This, Embry knew. It was how he’d been so devastating as a “witness” to investigators. The diviner was able to share exactly what he’d seen with them, like a film clip projected on a screen. This was why the vision was considered hard evidence in the magical world.
“But,” Alistair went on, “when I tried to show them, all I saw was Oakley on the field. I didn’t see Embry at all. Even though she was consistent in my vision previously, appearing each time I shared what I’d seen with the authorities. Instead, the person I saw—we saw—leaving Oakley’s body on the field was Balthazar Hale.”
Silence punctuated Alistair’s reveal.
Rye pushed off the wall, set down his espresso, and clarified, “Are you saying this corruption superimposed Embry over Balthazar in your vision of Oakley’s body in the football stadium like, I don’t know, some bad AI?”
“Not bad AI. Very good AI.” Alistair again fidgeted with his hair, trying to explain. “It was as if she’d been edited in. Like when moviemakers insert modern actors into old film reels.”
Alistair’s American-born mother, Kimberly, nodded. “The way Alistair described it, the whole thing was seamless. The vision started and ended in the same place, with the same point of view.The only difference was who was leaving the body—Balthazar or Embry.”
All three members of the Elton-Bentley clan looked to the young witch now, sympathy clearly edged in their aristocratic faces.
Lazarus rubbed a thumb along his jaw—his color was still a few shades too pale, but the vigor was fully recharged in his tone. He asked the question as directly as he would in a legal deposition. “And you believe this corruption was managed magically?”
“Yes,” replied Alistair’s British mum, Natasha. “It’s rare, but there are recorded instances of specific visions being altered by someone with both the magical skills and motivation.”
Daddy nodded. “Like a sorcerer.”
Natasha retrieved a clutch of printouts from her bag and passed them around. “Of the few instances recorded by the Table that we found, at least half were created by sorcerers. And the only one who was ever interviewed about it told the Table verbatim that he’d drawn on dark magic from the sorcerer’s well to achieve blanket corruption over a ten-acre area.”
Sharing a copy of the transcript with Rye, Embry was relieved what they were describing wasn’t a novel occurrence. Skimming the packet, she noticed something interesting—the sorcerer interviewed said he could blanket a smaller areafor daysat a time.
“Were any of your visions previously corrupted at Raven’s Head?” Embry asked, curious.
Alistair’s gaze immediately dropped to the tabletop. His throat bobbed, and again he mussed his curls. After a moment the diviner said, “Yes. I’d had a vision that showed you saying yes to going to homecoming with me if I asked you when the court was announced.”
Oh.Oh. No.
“Instead, you were summarily shot down by Embry in front of your entire friend group,” Rye clarified, direct but not harsh.
Alistair sighed. “Yeah. That wasn’t the best, but I thought it was finally my chance to shoot my shot.” He was brave enough to lift his gaze to Embry’s face. “Off the mark.”
Balthazar had taken Alistair’s fragile heart and plugged it in as part of his grand plan.
He’d been just as much of a pawn as she was. And he’d been so upset by it all, he’d literally left the last three years behind and ran home.
Twin engines of anguish for Alistair and anger at Balthazar flared within Embry.
“Then,” she said, her attention squarely on her poor friend’s face, “Balthazar used that entire exchange as an opening to offer me a corsage for the dance and to gain access to our next coven meeting, which was the same weekend as homecoming. Both those things have or may be used against me in this case. His plan was in place from that moment on.”
Those pieces painted a particular picture: Balthazar Hale was a vampire hunter.
The sorcerer came to Raven’s Head to murder Oakley Riddle, and he used Embry and Alistair to do it, before drawing the coven into the mix and the blame for Oakley’s murdered family members. If they could prove the corruption and Balthazar’s possession of Oakley’s dress, Inspector Brown might be swayed. Even if they couldn’t prove he’d been the one to siphon the vampire’s magic, though that felt more likely now.
“What does your coven meeting have to do with it?” Alistair asked.
Another round of coffee was required to explain the vampire ambush, the concurrent investigations, Embry’s waywardbreaking-and-entering attempt, and the clear threat to both Oakley’s family and the Woodcross coven.
By the time all the explaining was done, both Embry and Rye had retired to sit at the table, and Daddy had so much returned vim and vigor that he’d requested a legal pad to take notes.
“Okay, Alistair,” Lazarus began, turning to a new bright yellow sheet and stabbing his pen to the paper, “I can safely say we believe your story. Now I need you to tell us where to find Balthazar. You told Embry that’s why you were here beyond an apology, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Alistair answered quickly. “I divined that if I came to the Woodcross Residence on this particular morning I’d clear her name—which, to be frank, I owe her, not simply for our friendship but for my starring role in this mess.”
“Fine. Good,” Daddy agreed. “Where is he?”
Alistair hunched in his chair, and both his parents leaned in to touch his shoulder. “The issue is I haven’t divined where he is yet. I simply divined that if I came here, I’d clear her name andcouldfind him.”
