For the next few days, Sky seemed determined to avoid me, which suited me. I’d had enough of being angry at her. The dark elf magic had me on edge, and her recent actions weren’t making it easier to control my temper. Until I got that magic under control, I was a danger to her, to Josh, to everyone around me. Finding a way to rid myself of the magic, or at least get it under control, was my priority.

With any luck, the Clostra might provide an option, but that would take some time to translate, and without the third book, any spell we discovered would remain useless. My only other option was the Aufero. I’d have to find a way to steal it from Marcia that wouldn’t bring the wrath of the Creed down on the pack.

First, I’d have to find it. Marcia would never keep such a powerful object in an obvious location, such as her home, but she also wouldn’t entrust it to one of the other members of the Creed. She’d keep it close, and there was a good chance she’d use magic to hide it.

As a start, I had Stacy research any properties Marcia owned. As it turned out, she was an ambitious real estate investor. Two of the properties were currently unoccupied, which made them possible hiding places, except that they were located on the other side of town from Marcia, too far out of her reach to hide the Aufero. The other three properties were occupied by tenants, as confirmed by a check of the utility usage. She wouldn’t leave the Aufero in a location where it might be found, and where she couldn’t guarantee immediate access to it. The only other options were the two magic shops she owned and operated. She was actively involved with both of them, seemingly in equal measure.

While the shops mostly served the non-witch community with a variety of New Age ridiculousness, they did provide some under-the-counter supplies to actual witches, which meant there was a fair chance I’d be recognized if I walked in to take a look around. Word of my interest would reach Marcia, and it wouldn’t take her long to figure out what I was searching for. She’d move the Aufero to a place I’d likely never find.

Breaking in after-hours was an option, but there was a risk of getting caught. Before I went to that extreme, I preferred some stealthy reconnaissance. For that, I needed someone the witches wouldn’t connect to me, someone I could trust to keep quiet.

“I’m not a fan of this plan,” Artemis complained from the passenger seat of my parked Audi, her cognac eyes fixed on the magic shop across the street. Her copper hair, with symmetrical layers of loose waves, framed her fair, heart-shaped face.

I sighed, exasperated. “What part?”

“The part where I’m out in public with the Beta of the Midwest Pack,” she answered matter-of-factly, “where everyone can see me.”

As a clever purveyor of information, she’d spent a great deal of effort cultivating a reputation for discretion and impartiality. An orphaned were-fox, she’d learned her trade on the street from a young age, gathering whispers and selling them to the various supernatural factions; a dangerous game, but so far she’d managed to walk a delicate line. She’d proven her value to me on numerous occasions. I’d no intention of creating a problem for her.

I gestured to the neighborhood, which was quiet except for the light vehicle traffic. “There’s no one here.”

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward to glance up one side of the street, then the other. “Someone’s always watching,” she whispered.

“Then the sooner you get this done, the sooner you can go home. You know what you’re looking for?”

A sly smile twisted her lips. “Secrets.”

“Powerful magic,” I clarified. If the Aufero was hidden in the store, it would be protected by magic significantly stronger than the usual weak charms found on the shelves. While Artemis didn’t have my ability to sense magic, she was an astute observer. If Marcia was hiding anything supernatural in her shop, I was confident that Artemis would pick up on the deception.

She opened the passenger door and had one leg out before she turned back to me, as if something had just occurred to her. “If I’m recognized, it will appear strange if I don’t make a purchase.” She blinked at me, waiting with a determined innocence as I sighed and fished out my wallet. The only cash I had was a pair of hundred-dollar bills, one of which I owed her when she completed the job. She wet her lips as I handed her the other bill.

“I want change,” I insisted.

She tapped a knuckle to her forehead as if she were doffing a cap, then slipped on a pair of sunglasses and stepped out of the Audi. I watched as she gracefully strolled across the street and disappeared into the magic shop. From my vantage point parked in an alley across the street, I had an easy view of the shop, though the tinted windows prevented me from seeing inside. I kept the car running, assuming she would return in a few minutes.

After what seemed like an hour, I glanced at the time on my phone. Twenty minutes had passed. What the hell is she doing? For a moment, I wondered if she’d been discovered, but that didn’t make sense; even if someone there recognized her, there was no reason to link her to me.

A sudden dizziness washed over me. I cradled my forehead in my palms, focusing on the pressure until the sensation passed a few seconds later. When I looked up, I was startled to see Dennis standing in front of my Audi. He wore the same cheap blue suit I’d seen before, but instead of a bloody shirt, four deep slashes as if from claws cut across his face, beginning at his forehead and ending below his cheek. The wounds looked fresh, seeping blood.

Beneath the gore, he glared down at me in furious judgment. “Why?” he demanded.

Aside from the fact that he was dead, something about Dennis wasn’t right. I sniffed the air. Just as before, there was no scent to accompany him, not even the distinctive metallic smell of blood.

His lips contorted into a snarl. “You can’t just do what you want and get away with it.”

Seeing the pistol rising in his hand, I put the car in gear and stabbed the gas pedal with my foot. The Audi leapt toward Dennis. I braced myself for the impact, expecting him to roll up the front end and crash into the windshield. Instead, he seemed to disappear. The Audi jumped into the street and was struck by an SUV as it tried to veer away.

Somehow, I’d missed him at point-blank range. Impossible!

Anticipating gunshots, I threw open the Audi door and leapt out, still reeling from the shock of the collision. People were emerging from the local businesses and cars were already backing up, but there was no sign of my dead detective. Had I run him over after all? Where he’d stood in the entrance to the alley, the concrete appeared impossibly free of bloodstains. I grimaced; even if he’d escaped the collision, which I doubted, his wounds should’ve left an obvious blood trail.

I turned my attention to the SUV, where a woman emerged in a panicked rush from the driver’s seat. “You flew right in front of me. What were you thinking?”

I calmly drew a card from my wallet and handed it to her. “I accept fault,” I said, putting her at ease. The damage to her SUV was minor, but the front corner of the Audi was completely smashed. It was going to cost a fortune to fix. “You should go to the hospital and get checked out. I insist. I will cover all of your expenses.”

She glanced between the card and me. She hadn’t been in an accident before and didn’t know what to do, I guessed.

“Do you have your phone?” I asked. When she showed me, I explained, “You should take pictures of the damage to both vehicles, and be sure you get one that includes my license plate.”

She blinked at me, then set about following my instructions while the light traffic flowed around us. Once she was satisfied, I took her contact information before she drove away.

Frowning at the crushed front tire, I called roadside assistance for a tow. As I pocketed my phone, I watched Artemis stroll out of the magic shop with two seemingly full shopping bags in her hands. Only when she stopped in front of me did she acknowledge the accident with a sardonic frown. “I thought you wanted to be discreet.”

My gaze drifted to the bags in her hands. An obnoxious potpourri of perfume and floral fragrances wafted from one of them.

“I assure you that every one of these items was entirely necessary to avoid detection,” she whispered. “Especially the bath fizz thingies.”

I sighed, then asked, “Did you find anything?”

Her gaze flicked over the crowd before she answered in a low voice, “Nope. I gotta go. Pay me later.” She saw a cab approaching and waved it down.

There was still the other magic shop to check out, but that would have to wait for another day, most likely without Artemis.

“Do you have enough?” I asked.

“I have the change,” she winked at me, then slid into the back of the cab. The driver received her instructions, then drove away.

Waiting for the tow truck gave me plenty of time to scowl at the gawkers and wonder what I’d witnessed. I’d never actually seen Dennis’s body. Michaela had informed me, gloating, that she’d killed him, and I’d no reason to doubt her. Regardless of his skill as a detective, he’d have been no match for her, and Michaela wasn’t one to show mercy. Dennis is dead, I told myself, and I didn’t believe in ghosts, which left only magic. As far as I knew, it wasn’t possible to raise the dead, but I wasn’t fool enough to believe I knew all of the types of magic that were out there.

Hours later, I parked a powder blue Prius in my driveway. The mechanic had offered me the loaner. The Prius was all they had available and I wasn’t in the mood to wait for a cab. I’d have Markos return the loaner for me in the morning.

Once inside my house, I slipped off my shoes, poured myself a Scotch, then sank onto the couch, my mind still fixated on Dennis. I couldn’t explain why he seemed devoid of any scent, and there was something about his wounds that I couldn’t quite put a finger on. I started to call Josh, then thought better of it. Once he learned that I’d gotten the detective killed by Michaela, I’d never hear the end of it—not that I didn’t deserve the rebuke, but I needed his full attention on the Clostra.

When it came to Dennis, there was only one person I could think of who might provide answers. I found the napkin with Caroline’s number in my jacket, retrieved a burner phone from my desk, and arranged for us to meet for a drink that evening.

I chose a popular nightspot that appealed to the burgeoning tech crowd. No one knew me there, a precaution against the inevitable moment when David would simply cease to exist. Should Caroline come looking for him, I didn’t want to leave her with any avenues into my world. At the center of the open floor, a gas fire burned hot in an oversized brick hearth. Small round wooden tables dotted the floor, flanked by plush, high-backed armchairs and cushioned benches. I arrived early to find Caroline was already seated next to the hearth. Her raven hair was straight, and she’d changed her black jeans and jacket for a clingy black sheath dress that fell mid-thigh, complimented by elegant blood-red heels. The pendant with the black crystal graced her cleavage. She’d dressed to be noticed, I realized, a temptation I’d have to avoid.

She seemed preoccupied, withdrawn into anger, even. When she noticed me standing in the doorway, her expression softened, almost as if she’d flipped a switch. She smiled as she gave a slight wave to catch my attention.

As I approached the table, she rose and offered me her hand. We exchanged some minor pleasantries, sat, then ordered drinks.

“Thank you for meeting me,” I began, having already mapped out the rest of our conversation. I’d allowed for some minor variance, but I wouldn’t allow the conversation to drift any more than necessary to give it the semblance of spontaneity.

Smiling, she folded her arms over the table in front of her and leaned forward slightly, displaying her interest. Her deep russet eyes blinked. “I admit I was surprised to hear from you,” she said. “I assume you learned something when you were asking around about my father?”

Manipulating Dennis’s daughter didn’t give me pleasure, but I was out of options. First I needed to gain her trust. I leaned toward her, mirroring her movement. My gaze fixed on hers. “I’m part of a group of enthusiasts who enjoy investigating unsolved crimes,” I explained. From my previous research, I knew of her own interest and involvement with similar groups.

Her eyebrows rose skeptically, but her curiosity was aroused. “You didn’t mention that before.”

“Because we have active law enforcement members, my group prefers to operate under the radar. We work strictly pro bono. Of course, we cannot promise results, but when we accept a case, we commit all of our resources to it. With your permission, I’d like to present your father’s case to the group.”

“As it happens, I’m pretty active in the cold-case community online. Maybe I’ve heard of your group. What’s it called?”

The best lies were built on brittle details. There was no point giving her a name she wouldn’t find through a Web search, which she would do the moment she returned to her hotel. “As I said, we prefer to keep a low profile. I’ll understand if you’re not interested in our help, but we could be a resource to you.”

She leaned back, folding her hands in her lap as she made a show of consideration, but I knew by the spike in her heart rate that she was going to accept. “I guess I’ve got nothing to lose, right? The police have already given up. Again.” She explained quickly, “The only hope they had for a lead was the contents of my father’s office, but the landlord claims that the contents were stolen. Disappeared, as if by magic, he claims.” She laughed. “More likely it’s buried in the municipal dump, or he sold it to some scavenger.”

I nodded, showing a proper look of concern. “I appreciate your trust. I know these are trying times for you.”

She brushed off the courtesy. “What do you need from me?”

“Is there anything you can share with me about your father that you haven’t already told me?”

“Like what?”

“Did he have any social or activity groups? Anything unusual or fringe? Something that might seem easy to dismiss in other circumstances?”

She shook her head.

“Any unusual beliefs?”

“Like what?” Her gaze darkened as she said, “You mean, did he believe in werewolves?”

I clamped my jaw shut and barely stopped my eyebrows from rising reflexively, then wondered at her smug smile. Had I betrayed my surprise in some other fashion? It was an offhand comment that was meaningless to anyone but me, anyone who wasn’t a werewolf. Is she baiting me? I wondered, but quickly decided that she must’ve meant the question as a joke. Holding her gaze, I waited for her to commit further or change the subject.

Like most people, silence quickly made her uncomfortable.

“He didn’t really believe in anything or anyone,” she said. “He’d laugh if he knew that I went to a witch to find out who’d killed him.”

I chuckled, showing just the right amount of mirthful incredulity. “A witch?”

She explained in a rush, “I’m not saying the witch was real or anything. I just needed to do something besides hand out fliers.”

“I understand. There are stories of psychics successfully helping to solve crimes. But there are many more stories of vulnerable people being taken advantage of by unscrupulous con artists.”

While I waited for her to continue, Caroline reached out to her wineglass, slowly turning it with her fingers gliding across the stem. She smiled coyly as she said, “I suppose it’s telling that she threw in a curse for an extra twenty.”

Most street witches were con artists or New Age wannabes, but there were a few legitimate witches who plied their more modest skills to the general public in order to earn a living. Under normal conditions, I would’ve dismissed her witch out of hand, but a curse could explain a great deal. Had she stumbled into the den of an actual witch?

“A curse?” I asked in an appropriately mocking tone.

She nodded, explaining dramatically, “Whoever was responsible will be haunted by my father’s ghost until driven to their death.”

“Do you remember the witch’s name?”

“I’m not sure I asked.”

“Do you remember where the witch’s office was?”

She answered with a sideways look. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“I don’t like seeing someone taken advantage of.”

She grunted, her skepticism set aside but not broken. “I found a card in some New Age shop and called the number. Honestly, it was a relief just to take some action. I don’t feel cheated, but if you really want the number, I’ll get it for you. I still have the card at home.”

“Thank you.”

“I have to admit, I like the idea of my father’s ghost stalking his killer, getting into his mind, and driving him mad until he makes a mistake and gets what he deserves.”

I couldn’t deny her that. “Revenge is a powerful motivator. Sometimes, that’s all we have left.”

She sipped from her wine, studying me over the lip of her glass. “Your interest in my father’s case surprises me.”

“As I said, it’s a passion of mine, and your story is compelling.” I’d learned everything I could. It was time to extricate myself before she turned the questions on me, which was inevitable. I glanced at my phone, affecting surprise.

“Tell me about your group,” she said, leaning toward me. “What was it that got you involved in the first place?”

With a perfectly weighted sigh, I returned the phone to my pocket. “I’m afraid I’m needed at work.”

“An emergency auto claim?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she took another sip of wine.

“I’m a fraud investigator,” I said, rising. I put enough cash on the table to cover the check and the gratuity. “My apologies. If you could forward me the contact number, I have some questions for your witch.”

“Do you have a card this time, David?”

I padded my pockets, shrugged.

“You’re a terrible businessman,” she teased.

“The number I called you from is a direct line. It was a pleasure meeting you again,” I said.

I left the bar in a hurry to continue the charade. Once home, I wrote “David” on the back of the burner phone and set it on the coffee table in front of me. There was nothing to do but wait for her to forward me the contact information of her witch.