Waking the Witch (Otherworld 11)

"Whoa, and I'm still working from paper files."

"Paige kludged together an app and hacked it into the proprietary software."

"Whatever that means ..."

"No idea. To me it means we have database access on the road. Of course, I could just walk twenty feet and pull this up on a computer, but that wouldn't be nearly as impressive. Would you like the list texted to you, e-mailed, or sent to our printer?"

"Okay, now you're just showing off. Text it." He handed me a card with his cell number and I punched it in.

"So I'm guessing this is what you need from us--you supply the details and we'll access our resources to figure out which ritual you're dealing with. If we're lucky, what she has in her hand will answer all our ques

tions. Well, except whodunit. That's your job."

"See, now this is why I asked to talk to Lucas," he said. "If I showed him this, he'd be all, 'Hmm, this bears investigation. I take it you're on the case?' And I'd be, like, 'Well, I will be, right after I finish a job.' Then he'd ask if I minded if he looked into it himself and say he'd hate to take a job from me and I'd joke that it's not a paying one anyway and if he wants to take a look ..."

"So you actually brought this to us hoping we'd investigate it for you?"

His cheeks colored. "Shit. Could you just channel Lucas for a minute? Please? Make me feel like a generous colleague?"

"If you were truly generous, you'd be passing us a paying case. Being the accountant for this place, I'm all about the bills."

As I picked up the photos, my heart beat a little faster. I could take this case. My first solo investigation. I'd been asking for one since I turned eighteen. By the time I reached twenty, I realized I had to stop bugging and start working my ass off to prove I could handle it.

I had a hell of a reputation to overcome, though. I'd made more mistakes as a teen than most people do in a lifetime. Paige and Lucas knew that better than anyone. They weren't just my bosses--they'd been my guardians. I'd been twelve when my mother died, and Paige had taken me in, and she'd gone through hell because of it.

So I didn't blame them for only letting me assist in investigations. Here, though, was a case I could handle, working under the supervision of a guy Lucas trusted.

So I said, as casually as I could, "My schedule is clear this week. I'll look into it."

Jesse looked over. Sizing me up. I knew that and I could feel my hackles rising, but I kept my mouth shut because I've come to understand that I can't blame people for underestimating me. Twenty-one might feel terribly grown up to me, but to others I'm still a kid, and insisting I can handle it would sound defensive, not mature.

"Lucas says you've been doing some investigative work," he finally said.

"I've been part of the team since we opened. I've done research and legwork for the past five years. I've assisted on investigations for three. I'd even done a few small local ones myself. Yes, triple homicide isn't small, but you're looking for someone to do some legwork, presumably under your supervision."

He nodded. "If you can help me, I'd appreciate that. Normally, I'd suggest you run it past Lucas and Paige but ..."

"Under the circumstances, they're better off not worrying about me. I'll tell Adam."

"Okay. Thanks. I'm not dumping this case on you. I will jump back in as soon as I can. But this latest murder is already cooling. I hoped to get out there two days ago, but got sidetracked with this case I'm on. It's a guy I've been chasing for two years now and he finally turned up in Portland. It's just child support, but, well, the client really needs the money ..."

"And if you wait, he might bolt again."

"Exactly."

Frankly, I didn't care what his motivation was. I just wanted the job.

If it was a ritual, it was magic, probably witch or sorcerer, and I was both. Add some demon blood on my mom's side, and I was a damned amazing spellcaster. More important for this case, I had contacts in the black market and dark arts.

So I told Jesse I'd take it. I made it clear, though, that although I'd welcome his help when he was ready, I wasn't doing the legwork and dropping the case. I was the primary on this. He agreed and left me with the file.

THE MOMENT JESSE was gone, I pulled up his photo file on the computer. Everything he'd said fit with what I'd heard about the guy, but double-checking is standard procedure around here, where we have to deal with everything from unstable clients to Cabal assassins. So I checked the photo. There was no question that the guy I'd talked to was Jesse Aanes.

Next I looked up the murders on the Internet and downloaded everything I could find, which wasn't much. Ditto for the victims. I got a few hits on the latest one--Claire Kennedy--but nothing on the first two, Ginny Thompson and Brandi Degas. Yep, Gin and Brandi. Call me crazy, but naming your daughters after alcoholic beverages is just asking for trouble.

Next I worked on identifying the ritual. I'd just finished plugging in ideas for the silver object in Claire's hand--coin, amulet, key--when I glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven. If I planned to get to Columbus today, I had to get going.

I grabbed my helmet from the back room and wheeled my bike into the alley. Not a bicycle, a motorcycle. I might live in the green belt, but I'd never quite embraced the lifestyle. I drove a 1950 Triumph Thunderbird that Lucas and I had restored together. It was a sweet ride, and a lot more fuel-efficient than a car, so I could feel virtuous without sacrificing the cool factor.