he said. “You need me, I’ll be there. You know that.”
I squeezed his hand. “I do.”
Heartfelt vows of vengeance are easy to make, but rarely easy to carry out. I roared back into hunt mode, ready to track down this demon-bitch and send her soul to the deepest, darkest hell I could find. Instead, I found myself billeted to Lizzie Borden’s living room, while Trsiel hung out with Amanda Sullivan.
Trsiel did his best to placate me, reminding me that so long as Amanda Sullivan saw nothing, the Nix wasn’t in the living world. Fat lot of reassurance that was—the last time Sullivan saw a vision, it’d taken less than six hours for the Nix to persuade her partner to act—less than six hours before three people were dead.
I couldn’t imagine how she’d accomplished that—finding a partner so quickly. Not just any partner, but one who would be in the same building as my daughter that day. Was it that easy to find someone with a motive for murder? Someone who lacked only the guts to follow through on their impulses?
Trsiel’s theory was that the Nix hadn’t been nearly as surprised to find me tracking her as she’d pretended, that she’d known I’d been on her trail, found out who I was, and scouted a few potential partners in the periphery of Savannah’s life, women she could leap into if I got too close and needed a demonstration of her power.
There was no way I was hanging out with Lizzie Borden, not while I still had leads to pursue. We’d questioned Luther Ross, but I still felt as if I’d missed something there, some insight into the Nix and her motivations. Ross had said he hadn’t known why she’d come to his school, and I doubted he was lying, but if I asked the right questions, maybe I could figure out her motive for myself.
Before we’d left Luther Ross, Kris had given him a “safe house” transportation code, sending him to a remote location where he could lie low and, more importantly, where we could track him down if need be. Now I wanted to speak to him again. So as soon as Trsiel dropped me off at Lizzie’s house, I did a quick check-in with her, then zipped off after Kristof.
29
I FOUND KRISTOF IN HIS OFFICE AT THE COURTHOUSE, talking to a toga-clad client. The moment I peeked around the corner, Kris scuttled his client off.
“I need to find a certain nymphomaniac,” I said, perching on the edge of his desk.
“Nymph—?” Kris laughed. “Ah, and never has that word been more apt. Mr. Ross, I presume.”
“So where’d you tuck him away?”
Kris’s fingers closed over mine. “Let me show you.”
We touched down in a field of white. For a second, I thought the Fates had diverted us to a throne-room waiting area. Then I saw a distant line of trees and, behind them, a mountain range. As I turned to look for Kristof, the ground under my sneaker crunched like broken glass. I knelt and reached down. My fingers sank into something soft and faintly cold.
A white ball struck my shoulder, and exploded on contact. I looked over my shoulder to see Kristof packing a second missile.
“Throw that at your peril.”
The snowball glanced off the top of my head, showering me with snow. I glared at him, spun on my heel, and started to march away. As I walked, I cast a blur spell. The last words left my mouth, then I wheeled, raced behind Kristof, and knocked him flying off his feet. When he hit the ground, I jumped on his back and rubbed his face in the snow.
He sputtered, bucked, and managed to flip me off his back. We tussled for a few minutes, both armed with fistfuls of snow, trying unsuccessfully to give the other a face-washing. Finally, we fell onto our backs, laughing.
Overhead was a faint greenish arch. As I watched, other threads of colored light appeared, reds and blues and yellows, dancing and weaving against the black sky.
“Are you doing that?” I asked.
“Wish I could take credit. It’s the Northern Lights.”
“Wow.”
For a few minutes, we watched the lights dance. The night was so silent I could hear the distant crackle of breaking ice and the occasional hoot of an owl. The air was pleasantly cool, like a brisk fall day.
“So where are we?” I murmured, reluctant to disturb the quiet.
“Remember that witch barmaid in La Ceiba? Said the pirate town was like—”