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THE FIRST ORDER of business at the motel was to talk to Jesse and get specifics on where he got the crime-scene photos. When we pulled in, though, the parking spot in front of his room was still empty.
"Shit," I said. "I gave him the file." I walked to Jesse's door. "Time for a little B&E. Not like he hasn't done the same to me ..." I murmured an unlock spell under my breath, then grabbed the handle and--
The knob didn't turn. I tried again. Then tried harder.
Adam shouldered me aside and used the lock-pick gun. The door opened.
We went in. As Adam retrieved the folder, I closed and relocked the door, then started to cast.
"Savannah," Adam sighed.
"It's bugging me, okay?"
I cast the spell. The door stayed locked. I focused harder and cast a fourth time and felt a whisper of relief as I heard that familiar click. The door opened.
I held out my hand and cast a light ball. When nothing happened, a weird sensation like panic settled into the pit of my stomach. As I started to cast again, my fingers trembled. I stopped and made a fist.
"Savannah ..." Adam said. "You aren't feeling well. We'll deal with it."
"Just give me a sec, okay?"
I concentrated and cast. The light ball shimmered, then went out. Another cast. It returned and stayed. Weak, but steady. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."
Adam reached out, as if he was going to put his arms around me, but stopped short.
"No need to keep your distance," I muttered. "Apparently, I'm not that dangerous today."
"Apparently you're sick today."
"I need my spells."
"They help, but you don't need them. Not as much as you think you do."
"Let's get back and check out that file."
"Changing the subject and completely ignoring the point I'm making."
I shook my head and grabbed the file.
I LEAFED THROUGH the file. The crime-scene photos--and other pages--weren't there. I read the rest, looking for anything that disagreed with Paula's story. Nothing did. Good. As I read, Adam searched his database.
"Fuck," he said. I jumped, papers sliding to the floor. By the time I'd gathered them back up, he was on his feet, still holding his laptop, reading it as he paced, mouth set, forehead furrowed.
"Found something, I take it."
"Witch-hunters," he said.
"Ah, an old and noble profession, a mere step down from that most esteemed position: Grand Inquisitor. Hate to break it to you, but the witch-hunts ended a few hundred years ago."
"Not for some people." He turned his laptop around to show me. "These ones date back even further than the Inquisition. Very rare. Very elusive. Young women who are trained from birth."
"To hunt witches?" I shook my head. "If such a thing existed, I think I'd know about it."
"Did I mention the rare and elusive part? They usually kill in a way that looks like suicide or natural death, which is what was tweaking my memory. I was searching on the Bible verse, though, and they don't usually leave such an obvious sign."
I bent to read the scree
n, then tapped the database title. "It's filed under myths and legends. Meaning it's bullshit. Mysterious trained assassins secretly killing witches?" I shook my head. "Just the kind of bogeyman a Coven--or sorcerers--would create to turn us into the cowering mice they want us to be."
