In the absence of having an office to work out of for the next thirty days, I turn my kitchen into a lab. I print and hang photos of all of the victims on the walls – not that I need them, since their ghosts are always around, always watching.

Well, I think they go away when I have sex. At least, I hope they do. Geesh. How embarrassing it would be to have an audience of the undead for that show. Hopefully they at least close their eyes. Can ghosts close their eyes? So many questions. I’ll have to open a whole new investigation on these issues.

Anyway, I put up a white board and write down all the things I know. First, I know that there is a warlock master who wants to impregnate witches with some new, super-magical spawn babies. Yuck. Second, I know he wants to start war with other supernatural creatures – werewolves, vampires and the like – and wipe them all off the map. Third, I know he needs to complete four more murders to complete the spell that will create these super-powerful witch babies. Fourth, I know that acolytes do visit the framed murder suspects. They put some kind of substance on their food, cigarettes, drinks, or whatever, in order to put them under the influence of the spell. Fifth, I know the warlock is well-dressed and has short, brown hair.

I look at my list and sigh heavily. This is not helpful.

To the side, I’ve written down the name Alvin Quick. He’s the State Senator who matches the profile in number five. And he seems to have invested in companies tied to the Centerfold Club. This is not enough to go on, not really, but I need to keep him on my radar, do more digging.

On a second white board, I write down what I know about my powers as a witch, as well as questions that I have about those powers. First, I know that I can see ghosts. They appear after they are murdered and they leave only when they feel they have achieved peace. So far, I haven’t been able to communicate with them, but could I? Could they help me in some way? Second, I seem to be able to have visions. There is no rhyme or reason to how and when they come on. Can I tap into them purposefully? Third, I can slip into the minds of vampires, see what they see, know what they are thinking. This is useful, but they can feel me there. It is a dangerous talent to employ. How can I learn to use it without alerting the vampire to my telekinetic presence? Fourth, I can see auras. Sometimes. It was helpful with Vivienne, obviously, but how can I tap into that skill when I want to?

I have not been back to the coven since my weird evening there. I do not have much by way of memories about the experience of trying to unlock my abilities. Joseph told me that Mika would need to get inside my head, create a stress trigger that would cause my abilities to manifest, but I woke up in my own bed with only a very specific feeling of white-hot pain, a very clear vision, and three days lost.

It makes me wonder what they learned, what they gleaned from my head that they will use against me at some point in the future. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps they determined that my abilities are not as amazing as they expect. Perhaps I am not as powerful as everyone thinks I am.

My gut tells me they know more about me than I know about myself right now. What will be the price of finding out just how much, though? I contemplate Vincent’s offer. Should I go through the Binding with him? Because we share blood, I there is already a bond between us – a powerful one, if Mika’s desire to sever it was any indication. In the days following our couplings, we can communicate telepathically from any distance. The ability is dulled as time passes in between, though I can almost always get his attention, even if he hasn’t had my blood for a long period of time. Apparently, these connections will become permanent and even more powerful if we are Bound. And forever. There will be no way to sever the connection, apart from death, and debilitating pain is the consequence to any vampire who tries to hurt or control a human who is Bound to a vampire.

This seems like a good idea, in principle. I have no reason not to trust Vincent. I know him and am connected to him in ways that would only be enhanced by this Binding. It would help to keep me safe from other vampires. What is the downside of being supernaturally “married” to Vincent?

Damon. Damon’s face comes right into my head as soon as I pose the question to myself. I care for Damon. I love him. And while he has been remarkably calm about my relationship with Vincent thus far, I cannot imagine he would take kindly to a more permanent bond between Vincent and me. Damon envisions us in some normal kind of life someday. Or at least…he did, once.

I cannot do this without talking to him, without knowing that he won’t be walking back through the door, coming home to me. I need to at least try to talk with him before I say yes to Vincent.

So…if I were a Hunter, where would I be?

Damon purposely never told me much about his work. I think, in part, he did not want me to get involved. He knew I was more accepting of supernatural creatures than he, and it would have put us at odds even more if I had known the details of his cases, of the beings he Hunted. To him, monsters were monsters and there were no shades of grey.

Even though we did not talk about his work, I do remember the name of a bar. He told me once that a bar called Ozzy’s was a common place for unsavory sorts of supernatural creatures to congregate. He had said, “Don’t ever, ever go there, under any circumstances.”

So, naturally, I am going to go there. There has to be a Hunter around, right? And he or she would want to protect an innocent human in a nest of creatures, right?

I dress in jeans and a Big Bang Theory t-shirt, styling my newly-cut hair and even throwing on a little bit of makeup. I have no idea what I am doing though, so I just stick with a little bit of mascara, which I get in my eye, and a little bit of lipstick, which tastes like an old-lady’s perfume.

No, you can’t take me anywhere.

I drive to the bar, finding it buzzing with activity now that it is after dark. I step out of the car, watching as two huge vampire males walk out back with a young, human female.

That can’t be good. Nope.

So, what do I do? Am I a good girl who goes inside and orders a drink and waits for someone Hunter-ish to show up? No, of course not. This is me we are talking about, so I go running in the direction of the threesome, ready to interrupt someone’s meal.

A huge, bearded man with an eye patch beats me to the melee, though. Tristian. And another young man I do not recognize. They easily stake the two vampires as they feed, and I am left to catch the stunned young woman as she falls, blood dripping from both sides of her neck.

“Th-th-they were…” Her teeth chatter as she tries to get the words out.

“Yep,” I say. “What were you doing with them?”

“I was, they were, they said they’d pay me for a good time,” she says.

“Get out of here,” Tristian says to the woman. “Go home. Take an iron supplement for a few days. Don’t come back here.”

She hiccups and nods, getting to her feet, running toward a beat-up car. As she drives away, Tristian turns to face me. He is livid.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.

“Trying to find you. It was easier than I thought it would be,” I say.

“What in the ever-loving hell would make you come to a place like this?” he asks. “You really are one of the dumbest women I have ever met.”

“Aww,” I say sweetly. “I love you, too, big guy.”

“What do you want, Amy?” he asks.

The younger Hunter’s eyes go wide. “Amy? Is this…”

“Shut it, Finn,” he says. “Go inside and order me a beer. I’ll be right in.”

Finn mumbles something but slumps off toward the bar.

“What was that about?” I ask.

“Not a damn thing,” he says. “I’ll ask you again – what do you want? And make it quick because I’ve got work to do.”

“I need to know Damon’s okay,” I say. “Did he tell you what happened?”

Tristian stares at me, lips pursed, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s fine.”

I stare right back, waiting for him to elaborate.

“He’s gone, Amy,” he finally says. “He wanted to be far away from you so he got reassigned to Eastern Europe. He left a week or two ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”

My heart drops into my stomach. Eastern Europe. Gone. Really gone.

“He told me that falling for you was the worst thing he’d ever done. That he wanted to forget,” Tristian says. “You should try to forget, too. You two are bad for each other.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think we were bad for each other.”

“Neither of you thought with your heads when it came to each other. You both nearly died trying some bullshit hero stuff. You think you could ever be normal? That the two of you would just move to the suburbs and all this shit would just go away? No. That wasn’t going to happen, and one or both of you would’ve ended up dead. Now he’s back where he was meant to be. He’s focused and happy and you need to go off and live your life.”

“I never wanted him to give up being a Hunter,” I say. “You know that. I only ever wanted him to be happy. To do what he does best.”

He snorts. “You made him question himself at every turn. You defended monsters to him.”

“Monsters who helped save his life,” I say. “Who helped save mine.”

He makes a dubious noise. “Whatever. I’ve got to go do my work now. You finished?”

“I’m finished,” I say.

He marches past me and doesn’t look back.

I stand for a long time under the wan light of a street lamp that is buzzing and ready to go out. Could it be true? Could Damon really be halfway across the world now, just to get as far away from me as possible?

Is it because he could not bear that he’d hurt me? Perhaps he went so far away to try to keep me safe from him. But that’s stupid. He is not a stupid man. And I believe that he still loved me, even when he walked out the door.

Still, that is a long way to go, and I realize that he is probably never coming back.

It is still early enough in the night that I drive to Faye’s shop and find it open. She keeps strange hours. I find about six actual customers in the shop when I arrive. It’s weird.

“It’s a zoo in here,” I say as I approach her at the counter.

“Solstice approaches,” she says. “all the fake witches come out in full force on pagan holidays.”

“Hm,” I grunt as I look over the jewelry in the glass case separating the real witch from the fake ones.

“You’re visiting at an abnormal time,” she observes. “I assume you need something.”

It’s not a question. Faye has never been one for small talk, but it irks me that I know so very little about her after all we have been through together.

“I tried to find Damon,” I say. “He’s gone. Tristian said he went to Europe.”

“It’s probably for the best,” she says.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I ask.

“Because you barrel into things head-first. He barrels into things head-first. That is dangerous enough, but when you add in emotions, the barreling becomes even more reckless and ill-advised. It’s better if you don’t put gasoline on that fire.”

“I love him, though,” I say.

“Well, I love pizza but that doesn’t mean I should eat it every day.”

I stare, open-mouthed, at her as she fiddles with a pendant chain that is all twisted into knots. She doesn’t acknowledge the look on my face, the one that indicates how crazy I think she is for comparing my relationship with Damon to her feelings about pizza.

I get what she means, I guess. Sometimes the things we love aren’t healthy for us. But I refuse to believe that Damon and I couldn’t figure this out, get past all the drama and just have a healthy relationship. It doesn’t matter now, though. He’s gone and he won’t be coming back. All I can do is move on.

I decide to change the subject, lighten the mood.

“Are you from LA originally?” I ask.

She rolls her heavily-lined eyes. “Really, Amy?”

“I’m genuinely interested,” I say. “I know so little about you.”

She sighs, annoyed, as a customer approaches with some white candles and a book on mastering candle spells. She eyes the items, eyes the customer, and rings up the purchase without any comment. As the customers leave, she says, “Witchcraft 101.”

“Customers like those probably pay your rent,” I say. “You should be nicer to them.”

“I’m not un-nice,” she says. “But I also won’t fake nice for people who don’t bother to ask questions. They come in here because they are curious or looking for excitement. They are not real witches. Not usually.”

She grumbles something unintelligible before saying, “Ohio.”

I give a quizzical look in return.

“I’m originally from Ohio. Columbus, to be specific. I dated a musician for a while. We moved here. We broke up. I stayed.”

I nod. “Good story.”

“You asked,” she says grumpily.

“I did. Thank you for sharing,” I say. “How did you realize you were a witch? A real witch, I mean.”

“I kept having premonitions. I was in, like, ninth grade and I would have these weird feelings. Like, all of the sudden, I would just know that Ryan’s mom was looking for him, or that Cherry needed to avoid getting in her car all right after school. I never knew why, unless something obvious happened or someone told me later. At first everyone thought I was crazy or that I was trying to get attention. But when Cherry avoided an accident on her route home from school, or Ryan found out his father had a heart attack, they started to believe me.”

“Did you have a mentor? Or did you have to teach yourself?” I ask.

“I certainly didn’t know anyone else who could do what I did. I started dressing all goth and charging people for their premonitions. It wasn’t until I got out here, with Harvey, that I started recognizing the energy of other witches.”

“Harvey…he was you ex?”

“She,” Faye says. “Harvey is a female.”

“Oh,” I say.

“Yes, my ex,” she says. “She was – is – in a punk band.”

“When did you break up?” I ask.

She lifts a shoulder. “Couple years ago.”

“Was it something you wanted?” I ask. “The breakup?”

She looks at me sharply. “Sharing time is over. I know you’re, like, mooning over Damon and whatnot, but I am not interested in having a sleepover and baring our souls together.”

I put up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Well, then, let’s talk about bad warlocks, then. Any luck on your end?”

She tends to another customer’s question about herbs, offering a slightly less put-off attitude than with the customer before. She even says “Thank you” as the person leaves.

“That was better,” I say.

“Whatever,” she says, popping a bubble with her gum. “In answer to your question, yes. I have heard through a source wishing to remain nameless, that there is a warlock fitting the description from your vision. Matthew Quick.

“Quick?” I ask.

“Yup.”

“Hm. Well, I came across a State Senator named Alvin Quick who has some loose dealings in some of the varying holding companies that are tied to the Centerfold Club. Could it be the same person?”

“This guy’s an actor,” she says. “Lives in Beverly Hills.”

“Brother, maybe?” I ask.

“No idea. My source just said he fits the bill.”

“Thanks, Faye,” I say. “Nice talking to you.”

“The feeling was not mutual,” she says as I turn for the door.

I turn back and say, “Liar. You love me.”

My phone is to my ear as soon as I am back in the car. Cara answers on the first ring.

“Hey,” she says. “What’s up?”

“Do you know the name Matthew Quick?” I ask.

“Everyone does,” she says. “You know it, too. Or, I’d be surprised if you didn’t, since you watch so many movies.”

“It’s not ringing a bell,” I say.

She rattles off several movies that I recognize and we talk about which characters he played in each one. Slowly, his face comes into focus.

“Oh, oh,” I say. “Yes, I’ve got it now. I know who he is. Thank you.”

She laughs. “Was there a purpose to that little trivia game?”

“Yes. He’s a person of interest in a case I am working on. How do I meet him?”

“You’re a cop, Amy,” she says. “Just go question him.”

“Well, about that…” I say, cringing as I watch the road ahead of me. “I’m on thirty-day leave, so I can’t really, officially, question him.”

“Why are you on leave, Amy?” she asks, suddenly very serious.

“A colleague of mine died while I was with her. We went to lunch. She felt sick, ran from the table. I followed to check on her and she collapsed.”

“Nothing you said leads me to believe you would be put on leave for that,” she says. “What are you not telling me?”

“Rick is not happy with me the past year,” I say. “I haven’t been myself. He didn’t believe that I had nothing to do with her death.”

“Well that’s just stupid,” she says. “You would never hurt someone.”

“I am not a suspect. He just wants me to get counseling or something. I just ant to solve this case. Women are dying, Cara. I can’t just sit by and let it happen.”

She takes a deep breath. “Well, listen, Tony heard us talking about Matthew Quick and I guess they worked on a film together. Quick is having a party next weekend. He’ll get us all an invite.”

“Awesome,” I say. “So…you and Tony?”

“Things are good,” she says. I hear the smile in her voice. There is a heartbeat of silence and she lowers her voice to say, “Amy, I’ve been having…memories. Bad ones. We can talk about it later but I…”

“Okay,” I say. “Yes. Let’s talk soon, alone.”

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too.”