the posh hotel his company had put him up in, and to expect others to be equally impressed. When that and his pricey suit didn’t win him coy glances from Jaime, he switched to that modern-day equivalent of dragging in a freshly killed hunk of meat—attempting to wow her with his computer skills.
She assured him that she could handle it, but he still hovered at the next terminal, pretending to work, stopping every few minutes to make sure Jaime was “still doing okay,” hoping she’d become hopelessly snarled in the Web, and he would swoop to her rescue, maybe win an invitation back to her room and hours of acrobatic sex with a gorgeous flame-haired stranger. Hey, it happens in the Penthouse letters column all the time, and they don’t put stuff in there that isn’t true.
When Jaime finished, she escaped with the old “just running to the ladies’ room” line. Now, if it’d been me…but it wasn’t me, so I kept my mouth shut.
Once back in the hotel room, Jaime grabbed a roll of hotel-supplied Scotch tape from the desk, and plastered the walls with the printouts so I could read them. There were over a hundred pages, detailing twenty-three cases, some obvious suspects, some your garden-variety domestic murders but with something extra that had warranted national attention. When she ran out of wall space, she laid pages on the bed and sofa. Then she checked her watch.
“I’m supposed to be in makeup in twenty minutes.”
“Go on.” I looked around. “This is fine.”
“So long as housekeeping doesn’t decide to slip in and turn down the sheets.” She glanced around the room and shuddered. “Even the showbiz spiritualist gig wouldn’t explain this.”
“I’ll cast a lock spell on the door.”
My spell wouldn’t work on a door in the living world, but there was no harm in trying, if it made her feel better.
“Good luck,” I said. “Or is it ‘break a leg’?”
She gave a wan smile. “Sometimes I think a preshow broken limb wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” Her eyes clouded, but the look evaporated with a blink. “I should be wishing you luck, too. If you need anything, just pop by the theater.” She hesitated. “But if you do pop in—”
“Don’t really pop in. Got it.”
She murmured a good-bye, grabbed her purse, and left.
I spent the next hour reading through the first wall of printouts. I made two mental lists, one for likely suspects and one for possible. Some were obvious noncandidates. Like the hooker who accidentally killed a john, robbed him, then decided murder was more lucrative than turning tricks. Or the teen who’d set a bomb in the girls’ changing room during cheerleading practice and later told reporters “the bitches got what they deserved.” Women like that didn’t need the Nix’s booster shot for resolve. Likewise, I could exclude the women who’d committed their crimes under the influence of drugs or alcohol. The Nix needed very clear criteria for her partners, those on the verge of murder, needing only her extra push.
A low whistle sounded behind me. “You are busy.” Kristof stepped up to me and scanned the wall filled with articles. “I thought maybe you could use some research help, so I put on my bloodhound nose.”
I smiled. “You’re very good at that, you know. Scary good.”
“If I want something, I find it.” Kristof turned to the wall. “Where can I start?”
I hesitated, then pointed to the pages strewn over the bed and told him my criteria.
“I’ll cull the ones that fit,” he said. “Then you can read them, make your own decision.”
The more I read, the more I wanted this part of my mission to be over. I don’t have any hang-ups about violence. For a witch in the supernatural world, being powerful meant mastering the dark arts. Paige was trying to change that, and all the power to her. But when I was her age, I saw only two choices: become a black witch or accept that my powers were good for little more than spell-locking my door and cowering on the other side.
So I’d followed the path of dozens of young witches before me: I’d left the Coven. Left or was kicked out, depending on who you ask. Once gone, I’d devoted myself to learning stronger magic, which meant sorcerer magic, plus the odd black-market witch spell I managed to master. To become more powerful, I had to dig deep into the underbelly of the supernatural world and gain the respect of people