No Humans Involved

She knelt on the living room floor of her condo. The blinds were drawn, but that wasn't suspicious, given the hour. If anyone had seen her, he would have been shocked-this upright professional kneeling before an ancient spellbook, surrounded by candles, arcane symbols chalked on the floor. Unexpected, but hardly criminal, worthy only of whispers and raised brows.

The grayish powder in the bowl could be anything-probably wouldn't even be noticed. That was the beauty of it, unlike the dried body parts her nanny had used-those disgusting relics that had to be kept hidden and, when accidentally found, had cost the old woman her job. All that secrecy, shame and pain for something that hadn't even worked. Oh, her nanny had claimed otherwise-taking responsibility for accidents and strokes of good luck. That was how the ignorant practiced magic, seeing success in every coincidental occurrence.

Unlike the rituals her nanny swore by, this magic worked. As for why it worked, the group was convinced the ashes were the key. She'd believed that too. That was the one thing that made the difference between failure and success, ergo it must be the key.

And yet…

What if the magic worked with the ashes because they thought it would? Because they'd wanted this to be the key? Because they'd needed it to be the key, to excuse what they had done-taken the life of a child. Guilt, fear and conviction. All powerful motivators.

Three years ago, she'd started experimenting with using lesser amounts of ash. It had taken months of daily practice to see any results. All that practice meant she needed more than her share. Being the one in charge of the burning and the division of material had let her take that extra unnoticed, but she'd hated it. Like a company CEO who pilfered copy paper and printer ink-disgraceful and undignified.

After that initial breakthrough, though, success had come faster with each reduction. It was as if having proven to herself that she could cast with less, she'd overcome a mental barrier that said otherwise. It didn't work with all the spells. Thus far, the group had mastered just over a dozen, and fewer than half of those worked with significantly reduced amounts of human remains. But it was progress. Moving toward the ultimate goal, the one she was testing tonight.

She cast the spell again. A simple one that created a spark-barely enough to light a cigarette, but a building block to better things. One must master the elementary levels first, in magic as in all things.

After casting, she blew a fingertip of ash. The spark flared. She tried again, and was again successful. Then she reached over, picked up a moist towel and carefully wiped her finger, removing all traces of the ash.

She cast the spell. Nothing happened. Again. Nothing.

She swallowed her disappointment. Must remain calm and focused. She dipped her finger in the ash. Cast. Blew. Spark. Again. Another spark. Wipe the finger off. Cast. Failure. Cast…

The air ignited in a tiny pop of light and heat.

She took a deep breath and leaned forward, palms pressing into her thighs as she exhaled. Then she allowed herself a smile.

Only a small spell, to be sure, but she had proven her theory. She could cast without the ash-without aids of any kind.

She resisted the urge to try again. Take the success and hold the memory, untainted by later failure. That would bolster her determination, knowing that the last time she'd tried, she'd succeeded.

She picked up the bowl of ash and poured it back into the jar, watching it slide down. Here was the cement that bound the group together. Bound them in fear and guilt.

There was more than one kind of power and this one was just as essential to her quest as anything magical. She must keep the group together and striving forward, seeking and searching, working with her to achieve her goals.

To do that, she had to keep them killing.

MORNING AFTER

I WOKE UP TO AN EMPTY BED. For me, that's usually a "morning after" relief-saves those invitations to an unwanted breakfast and the "I'll call you" lies, an awkwardness topped only by "what was your name again?" For the first time in my life, on waking to an empty bed, I rolled over and cursed.

I wasn't surprised that he'd left, but I'd hoped the promise of a passionate wake-up call would override his usual sense of propriety. Apparently not. He must have slipped out in the night so I'd be spared curious stares and knowing grins when we walked downstairs together.

Old-fashioned, but I couldn't complain when it was one of the things that had drawn me to him in the first place. Always a gentleman. Well, not always…

I smiled, thinking of some deliciously ungentlemanly behavior from the night before. I stretched and felt a protesting throb between my thighs. Maybe that wake-up call wouldn't have been such a wise idea. One unexpected part of having a werewolf as a lover? All that extra energy.

I grinned and rolled over. More pangs of protest. That dull throb between my legs. Tender breasts. Even my lips hurt.

Damn that was good.

The patio door opened. Jeremy walked in, pants on, shirt undone, feet bare, cell phone in his hand. Seeing me, he lifted the phone.

"My morning check-in with Elena. I didn't wake you, did I?"

I shook my head and was about to peel the covers back when I noticed that faint wrinkle between his brows had deepened.

"Everything okay with the babies?" I asked, pushing up onto one arm.

"They're fine. But Elena's already read the L.A. news online. She thinks it's just as it appeared in the articles-that you found a body. I confirmed that." A hand raked through his hair as he looked around distractedly for a place to put his cell phone. "I don't like lying to her."

"I know."

"They're going to find out, after this is done. The council has to know and Elena will need to know first. It'll take some careful explaining. "

"Do you want to call Clay in? Or Antonio?"

He shook his head. "The more people we have around you, the less likely the group will reveal itself. If I need help, I have a backup plan."

He laid his phone down on the dresser. I glanced up at his hair, glistening and damp.

"You've showered?"

"Yes. I didn't disturb you, did I?"

"No, it's just-" I motioned to the front of his pants. "Forgot to zip up."

He frowned. Before he could look down, I stretched and caught his waistband.

"Come here. I'll get it."

He moved to the side of the bed.

I undid his button, opened it, then looked at the zipped fly and smiled. "Whoops. My mistake."

I undid the zipper, reached inside and lowered my head to give him a proper good morning.

LRTER, I was curled up against him. "I was just thinking. This is probably the safest place to be."

"Hmm?"

I propped myself up to look down at him. "If I'm in danger, maybe we should just stay here until it's all over."

He gave a low laugh and rose to kiss my neck.

I sighed. "What you're politely refraining from pointing out is that that the problem won't end while I'm in bed with you."

"I'm afraid not."

"So I suppose we should…" I eyed the cold room beyond, "get up."

"Probably."

He pulled me down to him in a kiss that said we weren't going anywhere for a while yet.

IT WAS midmorning by the time I finally got into the shower. As I dressed, Jeremy slipped out. I was pretty sure it was too late to pretend he'd spent the night on the sofa, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

I'd hoped we could get a complete update from the police, but even Jeremy's polite charm could only win a grudging summary from the young woman guarding the scene. Yes, they'd uncovered a second body. Yes, they were looking for more but, no, she wasn't confirming that they expected to find more.

I'd also hoped to sit out in the garden, maybe find a quiet corner and let the children know I was still there, but the best I could manage was permission to sit on the balcony off my room, and I only got that because-after a brief conference-they seemed to decide there wasn't much they could do to stop me, as long as I wasn't taking pictures of the scene.

We gathered breakfast and went up, leaving the bedroom door open so no one could accuse me of holing up with my lover while I was supposed to be "on the set." Not that I had anything scheduled yet. I'd passed Todd Simon in the hall and he'd only blathered, "Plans, big plans. Be ready for my call, Jaime." My guess? He had this big opportunity and no idea how to use it.

Grady was doing the morning-show rounds. As for Angelique, I'd looked for her, wanting to make sure she didn't feel left out, but I must admit, with the case and Jeremy on my mind, I hadn't looked very hard. I'd make it up to her at that revival in Nebraska.

As Jeremy ate, sitting on a patio chair, I watched the scene below. There wasn't much to see. Two technicians were working on the spot near where we'd found Rachel Skye. Tools and equipment scattered about indicated there were more people involved, maybe taking a coffee break.

"The children aren't making contact," I said. "I don't know if they can, with me being up here. Maybe they don't know I'm around. Or maybe they're gone. If they move the bodies, the ghosts might go with them. And then-"

"When this is over, Eve will find them. But, as you both said, it's more likely they'll stay here."

I nodded, staring out over the yard. "Do you think they know what's happening? Can they see what's going on?" I nibbled my lip. "I've never been able to tell how well they see or hear things on this side of the veil. Maybe they're watching their bodies being dug up-"

He'd moved up behind me, hands going to my hips, pulling me close. His lips tickled the back of my neck. I leaned into him.

"Stop worrying, right?" I said. "There's nothing I can do about it."

"Yes, there is. We can catch whoever is behind this. Then you'll free those souls-"

"What if I can't?"

His kisses circled to my ear. "You will. Once we know what was done to them, you can free them. Eve said-"

"Maybe she's just saying that to calm me down, so I don't freak out-"

He turned me around to face him. "Does that sound like Eve?"

I shook my head.

"The children are fine," he continued. "It's unlikely they will leave, and if they do, we'll find them. It's also unlikely they understand what's happening, and if they do, they'll get over it once they're freed, which you will do just as soon as you're able to." His lips brushed my forehead. "Now come inside. Hope's probably wondering why we haven't called-"

"Ms. Vegas?" A rap at the open door. It was one of the guards. "Are you in here?"

I called an invitation and we stepped back into the room as he entered.

"Do you know a May Donovan?" he asked. "Lawyer? Works for some paranormal group?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"She was here this morning. Demanded to speak to you. Started off nice enough, but when I said you weren't available, she got pushy. Came right inside looking for you. We stopped her before she got far, but then she went out back and questioned the police…"

Jeremy stepped up beside me, frowning. "Did she seem upset?"

"Pissed off. Like we were hiding something. She wants you to call her. That Simon guy doesn't want you to-didn't even want me giving you the message-but that didn't seem right."

THE LESSON OF THE NYMPHS

"DAMN IT," I said as I sat on the bed. "She must think this is some kind of scam. A publicity stunt."

"If she didn't lob accusations, she may only want to speak to you," Jeremy said. "There could even be some benefit in doing so."

I looked up at him. "How?"

"The longer we keep this in the news, the more worried the group will become. Having you claim further 'messages' from the victims may not be wise. But working with May Donovan's group…?" A graceful shrug. "Put the right twist on it, downplaying the spiritualism and playing up the ritualistic aspects of the killings, and she's likely to be quite willing to help."

"To uncover the worst kind of paranormal scam-one with real bodies."

"Perfect. I'll call now, tell her I want to talk."

I phoned the number May had left. The phone rang four times, then voice mail picked up. As I listened to her inviting me to press one to connect to her secretary, I stopped, finger over the button. Then I hung up.

I laid the cell phone on my lap and thought. Then I thought some more. And while I did, Jeremy didn't question, just waited.

"May Donovan," I said finally. "Her accent. It sounds British, doesn't it?"

"I'm not very good with accents, I'm afraid. My language skills come from books, not conversation."

"But it could be British, right? I was just thinking about what Eve said-that Rachel's killer was a woman with a British accent. And I know that seems like an enormous leap, but…" I took a breath, slowing my thoughts and organizing them. "Zack Flynn said May had it in for Botnick. Imagine if she was part of this group and knew Botnick was searching for them. What better way to keep tabs on him? Purely professional interest. Even he wouldn't be suspicious."

Jeremy looked thoughtful. Dubious? After a moment, though, he said, "I think it's South African."

"Hmmm?"

"The accent. I believe it's South African."

"Like the folk magic we were investigating?"

He nodded. I called Eve.

I'd barely finished saying her name when she appeared.

"I see you haven't left the bedroom yet," she said, plunking onto the bed.

"You got here fast."

"She says, avoiding the subject. I didn't have far to travel. Kris and I have been patrolling. So far, nothing."

"What about this morning. Did you see a woman like this?" I described May. "She talked to the police earlier."

"Yeah, Kris saw her. She said she was a lawyer for the family, freaking out over the damage to the property, wanting to know how much longer they'd be digging up the backyard. Kris listened in, but he knows a lawyer when he hears one."

Jeremy and I exchanged a look.

"Did you overhear her?" I asked.

Eve frowned. "No."

I picked up the phone and dialed May's number, then held it out for Eve to listen. At first, she just fixed me with a "what the hell are you on?" look, but after a moment, she said, "That sounds like…" She stopped herself. "It sounds like the woman Rachel heard when she was kidnapped. But it might just be the accent. Who is she?"

I explained. As I spoke, Eve's frown deepened.

"Okay," she said when I finished. "She does sound like the woman Rachel heard. And she might be from South Africa. And, yes, falsely representing herself as the family's lawyer to get a look around is suspicious, but this is exactly the kind of thing a scam-buster would take an interest in-a potential child sacrifice, pseudo-satanic shit. Someone who's so hell-bent on proving the paranormal doesn't exist certainly isn't going to get involved in it."

"It could make a good cover story," Jeremy said. "But Eve has a point. If she's been actively trying to disprove the paranormal for years, that's a very elaborate cover."

"Is it?" I settled onto the bed. "Do you remember what she said when we first met her? She started off on the opposite end of the spectrum. A seeker. Only after getting burned did she switch sides." I turned to Jeremy. "Eve met this guy in the afterlife who was running a poltergeist school. He had the gift, which is rare, but instead of trying to seriously teach others, he used it to entice nymphs to his school… and his bed. Nymphs made an easy target because, in the afterlife, they're always looking for power. They get plopped into a world full of supernatural ghosts, but they themselves have lost their powers."

"Except cheerleading," Eve said. "They make very good cheerleaders."

"When Aratron was here, he talked about the evolution of the supernatural. There are people out there who have supernatural blood, but because their original powers are no longer useful, they don't know it. Isn't it possible that some sense they might be different? I've met people like May Donovan, who seem driven to seek out magic and supernatural answers. Maybe because they have the blood, but not the power."

Eve snapped her fingers. "That could explain why the magic is working. Latent supernatural blood. Like quarter-demon crossbreeds." When I looked at her, she said, "Half-demons don't pass on their powers to the children, right? But they say that the blood still counts, gives any other supernatural powers a boost. So Savannah doesn't have my demon powers, but she probably gets an added bump to her spellcasting."

I passed her words on to Jeremy, who considered them as I went on. "Let's say May Donovan has this drive because of her latent powers. She seeks out knowledge, but gets nowhere. So she flips sides- works out her frustration by uncovering scams while still secretly searching those scams for truth. Even after she found a backdoor in, she'd keep up the front-both searching for new magics and to protect herself." I paused. "Do you think she knows about Hope's powers? Maybe that's why she made contact in the first place."

"Possible," Jeremy said. "But it's equally likely that she simply makes it her business to be involved in everything paranormal in this city, including offering her assistance to a new tabloid reporter who covers the supernatural. If Hope uncovered something, May would be among the first to know."

"Which is exactly what happened."

WE SET about brainstorming. The most obvious way to test our theory would be to take advantage of May's invitation and trap her. But we had no way of knowing how many people were involved or what magics they had.

Almost an hour passed. Then Jeremy's cell phone rang.

"It's Hope," he said before answering. "I should have called her."

A couple of minutes later, he hung up. "Zack Flynn wants to meet with us. He says he has news."

"The reporter? But he's part of the Ehrich Weiss Society, which means he's probably in this magic group with May too, so why-" I stopped. "Because I wouldn't see May or return her call. Now he's giving it a shot."

"So it would seem. I told Hope to stall him and said we'd meet her in thirty minutes."

"Go out? Is that safe?"

"We'll be careful. But we have to go to her. There's someone I need to talk to."

BEING A Saturday, Hope had spent the day at her apartment, waiting for instructions from Jeremy. When we arrived, he walked to the head of the narrow road leading around her building. There he stopped, sniffing the air. When the way was clear, he crouched to pick up a trail.

When he straightened, he led me down an alley. I knew if he didn't explain, it was either because he didn't want to worry me or because he didn't want to speak prematurely.

We looped around another building coming out… somewhere. My sense of direction is lousy and here, surrounded by buildings, I didn't even have the sun to check. Another road, another alley.

When the dirt under our feet turned to gravel, Jeremy motioned for me to wait. Then he carried on, slowly and silently, not so much as a rock rolling underfoot. As he approached an alcove, he eased along the wall and stopped at the edge. Though he was too far and too hidden in shadow for me to see clearly, I could picture him sniffing, listening, waiting.

Then he stepped out into the opening.

"Hello, Karl."

His voice echoed down the empty alley and was drowned out by a curse of surprise. Jeremy motioned me toward him.

There, in the shadows, was Karl Marsten.

A recent addition to the Pack, after several years of "fence-sitting," Karl was a jewel thief, and looked like Hollywood's version of one. Dark haired with sharp features and sharper gray-blue eyes. With his pressed pants, linen shirt, Italian loafers, faint tan and manicured fingernails, he looked like an action hero idling on the sidelines while his stunt double worked up a sweat for him. But from what Elena said, he was quite capable of working up that sweat all by himself, and those expensive clothes did little to disguise a powerful build. A dangerous man hiding beneath the veneer of a bored sophisticate.

By the time I arrived, he'd overcome his surprise and was eying Jeremy with a half-smile that seemed almost rueful.

"Dare I ask how long you've known I was around?" Karl said. "Or, perhaps not. You'll shatter my delusions of stealth."

I looked at Jeremy. "So that's whose scent you've been picking up these last couple of days. Elena didn't have him standing by in Arizona after all."

Jeremy said, "I'm not the one he's been watching."

He directed my attention across the way, where we now had a perfect view of Hope's backdoor entrance.

"I was… concerned," Karl said.

"Because she called and told you she was investigating some occult business, and you thought she was doing it on her own."

"Which isn't to say that she couldn't handle it on her own, but I knew Jeremy was in town and Elena wanted me nearby in case of trouble. Discovering that it involved you meant there was no reason not to stay close, keep my eye on-"

He stopped, gaze fixed on something over my shoulder.

Hope started toward us. "I sensed a werewolf and thought it was Jeremy, so I came down to meet him. I should have known better. Werewolf plus chaos equals only one person I know. Care to finish that sentence, Karl? Who were you keeping an eye on?"

Genuine dismay rippled Karl's composure. "I was-"

"Doing his job," Jeremy cut in. "Watching me, at Elena's behest."

"Ah." She gave Karl another hard look, one that said she didn't believe it, but would take it up with him later. "I suppose you might as well join us, then."

"With such a welcome, how can I refuse?"

"With such an entrance, how can you expect a welcome?" Hope turned on her heel and headed for her backdoor. "At least I didn't come home to find you in my living room again."

"I was testing your security."

"You just like pushing your luck. One of these days you've going to spook me on the wrong night and push it right into an early grave."

WHEN WE reached Hope's apartment, Karl looked around.

"I see your mother's been here," he said. "She has impeccable taste."

"She does. And she's single. Close to your age too. Want her number?"

He only strolled into the living room and stretched out on the sofa.

"Make yourself comfortable," Hope said, tossing her keys on the counter.

"I am, thank you. And I'll take a Scotch and soda when you have a moment."

She flipped him the finger. He smiled. As she invited us to sit and offered coffee, his gaze followed her, lips still curved. She tossed him a bottle of Perrier. He caught it easily and we started to plan.

DIVISION OF DUTIES

JEREMY TOLD US HIS THOUGHTS as Karl scavenged through Hope's fridge, pawing past the take-out cartons and pulling out the leftovers.

When Jeremy finished, he looked at me. "I know you should accompany me. After all, this is your investigation-"

"No. Well, yes, I'd love to follow through, but under the circumstances, you don't need to be checking over your shoulders, making sure I'm okay." I glanced at Karl. "I presume you're going with Jeremy? As backup?"

"I am." He turned to Jeremy. "Fried chicken or pork vindaloo?"

Jeremy's gaze slid to Hope.

"Eat up. I have so many leftovers, I can barely squeeze in a carton of milk. The perils of cooking for one. Jaime?"

"Nothing for me, thanks."

"The vindaloo, please," Jeremy said to Karl.

"Good choice," Karl said, scooping out the stew for Jeremy and some of both for himself. Then he opened a container of what looked like potatoes au gratin. "So, if I'm playing bodyguard, someone needs to stay behind with Jaime."

"Not if I'm in Brentwood," I said. "The house is surrounded by cops, so Hope can go with you two-"

"I'd prefer you had backup, Jaime," Jeremy said. "If Hope doesn't mind."

From the disappointment that flickered across Hope's face, she did mind. Not much fun babysit when there was an adventure going on.

She could have played the sexism card, but she didn't, probably realizing gender had nothing to do with it. Out of a necromancer who can talk to the dead, a half-demon who can see visions of chaos, and two werewolves with superhuman strength and senses, it was obvious which two should head into battle. They could have used Hope's chaos detector, but someone had to stay behind to guard the main target.

Hope covered her disappointment with a smile. "Sure. That's fine."

Karl paused, spoon in a bowl, his gaze on her, steady and piercing. She glanced at him and they exchanged a look. He nodded, and put one of the plates into the microwave.

AN HOUR later we were back at the Brentwood house, where Hope and I would wait while Jeremy and Karl met Zack Flynn and, with any luck, used him to infiltrate the group.

With the ongoing confusion at the house, no one questioned me bringing guests in. Didn't seem to notice, even when I took three people up to my room.

Karl and Hope were on the balcony, door closed to give them privacy as they talked. Though I couldn't hear a word, I could tell it wasn't their usual banter. Karl was doing most of the talking, his fingers resting on Hope's arm, leaning down to her, face grave.

Hope's fingers grazed the gun under her jacket. Jeremy had been happy to see that gun… and even happier when Karl assured us that Hope could use it.

I pulled my gaze from the balcony as Jeremy returned from scouting.

"All clear?" I asked.

He nodded. "Nothing has changed with the police, and May hasn't returned."

"Before you go, could you draw a couple of your runes for me? The protective ones?"

"You don't need to humor me, Jaime. I know that whatever irrational urge I have to draw those is just that: irrational. A symbol can't protect someone."

"Please?"

He looked around, fingers drumming against his leg, as if almost hoping he wouldn't see anything to write on. I took a sheet and pen from the tiny writing desk. He sketched a few runes, not even pausing to consider which to do, as if he already knew. Then he quickly folded the sheet in quarters and reached around me to tuck it into my back pocket, using the opportunity to lean close, body pressing against mine.

I whispered, "If we finish this tonight, you won't need to rush back to New York before morning, will you?"

"Make a mess and leave you to clean it up? That wouldn't be right. I'd have to stay an extra day or two, to help."

"Good."

AFTER JEREMY and Karl left, Hope slipped away to get a better picture of the house-entry points, escape routes, "safe" rooms and such. I doubted we'd need any of them. Jeremy had told Zack Flynn that I'd flown back to Chicago to escape the media attention.

But scouting the property probably made Hope feel more useful, so when she suggested it, I said it sounded wise and promised to stay in my room until she returned.

While she was gone, I took a moment to sort out my thoughts. I was worried about Jeremy. Though I didn't doubt he could look after himself, I wasn't comfortable having Karl Marsten as his only source of backup. And I knew Jeremy was equally uncomfortable with it, as much as he'd pretended otherwise.

Six years ago, a group of outside werewolves had banded together to overthrow the Pack. Clay had been kidnapped and tortured. Two of Jeremy's Pack brothers had been killed. Only one member of that rebel group survived: Karl Marsten.

In the final battle, Elena had spared Karl because he'd helped her. Then, with Clay's support, she'd asked Jeremy to pardon him. Before the uprising, Karl had never caused any trouble for the Pack-even been on good terms with them. He hadn't participated in the killings or Clay's torture, and had joined the group for a reason the werewolves could understand-the wolf's instinctive need for territory, which the Pack had denied him.

So Jeremy had granted Karl his reprieve and territory in a distant state on the condition that he at least consider joining the Pack. It was all very fair, very Solomon-like, very Jeremy.

Now Karl had joined the Pack and proven himself a loyal and useful member. And the Pack had accepted him. Including Jeremy… or so everyone thought.

Jeremy gave every appearance of supporting and even encouraging Karl's membership. It was what he considered the best way to deal with Karl.

Yet he couldn't forget what Karl had done. Maybe Karl hadn't personally killed Peter or Logan. Maybe he hadn't beaten Clay. Maybe he'd even acted as a buffer, keeping Clay from the worst of his captor's hate. But he'd sanctioned all that by standing aside until he saw the tables turning and only then had he flipped sides.

Jeremy strove to accept Karl as a Pack brother. Clay had been the one tortured, and he'd forgiven Karl, so why shouldn't Jeremy? But, to me, that was the very reason why he couldn't. It was easy to forgive someone for what he did to you. Not so easy when he did it to someone you love. Clay looks at Karl now, shrugs and says, "It was just business." Jeremy looks at him and sees the man who stood by and watched his son be beaten within an inch of his life.

Obviously, though, whatever Jeremy's feelings toward Karl, he trusted him enough to track him down this morning and ask him to join us. But I knew he'd rather have any other Pack member at his side. And so would I.

NEXT I contacted Eve, as I'd promised Jeremy. While she couldn't physically protect me, she could keep watch even better than Hope- with no chance of looking suspicious-and could alert me if she found trouble.

When I explained what was happening, Eve sat cross-legged on the bed, considering it in silence for a moment.

"So Jeremy's meeting this kid who says he has info on the group, but really he's a part of the group, or so you presume. Meaning he'll likely lead Jeremy into a trap. Being forewarned, though, Jeremy will be springing the trap, not walking into it."

"Right."

Another moment of quiet thought, then she nodded. "Not bad. But I do have a problem with one big part of it."

"Which is?"

"The part that has you sitting here guarded by a chaos demon."

"Hope's not-"

"Oh, I know what she is. A complete stranger, and your life is in her hands."

I shook my head and started emptying the dry-cleaning bag dropped off earlier. Eve strode over and parked herself "on" the bag, her form obscuring it.

"You're ignoring me, Jaime. I'm raising a valid point."

"No, you're being paranoid, which comes from a lifetime of needing to be paranoid. Hope isn't some black-market contact like Molly Crane. She helps the council. Jeremy knows her-"

"Elena is her contact, isn't she? And that's mainly professional. They don't hang out together."

"Jeremy knows her and he trusts her."

There was nothing she could-or dared-say to that, so she started pacing as I emptied the bag.

"So while he's gone, you're here, guarded by a chaos demon who's not even around-"

"She's scouting the property. She checked in on me before I called you."

Eve walked to the window and looked out. "Who's backing Jeremy up?"

"A Pack brother. Karl Marsten. He's-"

"Oh, I know who Karl Marsten is. A career criminal and a drifter." She shook her head. "I know guys like Marsten. You and Jeremy don't, so you can be forgiven for not seeing past that suave show of his. How old is he? Your age? Older, probably? He's spent the last forty years not giving a shit about anyone. Guys like that don't wake up one morning and turn team player. He's using the Pack. He doesn't care about anyone in it-"

Not true. Even before he joined, he got along fine with them, and he was always fond of Elena."

Eve snorted. "The cute blond who's also the only female of his species? Oh, I bet he's fond of her."

"It isn't like that. And he's always been on good terms with Antonio and Nick. Even Clay doesn't mind him."

She met my gaze. "Elena, Clayton, Antonio and Nick. Leaving someone out there, Jaime?"

Hearing my own fears echoed in her words, I busied myself stuffing a blouse into my closet. "You're right. Karl Marsten isn't my first choice to be watching Jeremy's back. And you're right about him being self-centered. But that doesn't mean he isn't capable of loyalty. Look at Hope. He's very protective of her and that's not the behavior of a guy who thinks only of himself."

Eve turned slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Hope? He knows the half-demon?"

"Sure. That's how she hooked up with the council."

"Through Karl Marsten?"

A rap at the door, then Hope's "It's me." She slid in and looked around.

"Oh, sorry, I thought I heard you whispering and wanted to make sure everything was okay."

I waved toward the balcony door. "It's Eve."

"Ah, right, the ghost."

Eve circled Hope, sizing her up. "At least she's tiny." She towered over the girl by almost a foot. "Even you can probably take her."

"Thanks," I muttered.

Hope looked around, obviously uncomfortable. "If you'd rather I stayed away a little longer, so you can talk to, uh, Eve…"

"Tell her to go," Eve said.

I glanced at Eve.

"Five minutes," she said.

"Maybe that's a good idea," I said to Hope. "I feel rude talking to ghosts in front of people. How about giving me five minutes?"

"Sure, can I get you a drink while I'm downstairs?"

"Coffee would be great."

"Don't drink it," Eve said as Hope left.

"Wha-?"

"The coffee. Don't drink it."

I rolled my eyes and sat on the edge of the bed.

She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and crossed her arms. "You think I'm being paranoid? Let's see whether I have this straight. You and Jeremy call this Hope girl for information because she just happens to be in L.A. on some work exchange-"

I opened my mouth, but Eve continued. "You go to her for local information and the first people she introduces you to just happen to be the same people you now suspect are responsible. She noses her way into your investigation like an eager puppy, following you two around. Then, just when you and Jeremy figure out who the bad guys are, who shows up to protect Jeremy? This half-demon's boyfriend. He takes Jeremy to 'uncover' the group while she 'guards' you. Damned nice setup."

"Setup for what?"

Eve pretended not to hear, strolling over to the balcony doors, eyes narrowing as if distracted by some sign of danger.

"Setting us up for what, Eve?"

"That half-demon thinks she's got a nose for trouble? It's nothing compared to mine, and this stinks to the heavens."

I shook my head. "Only if you slam the pieces in until they fit your conclusion. We went to Hope, on Elena's suggestion. Hope didn't even know we were in town. Yes, it may seem coincidental that she just happens to introduce us to the very people we're looking for, but consider what they do. They play paranormal investigators to watch for new magical leads and for any signs that they themselves are in danger of exposure. Who would be one of their main contacts? Tabloid reporters covering occult activity. They worked with Hope's predecessor, then they contacted her. She had no reason to suspect them."

"Really? Seems her nose for trouble doesn't work so well after all."

I hesitated, then shook my head. "She says it's not perfect. She's young and we both know she won't have come into her full demon powers yet, especially when she's untrained."

"Convenient…" Eve murmured.

I pushed on. "As for her and Karl, I don't think she's his girl-rriend- 1 caught h,ve's look. And 1 know you only meant that they have a relationship, which they do. But he came to L.A. to protect her."

"So it can all be explained away. And you aren't the least bit worried that they're somehow involved?"

"The key word is somehow. How? What they could hope to gain? They had nothing to do with me finding these ghosts or starting this investigation."

"Let me think on it."

"You do that."

TRUST ISSUES

HOPE RETURNED WITH MY COFFEE, which I only sipped. I trusted her, but Eve had left me a little unsettled.

Past experience had taught me that Eve was quick to jump to conclusions about people-always conclusions that saw the worst. If you deal with the magic black market and the people in it, you have to expect the worst of everyone.

Even now, whatever she was doing on the other side, it wasn't playing a harp in the choir of angels. Whenever she needed something from me, it was "contact this dead killer" or "research this unsolved murder case." She might be working for the Fates, but she still had every reason to be overcautious, even paranoid. So I took her fears about Hope and Karl with a whole teaspoon of salt… but didn't dismiss them.

As Hope and I waited for news from Jeremy, we talked, mostly about life in L.A. -sharing anecdotes, favorite restaurants and clubs, that sort of thing. As time ticked past, conversation became more strained, both of us worrying about Jeremy and Karl.

Eventually Hope took up Eve's earlier occupation-pacing. She'd head to the window or balcony door, look out, then return to me, try to resume conversation, and falter as she returned for another look outside… or at her cell phone.

"Marsten isn't involved," said a voice to my rear.

Eve strode around me.

"New theory. Marsten's not in on it. Unwitting dupe. Werewolves don't need magic, so the group wouldn't interest him. And he knows if he betrayed Jeremy, Clayton would put him through a hell worse than anything the Fates could dream up. Marsten's only crime is middle-aged delusions. Even players aren't immune to pretty young things."

I opened my mouth, then glanced over at Hope.

Eve continued. "Girl like that, with her powers, she'd be easy prey for this group. Thing I can't figure out is why she's holed up here with you."

"Uh-huh," I murmured under my breath.

"It'd be easier if she'd convinced Jeremy to take you along. Did she try?"

I shook my head.

"Huh. Well, she needs to get you out of this house and away from the guards. Has she suggested you two go anywhere? Out for a drink or a walk?"

Another shake.

"If she does, you stay put. In the meantime I'll keep patrolling… and thinking about this."

EVE HAD only been gone a few minutes when Hope's nerves took a sharp turn for the worse.

"Keep up that pacing and you're going to wear a hole in the floor," I said.

She jumped, as if surprised to hear a voice. Her eyes were wide and blank.

I pushed to my feet. "Hope? Are you seeing-?"

A sharp shake of her head and her gaze focused. "N-no. Just…" She seemed to struggle for words, then said abruptly, "They should have called by now."

"Not unless they're in trouble. Whatever Jeremy has in mind, it's going to take awhile. I know waiting is tough…"

I let the sentence trail off as I realized she was no longer listening. She'd resumed her pacing, gaze jumping from the window to the balcony door, then back, searching the gardens. Her face was taut, but instead of looking pale and drawn with worry, her eyes glittered and color splashed her cheeks. A vein in her neck throbbed.

She walked faster, slowing to gaze out the window, then striding to the patio doors, slowing again to look out, veering and striding back to the window. Like a housecat spotting a bird just outside the window, its whole body quivering in anticipation, unable to take its eyes off its prey.

Lucifer's daughter.

"Hope?"

She wheeled, lips curling back at the interruption. Then, in a blink, the look was gone.

"I just… I'm sorry," she said, her eyes still darting toward the window, as if she couldn't pull her attention away. "There's something out there."

I walked to the window. She reached out, as if to yank me back, then stopped herself and motioned for me to keep my distance. "J-just to be safe. Something's going on out there."

"Someone's here?"

A long pause, and I thought she was considering it. But her gaze stayed fixed on the window, straining to see. Not thinking of an answer-she probably hadn't even heard the question.

Something in the garden. The empty garden vacated by the cops, but still off-limits to anyone in the house.

Voice neutral, I said, "Do you think we should investigate?"

Another long pause. I was about to repeat myself when she strode to the door.

"I'll go," she said. "You stay here."

"Hold-"

I grabbed the door before she could get it open. Her head swung my way, eyes filled with a fury that made my stomach go cold. I stood my ground, and again she blinked it back.

"Something's happening," she said. "I have to go."

"We aren't supposed to leave the house."

"I have to go." Each word was icy with warning. A shudder, then she looked at me. "You'll be fine. Just stay here. Whatever happens, stay here."

She tried yanking open the door, but my foot acted as a stopper. "What good will that do? You have the gun."

A flare of frustration, jaw setting, then another hard blink. She yanked the gun from her waistband and slapped it into my hands.

"There. Now-" She jerked the door so hard I stumbled back. "Stay here."

EVE WAS right. This was a setup. If Hope really was chasing some "chaos event" in the garden, she wouldn't leave her gun behind.

But if it was a setup, why give her weapon to me? Maybe it wasn't loaded. Clever ploy. Let me think I was armed, so I wouldn't try to escape or fight when someone came for me.

I turned the gun over in my hands, trying to figure whether there was any ammunition. It was an automatic. Marksmanship was one of Jeremy's hobbies, mainly bows and rifles, but he had a pair of revolvers and had shown me how to use them once. Had this been a revolver, I'd have been in luck. As it was, I had no clue. Even if I could tell whether it had ammo, the gun might be buggered up so it wouldn't fire.

But why leave me in a house filled with potential witnesses… and security guards? I'd offered to come along. Why not just say "sure"?

Maybe because that wasn't May's plan and Hope didn't dare mess with the plan. But why not try to convince me to go with Jeremy in the first place?

I remembered when Jeremy first asked Hope to stay with me. She'd wanted to argue. I recalled Karl, carefully studying her reaction. Maybe her expression had suggested she was up to something, and when she'd seen his suspicion, she hadn't dared argue. So May had switched to a backup plan-this one.

Did that make sense?

Damn it! In my gut, I didn't believe Hope would turn on me. Even seeing that flare of anger in her eyes hadn't changed that.

But I couldn't ignore the possibility. I needed to get out of this room.

I WENT downstairs with every intention of hanging out with the guards. But then I started to wonder whether that was safe. We knew these people had magic, including something like a binding spell.

Would human security guards, ignorant of the supernatural, be able to protect me? Could they get killed trying?

Even if sticking close to big men with guns convinced the group to keep its distance, it wouldn't resolve the question of Hope's allegiance. If she was on May's side, she'd just try again, another way, and maybe that time I wouldn't see through the ploy.

The only way to know was to follow her.

AS I slipped out the side door, I eased the gun out and wrapped my hand around the grip, finger on the trigger. It would help if I knew how to fire it. I told myself it didn't matter. As Eve would say, bluffing is enough. Act as if you can shoot it-and more important, will shoot it-and that should give any would-be attacker pause.

I slid through the shadows along the side of the house, heading for the rear. Ahead, a yellow ribbon of crime scene tape waved in the breeze, broken from its moorings, as if someone had walked right through it. Hope? Breaking the tape hardly seemed wise but, if not her, then who? Last time I'd looked, the officers guarding the gardens had retreated to their cruiser.

I darted behind a hedge, then stood on tiptoes to see over it. There, about a dozen feet ahead, Hope walked into the garden with the slow, deliberate pace of a sleepwalker.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I almost fell backward. Eve's glare was murderous.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, Jaime, but you get your ass back in-"

I cut her short with a whispered explanation as I snuck around the hedge, following Hope.

"I don't care what your reason is. Get back in that goddamned house right now."

"It's not a setup. Look at her." I waved toward Hope as she banged her shin against a garden wall and kept walking, oblivious. "She's in some kind of trance."

"She's luring you in. Making you curious. Making you think it's safe to follow."

I kept moving. "I've seen her when she gets a vision and that's just what she looks like."

"And she can't fake that? Don't be-" Eve bit off the rest with a click of her teeth. Then she strode in front of me. "Stop and look around, Jaime. Notice anything about where you are? And where you're being led?"

I glanced over my shoulder at the hedge, which wrapped around the garden, cutting me off from the view of anyone stepping out the side or rear doors. Then I turned to see Hope heading toward the most secluded corner of the yard.

"She's not following any 'chaos trail,' " Eve said. "She's leading you to a spot where no one's going to see what happens next."

Damn. She had a point.

I glanced back at the house.

"Finally," Eve breathed.

"Jaime?"

Hope was walking back through the garden.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, blinking like a wakened sleepwalker.

"Damn it, Jaime, ignore her-"

"I was worried about you." I lifted the gun. "You left this behind."

She frowned and looked down at her waistband, as if trying to figure out how the gun got from there to my hand. Eve shoved me toward the door, but her hands passed through.

"What happened?" I said.

"I'm… not sure. Someone…" Hope shivered. "I think someone was killed back there. Just now. I can still feel it."

She wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering, but her expression wasn't one of fear or concern. She looked almost… rapturous. The hairs on my neck rose.

"Don't listen to her bullshit," Eve said. "She'll say anything to get you-"

I tuned her out. Hope glanced over her shoulder, toward that far corner.

"I think we should check it out." Her voice was high with barely contained excitement.

"Do you?"

Her gaze stayed riveted to that deepest, most remote, shadow-enshrouded corner of the garden. My fingers tightened around the gun. Eve had gone silent now, tense, as if waiting to jump in, as if she could jump in.

Hope motioned for me to follow, took a couple of steps then, seeing I hadn't moved, wheeled back. Her fingers grazed my arm. Eve started a cast. A spell? But it wouldn't work in my dimension.

Hope's fingers wrapped around my arm. I raised the gun. Eve lifted her hands over her head, something materializing between them.

I swung the gun. A crack as it connected with Hope's temple. Her eyes went wide. She stood there, staring at me in disbelief. Then her knees gave way and she crumpled to the flagstone path.

I dropped beside her, my hands going to the side of her neck.

"Forget her," Eve said. "Get your ass back in that house before they realize you didn't fall for the bait."

Hope's pulse was strong. I pushed to my feet.

"Good," Eve said. "Now grab the gun and, next time, try firing it, presuming it still works."

"It probably didn't work even before that. Why would Hope hand me a working firearm?"

"Good point. You did the right thing then, braining her with it."

"Don't sound so shocked."

"And you're even wearing sneakers. I'm doubly impressed."

I grimaced and started for the house.

"Eve?"

Kristof's deep voice sounded behind us. We turned as he strode around a garden bed. A brisk nod to me, then his gaze returned to Eve. "There's something I think you should-"

He stopped as he walked through Hope's still form. He frowned down at her.

"The Espisco half-demon," Eve said. "Bitch tried to lure Jaime out here with some bullshit story about sensing a murder."

"Mur-?" Kristof rubbed his chin. "I, uh, think she might have been right. There's a body in the back corner, and a very confused spirit hovering over it, trying to figure out why she's not inside that body."

I turned toward the back corner, but Eve jumped in front of me. "Uh-uh. Even if Hope wasn't lying, that doesn't mean it isn't a setup. You're getting back in that house right now."

I stepped behind Hope and grabbed her under the armpits.

"What part of 'right now' don't you understand? There's a body in the back corner. That means there's a killer in this garden."

"Then I'm not leaving Hope out here, am I?" I glared up at Eve. "Not when she didn't betray me."

"We don't know that. Now put her down."

"She's probably a hundred pounds, if that," I said through gritted teeth as I heaved her up.

"And you're a hundred and twenty, if that. Now put her down-"

"Eve's right," Kristof said. "I'll watch over her. You get back in the house-"

"Jaime?"

A small woman with long blond hair staggered from behind the hedge. For a moment, I thought it was Gabrielle Langdon. Then she looked up.

"Angelique?" I said.

"You-you can hear me?"

She lurched toward me, but stumbled. Kristof caught her. As his hand made contact, breaking her fall, my gut sank.

She looked up at him as he righted her. "You can see me. You can touch me."

Kristof's face stayed neutral as he nodded.

"Oh, thank God," she said, the words tumbling out on a deep sigh. "I thought I was-" She shuddered and didn't finish.

I stepped closer to Angelique, careful to keep out of touching range.

"What happened, hon?"

"Jaime?" Eve's voice was brisk but gentle. "Get inside. We'll handle this."

"Angelique?" I said.

"I-I knew you and Grady were up to something finding that body, and you kept me out of it because I'm the new kid."

"We never-"

"Jaime, in the house. Now."

"I understand," Angelique said. "I probably would have done the same thing. But I wanted to know what you were doing. Not to mess things up, but just to prove I could help."

Oh, God.

She went on. "That woman came back. The one who was here this morning looking for you. From the paranormal society. The guards said you'd left with your boyfriend. So I followed her out and told her to meet me in the garden."

Eve motioned for me to stop listening.

"She was there," Angelique said. "I told her I was working with you. That I knew all about the bodies and the murders. She lifted a gun. I saw it, but I couldn't believe it, so I just stood there and she fired and-" Her fingers flew to her breast, searching for a hole that wasn't there. "It was special effects, wasn't it? The bullet and the blood and my-my body, lying there…"

I stepped toward her to say-

To say what? The same thing I'd been telling her all along? Don't worry, hon. heave everything to me. I'll fix it.

I couldn't fix this.

Angelique reached for me. Her fingers passed through my arm and she gasped. Kristof pulled her back.

"Jaime," Eve said. "In the house now't"

Something smacked into the side of my head. As I tottered, I stared at Eve, as if she'd somehow reached through the dimensions and slapped me. I swayed, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me up. Eve's mouth opened, alarm in her eyes. Kristof pointed at something behind a row of bushes. A shout.

The second blow knocked me out.

THE KILLING ROOM

I WOKE LYING ON A COLD, SMOOTH FLOOR. I opened my eyes, but the world stayed dark. To my left, someone was breathing deeply. A voice came from above the breathing. A male voice, young and anxious.

"Come on," he said. "Wake up. You need to wake up."

A second voice, older, weary. "She can't hear you."

"How do you know? People see ghosts all the time. Maybe if you'd help me…"

Ghosts…?

I thought of Angelique and my gut twisted. I'd genuinely wanted to help her, but when helping her interfered with my own agenda, I'd brushed her off and promised myself I'd look after her later. Well, there was no later now. Not for Angelique.

"I think she's waking up," the younger voice said.

"It's probably better for her if she doesn't."

I blinked and lifted my head. High above me a tiny greenish light, like a smoke detector, was the only source of illumination. I blinked hard. After a moment, I could make out figures. One on the floor, long dark curls pooling around her. Hope. That was the breathing I heard. I let out a soft sigh. Unconscious, but alive. Thank God.

A young man hovered over her. No more than a teenager from what little I could see in the darkness. Pale hair. Wiry. Small for his age. He looked more like a hologram than a ghost; I could see Hope through him. Another ghost stood at his side, this one opaque, like most spirits. Middle aged and stout, his arms crossed, he watched the boy try to wake Hope.

"She can't hear you." My voice was breathy and weak, as if I'd strained my vocal cords.

Both men turned to stare at me.

"She can't hear you," I said. "But I can."

The boy smacked the man on the arm and grinned. "See? Told you." He turned to me, grin fading fast. "You need to get out of here."

"Where am-?" I swallowed the rest. My throat was dry, eyes burning, brain fuzzy, but slowly it came back. Someone had knocked me out with a spell. Kidnapped. Again. If I had the energy, I might have laughed.

I struggled to my feet.

"That's it," the young man said encouragingly. "Now, find a way out-"

"There is no way out," the older man said.

The boy turned on him. "And how do you know? Obviously we didn't find it or we wouldn't be here. But no one was here to warn us." He glanced at me. "Okay, now the door is to your right, about three steps-"

"And you think they left it open for her?"

I let the boy guide me to the door. I found the edge of it and ran my hands down either side, feeling nothing but smooth metal.

"Where's the handle?" I asked.

"Problem number one," the man said.

I turned to the boy. "Is there another door? A window? A vent?"

"It's an eight-by-eight concrete box," the man intoned, like a contractor reciting dimensions. "Soundproofed walls. One way in and out-a six-inch-thick steel door. Oh, and the drain. But unless you can transform yourself into a mouse, you aren't fitting down that."

"And you aren't helping," the boy snapped.

"Ignore him," I said.

I peered around, and could now make out the walls. Solid walls.

As much as I'd love to free myself from this mess, there was a point at which I had to call for help-and being locked in a concrete box qualified.

"Maybe I can't get out," I said. "But I know someone who can get in."

Not being able to act in the living world, Eve couldn't get me out of here herself, but she could always be counted on to come up with a plan. And she'd be able to stand guard and scout the house for escape routes. When I'd been kidnapped, she would have tried to follow, so she probably wouldn't be far.

I reached into my pant pockets and breathed in relief as my fingers closed around the silver ring nestled at the bottom. If they'd patted me down for weapons, they'd probably ignored that. Little did they know…

I smiled, clasped the ring and called for Eve.

"It's not going to work," the man said.

"Shut the fuck-" the boy began, then looked sheepishly at me. "Sorry, ma'am."

I motioned for a moment of silence while I summoned Eve again. Then I calmly returned the ring to my pocket.

"It might take her a minute to get here," I said.

"If she can." The man lifted his hands as the boy turned on him. "I'm just saying…" He glanced at me. "What is this friend of yours? A ghost, right?"

"Among other things."

"Well, there's a reason we're hanging out in this box… and it's not for the scenery."

"We're trapped," the boy said. "It's like we aren't-"

He disappeared. A moment later he returned, still talking.

Seeing my expression, he said, "I faded out, didn't I? It happens. It just started happening awhile ago. Just now and then at first, then more and more."

Fading. Like the children.

"Anyway, as I was saying, it's like we aren't really ghosts. I mean, we are because I pass through you." He demonstrated by walking through Hope's still-sleeping form. "But the walls are real, even for us. That doesn't mean a ghost can't get in, though."

The man rolled his eyes at this youthful optimism. I took out the ring to summon Eve again. As I pulled it out, my fingers brushed a folded piece of paper. Jeremy's protection ward. I touched it, and let out a deep breath. "Even if my friend can't get here, I know someone who will."

"If he tries to break you out, he'll end up in here with us."

"That's fine. No metal door can hold him in a room."

I walked the perimeter, feeling the walls, then searching the center. It was small, as the man said. A concrete box with a drain in the middle of the floor.

"I thought you said help was coming," the man said, voice dripping sarcasm.

I knelt, squeezed my fingers into the drain grid and tugged. Bolted down. Maybe, with enough pulling, I could get it off, but the man was right-unless I could turn into a mouse, it wasn't going to help.

"What's this for anyway?" I said, down on all fours, peering into the dark drain.

Silence.

I glanced back at the ghosts. The boy shifting under my gaze. Even the man looked away.

"There's no tap in here. So what would they need to drain away?"

"Blood," the man said after a minute. "That's what this place is. A killing room."

"HOPE?" I shook her shoulder harder. "Hope? Come on. Wake up!"

I'd been trying to rouse her for at least five minutes. Five long and precious minutes. Twice she'd stirred, only to fall back asleep without opening her eyes. Had they drugged her? Or had I hit her harder than I thought?

There'd been no sign of Eve. Whatever magic these people had used to keep ghosts in here was either keeping her out or preventing her from hearing my call.

As for Jeremy, I couldn't wait for rescue. Not this time.

"Hope. Hope!"

She mumbled something, her eyes still closed. I drew back my hand and slapped her. She started awake, eyes wide and unseeing, kicking and flailing.

"Hope! Stop-"

Her foot connected with my shin.

"Ow. It's me. It's-"

Fingernails raked across my cheek, coming dangerously close to my eye. I grabbed her by the wrists, pinned them at her sides and leaned over her.

"Hope, it's me, Jaime. I know it's dark and you can't see anything, but we're in trouble and I need you to listen."

I TOLD her what had happened. As I spoke, she just lay there, not reacting. I explained why I'd hit her with the gun. I told her about our solid concrete cell. I even pointed out the drain, its purpose and what that probably said about why we were in here. She sat through it all, unflinching.

At first, I chalked it up to steady nerves. Or maybe shock. But then I realized she hardly seemed to be listening. She could hear me-I made sure of that several times. But her gaze kept sliding around the room, as if I was chatting about something as inconsequential as dinner plans.

She seemed dopey too, unable or unwilling to sit up. When I asked how she was, she motioned for me to keep talking.

Her gaze darted about the room, like me in a room of ghosts, my attention pulled every which way. I realized then what was distracting her: visions of murder, of human sacrifice. I had to get her out of here.

Easier to say…

"So we're trapped in this room," I said. "Unless you've got some secret power I don't know about, something that will knock down walls…"

She blinked, focusing on me, then shook her head.

I turned to the ghosts. The boy had faded again. I waited for him to return.

"You two were killed in here, weren't you? By these people?"

The boy nodded. "They talked about there being others before me. Kids, I think. But they aren't here. It was just me until Murray came along."

So why weren't the children here? There was no sense asking him, so I just said, "And your name is?"

"Brendan."

"Good. Okay, Brendan, tell me everything you know about these people."

NORMALLY, A ghost doesn't remember the circumstances surrounding his death unless you intercept him before he gets to the afterlife realms. But these ghosts had never crossed over, so they hadn't been granted postdeath amnesia, and they remembered everything.

I relayed Brendan's experience to Hope, partly in hopes that she'd catch some clue I missed, but mostly just to distract her from the visions.

I plucked every potentially useful tidbit from his story. We were in a basement. There was a TV room nearby, plus a small bedroom. The house was in Brentwood, probably close enough to where I'd been staying for the group to transport the bodies.

From Brendan's account, there were at least five members. May was one of the leaders, working closely with a middle-aged man. They'd introduced themselves as a couple, but that was probably a front. None of Brendan's descriptions matched Rona Grant or Zack Flynn, but that didn't mean anything. May had said there were more members of the Ehrich Weiss Society, so we just hadn't seen any overlap except for her.

As for getting some idea of what they were capable of, the only spell Brendan had seen them cast was the weakening one. When he finished, I turned to the older man-Murray.

"So you were killed after Brendan?"

He nodded, his head down. A hell of a thing to put someone through, but I had to do it, so I pushed on.

"How were you approached?"

He hesitated. "I-I don't remember. It's all very foggy. I was at work and then… That's all I remember from that day. I woke up here, like Brendan."

He shot a furtive glance at the boy, as if worrying about what effect his death had on him, but Brendan said, "I didn't see it. I was blacked out. It happens a lot when they're doing magic in here."

I relayed that to Hope. During Brendan's account, she'd barely seemed to be listening, but now she went still, as if struggling to pay attention.

"So he was sacrificed?" she said. "Like the boy?"

"Right."

I gave her a quick recap of Brendan's story. She looked confused, but waved for me to continue questioning Murray. She listened as I relayed the story of his death, his tale almost identical to Brendan's, offering no new insight.

As he finished, Hope moaned and began writhing on the floor. I knelt beside her. Her face was ashen, eyes rolling back.

"They-they must have done something to me," she whispered. "I-I feel sick. Something…"

Her voice dropped and I had to lean closer.

"He's lying," she whispered.

"Wha-?"

"Shhh. The older one. Murray. He's lying."

Her voice was so low I struggled to make out the words.

"He wasn't burned. They stabbed him in the back. He was one of them. They turned on him." She swallowed. "I'm sorry I'm not much help. I'm… having a hard time."

I squeezed her shoulder. "You focus on blocking the visions and I'll get us out of here."

Her gaze dipped, cheeks flushing.

I couldn't imagine what it was like for her. Seeing ghosts in their death bodies was nothing compared to seeing them in their death throes. I'd never complain about seeing a death body again.

Death body…

I turned to Murray. "I know something that might tell me more about the magic these people have. As ghosts, you can revert to what we call your death body, how you looked at the moment you passed. If you can do that for me, maybe I can take a closer look for signs of magic."

"I don't know how," Murray said quickly.

"I'll tell you."

"Sure," Brendan said. "Whatever helps."

"I don't see how it will." Murray crossed his arms. "They used gasoline and matches to kill us, not magic."

"Humor me."

He shook his head.

"Why? It's not as if you're lying, right?"

His expression chased away any doubt.

"Wha-?" Brendan began.

I shot him a look and he went silent.

"Are you ever planning to get out of here, Murray?"

"Of course."

"So then what? You waltz up to the higher powers, say 'My name's Murray and I was a human sacrifice' and expect them to take your word for it? You've got some serious bad karma to undo, and not a lot of time left to undo it. I'd suggest you start now."

His eyes said he wasn't convinced.

I imagined Eve at my shoulder. Bluff, damn it. He's human. What the hell does he know about our world? Bury the bastard in bullshit.

"Do you know what I am? A necromancer. You can see a glow around me, one you won't see on regular people like her." I waved at Hope. "My job is to act as a mediator between this world and the next, and to do that, I have a partner on the other side. That woman I was summoning? I called her a ghost… among other things. She's not just any ghost. She's a direct link to the higher powers. Every necromancer is assigned one."

"Cool," Brendan said. "Like a guardian angel."

I imagined what Eve would say about being called an angel, but kept a straight face as I nodded. "Something like that. One of a necromancer's jobs is to ease the passing of spirits. "When we escape here, I'll turn you over to her and she'll take you to the higher powers who will decide where you belong. When she hands you over, she'll make her report. What you do in the remaining time you have on this side will have a big impact on that report."

Hope's strained voice floated over. "And if Jaime doesn't get out of here alive, then she can't help you cross over, meaning you'll be at the whim of the first necromancer you meet when-if-you escape."

"But I don't know what I can do," Murray said. "I can't get you out of here-"

"You can help by telling me about them. The group you were a part of before they killed you."

Brendan turned on Murray. "What?"

"Yes, he was part of that group, but he changed his mind after hearing what they did to you. He wanted to turn them in. That's why they killed him."

Murray nodded emphatically. I doubted that was how it happened, but Brendan was mollified enough to relax.

"Now," I continued, "tell me everything."

THE DEMON WITHIN

THE GROUP HAD BEEN STARTED almost fifteen years ago by May Donovan and another man, Don Rice. Don was also in the Ehrich Weiss Society, but otherwise the groups were separate, on May's advice. As we'd suspected, she and Don had used the society to research new occult groups and to track rumors of their own.

"And Zack Flynn?" I asked.

"Who?"

"A reporter for the L.A. Times. He's part of the Ehrich Weiss Society."

"I think May's mentioned him. Just a kid, right?" A moue of distaste. "We don't allow young people in our group. We're serious practitioners."

Had Jeremy and Karl realized their mistake, left Zack and gone back to Brentwood? Or had they teamed up with Zack and used his connection to May to infiltrate her "real" group?

Hope's face was red and beaded with sweat as she was swept into another vision. That jolted worries of Jeremy aside. He could take care of himself.

I continued grilling Murray.

Three years ago, after over a decade of trying, the group had found the so-called "key" to unlocking the mysteries of the magical world.

Human sacrifice. Or not so much the act itself as the by-products. They cremated the victims' organs and used the ashes in spellcasting.

The ritual they'd used must have bound the spirits to the earth so the magic could draw on their energy, draining them as their ashes were used. That's why Brendan was fading. He was disappearing as his energy was consumed in spellcasting.

Even with that ingredient, their success had been limited to a few spells in a select number of books-simple magic from real grimoires, I'd presume. The spell they'd used to knock me out was a fairly recent addition, and the strongest thing they had.

When I asked about the children, he said that over three years, they'd killed six children and buried them in the garden down the road.

"But their spirits aren't here," I said. "Were they killed here? In this room?"

"Some. But that was before May performed the encircling ritual."

"Encircling ritual?"

"To protect this room from…" he fluttered his hands, "evil spirits. Nosy neighbors. Who knows? May was getting paranoid. Kept worrying that we'd conjure up some demon or tap into something ugly."

"Did something like that ever happen?"

"Not to us."

"But to May?"

He glanced around, then lowered his voice, as if he could be overheard. "May is different. The magic always works better for her. Comes easier to her. Some of us can barely cast the simplest spells. May's always first and best. It makes some of us wonder…" He shrugged. "There'd been grumbling. About what else May might be able to do. What she might be hiding from us."

"Which would explain the 'encircling' ritual. If she did something that spooked her. So presumably, this ritual is what keeps you two in."

I had a good idea why May was the strongest. Tapping into real supernatural blood. As for what kind…

"These rumors," I said. "About May Donovan-"

"They're coming."

The raspy voice made the hairs on my neck rise. It came from Hope's direction, but didn't sound like her.

When I looked over, she'd twisted onto her side, her hair tumbling over her face. In the dim lighting, her expression seemed to be fear, but as I bent to reassure her, I saw she was smiling. Her amber eyes glittered. Her lips were drawn back, white teeth glowing in the darkness.

"Hope?"

She blinked and that smile wavered, but returned, less feral, more… blissful, eyes rolling back. Her lips parted and she let out a hissing sigh of pleasure.

The sound raked down my spine. I recognized that look, that sigh. When I'd made my deal with a demon, he'd taken human form for the summoning. As I'd squirmed, listening to the killer describe his crimes, I'd seen that same look on the demon's face as he drank in the chaos.

But half-demons weren't deinonic. Like every other supernatural, evil was a choice, not a blood destiny. I remembered Hope's words: "Other half-demons get a special power without a demon's attraction to chaos. That attraction is all I get," and I understood. All those times she'd looked away, guilty, embarrassed, when I'd offered sympathy for the horrors she had to endure.

Horror, yes. Horrible? Horrifying? Not for her.

Now, hearing our would-be murderers approaching, she felt not fear but-

I turned away from Hope. I had to think…

"Jaime?"

I steeled myself not to look at her. I remembered the demon I'd dealt with, how seductive he'd been, how easy to trust… and how much I'd paid for it.

"Jaime?" Her voice quavered, but that hoarse bloodlust was gone. "Help me. Please."

Still I resisted. But did enjoying chaos make Hope demonic? She had helped us find this group. Never once had she led us into trouble, double-crossed us or done anything to cause chaos. She'd honestly seemed to want to help-to find some balance for the impulses she hid.

I turned. We'd been in this room long enough that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could make out Hope's face, slick with sweat, her eyes still glowing, but filled with fear, even despair.

"They're outside," she said. "Talking. I can hear their thoughts. This place-all the chaos-it must be boosting my power. I'm getting all these thoughts, every bad things-" She inhaled. "May's the key. Tricking them. Lying to them. You can use that."

"How?"

Frustration flared in her eyes. "Just… use it. Somehow. Not much time."

I leaned in to listen. She talked fast, throwing out snippets of information about May and the others. Random thoughts, out of context, left to me to interpret.

Then she gasped. "They're getting ready. Gas. Matches."

Her face contorted, excitement warring with true fear. She grabbed my arm.

"Knock me out again," she rasped.

I took her other arm and drew closer. "They won't hurt you. I'm going to get you out of here."

"You don't-" She bit off a snarl and took a deep breath. "You need to knock me out."

"I really need you awake, Hope. I might need your help-"

"To kill you?" Her gaze met mine, hard and sharp. "If they want to kill you, I might not try to stop them. I might even help them."

I didn't believe that, but I could see that she did.

"Grab my hair and hit my head against the floor."

"What if I accidentally-"

She flew at me. Seeing that snarling face, those glowing demonic eyes, I reacted instinctively and flung my arms out, knocking her back. As I hit her, she veered, as if launching off my hands, twisting to fly, headfirst, into the nearest wall. She hit it and slumped to the floor.

DEMONS AND WEREWOLVES

I RUSHED OVER and dropped to check Hope's pulse. There was a muted jangle at the door, as if someone was turning a lock.

I sprang to my feet.

Light filled the tiny room. I stumbled back, blinking after straining so long in the dark. Then I followed the light up and saw a panel inset in the high ceiling.

Ringed around the room was a high shelf dotted with what looked like stuffed animals. The taxidermy types, not the toys. That caught me off guard and I stared at a crow for a moment before yanking my gaze away.

Another click. The door was opening. I looked around frantically, hoping I'd see some weapon missed in the darkness. There was nothing. Shoes! My heels. I could use them as I'd planned to with Botnick, to stab or-

I stared down at my sneakers. Oh, goddamn it!

"Hello, Jaime."

May Donovan walked in, dressed in a blazer and skirt, as calmly professional as if we were meeting in her office. Even smiled and extended her hand.

"I trust I won't need to use that spell again," she said, stopping before me. "You're a bright woman. You know when you're outnumbered."

Her gaze dropped to Hope. "Still unconscious? I suppose that's just as well."

A click as the door closed. I looked past May and saw four others crowding into the tiny room. Three men, one woman, all on the far side of forty. At a gesture from May, two of the men walked to Hope and carried her into the middle of the room.

Something was etched into the concrete-a symbol they'd found in a book, presumably. As the men laid Hope on it, her hand flopped onto the stainless steel drain, sparkling and spotless, no sign of its purpose evident. Of course there wasn't-the point of having a concrete room with a drain was to wash away all the evidence.

I swallowed.

One of the men retrieved the gas can he'd left by the door and set it down on a lock of Hope's hair. The other woman held the matches, flipping them in her fingers, not nervous, just toying with them. I glanced at their faces, relaxed, unworried and unhurried, as if they were preparing the room for yet another dull but necessary business meeting.

I opened my mouth to stall them, but my mind and gaze stayed caught on Hope, on that gas can carelessly laid on her hair, on her graceful fingers and chewed nails stretched over that immaculate drain.

"You really can talk to the dead, can't you, Jaime?"

I jumped, startled, and looked at May. Her face was impassive, but her eyes were fever-bright. The eyes of a fanatic spotting proof of the divine.

The other woman harrumphed. "She's a good actress, that's all. Just like the rest of them."

"I don't think so. Someone-or something-led her to those bodies."

In her voice was the longing I'd heard so often from the bereaved, those desperate to believe. In May, it was magnified a hundredfold.

"I can," I said. "I see them, hear them, speak to them."

"May, don't let her-"

"You don't believe me? There's a ghost right next to you. A seventeen-year-old named Brendan, though you may not have bothered asking his name before you downsed him with gas and set him on fire. May, you picked him up at-" I glanced at Brendan, who told me the place and I relayed it. "You tricked him into your car, you and Don-" Another look at Brendan, who pointed to a tall balding man with a cleft chin. I nodded to him. "Over there."

Expressions ranged from May's exultation to incredulity to grudging acceptance.

May smiled. "You and I have a lot to talk about, Jaime."

In other words, I'd just bought myself a temporary pass. I tried not to let my relief show.

"First, though…" May continued.

She waved to Don, who held the gas. He uncapped it and stepped over Hope's body.

"No!"

I leapt forward, but May grabbed my arm.

"Please don't make us restrain you, Jaime. You know we can't let her live. She knows-"

"But she's one of us. Magical."

May shook her head. "Don't-"

"She's a half-demon. That's what we call them. Demons take human form and impregnate women. The children look human, but they have special powers. The ability to control an element or improved senses or-"

"The X-Men." The other woman rolled her eyes. "I may be a bit old for that sort of thing, but I have teenage boys, Miss Vegas. Try something a little more original please."

"It's not just elements and senses. Like Hope. She can pick up chaos, senses it and sees-"

May cut me off with a look. "So you're telling me that sweet Hope Adams is really… a chaos demon?"

"Half-demon."

"And your companion the other day? The one Eric Botnick swore had superhuman strength? I suppose he's one of these half-demons."

"No. Werewolf."

May cast a look at the group. I couldn't see it, but everyone laughed. Then she turned back to me, her hand still on my arm, squeezing gently.

"I understand why you're doing this, Jaime. You want to protect your friends. But-" The squeeze tightened. "Please don't insult our intelligence."

I opened my mouth to protest, but know I'd overplayed my hand… and I hadn't even been bluffing.

A smell filled the air. The slosh of liquid hitting concrete. I turned to see Don trickling gas over Hope.

I wrenched from May's grasp. May lifted a handful of gray powder and started to cast. I stopped.

"I'm sorry. I just- I just want to talk."

"Tell more tales of demons and werewolves?" the other woman scoffed.

"Why not? Couldn't there be-?"

A quick look around told me I was losing my audience. I glanced down at Hope, her small form, her faded jeans freckled with splashed gasoline, more dripping from her fingers, into the drain…

"Why kill her like that? It's a horrible way to die."

"The suffering enhances the potency," May said, voice as cool as her eyes.

"No, it doesn't."

Her face hardened, but she hid it behind a condescending smile. "You may be able to talk to ghosts, but that doesn't make you an expert on magic."

"Maybe, but I know people who can cast spells that make yours look like parlor tricks. Even for the rituals that need human sacrifice, it doesn't matter how you kill the person. It's the fact of death that counts."

I could see this wasn't getting me anywhere. "Never mind. I know you don't believe me about Hope, but if you gave her time to wake up, she could demonstrate-"

"Not interested," said the other woman-Tina, as Murray called her.

May shot Tina a look. Then she swung that look around the group. Judging their willingness to let Hope live a little longer, just to be sure there wasn't some truth to my preposterous tale. But their faces were hard. If she made the wrong decision, they'd see it as weakness-her hunger for magic overriding common sense. An unacceptable flaw to this bunch.

"No, Jaime," she said finally. "I know she's your friend-"

"She is. And if you kill my friend in front of me, exactly how will-ing do you think I'll be to teach you what I know? Show you how to contact the dead?"

"Don't threaten-"

"Tie her up and put her outside this room, as a show of faith. Then, in a return show of faith, I'll show you how to communicate with Brendan's ghost. When we're done, Hope will be awake. She'll show you her powers and, if she doesn't, you can…" I swallowed for dramatic effect, "finish with her."

Another look around the gathered faces. Tina's expression stayed resolute-gaze fixed on Hope as she toyed with the matches.

"Don?" May said.

"It sounds reasonable."

The other men agreed. At a motion from May, they bound Hope's hands and feet, gagged her and carried her into the room beyond.

MIRACULOUS

WHEN THE MEN RETURNED a few minutes later, they closed the door all but a crack-presumably leaving it open so they could hear if Hope woke up.

Phase one accomplished.

Onto phase two.

"What you were saying earlier," I began, "about needing to kill them horribly. That really isn't necessary. But I suppose slipping a lethal drug in someone's drink wouldn't have the same effect for the group, would it?"

"What-?" May began.

"You're all in this together, right? You watch them die. You each play your part. Share the murder, share the horror and the guilt. A bond that's probably very hard to break. Must have made it really tough to convince them that Murray broke it, huh?"

May's gaze swung to mine.

"You remember Murray, don't you?" I continued. "He's right here."

I described Murray. Several of the group members paled, but May's face remained impassive.

"You don't believe me?" I said. "Ask him something. He can hear you."

"Remind her of the time-" Murray began.

"If Murray says I tricked the others into killing him, he's lying." She turned to Don. "You found that-"

"Realtor's card," I cut in.

"Card?" Murray sputtered. "What card?"

"Or so you told the group, Don," I said. "But there wasn't one, was there? It was May's idea. She convinced you that Murray really was planning to leave the group, but that you needed some solid evidence to convict him."

Don's expression answered.

"They lied?" Murray said. "I was killed for a lie?"

He continued raging, but I focused on Don. "May lied to you too. She wasn't convinced Murray was leaving. She thought he might, but it was only that-a possibility. What she saw, though, was the opportunity to cement your allegiance by making you an accomplice in Murray's murder. And, in killing Murray, she'd prove to the group that the pact was more than idle words. If they didn't believe the group would kill them, now they knew better."

"She'll say anything to save her friend," May said.

She lifted her hand to blow the ash at me. Don caught her wrist.

"Don't bother," I said. "You don't need that to cast magic. Or, should I say, May doesn't. Not that she was going to tell you that anytime soon. Better to keep you working for her, digging for better magic, killing for the group…"

They had all turned toward May. I searched for something else to say, to give that extra shove, then reconsidered before I overplayed my hand again.

So I waited as they moved toward May, blocking her in, questions rising, sharp with accusation. Then I began inching toward the door. Get out and lock it behind me.

One more step-

"Where do you think you're going?"

Tina swung into my path. I threw myself at her, fingers hooked, aiming for her eyes, but she moved at the last second and my nails scratched her cheek instead. She howled and doubled over. My knee flew up, aiming for her stomach-

Hands grabbed me and yanked me back. I twisted and struggled, but Don held me by the shoulders. He kicked my feet out from under me. As I fell, I saw May, pinned by the other men.

"Looks like we'll have a triple dose of new material," Tina said, wiping blood from her face as she bent over me. "Your parlor tricks don't interest me, Jaime Vegas. But if you and that girl are what you claim to be, that will add an extra boost to your remains, won't it? Truly magical ash."

I twisted in Don's grip, but he held me tight. Behind me, the men were taking turns casting the weakening spell on May. After the third, she slumped to the floor. And there, with her, went my chance to escape. I'd turned them against the only person in this room who valued my powers. The only one willing to let me live.

I looked about wildly, searching the room. My gaze went up to the light. If I had a spell, I could break it, plunge us into darkness and escape. If I was a werewolf, I could fight my way out. If I'd worn the damned heels, I could at least stab Don in the knees. If wishes were horses…

Damn it, Jaime. Focus on what you do have, on what you can do!

I look across the room to see Brendan and Murray frozen in helpless horror, watching as Don pinned me to the floor and gave orders to the others to douse May with gasoline.

"Brendan! Murray!" I shouted. "The door!"

Don frowned at me.

Murray's look said he didn't understand my plea any better than Don. "But the spell. We can't get out."

Brendan was already racing across the room. When he reached the door, he stopped short, as if hitting a physical barrier. Then he poked his fingers into the inch-wide gap. They passed through. He grinned.

"Good," I said. "Get out there and look for a ghost. A woman. My age. Long dark hair. Her name's Eve. Show her where I am."

As I spoke, Brendan shoved his shoulder against the crack, but it stopped, as if the breach in the spell was only as wide as that gap. He kept pushing. Murray strode over to help.

"She's stalling," Tina said. "Cast the spell, Don. At least it'll shut her up."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of ash.

Again, my gaze rose to the light. Then it shifted to that high shelf and stopped on a stuffed bat perched beside a legless dog. In my mind, I saw an image of the bird I'd accidentally raised in the garden.

But I couldn't. Not without tools. Not without time to prepare. Not without-

Don lifted his hand to his mouth, ash on his outstretched palm. He inhaled.

"Wait!" I said. "You want magic? I can give you the most powerful magic of all."

"She'll say anything-" Tina began.

"The power to raise the dead. I can do that."

"Really?" Tina's overplucked brows arched. "That'll come in handy in a few minutes… assuming you can do it to yourself."

She motioned for Don to continue with the spell, but he'd lowered his hand. The other men watched me. Seeing their expressions, I bit back a burst of hysterical laughter.

Communicating with the dead wasn't enough to sway their intentions. But to raise the dead? To play God? No matter how strongly logic told them it couldn't be done, they couldn't help hoping.

"It's a trick," Tina snapped. "Can't you see that? Now she'll tell us she needs a body, so we'll need to take her outside-"

"No, you won't." I waved at the ceiling. "Plenty of bodies here."

"And I suppose you want us to take one down, meaning we have to find a ladder, bring it back, give your friend time to recover-"

"I'll raise the bat. It has wings, right?" I flashed my best showbiz smile. "No need to be carried down when you can fly."

Even before the men agreed, I knew they would. Why not? In return for a few minutes' forbearance, I offered the possibility of a miracle. Who could refuse that?

Are you nuts? my brain screamed. Have you forgotten the minor fact that you can't do this without your equipment?

But I could try. At the very least, I'd stall them for a while. Maybe Hope would wake. Or Jeremy would find my trail.

And if that's all I hope to do, that's all I'd accomplish. Forget stalling. My only option-the only one I'd accept-was success.

Just yesterday, raising Rachel Skye, I'd theorized that the power lay, not with the instruments, but within me. If I truly believed that, then it was time to put it to the test. Under the worst possible circumstances, but maybe that was just what I needed. Last year, in Toronto with the werewolves, I'd controlled zombies raised by someone else-a feat I'd said was impossible. But when I saw Elena's life at stake, I'd found the will and the power to do it.

Now there was another life at stake. Mine. And, for once, I was going to be the one to save it.

I closed my eyes and recited the incantation to call the dead back to their nearby bodies. In my mind, I pictured the ritual setup, envisioned myself kneeling before the symbols.

When the chant was finished, I didn't open my eyes to see whether it worked. Didn't even take a breath. Just repeated it. Then repeated it. Then-

"Oh, my God."

The reaction I'd been waiting for. I looked up to see the bat still perched there, motionless. But on an adjacent shelf, the crow's wing twitched.

"It's a trick," Tina sneered. "Even I can do that-like making a pencil levitate."

"Rawr!"

The crow had managed to push itself upright. Its head wobbled, as if its neck was broken. It threw back its head and let out another strangled caw.

"Mother of God," one of the men breathed.

Even Tina stared. Then she wheeled on me. "It's a trick. Somehow-"

A dog yipped. The terrier. Its head whipped from side to side, ears flapping, eyes wild as it tried to stand on legs it no longer had. I fought the urge to release it, sent up a silent apology, and started the invocation again.

The dog convulsed and twisted, its cries turned shrill with panic. On the adjoining shelf, the crow flapped its wings, its head still lolling, beak snapping.

A shriek. Four sets of eyes turned to see a raccoon dragging itself toward the edge…

"Oh, God, no," someone said. "Not that. It isn't-"

The raccoon toppled from the shelf as one of the men dove out of the way. It hit with a bone-crunching thud. For a moment, I blinked, certain I'd misidentified the creature. It was too small to be a-

The beast pulled itself onto its front legs, and I realized it was indeed a raccoon. Half of one. The rear quarters had been removed and a plastic shield had been affixed to the severed end, like an anatomy display.

The raccoon gnashed its teeth and rolled back onto its torso, claws waving as it struggled to get up. Above it, the dog twisted, snapping and snarling, frenzied now.

"Oh, God, what have you done?" one of the men breathed.

"Why, I've brought the dead back to life. I've performed a miracle."

The raccoon fell forward and started pulling itself along on its front legs. It snarled at Tina. When she fell back with a scream, it advanced on Don. He backpedaled out of the way.

"M-miracle?" Don said. "Th-this is an abomination. Stop it right now."

"Stop?" I smiled. "I'm just getting started."

I looked across their faces. In their terror, I saw my true power. The darkest power. The greatest power.

I closed my eyes and shouted the invocation, calling the dead back to their bodies. Someone yelled for Don to cast the weakening spell. Fingers wrapped around my arm. As I yanked away, my attacker reeled backward, grip loosening.

A black blur flashed over his head. The crow, swooping. Then another blur and a high-pitched shriek as the bat flew into Tina. She screamed, arms flailing.

"Kill it! Someone kill it! Kill all of them!"

"Oh, you've already done that," I said. "Once they pass over, they're mine, and you can't do a damn thing about it. Go ahead. Swat that bat. Throw it into the wall if you'd like. You can't kill it. It's already dead."

Another scream, this time from one of the men as the raccoon's teeth sank into his leg. As he shook it, the plastic plate flew off and the raccoon's preserved innards slid out. The man screamed louder, gaze riveted on the mangled beast.

"You wanted magic!" I said. "You killed for it. Well, here's magic. The most powerful kind there is."

The crow swooped past me and flew into Don, who let out a shriek.

"Isn't it everything you imagined?" I yelled to be heard over the din. "And just think. When you die, I can do this to you. Bring your mangled, rotting corpse back to life, with you in it, stuck there for eternity."

I shouted the incantation again. A body tumbled from the shelf. Then another, the air rent with yowls and screeches and screams. I ran for the door. It was half-open now, as if someone had tried to make a break for it. A quick head count as I wheeled proved no one had escaped.

I yanked open the door, spun around and slammed it shut. A body hit the other side. I threw myself against the door, fingers flying to the lock. One twist and it was closed.

My gaze snagged on the light switch for the room. I flicked it off.

JUDGMENT

I LOOKED AROUND FOR HOPE, but she was nowhere to be seen. I ran through the TV room. Still no sign of her. How far could they have taken her?

As I raced into the hall, legs appeared on the stairway. I froze, fanatically searching for a weapon or another escape route.

"Jaime?"

A second set of legs passed the first and I recognized Jeremy's shoes, moving swiftly and soundlessly down the stairs. As soon as he was low enough, he ducked, saw me and nodded. There was no expression on his face, but I could see the relief in his eyes.

He swung around the bottom step and caught my arm, ready to whisk me upstairs without a word, but Karl stepped into our path.

"Where's Hope?" he demanded.

I opened my mouth to answer, but wasn't fast enough for him and he took those last few steps in a stride, looming over me, eyes blazing. I instinctively stepped back, but Jeremy's arm around my back stopped me.

"I-I don't know. They took her out of the room and I-"

"And you what?" he snarled, any remaining wisps of the sophisticated mask falling away.

"Karl."

Jeremy's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it stopped the other man short.

"I was looking for her," I hurried on. "She's unconscious and tied up, and they brought her in here, out of the way, but I can't find-"

His head whipped up, nostrils flaring. A slow pivot. Then he strode across the room and yanked open a closet. There, on the floor, was Hope. When Karl started to lift her, Jeremy moved up behind him and leaned down to whisper, "We don't have time. Just move her to another room."

Karl hesitated.

Jeremy said, "We can finish this now. She'll be safe then."

Karl lifted Hope, then turned to me. "Describe the room. Exits. Weapons. How many people? What kind of-?"

Jeremy motioned for him to slow down and look after Hope first. He took her into another room. When he returned, I'd already explained everything. Then Jeremy came up with a plan.

JEREMY STUDIED my face, not asking "are you okay with this?" but looking for the answer. I nodded, then turned my attention back to the door. My heart was thumping so loud I was sure Jeremy and Karl could hear it, but they gave no sign, just waited in their places-Karl behind the door, Jeremy on the other side of the opening.

As I turned the lock, Karl slid his foot against the base of the door, then looked at me. When I nodded, he eased his foot back an inch and I cracked open the door. It was like walking into a horror movie-a soundtrack of human screams and babbling mixed with the enraged and garbled cries of the zombie beasts.

Something-or someone-hit the door, the jolt hard enough to make me jump, but the door didn't move, Karl's foot and hand blocking it.

I closed my eyes and cast the incantation to return those poor souls to wherever they'd come from. I kept casting until the screams-human and beast-dropped to sobs and muted cries.

Then I jumped back. Jeremy swung around the doorway, Karl following. I cast the release incantation one last time as they disappeared into the darkness. Then I slammed the door shut and turned the lock.

I WAS supposed to wait outside the door for fifteen minutes, then unlock it. As I stood there, I tried very hard not to picture what was happening inside the killing room. At least it would be easy to clean up the carnage afterward. I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms.

As I moved, I caught the whisper of muffled voices, pleading. I rubbed my arms harder, torn between wanting to retreat to someplace where I couldn't overhear and wanting to put my ear to the door, to reassure myself the screams and pleading weren't coming from Jeremy or Karl. I might not care for Karl Marsten, but I didn't want to see the man killed.

A thump sounded above me. I started, then strained to listen, but heard nothing. Even the killing room had gone quiet. Another thud, definitely overhead.

Jeremy would have cleared the upper levels, but did that mean they were still clear? Two group members had apparently skipped the emergency meeting. Or were they just late?

A board creaked. I glanced at the door, but my watch said I had eight minutes to go, and I wasn't opening it one second sooner. Nor was I going to cower here and wait to be discovered by an intruder.

I was in the small TV room, the door to the killing room normally hidden behind a wall hanging. I looked around for a potential weapon. A book? A lamp? A picture? I was about to laugh at the last, when I stopped. Picture. Picture frame. Glass.

I grabbed an old eight-by-ten sepia photograph from the shelf and smashed it against the television cabinet. As I reached for the biggest shard, I saw my bare hand. I yanked off my shoe, removed my sock, then put my shoe back on… and the sock on my hand. It looked ridiculous, but it was better than sliced fingertips. I picked up the shard with my "gloved" hand, then started for the hall.

I was almost at the top of the steps when I heard another soft thump. I pinpointed the direction and followed, creeping through the kitchen toward what looked like a living room. As I edged along the kitchen cabinets, a blur flew across the doorway.

I backpedaled. Another thump. Then something moved by the base of the doorway. A fat calico tabby peered out. The cat looked at me, then at the glass in my hand.

Great. The one time I'm prepared-weapon and all-and my opponent is an overfed house cat.

As I turned to head back, the doorway darkened.

"Hello, Jaime."

May stood at the top of the stairs.

How-? I pictured the half-open door. When I'd counted heads, I hadn't checked for May, presuming she was still unconscious on the floor.

Apparently I hadn't been the only one who'd taken advantage of the cacophony to escape.

She spoke again, but her next words made no sense. I struggled to understand, then realized they weren't in English. A spell. As I tensed, ready to dive out of the spell's path, I felt a sharp edge biting into my fingertips. The glass!

I ran at May, my hand raised. Her brows knitted, the spell dying in her throat as she stared in bewilderment at the sock sailing toward her. Then her eyes went wide, seeing the glass. Too late. I slashed and laid open her cheek. Blood sprayed. She stumbled back. I kicked, hoping to knock her down the stairs, but my aim was off.

May lunged at me. I swung the glass again, but this time only caught the side of her blouse. The glass snagged and flew from my fingers. As May veered toward me, the glass fell onto a throw rug.

I dove for it, but May cast a spell and something hit me, like in the garden, knocking me sideways. As I regained my balance, May caught me by the back of the shirt. I twisted sharply and pulled free.

I scrambled for the glass shard. She hit me with another spell, this one knocking the wind from my lungs. I blacked out for a split second, then came to as May grabbed my shirt again, yanking me off balance.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Jaime," she said.

"Just kidnap me, right?" I wriggled in her grasp, not fighting, just getting my footing. "Well, you know what? I'm a little tired of being kidnapped."

I swung my fist and hit her square in the jaw. As she released me, I dove for the glass. My fingers wrapped around it and I was turning, flying back to my feet when a shape passed to my left. I wheeled to. see Eve holding what looked like… a sword. A very big sword.

I shook off my surprise and dove at May, shard raised, aiming for her throat. But Eve's sword was in flight, sailing toward May, whose gaze was fixed on me, lips drawn back, pushing to her feet. Before I could reach her, the sword cleaved through her torso. She reeled, mouth working as she clutched the left side of her chest.

She tottered. Then she collapsed.

There was no blood. No mark on her body. Yet she didn't move.

"Is she…?"

"She better be," Eve said. "Or this baby needs a recharge."

I struggled from the cloud of shock and turned to Eve. "I didn't need to be rescued."

"Sorry, but my sword outranks your…" she glanced at my hand, "sock puppet."

"It's a glass shard," I said, lifting it.

Her lips twitched. "Ah." A pause and she sobered. "You're right, Jaime. You had her, and maybe I should have let you take her down, but this?" She lifted the sword. "Less messy. In more ways than one."

She lay down the weapon as May's spirit began to separate from her body.

I stared at the sword. It was at least four feet long and inscribed with symbols. As the metal glowed, I remembered stories my Nan had told me of necromancers at executions or deaths of criminals, seeing spirits bearing glowing swords, come to claim the souls. The Sword of Judgment. Not a weapon wielded by just any ghost.

"You're a-an-" I couldn't get the word out. "The job you do for the Fates. You're an… angel?"

"Maybe." She winked. "Or maybe I just swiped the sword."

She grabbed May's silent spirit by the shoulders, yanked her free and disappeared.

I stood there, staring at the spot where they'd vanished. Then I heard a thump. I glanced toward the living room, expecting to see the cat again. The noise came again, from downstairs, I was late for an appointment.

THE KILLING room was remarkably clean. I guess I should have known that. Jeremy and Karl didn't need to Change into wolves. Part of being such efficient killers was knowing how to kill efficiently.

Four bodies lay in the room, all with broken necks. The only blood came from Karl's nose. Elbowed in the melee. He gave Jeremy a few seconds to examine it, then hurried to Hope.

Once Jeremy discovered May was dead, and I was fine, it was time to consider body disposal. He knew more about crime-scene cleanup than anyone should. He'd said before that it was a necessary "skill" for the Alpha-when he sent Clayton and Elena to stop a man-killing mutt, they often had to clean up. As Alpha, though, he would only need to teach the skills. Yet watching him that day, I remembered what he'd said about having to cover his father's kills.

Whatever my mother had done to me, it paled in comparison to that.

BEFORE THEY removed the bodies, Jeremy checked on Hope too. As I waited in the hall, Eve returned with Kristof.

"Got a couple of bodies for us to look after too, I see," she said.

She waved through the doorway into the TV room, where Brendan and Murray waited, quiet, lost in their thoughts. I explained. When I finished, I headed over to Brendan.

"Ready to go?" I asked.

"I-" He blinked, dazed, as if the fact of his death was only hitting him now, after he'd escaped the room where he'd died. "I guess so."

"I'll take him," Kristof said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He walked to the young man, his hand outstretched. "Brendan, isn't it?"

He shook Kristof's hand. "Y-yes, sir."

"Kristof." He put his arm around the boy's shoulders and led him from the room. "Is there anyplace you'd like to visit before we go, Brendan?"

Their voices faded as they headed up the stairs. Eve walked to Murray, who sprang off the sofa.

"There are some places I'd like to visit," he said. "See my wife one last time and-"

"You should have thought of that before you butchered six kids," Eve said. "Judgment awaits, and it's getting impatient."

"B-but I helped you guys. Ask-"

He tried to turn toward me, but Eve grabbed his arm.

"Take it up with the Fates."

As they disappeared, Jeremy stepped into the room. "Jaime? Time to go."

JEREMY HAD Karl take Hope and me to her apartment, then he returned to help Jeremy finish the cleanup. During those two hours we spent alone, Hope didn't say a word about what had happened. Instead she worked to make a big meal, as if feeding the men when they returned was mission critical.

When the men did arrive, Jeremy ate, but it seemed more out of politeness than hunger. Then we left. On the way to the car, I said, "So you could follow my trail from the house? I wasn't sure you could."

He hesitated, and I knew he was considering whether to lie, then shook his head and said, "There wasn't a trail. They must have driven you over."

"So how did you know…?" I let the sentence trail off and dug the rune sketch from my pocket. "This?"

"A magical homing device?" He smiled. "I wish it was that simple. I sensed you, as I do sometimes with the Pack. I could tell you were in trouble, came back, found that you and Hope were gone. Then I found you. Somehow."

I fingered the rune.

He shook his head. "Clay and Elena don't carry the ones I did for them, and I've never done any for the rest of the Pack. "Whatever let me find you, it's not a piece of paper."

"Well, then, you won't mind if I have it made into a necklace, right? Or, all things considered, maybe a tattoo."

He smiled and pulled me into a kiss.

THE ROAD HOME

THE GROUP MEMBERS REMAINED AT LARGE, but the council would convene to discuss that. What remained now was the resolution of my primary goal: freeing the children's spirits. Eve and the Fates had "interrogated" May Donovan and now understood what had happened. As for whether it was a fluke or the start of some evolutionary change in the supernatural world… that remained to be seen.

As for what had happened, Eve said only that the children's spirits had been drained by the magic, which was pretty much what we'd already suspected. If there was a more complex explanation, I wasn't getting it. Maybe Eve didn't think I'd understand, not being a spell-caster. Or maybe the Fates didn't dare go into detail, hoping that if no one in our plane understood, then it couldn't be replicated.

The explanation didn't concern me. All I wanted to know was could we undo it? Could we set the children free? The answer was yes.

Returning to the Brentwood garden wasn't easy. While I had a good reason to return-I was still in residence-I'd likely find myself taken aside for questioning the moment I appeared. I hadn't been anywhere near Angelique's body so we weren't too concerned about the police investigation. Was it safer, then, to plod through the interrogation, then slip out and release the spirits? Or should we sneak back and conduct the ritual right away?

Jeremy, Eve and Kristof debated the options. I acted as "translator," but didn't enter into the discussion. My mind was made up. I had to free those children. No one else could do it for me, and I wasn't taking the chance that I would be prevented from doing so, or even delayed.

I readied my arguments, but didn't need them. No one wanted to wait.

EVE HAD Kristof scouted the garden recruiting and organizing Tansy, Gabrielle and the other ghosts to stand guard. We mapped out all police activity and devised a route that would take us into the garden from the neighbor's yard, and keep us away from the crime scene.

Then Jeremy Changed. Even in human form, he'd be quicker to pick up approaching officers than the ghosts, but if seen on a crime scene, he'd be in trouble. A canine, on the other hand, was just a nuisance-warranting a call to the dogcatcher at most. And, if I needed a distraction, a huge black dog would be just the thing.

THE SPOT Eve had chosen for the ritual was ringed with ghosts, most of whom I'd never seen before. They said nothing, as if they feared distracting me. A smile here, a nod there, then they returned to their solemn vigil.

I walked along the path, down the gauntlet of guards. My kit was in the house, but I didn't need it. My role here was simple. I was the magnet to draw the children from wherever they were hiding.

"Are you here?" I whispered.

Silence. Something moved to my left and I looked over sharply, but it was only a breeze rippling the rose bushes.

"Hello?" I said, as loud as I dared. "I'm back. Are you still here?"

No one answered.

"I haven't been around much lately. And maybe, what's been happening here, it's scared you. But it's over now and I can help."

A sigh. My skin prickled. The wind rustled through a tree and the sigh came again, a loose branch creaking softly.

I talked some more, aware even as I did that they almost certainly couldn't understand me even if they were close enough to overhear. Yet I kept talking, hoping the sound of my voice would draw them in.

The garden stayed silent and still.

I closed my eyes and thought of Rachel Skye, the girl Eve had contacted. A child I knew only as a body in a garden. A young girl, taking a shortcut home from school to see her favorite show, murdered and dumped in a garden. I thought of the others, all the children whose touches and pokes I'd felt, whose voices I'd heard, those who didn't have names and stories and maybe never would, not for me.

I thought of Brendan, little more than a child himself, stoic in his fate, as if it was the price one paid for following a dream. I thought of the young teens I passed on the street in L.A. and Chicago and every other big city, all the lost children. And, just for a second, I thought of myself, of my own child, lost all those years ago.

Something grazed my arm. I opened my eyes to see Jeremy. Drawn by my thoughts, concerned. He glanced at me. Then his attention was snagged by something to the left and he tilted his head, confusion in his eyes. I followed his gaze, but saw only the ghosts standing guard.

Fingers tickled my cheek. More brushed my hair. The whispering began. I went still, straining to hear, convinced I was imagining it. Then Eve stepped through the rosebushes.

"They're here," she said.

WITH THE arrival of the children, my role ended and Eve and Kristof's began. They knelt on the path and prepared to conduct the ritual the Fates had given them. Kristof set up the materials. Eve recited the incantation. Jeremy stood silently at my side. The children patted me and whispered. I don't think I breathed through the entire thing.

When Eve finished the incantation, the touches and whispers of the children stopped. I swear my heart stopped with them. I looked around frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of them, praying something hadn't gone wrong.

Then I saw a faintly shimmering form. Then another. A third. A fourth. As faint as Brendan had been.

Slowly the tallest form materialized. A boy about thirteen. Dark eyed, probably Latino, with hair that fell into his face, reminding me of J eremy. I instinctively smiled, and the boy's gaze went to me, head tilted, as if trying to figure out what I was looking at.

"Hello," I said.

He smiled. "Hi."

Another of the forms materialized. A girl about eleven, with lanky dark blond hair held back in butterfly clips.

"Rachel?" I said.

My voice caught as I remembered what I'd done to her, seeing those bony fingers frantically clawing the air.

"Rachel, I-"

She ran over and threw her arms around me and I swear, for the briefest second, I felt them. Then her hands passed through me. Eve came up behind her and knelt, putting her hands on the girl's shoulders as if to reassure her that she could still touch someone.

Behind Eve, another girl had appeared. A couple of years younger than Rachel, with cornrows and glittering earrings that caught the light as she looked around, uncertain, as if she didn't quite recognize the world from this side of the veil. I walked over to her and bent down.

"Hello, there. I'm Jaime. And who would you be?"

Maybe not the right question to ask a traumatized child, but she met my gaze and smiled, as if finding something she did recognize.

" 'Lizbeth," she lisped.

I looked up at the older boy.

"Manny," he said before I could ask. "Manuel Garcia."

"Todd," said a voice behind me.

"Chloe Margaret Fisher," said another.

I turned to see a boy about eleven, chubby with wild red hair. Behind him stood a pretty brunette around the same age.

"Pleased to meet you, Todd and Chloe. I'm Jaime. This is Eve."

As Eve approached, holding Rachel's hand, I glanced up to introduce Jeremy, but he'd stepped back, out of sight. I nodded. Explaining to the children why he couldn't see them-that they were ghosts-wasn't something they needed yet.

I looked around the group. "Five. I thought-" I glanced at Eve. "There are supposed to be six."

"Number six coming up," Kristof's voice floated from somewhere in the garden. He rounded a bush. In his arms was a small boy, his face buried against Kristof's chest. "This is Charles. He's shy."

I greeted the boy and he nodded, his face still against Kristof.

"We should go," Eve whispered to me. "Before they-"

"What are we doing here?" Chloe asked. "Where's my mom?"

Eve took her hand. "We're going to take you to someone who'll answer all your questions. Then we're going to throw you a big welcome-back party, with all the ice cream you can eat. Vanilla, right? That's your favorite, isn't it?"

The girl nodded, temporarily distracted. Eve started down the path, holding Chloe and Rachel's hand, so Kristof shifted Charles to one arm and reached down. Elizabeth took his free hand. He waved for the boys to follow Eve, then fell into line behind them.

"Never heard of a girl who likes vanilla best," Eve said as they walked. "You must be pretty special. Do you know what my favorite is?"

"Chocolate?" Rachel said.

Eve grinned. "Smart girl. Double-fudge chocolate with brownies. Does anyone else like chocolate?"

Their figures and their voices started to fade as Eve passed them gradually over to the other side of the veil.

"My favorite flavor?" Kristof was saying. "Bubble gum."

"No way," scoffed one of the boys.

Eve said something I couldn't make out, and they all laughed. And that was the last thing I heard. The children laughing.

THE WRAP-UP

IN LIGHT OF THE RECENT TRAGIC EVENTS on the Death of Innocence set in Brentwood, spiritualist Jaime Vegas has reevaluated her career and decided to end her regular television engagements on The Keni Bales Show, as well as her semiregular spots-" I paused and nibbled the end of my pen. "Does 'spots' sound too informal for a media release?"

Eve looked up from the floor, where she was doing sit-ups. I was also lying down… in an extravagant king-size bed, room-service champagne in a bucket on the night table, a chocolate in my free hand, a half-empty box propped on a pillow. If I was leaving television, I didn't need to worry about those three extra pounds. And since Jeremy had given me the chocolates, he obviously wasn't worried about them either.

"Don't you have a publicist for this kind of thing?" Eve asked.

"I want to do it myself. What's a synonym for spot?"

"Blot. Stain. Blemish."

I threw a pillow at her. It landed in her stomach, tassels sticking up from her chest. She shot me a glare. I sighed, got up, walked over and moved it for her. As I bent, I admired my new tattoo. Small and tasteful, as the girl at the parlor promised. Jeremy acted embarrassed by it, repeatedly telling me he didn't think the symbol meant anything, but when it was finished I knew he was pleased.

I'm still convinced the rune is supernatural and suspect it has something to do with Jeremy's mother. When I'd shown it to Eve, she'd said it sparked a vague memory, and she'd promised to dig deeper for me from the other side.

As she continued her sit-ups, I returned to my writing.

The Death of Innocence special was dead. No pun intended… though that wasn't stopping the tabloids and trade papers from making them. They had dead children, ritual sacrifice, restless ghosts and a murdered young spiritualist. Against that, raising Marilyn was almost anticlimactic. Instead the network was keeping the footage for a new special: Death of Innocence: Satanism in Brentwood. Todd Simon hoped to get Geraldo Rivera to host.

The Satanism angle was still only a theory. There was no suggestion that the police would ever trace the murders back to May and her group. As for the remaining members of that group, Paige had called a council meeting for this weekend to plan a course of action.

I stroked a line from my media release and checked the clock. Jeremy's plane should be landing soon. He'd planned to stay in L.A. longer, but then he got a jubilant call from Elena announcing that Logan had taken his first steps, and Kate seemed determined to follow. Although Jeremy had brushed it off, saying he'd see them walk when he got home, I'd packed his bag. I wasn't going to start this relationship by letting him miss his grandchildren's milestones. I'd see him on the weekend, at the council meeting.

We'd have to get used to these brief and sporadic interludes anyway. We had separate lives, but as long as they collided regularly, I'd be happy. Even if it was only a weekend a month, I suspected those weekends would be intense enough to keep us going the rest of the time.

I wondered whether Hope would be at that council meeting. I hadn't heard from her. Was she holding her breath, waiting for me to spill her secret? I'd have to talk to her about that. I believed her motives were as pure as anyone's on the council. Maybe part of her reason for helping was to have an excuse to find chaos, but there were a lot worse ways she could do that.

Balance. I'd learned a lot about that this past week.

I'd failed with Angelique. I was paying for that with memories and regrets. I'd go to that revival in Nebraska, in her honor, the pro-ceeds going to her family. Someday I'd contact her, try to make amends, but I wasn't ready to face her yet.

I was ready to do more for other ghosts. Maybe I couldn't help every one, and maybe I wasn't obliged to help any. But if this case taught me anything it was that I wanted to help, that it hurt more to say no than it did to say "I'll try" and to fail. Whether opening myself up to more ghosts would keep me sane or, as I'd always feared, drive me mad was a possibility I had to deal with. Starting now.

"Eve?"

She stopped in mid-sit-up, then fell back to the floor. "Hmm?"

"That thing you did with the girl's ghost. Reading her mind or whatever. That's part of being an angel, isn't it? A new power?"

She grunted and did another sit-up. I took that for a "Yes, but I don't want to talk about it." I let her do a few more.

"Could you use it to, say, tap the memory of a murdered ghost? Find out what's she's forgotten about her death?"

"If you want me to bring a killer to justice, I'd love to, but it's not in the job description. You were in immediate danger as the result of an investigation to help the Fates. So I could intervene. Otherwise, we have to leave justice to the humans on this side… and mete it out on our side later."

"I don't mean that."

I told her about Gabrielle Langdon. It took some prompting-Eve was never one to pay much attention to current affairs-but eventually she remembered who Gabrielle was.

"Could you tell her who killed her? If she really wants to know?"

Eve paused, then nodded. "If she really wants to know, I think I can."

"I'll see if I can summon her tonight, then."

Another nod, and Eve went back to her workout.

When I was done here, I'd call Hope both to talk to her and to find out whether she'd ever dug up the address for Peter's son. If not, I'd do some research myself.

That made two ghosts helped. Plus the children, and Brendan. Not bad for a few days' work.

As for fears of madness, there was something I could do about that too. Go visit Tee in Toronto. I'd been trying to push Tee's image from my brain, forget that I'd ever seen this old friend of my grandmother's now driven so mad by necromancy that she was barely recognizable as human. I'd call Zoe and ask her to take me back to Tee and see whether there was anything I could do for her. Through her maybe I'd learn to face my fears-to see how bad it could be, and deal with that-not pull the covers over my head and pretend it could never happen to me.

My cell phone rang. I saw the number of Jeremy's prepaid phone and grinned.

"Just get in?" I asked as I answered.

"I did. Is everything all right there?"

I could hear the concern in his voice, probably worrying that the police had descended on my hotel room the moment he left.

I smiled. "Everything's fine. Lying in bed. Writing my good-bye to Hollywood. Eating chocolates. Watching Eve work out. Thankful it's her, not me."

A soft chuckle. "Did you get the champagne too?"

"I did. And it's making the letter writing much easier."

"Good. Did you hear from Hope?" A pause. "Ah, I see Kate over the crowd. She must be up on Clay's shoulders. I'd better hurry before she sees me and jumps-" A quick inhale. "Too late."

"Clay caught her?"

"Fortunately, though, she's not too happy about-"

Kate's scream cut across the miles.

I laughed. "I'll let you go then."

"So you're fine?"

"Never been better."

As I hung up, I smiled to myself. Never been better, indeed.