smacked by you flailing around.”

“Um, no. You were flailing. That’s why you got a fat lip.”

“Go to sleep, Savannah.”

I walked to his bag and pulled out a T-shirt, then headed for the bathroom.

“Excuse me?” he said. “That’s my shirt?”

“I don’t own pajamas.”

“At least take the one you singed earlier.”

“It’s ugly, remember? I don’t do ugly.”

thirty-one

I dreamed I was back in Tiffany’s bedroom reading that opened Bible. Or trying to. The words kept swimming out of focus. I got so frustrated that it woke me up.

The first thing I heard was Adam’s deep breathing. He was sound asleep, lying on his side facing me. He was a respectable distance away, but his fingers rested on my bent knee.

When I moved, he squeezed my knee. I smiled, closed my eyes, and fell back to sleep.

“EXODUS 22:18!” I blurted, bolting up in bed.

Adam’s eyes snapped open.

“Exodus 2.2.: 18,” I repeated.

He closed his eyes. “If you’re spouting biblical references, I’m definitely dreaming.”

I jumped out of bed and yanked my nightstand drawer so hard it flew out, thumping onto my foot—phone book and all. I swore and limped around to the other nightstand. I found the Bible in that drawer and pulled it out.

“You aren’t actually going to read that, are you?” Adam said, one eye open. “If it bursts into flames, it’s not my fault.”

“Tiffany’s Bible was open to Exodus 22. I just realized why that’s familiar. It’s the one Bible verse I know. Exodus 22: I8.” I pointed to the verse. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

“Shit.” Adam scrambled up. He read the verse, then swore again. “The Bible was open to that page?”

I nodded. “It can’t be a coincidence. Maybe it was suicide. She was up to something and was worried I was coming after her. That might have been her final message.”