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"Okay."
"No, it's not okay. First, the Inquisition. Then the witch-hunts. Then centuries of quaking in the dark, too damn scared to cast a light ball, terrorized by our own kind. Nobody does this to werewolves or vampires or half-demons. Why witches?"
"Um, because no one believes in werewolves or vampires or half-demons." Adam put the laptop aside. "You're preaching to the guy who's heard the same sermon from Paige for the last twenty years. Witches get a bum deal. Always have. Personally, I'd blame sorcerers, but considering you're a sorcerer, too ..."
"Blame male sorcerers. Or maybe just males in general. Inquisitors, judges, hangmen ... they were all male."
"Are your spells still on the fritz? Or should I slink from the room while I still can?"
"I'm kidding. You know that. There are just as many bitches out there as bastards. Equal opportunity asshole-ism."
I plunked onto the bed, picked up his laptop, and read the entry.
According to the myth, witch-hunters had begun as an actual supernatural race. The Benandanti. I'd heard of them. A small race of Italian demon-hunters, not witch-hunters, although they'd been known to go after any supernaturals who used their power for evil. They were extinct now. No one seemed to know why. According to this legend, though, they'd been wiped out and replaced by witch-hunters.
Witch-hunters had been priestesses who'd held absolute power over their people with garden-variety magic--the kind every street magician knows. Then their people started trading with a nomadic tribe, which included families of Benandanti.
The Benandanti, true to their nature, didn't much like the priestesses. When the priestesses realized the Benandanti had real supernatural powers, they cried foul ... and accused them of being exactly the kind of evil the Benandanti fought. When people wouldn't listen, the priestesses decided to eradicate the Benandanti. That took a few generations, and by the time they succeeded, they'd ironically slid into the role of the Benandanti, convincing themselves that they were the righteous ones ridding the world of evil spellcasters. So, when the Benandanti were gone, they moved on to a more ambitious target: witches.
The entry described a secret society of women who spent their childhood and adolescence preparing for the day when they would kill a witch or two. When they "came of age," they finally got their chance. It reminded me of religions where the young adults spend a few years traveling, spreading the word and making converts. Only these girls hit the road in hopes of killing a few witches before rejoining civilian life, marrying and raising the next generation of assassins.
Like your standard myth, it made a good story, which is why my gut reaction was to treat it as such. And yet...
According to the legend, there were very few of these families remaining, as elusive as snow leopards. When they killed, they did it in a way that wouldn't raise any alarms, even among witches. Wasn't that exactly how Claire and Tiffany died? One the apparent victim of a serial killer. The other likely a suicide.
Witch-hunters were said to recognize witches on sight--as sorcerers do--then stalk their victims until they found exactly the right circumstances. What if one had been following Claire Kennedy? That witch-hunter comes to Columbus, and discovers another witch ... then another. She'd think she'd struck the jackpot.
Kill Claire and link her death to the first two crimes. Kill Michael when he got too close. Kill Tiffany in an apparent suicide. And then? Well, there's one witch left ...
"If this is right, you're in deep shit," Adam said, around the time I came to the same conclusion.
"I'm not backing off."
"I don't expect you to. Just don't blast me with an energy bolt if I dog your steps until this investigation is done."
"I won't." I eased back on the bed, pulling my feet up. "My spell casting has fizzled, remember? Damned inconvenient time for the flu."
Adam went still. Too still. I was about to ask if he was okay, when he grabbed his laptop and began typing furiously. When he looked up, his eyes were dark with worry.
"What have you been eating?" he asked.
"Um, lots of stuff. As usual. Most of it bad for me."
"No, what have you been eating regularly? In the last few days. Something I might have had, too." His gaze shot to the door. "The coffee shop. You had three meals from them, and I've had one ... No, I was feeling a little off before that. Something else then. What have you been eating a lot of? Especially something given to you by someone else--"
His gaze swung to the table and he let out an oath. I grabbed the box of cult cookies.
"You weren't eating these, though," I said. "You finished off Paige's."
He shook his head. "No, I swiped a cult one, too. I had to see if they lived up to the advertising. I liked Paige's better, so I finished hers."
"Witch-hunters are young women, right?"
"Yep, and there's a whole house of them on the hill, making cookies. Who gave you the box?"
"Megan, but it was sitting on the counter before that. I'd stepped outside with one of the girls. Anyone could have come in and dosed it." I thought back to every contact I'd had with the young women at the cult. "It could be Megan, could be Deirdre, could be Vee ..."
I remembered someone else. Someone I'd had far less contact with. "The new girl. She was watching me, and she saw me talking to Tiffany. Remember when we were at the house while Tiffany was being killed? Megan was asking where she was."
