There wasn’t enough rain in a monsoon to wash away the events of last night, but as I walked the sopping wet streets, it brought with it a kind of clarity.
Sophie was dead. Murdered in her own bed, just like two other witches in the Bay. Detective Alvarez had said these cases were his priority, but like all supernaturals trying to hack it in a human-dominated world, he was limited by human laws. Hell, he’d taken a vow to uphold those laws the day he joined the force. I had no doubts he’d play by the rule book on this one—do things in logical order, get proper warrants, ask appropriate questions.
Me? I had no such hangups.
Wiping a pink sleeve across my eyes, I squinted into the rain, trying to remember which block was Norah’s.
“This way, I think.” I turned down Pierce Avenue, Ronan matching my strides.
He’d spent the better part of the morning trying to talk me out of this, but when it was clear I had no intention of skipping town with him, he unpacked my bags, put everything back where he’d found it, and put the kettle on.
He even managed not to burn the toast this time. Progress.
I still couldn't wrap my mind around everything that had happened, and I was doing my best to avoid obsessing about it. Right now, the only thing keeping me going was the idea that I might be able to track down her killer.
That was my life now, my sacred mission, the one thing that would keep my heart from imploding.
“There's the house. I remember it now." I stopped in front of an old Victorian about halfway down the block, three stories high with a huge stained-glass window shaped like a star on the top floor and a sprawling front porch on the bottom that wrapped around the whole place. The house was probably once a vibrant red with bright white trim, but salt and time had left its mark, rendering it the color of overcooked salmon. I had only been there one other time—that potluck Sophie had dragged me to last year.
We can’t just keep ignoring them,she’d said.We should at least say hello…
Ronan and I climbed the porch stairs and stopped in front of the door, both of us soaked to the bone. Rain splattered against the porch roof. Under any other circumstances, it might’ve felt cozy. Romantic.
“You’re shivering,” Ronan said softly, brushing wet hair out of my eyes with his fingertips. “I’d give you my jacket, but I’m pretty sure it’s holding about ten pounds of water."
“It’s the thought that counts. How’s my face? Makeup holding up?”
Ronan scanned my face. “No sign of your vampire cage match, if that’s what you mean.”
“Score one for Sophie’s waterproof foundation.” I took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents of the bay: rotting wood, salt, the briny Salish Sea. The air was particularly fishy today, but I was okay with that. It smelled like home.
“You sure about this?" Ronan asked.
At the moment I wasn't sure about anything, but the coven was the only lead I had. I needed to know whether Sophie had come here last night. There was also a chance—much as I hated to admit it—that Norah, Haley, or any of the others knew something about my best friend that I didn't.
She'd been spending time with them for weeks—maybe months—without my knowledge. She’d been practicing her magic again, and I’d been in the dark. I couldn't discount the possibility that Sophie had other secrets, too.
“I’m sure,” I said.
Ronan didn’t look any more convinced than I felt, but when had I ever let that stop me?
I figured Alvarez had already been here to question them, and as I leaned closer to the door, the sounds emanating from the other side of the door confirmed it for me—women talking in subdued voices, the clink of silverware against china, someone blowing her nose. Sounded like the whole crew was in mourning together.
A pang of jealousy pricked my heart.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I pressed the doorbell.
The young witch who answered looked about Bean’s age, with a spray of freckles on her nose and cheeks and a curly mop of dark hair. Her blue eyes lit up when she smiled, but before she could speak, Norah appeared behind her and took over.
“Oh, Gray,” Norah said, pressing a hand to her heart. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Tall and stately, with sharp gray eyes and a tight bun of silver-gray hair, Norah Barnes looked more suited for tea with the Queen of England than leading an underground coven in the Pacific northwest. I was surprised she recognized me; I’d only met her the one time and didn’t think I’d made much of an impression.
Norah offered a slightly delayed smile. “I was hoping you'd stop by."
I wasn’t buying it.
"Reva,” Norah said, and the young witch at her side flinched. “There should be some fresh bath towels in the dryer. Why don’t you get one for Gray?”
