"Well, I don't want to see you people either," I muttered.

I was about to let the curtain fall back into place when I noticed writing on the papers. No, not writing. Print. They were newspapers. Someone had cut out newspaper articles about me and plastered them over my front window.

There were dozens of articles, taken not just from tabloids, but from Webzines and regular newspapers. The tabloids screamed the loudest: "Lawyer Murdered in Gruesome Satanic Rite,"

"Mangled Corpses Return to Life." The Webzines were quieter, but nastier, less constrained by the threat of slander. "Kidnapped Baby Brutally Murdered in Black Mass."

"Zombie Cult Raises Hell in Funeral Homes Across Massachusetts."

The most disturbing voice, though, was the quietest. The somber, almost clinical headlines from the regular press: "Murder Linked to Allegations of Witchcraft."

"Mourners Claim Corpses Reanimated." I scanned the headers atop the articles. The Boston Globe, The New York Times, even The Washington Post. Not front-page news, but still there, tucked farther back. My story. My name. Splashed across the most prominent papers in the nation.

"They're still out there." Cortez tugged the curtain from my hand and let it fall, hiding the papers from view. "Not many, but I wouldn't advise we take the car. The Nasts have undoubtedly assigned someone to watch the house, and we don't want them following us."

"Definitely not."

"Since we have to stop at Margaret Levine's, I would suggest we walk there, going through the woods, and borrow her car."

"If she'll let us. What about your rental-oh, geez, your bike. We left it at the funeral home. I should call a tow truck-"

"I've done that."

"Good. Did they tow it someplace safe?"

He hesitated, then said, "It wasn't there when they arrived. Could you get Savannah? I knocked at her door, but she has her music too loud to hear and I didn't dare intrude."

"What do you mean, your bike wasn't there? Someone stole it?"

"So it would appear. No matter. The police have been informed and, failing that, I had an excellent insurance policy."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I should have thought-I completely forgot about it yesterday."

"Given everything that happened, the bike was the last of my concerns. You suggested we return for it before we came here, and I decided against that, so it's entirely my own fault. Now, if you'll get Savannah-"

"I'm so sorry. You should have mentioned it. God, I feel awful."

"Which is precisely why I didn't mention it. Compared to what you've lost these last few days and what you stand to lose, a motorcycle is quite inconsequential. As I said, I had insurance and I can replace it." He glanced at his watch. "We really have to go. Collect Savannah and meet me at the back door."

He gently moved me out of the way and went into the kitchen to gather his papers. I was about to follow when the clock struck six-thirty, reminding me that we did indeed need to hurry. The Salem shop that carried some of the material for Savannah's ceremony closed at nine.

I banged on Savannah's door.

"Just a sec," she called.

The music clicked off, followed by the slam of the closet and various drawers. Finally she opened the door and handed me a plastic grocery bag.

"Hold this," she said, then grabbed her hairbrush and ran it through her hair. "I figured out how we can get around without being seen. I should have thought about that earlier, but I forgot about it."

"Forgot about what?"

She pointed at the bag. "That."

I opened it and screamed.

Chapter 32

OKAY, I DIDN'T SCREAM. MORE OF A YELP, REALLY. MAYBE A SHRIEK.

What was in the bag? The long-lost Hand of Glory. Just what I wanted to see.

At my cry, Cortez came flying down the hall. Once we assured him that no one was mortally wounded, I explained how Savannah came to be in possession of the hand.

"… and then I forgot about it," I finished.

"So did I," she said. "Until now when I was putting away my homework and saw my bag."

"You put that thing in your schoolbag?" I said.

"Wrapped up, of course. The cops would never look in there. Now we can use it to sneak out of the house. We just light the fingers on fire and carry it outside. It'll make us invisible. Well, maybe not invisible, but it'll stop people from seeing us."

Cortez shook his head. "I'm afraid that's a myth, Savannah. The Hand of Glory only prevents sleeping people from waking and it does that very poorly."

"You've tried it?" she asked.

"Several times, until I learned a spell that worked better." He lifted the hand from the bag. "And smelled better. This Hand is very crudely done. Quite fresh, too. That weakens its power. Whoever made this didn't even follow the proper methods of anointing and preserving. I'd be surprised if it worked at all. I'd say its purpose is more fright than sleight."

"Dime-store magic?" Savannah said.

"Definitely. See here? Where the bone comes through? Now, if this was done correctly-"

I shivered. "Am I the only one totally grossed out by that thing?"

They both looked at me blankly.

"Apparently so," I muttered. "Can I skip this lesson? I'll start walking to Margaret's and you two can catch up."

"Paige is right," Cortez said, returning the hand to the bag. "We haven't time for this. I would suggest, though, that we take the hand along, so we can dispose of it away from the house."

I nodded and we headed for the back door. Cortez grabbed his leather jacket, then wrapped the bag as small as it would go and shoved it into the pocket. I couldn't suppress a shudder. Yes, I know I'd resolved to better accept the darker side of Savannah's nature, but I couldn't imagine ever toting around body parts as if they were tools like chalices and grimoires.

When we stepped outside, the evening was already growing cool and Savannah, dressed in a midriff-baring T-shirt, decided to run back in for a sweater.

Once she was gone, I pointed at the bag. "You really use stuff like that?"

"I use whatever works."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound…"

"A lot of magical objects aren't things I would otherwise choose to handle. It's like magic. You can refuse to learn the stronger, more distasteful spells, or you can acknowledge that they may, under some circumstances, be necessary."

"I know that. With the spells, I mean. But I'm…" I hesitated, then pushed on. "I'm having trouble with it. Getting my head around the idea that I might have to…"

"Do bad to do good?"

I managed a small smile. "Good way of putting it. I've been thinking about that a lot. Killing someone to protect Savannah. I know it might come to that, but I've never… And what if I had to do more than disable an enemy? What if protecting her meant hurting an innocent bystander? I'm really…" I took a deep breath. "I really have trouble with it."

"So do I."

I looked up at him, but before I could say anything, Savannah burst through the door.

"All set?" I asked.

She nodded and off we went.

I spent the ten-minute walk to Margaret's thinking about the grimoires. What bothered me most of all was the realization that if only Savannah had felt comfortable talking to me about her mother, we could have cleared this up months ago. Now that I'd finally been ready to listen, it might be too late.

I was still working through Savannah's story. She said that the Coven-sanctioned spells were primary spells, which you had to master before you could progress to secondary spells. Only once you knew the secondary spells could you hope to successfully cast a tertiary spell, like the ones in my secret grimoires. I'd never heard of such a thing before.