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"Uh-huh. So, when you said you'll be there, you were just blowing her off, right?"
"That's up to Jeremy. And here he comes now, with Matthew Hull in tow."
Zoe sipped her mimosa. "If you want, we can pop by Anita's place on the way to visit that friend of mine. She lives near there."
"Thought you wanted to steer clear of Anita Barrington," Clay said.
"Steering clear of a curious old woman is one thing. But an immortality-questing witch who's obsessed enough to tackle werewolves? Time to put a face to a name before I end up on the wrong end of a binding spell."
Jeremy sent us to see Anita, but with Antonio and Nick in tow for backup. When we arrived, the beaded curtain was still drawn over the front display, the sign proclaiming the shop closed. We knocked there, rang the bell for the apartment and even found--and banged on--the rear door. No answer.
Antonio broke open the back door.
"Do you want me to wait out here with Elena?" Zoe whispered.
Clay shook his head. "Nick?"
"I'll stay with the ladies."
Ten minutes later, Clay and Antonio came out.
"She's gone," Antonio said. "We found traces of blood--"
I pushed past Clay and went inside. Clay waved Nick around to cover the front, while Antonio stayed and watched the back door. Zoe came in with us.
The shop was dark and quiet. I flipped on a light.
"Tiny place," Zoe said, checking behind the counter. "Where's the--?"
She inhaled and turned, following the blood beacon over to a display table. Beside it was not "traces" of blood, but a pool of it, covering several tiles. To the left was a sneaker print--large and wide, probably male.
As I crouched beside the blood, I bumped heads with Zoe.
"Sorry," she said. "Just getting a better look."
I sniffed, then looked up at Clay. "It's hers." I turned to Zoe. "Would that much blood loss be...?"
"Fatal?" She studied the pool. "It's probably only a pint. Not fatal, but...well, you don't lose that much with a paper cut."
As I pushed to my feet, I saw another bloody print a couple of feet away. A small handprint, almost certainly not belonging to the same person who'd left the footprint. To the left of the print was what I thought was a smear. Then I got closer and saw it was a line, drawn by a bloody finger. On one side of the top was a diagonal, as if someone had started drawing an arrow, then been interrupted.
We followed the direction the arrow was pointing--the same as the outstretched handprint.
As Zoe surveyed the overstuffed bookshelf, she swore under her breath. "Let me guess, there's a clue in one of those hundred books."
"Forget it," Clay said. "No time for games."
I examined the shelf. "How about a quick round of 'what in this p
icture doesn't belong?' "
I reached down and took Anita's cookie plate off a stack of books. A folded piece of paper tucked under it fluttered to the floor.
"Clever witch," Zoe murmured.
I unfolded the note and read it with Clay looking over one shoulder, Zoe peering around the other.
Elena,
