Spellbound (12 page)

“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.

“Y
ou 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.

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 . . .”

“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.