Dream Walker (Bailey Spade 1)

“I know when every one of the victims died.” Kit’s face darkens further. “We all do. When Tatum died, I was having sex.”

I blink.

“Not with Tatum, obviously.” She turns into a blond bombshell. “I got embroiled with Lola two weeks ago and only wrenched myself away from her the other day.”

“Lola’s a nymph who’s an enabler for her,” Felix whispers.

I debate muting him again; he keeps telling me things I already know.

Refocusing on Kit, I ask, “What were you doing when the elf—”

“Lola. In every case.” She flashes back to her normal self. “As you well know, when Lola and I get together, things can spiral a bit out of control.”

A bit out of control? Sure, we’ll call it that. I saw some of Kit’s dreams featuring Lola when she was in rehab. To me, it seemed like Kit wasn’t the one with the addiction—Lola was. That, or being insatiable is part of Lola’s nature. The word nymph is the root of nymphomaniac, after all.

“Can you give me some details?” I ask as Felix uncomfortably clears his throat. “Was there anything memorable about those lovemaking sessions? What did the room look like?”

When Kit smiles at me in an overly friendly way, I also clear my throat, adding, “It’s for dreamwalking.”

She tells me about the rooms they used; then, with relish, she details the positions she and Lola got into, which toys went into which orifices, how many orgasms each of them had, and how often she changed shape into something or someone Lola felt like having sex with—as well as how many phalluses each of those forms had. Though Felix usually only faints at the sight of blood, he’s so deathly silent in my earpiece that I wonder if Kit’s details have knocked him clean out.

Pulling out my phone, I make a few notes to avoid forgetting anything, as unlikely as that seems. “I’ll have to check all this in your dreams,” I tell Kit when I’m done. “But if you were with Lola the way you say, you’re not guilty.”

“Great.” She stands up. “Now who do you want to interview next?”

“Who else is strong enough?”

She turns into Kain, hooked nose and all. “An old vampire?”

“You suspect him?” I glance furtively at the door.

She turns back into herself. “I’m just telling you who’s strong.”

“But still, would Kain be working so hard to solve this case if he’s the culprit?”

“Cute.” She turns into me—a well-rested version, without bags under my eyes. “You’re assuming that hiring you is the same as ‘working hard to solve this case.’”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“Don’t be mad.” She turns back into her usual self. “You’re an amazing therapist, don’t get me wrong, and you can surely steal secrets when you try. But since when are you a detective?”

Up yours, lady. “You yourself called me a detective at the trial.”

She shrugs. “I was trying to save your life. If Kain really wanted a detective, he could glamour a human one or find someone on—”

“But I can tell when people lie to me. I can go into dreams and compare stories with memories.”

“There are more direct ways to figure out if someone is lying,” Kit says. “I’d say hiring you isn’t that.”

She’s probably talking about the man I playfully call Bowser, a member of the Council who’s currently on vacation. He simply knows, without a doubt, if someone is telling him the truth. If he were here, the case would be as simple as having him ask everyone, “Was it you?”

I wonder if that’s why the killer chose to strike now, with Bowser away indefinitely. It’s his or her only chance to get away with it.

“Let’s see if Kain lets me dreamwalk in him,” I say. “As a vampire, he doesn’t need to sleep, so it would have to be voluntary.”

“Good thinking.” Kit turns into a giant, albeit a small one, and says in a voice deep enough to sing death metal, “Another strong person is obviously Colton.”

“Who totally looks like the giants from the Skyrim game,” Felix says conspiratorially.

“Who else?” I ask.

“There’s Eduardo.” Kit turns into a shaggy-haired man not much smaller than the giant, who then morphs into a huge wolf.

“I think Eduardo looks like Donkey Kong,” Felix chimes in. “But never mention this to him, or I’m dead.”

Sure, I was totally about to walk up to a werewolf and tell him he looks like a video game gorilla. I’m that suicidal. “Okay, who else?”

Kit transforms back into herself. “Does it have to be physical strength?”

“What do you mean?”

She turns into a striking black-haired woman with thick dark eyebrows, a small hoop in her right nostril, and silver studs in the upper and lower lips. “Nina isn’t physically strong, per se,” she says in a melodic voice that I assume belongs to Nina. “But her telekinesis is so strong she could use that to rip someone in half.”