The Benandanti, true to their nature, didn’t much like the priestesses. When the priestesses realized the Benandanti had real supernatural powers, they cried foul ... and accused them of being exactly the kind of evil the Benandanti fought. When people wouldn’t listen, the priestesses decided to eradicate the Benandanti. That took a few generations, and by the time they succeeded, they’d ironically slid into the role of the Benandanti, convincing themselves that they were the righteous ones ridding the world of evil spellcasters. So, when the Benandanti were gone, they moved on to a more ambitious target: witches.

The entry described a secret society of women who spent their childhood and adolescence preparing for the day when they would kill a witch or two. When they “came of age,” they finally got their chance. It reminded me of religions where the young adults spend a few years traveling, spreading the word and making converts. Only these girls hit the road in hopes of killing a few witches before rejoining civilian life, marrying and raising the next generation of assassins.

Like your standard myth, it made a good story, which is why my gut reaction was to treat it as such. And yet...

According to the legend, there were very few of these families remaining, as elusive as snow leopards. When they killed, they did it in a way that wouldn’t raise any alarms, even among witches. Wasn’t that exactly how Claire and Tiffany died? One the apparent victim of a serial killer. The other likely a suicide.

Witch-hunters were said to recognize witches on sight—as sorcerers do—then stalk their victims until they found exactly the right circumstances. What if one had been following Claire Kennedy? That witch-hunter comes to Columbus, and discovers another witch ... then another. She’d think she’d struck the jackpot.

Kill Claire and link her death to the first two crimes. Kill Michael when he got too close. Kill Tiffany in an apparent suicide. And then? Well, there’s one witch left ...

“If this is right, you’re in deep shit,” Adam said, around the time I came to the same conclusion.

“I’m not backing off.”

“I don’t expect you to. Just don’t blast me with an energy bolt if I dog your steps until this investigation is done.”

“I won’t.” I eased back on the bed, pulling my feet up. “My spell casting has fizzled, remember? Damned inconvenient time for the flu.”

Adam went still. Too still. I was about to ask if he was okay, when he grabbed his laptop and began typing furiously. When he looked up, his eyes were dark with worry.

“What have you been eating?” he asked.

“Um, lots of stuff. As usual. Most of it bad for me.”

“No, what have you been eating regularly? In the last few days. Something I might have had, too.” His gaze shot to the door. “The coffee shop. You had three meals from them, and I’ve had one ... No, I was feeling a little off before that. Something else then. What have you been eating a lot of? Especially something given to you by someone else—”

His gaze swung to the table and he let out an oath. I grabbed the box of cult cookies.

“You weren’t eating these, though,” I said. “You finished off Paige’s.”

He shook his head. “No, I swiped a cult one, too. I had to see if they lived up to the advertising. I liked Paige’s better, so I finished hers.”

“Witch-hunters are young women, right?”

“Yep, and there’s a whole house of them on the hill, making cookies. Who gave you the box?”

“Megan, but it was sitting on the counter before that. I’d stepped outside with one of the girls. Anyone could have come in and dosed it.” I thought back to every contact I’d had with the young women at the cult. “It could be Megan, could be Deirdre, could be Vee ...”

I remembered someone else. Someone I’d had far less contact with. “The new girl. She was watching me, and she saw me talking to Tiffany. Remember when we were at the house while Tiffany was being killed? Megan was asking where she was.”

“Looks like we’ve got our—”

“Except for one thing. She was Claire’s replacement. She arrived in town at the same time I did.”

“Doesn’t mean she wasn’t here before. But, yeah, that makes it a little less clear cut. We need to take a closer look at all those girls. I can’t say for sure that it’s the cookies, but that’s my guess. There are a bunch of poisons that can inhibit spellcasting.”

“Poisons?”

“That’s why I’m worried. I know you’re going to hate this, but I want to get you to Portland, pay a visit to Dr. Lee.”

Lee was the physician used by most area supernaturals when they had a health concern that went beyond a cold or flu. In an emergency, we can use a regular hospital, but whenever possible we avoid it—there are things in our systems that can give wonky test results and raise eyebrows.

“So the theory would be that this witch-hunter poisoned me to reduce my spellcasting so she can get the jump on me,” I said as we prepared to leave.

“Could be. Or she might just be protecting herself against you. That Bible was left out for a reason. She knew you’d be involved in the case, and I can’t see why she’d tip her hand like that unless it was a warning.”

“So she’s not targeting me, just telling me to back off? Mmm, not so sure. I see it more as a challenge.”

Adam’s look said he didn’t like that explanation. A challenge said she intended to kill me no matter how hard I fought.

My cell phone rang. It was Bruyn.

“You were looking for me?” he said.

“I was. I wanted to get a look at the crime-scene photos if you have them.”

“Sure do. If you’ve got a minute, swing by now. I’ve got some news you might want to hear.”

thirty-four

Adam called Dr. Lee first, checking to make sure he would be in when we got there. He talked to the doctor, who agreed it sounded like one of the poisons Adam listed.

Dr. Lee said there were about a half-dozen toxins that could affect spellcasting and induce nausea. None would be immediately detectable in a cookie, if the dose was low enough. Most were mild and all I had to do was stop eating the cookies. Two of the poisons, though ... Well, I don’t know exactly what Dr. Lee said to Adam, but when he hung up, he insisted that our visit to Bruyn had to be very short.

Adam started fidgeting within sixty seconds of getting to the police station. I don’t blame him. Bruyn’s big “news” was that the results from the lab were finally in and the bullet that killed Claire hadn’t been fired from the same gun as the one that killed Ginny and Brandi.

That would have been far more useful to know a day ago. Now it only confirmed Paula’s story, though I guess it also meant Alastair hadn’t killed Claire using the same gun. Right now, though, the case wasn’t at the top of my priority list.

I did, however, want those crime-scene photos. Bruyn wanted an update first. I gave him some tidbits that would in no way implicate Paula. He seemed satisfied with that, and we were about to leave when his mother came in.

“I just got a call, sir. Bob Thorne is reporting a truck parked over by the sawmill since last night and he—”

“I’ll look into it as soon as I’m done this meeting,” Bruyn said, waving at us.

“There’s a reason I interrupted your meeting, dear.” She turned to us. “The vehicle Bob is reporting is a 1992 Dodge pickup, registered to Jesse Aanes from Seattle. Isn’t that the other young detective you’ve been workingwith?”

ADAM WAITED UNTIL the Jeep doors were shut before he blasted me. “Why the hell did you say we’d look into it? They were perfectly willing to send a cop to check it out—”

“When those cops returned from a call. In other words, it’s not a priority. And if we suspect anything supernatural, then we can’t let them go out there, can we?”