Waking the Witch

Page 48

 
 
twenty-five
 

What the hell had happened with my knockback and energy-bolt spells? had spells didn’t fail—not ones I knew so well I bolt spells? My spells didn’t fail—not ones I knew so well I could cast them in my sleep. As I thought about it, though, I remembered that lingering headache and my unsettled stomach. Nothing serious, but put them together and I could be coming down with something. The last time I’d had the flu, it had wiped me out, spell power, too.
But right now, my biggest worry was that I’d made a mistake by walking away and leaving Tiffany with a warning. I’d wanted to push harder, yet I’d realized that I didn’t have any leverage. All I knew was that she’d done something she thought worthy of council attention. I needed more information.
Molly said the ritual was druidic. I kind of hoped she was wrong, because that added another complication to a case that didn’t need it, not when I was already following leads on witchcraft and Santeria. Did that mean Tiffany Radu wasn’t the only supernatural hiding out in Columbus? Was she hiding? If so, from what? Was it related to the person stalking her? The person stalking me? Was that person involved in Michael’s death?
As I walked toward the Thompson home, I called Paige.
“So, how’s the beach?” I said when she answered.
“We saw it.”
“Through your resort room window?”
She gave a throaty laugh. “No. We went for a beach walk last night. Today we’re touring the volcano. Tomorrow we’re going into the rain forest.”
“Missing the point, aren’t you? You’re supposed to be lying on the beach, soaking up the rays ...”
Paige made a gagging noise. Even on vacation, it would take a binding spell to get her to stay still.
We talked for another couple of minutes. Then, as I was ready to hang up, she suddenly said. “Is everything okay, Savannah?”
“Hmm?”
“You sound a little off. Are you okay?”
My throat clenched and I gripped the phone. No, I’m not. The guy I went out with last night is dead. I found his body. I spent the night being interrogated by the cops. I don’t want to tell you what’s happening because you’re on vacation, and I can handle this, but I just feel ... lonely. I feel lonely.
“Everything’s fine,” I said.
A pause. “Okay, then, well, if you need us, just call.”
“I will.”
 
NEXT, JESSE CHECKED in to say he’d gotten tied up in Seattle—a client showed up just as he was grabbing stuff from the office. He was on his way now and would call me when he was in town.
I told him about Tiffany. I’m not sure what bothered him most: that she knew who I was or that we both thought someone was spying on us.
“The targeting of two witches doesn’t constitute a racially motivated pattern, as Lucas would say,” I said. “We could just have a random peeper.”
“Still, I don’t like it,” he said. “Be careful, okay?”
When I told him about the druidic link, he seemed far less concerned.
“Not many of them practice the old rites these days,” he said. “Who’s your source?”
“A friend of my mom’s.”
“We should check it out, but I suspect someone’s just trying to get in your good books, Savannah. Have you asked Adam to look into it?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d research it myself.”
“Let me handle it, then. I’ll send the pics to a Druid buddy, see what he says.”
I signed off and headed up the walk to confront Paula Thompson.
When I knocked, Kayla answered. She looked up at me, her thin face solemn. “I’m sorry about Detective Kennedy.”
“So am I.”
She nodded and backed up to let me in.
“Is your grandma—?”
“Right here.” Paula rounded the corner, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron.
“Something smells good,” I said.
“It’s for you,” Kayla said. “When Mom died, people brought food over, so I told Grandma we should make you something. Usually it’s casseroles, but Grandma said you won’t want that in a motel room, so we’re making muffins. Do you like blueberry?”
“I love them,” I said. “Thank you.”
Damn. This was going to make what I had to do very tough.
“Do you have a minute?” I said to Paula. “I need to speak to you.”
“Of course. Come on in.”
She waved me through to the kitchen. History books were spread across the table. As Kayla moved them aside, I could see her work-sheets, her neat handwriting below her grandma’s questions, Paula’s writing painfully precise, like a schoolgirl’s herself. Homeschooling a child couldn’t be easy, but Paula was trying. Anything for her granddaughter.
I turned to Paula. “I should really speak to you alone.”
“I’m fine,” Kayla said, parking herself in a chair.
“It’s about the police file on Ginny’s murder,” I said. “Did you know they took DNA samples?”
“Course they did,” Kayla said. “Everyone does these days.”
“Actually, no. Someone seems to have gone a little overboard, considering they didn’t find any DNA at the scene. They took samples from the victims and they tried to from any possible suspects. Cody wouldn’t go for it, but they got them from an old boyfriend of Brandi’s, as well as Ginny’s landlord, and Alastair Koppel ...”
Paula froze, oven door open, muffin tray in hand. It took her a second to unstick herself and get the tray in.
“We compared samples,” I said.
“With what?” Kayla asked, screwing up her nose. “You said there wasn’t any DNA at the scene.”
“Kayla,” Paula said. “I need some brown sugar.”
“Brown sugar?”
“To sprinkle on the tops.” She dug in her purse and handed Kayla a ten. “Can you get some from the grocery? And, yes, you can buy yourself something. Remember what the dentist said, though, no hard or sticky candy.”
Kayla studied her grandmother’s expression, then she scowled at me. She didn’t know why her grandma was upset, but I was clearly responsible.