When did you get so paranoid, Luna? I wondered as the stamped-bra.s.s elevator doors closed behind me. I think it was probably right around the time a car bomb went off in my face. I had no reason to trust any of these witches, and even less reason to trust Shelby since she was the only one who had (a) lied to me and (b) could hurt me and (c) would probably do both if I threatened her comfortable blood-money lifestyle. I wondered as the stamped-bra.s.s elevator doors closed behind me. I think it was probably right around the time a car bomb went off in my face. I had no reason to trust any of these witches, and even less reason to trust Shelby since she was the only one who had (a) lied to me and (b) could hurt me and (c) would probably do both if I threatened her comfortable blood-money lifestyle.

The elevator opened on the twentieth floor with a ding, and I went down two doors to Shelby's. I pressed the bell and felt ridiculous standing out of the way, pressed sideways against the jamb, but that didn't stop me from doing it.

"Door's open!" Shelby hollered from inside. Her apartment was done in those soft ladylike colors that I imagine all wealthy people use in their homes-a white sofa and a s.h.a.ggy tan rug, pastel peach countertops in her kitchen and a large brocade chaise that Shelby was propped on, her bandaged leg on a pile of pillows.

"This beats the hospital," I said, hesitating to walk on floors that probably cost more than my entire cottage.

"I couldn't stay in there another day," said Shelby. She had deep blue half-moons under her eyes and looked drawn, the way anorexics and addicts get sallow and lifeless at the end of their cycles.

"Valerie Blackburn went missing a little while ago," I said. That brought a spark back into her eyes, but she pretended to be interested in rearranging her cashmere throw.

"Shame."

"Yeah, it is a shame, especially since I know you know where she is."

Shelby sighed. "We've been over this, Luna-I can't help you." Her tone was flat, like she was shooing away a panhandler. My jangled nerves had been looking for an outlet all day, and I picked up the closest object- some sort of pricey-looking terra-cotta vase-and flung it against the wall with all of my strength.

"Don't tell me you can't help, Shelby," I said softly, my voice dropping into the threat register. "And tell me you can't help, Shelby," I said softly, my voice dropping into the threat register. "And don't don't play this game with me again, because you'll lose." play this game with me again, because you'll lose."

Calmly, her right hand appeared from under the throw, holding a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson .38 Special. Powerful little guns. Popular with cops. "Leave," Shelby told me.

"You'd really shoot me?" I asked. "You'd gun your partner down in cold blood because of this family you belong to?"

Shelby shook her head, but her gun hand never wavered. "You don't understand, Luna. You can never never understand. For them, I'd jump off the top of this building. I'd kill for them. It's just what my uncles demand. If you don't do things by their code you're dead anyway." understand. For them, I'd jump off the top of this building. I'd kill for them. It's just what my uncles demand. If you don't do things by their code you're dead anyway."

I swallowed, because my throat was closed with that d.a.m.ned self-preservation-induced fear. Could I disarm Shelby before she killed me? Maybe. Before she shot herself? h.e.l.l no.

"You told me right after we met that imbalances of power bother you," I said. "You preach this O'Hallorans Forever c.r.a.p, but you left. You became a detective because it bothers you, what they do. I saw it in your eyes when we met Patrick. You hate them as much as Victor Blackburn does."

Shelby's nostrils flared and her eyes took on a wet glitter. Good. If she cried, I could disarm her.

"Don't make me kill you, Luna," she hissed.

"Don't make me believe you will, Shelby," I said. "Listen, put aside what you feel for just a second. Be a cop, not the black sheep. Valerie Blackburn is fifteen. She's a victim, and you know that she's going to be killed." I gambled on one step toward Shelby. The gun jumped up at me, level with my eyes. c.r.a.p. c.r.a.pc.r.a.pc.r.a.p. Why was I always always the one who ended up on the receiving end of bad situations? the one who ended up on the receiving end of bad situations?

Adrenaline junkie, my traitorous inner Luna whispered. my traitorous inner Luna whispered. Never satisfied until things are in flames. Never satisfied until things are in flames.

"If I help you they'll know," Shelby sniffed.

"And what will you have lost?" I said. "Trust me, Shelby. I know you can never win back approval that was never given in the first place." And I did know that, which might explain why I was half glad to get the bite as a teenager. It made me brave enough to get the h.e.l.l out of San Romita and make a real life for myself.

"G.o.ds!" Shelby cursed. She thumbed back the .38's hammer and my heart skipped with it. "Why did you have to run this down? Why couldn't you just let it go as some dumb junkie dying a dumb death?"

"Because I do my job well," I said. "And so do you. You're a good cop, Shelby. Don't become what your family thinks you are."

She shuddered like I'd slapped her, and then dropped the gun on the floor, covering her face with her hands. Her shoulders quivered as she broke down without a sound.

First, I picked up the gun, eased the hammer down, and put it in the waist of my jeans, where no one could get any crazy ideas. Then I went and sat next to Shelby, rubbing her back until she'd emptied herself of sobs.

"G.o.ds," she said again. "I've been so terrible. I'm just a terrible, terrible partner."

"Not that I made it very easy," I conceded. "Listen, if you want some touchy-feely sentiment, make an appointment with Dr. Merriman. Where's Valerie?"

Shelby scrubbed at her eyes with the silk cuff of her pajamas. "Seamus would take her to Basin Lake. We have a private lodge there. It's very isolated, especially in the fall."

Basin Lake was over two hours east of Nocturne City, in the foothills of the Sierra Fuego range. For all I knew, Valerie was dead already.

"Thank you," I told Shelby, and meant it. For someone I'd disliked instantly, our partnership could have turned out worse.

"I hope she's all right," said Shelby.

I was already dialing Mac on my cell phone. "So do I."

"Get over to the precinct house, now," had been Mac's only sentence when I'd called him to request backup at Basin Lake.

"Mac, I don't have time for this! A girl's life is in danger!"

"I don't care if Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ have returned to earth and are out there in the street doing a cha-cha with Saint Peter," Mac yelled. "Get your a.s.s back here now or I fire you on the spot!"

The phone went dead in my ear. I had never heard Mac sound so angry-but Valerie was still going to die whether I was fired or not.

"s.h.i.t," I muttered. If I went to save her without jurisdiction, or authority, nothing against her kidnappers would stick, and anything I I did, like shooting someone deserving in the head, would. did, like shooting someone deserving in the head, would.

I darted the Fairlane through traffic like a shark cuts through an oceanful of swimmers, missing b.u.mpers and fenders and mirrors by inches. I didn't have time for this-whatever Mac wanted, it had better be good.

Rick gave me a sympathetic look when I stormed into the precinct house. "She's waiting for you in her office."

Oh, this was the last freaking straw. I was a homicide detective, not a juvenile delinquent to be summoned to the princ.i.p.al's office at her whim. I threw open Morgan's door. "What!"

She looked furious, all pretense of the cool career woman erased from her pink face. "You are a disgrace!" she barked. "You deserted a crime scene and have repeatedly disobeyed my orders! Hand over your badge and gun and get out of my station!"

I blinked. "You're firing me?"

Morgan laughed. Not a pleasant laugh, a coyote laugh. Predatory. "You think I'd give you the satisfaction of collecting unemployment after the h.e.l.l you've put the department and the O'Hallorans through? I'm suspending you without pay, pending a psych evaluation."

Now the truth came out. "Did Seamus O'Halloran put you up to this?"

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "What are you insinuating, Detective?"

"That Seamus is persuasive," I said. "Rich, and persuasive."

Morgan looked at the ceiling, clenching and unclenching her hands like she wanted to put a fist through something. Probably me. "Give me your shield and weapon, Luna."

"No," I said, surprising both of us. "No, ma'am, I'm sorry. Seamus O'Halloran is a kidnapper and a killer and if you won't let me prove it then I respectfully decline to obey your instructions. You'll just have to suspend me by force. Ma'am."

The flush went out of Morgan's cheeks and she shook her head at me. "Un-freaking-believable," she muttered. We both stood there, she at a loss, until I stepped back into the hall and quickly walked away before Morgan could collect herself. McAllister caught me by the bullpen.

"What the Hex happened?"

"I think I'm suspended," I said, "but that part wasn't real clear."

Mac heaved a sigh. "Again?" Suspending me had been one of former Captain Roenberg's favorite hobbies.

"Looks that way," I said. "Listen, I'm headed up to Basin Lake. Sorry to have caused you all this trouble."

Mac stopped me with a hand. "Why are you going after Seamus O'Halloran, Luna? I know third-world dictators who are afraid of the guy."

"Because he's gotten away with enough," I said. "He's a nasty, evil old man and he thinks just because he can make a little magick shift into this realm we should all cower. There's that and the whole murder thing."

"You know," said Mac, chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette. "You're a lot of things, Luna, but I've never known you to be wrong. Go. I'll call in some backup and notify the Hilltop County sheriff."

Concern flooded me. The last time Mac had gone to bat for one of my cases, he'd wound up nearly jobless and dead. "You could lose your pension over this, Mac."

"h.e.l.l, I'm planning to live on a boat in Florida and fish all day." He grinned. "What do I need a Hexed pension for?"

It had been a long case, and my inhibitions were shot to h.e.l.l, so I hugged Mac hard, whispered, "Thank you," and ran back to the idling Fairlane.

CHAPTER 22.

Basin Lake appears in flashes at first, like a ghost you can only glimpse in the corner of your eye. The main highway is a two-lane terror of twists and switchbacks leading up the spine of the mountains, and I never slowed below fifty-five the whole way. Occasionally I could spot the black inkblot shape of the SWAT team's Bell Huey through the evergreens, but otherwise I was alone in the forest.

At last I rounded the final turn into the congealed clump of gas station and general store that pa.s.sed as a resort town, and saw the lake spread out below me, the relic of a long-ago cataclysm, now ironically serene and bluer than it had a right to be, considering the situation.

In one direction, the road led to a public boat launch. The other was blocked off by a tastefully rustic wooden gate bearing a tastefully rustic sign that read private.

The SWAT helicopter swooped overhead and banked. My radio crackled. "Seventy-six, this is Tactical One."

I grabbed the radio as I sized up the gate. It was made out of logs, solid, but the hinges were rusty and the whole thing looked pretty rotten. You'd think the O'Hallorans could afford decent security. "Tac One, go ahead."

"Received radio confirmation of search warrant from county sheriff," the anonymous SWAT officer told me.

"Roger, Tac One," I said. At least I wouldn't add jail time to Morgan's suspension for busting in on the O'Hallorans. Not that I cared anymore.

"Team will deploy from landing pad at rear of residence," said the radio. The O'Hallorans had a helipad? Figured. "ETA ten minutes."

Too long. The witches had already had a full three hours with Valerie. If she wasn't dead or maimed beyond recognition already, she would be at the first whirr of SWAT rotors over the lodge.

"Roger, Tac One. Ten minutes." I hung my speaker back on the dash and clicked the radio off. Then I put the Fairlane into reverse and backed into the parking area of the general store, across the highway from the gate. I carefully checked both ways for log trucks and drunken fishermen, then depressed the clutch and put the Fairlane in first. "I'm sorry," I apologized to the car, then stomped on the gas pedal.

My six-cylinder block roared like a fighter jet taking off, and the tachometer jumped into the four thousand range. I slipped my foot off the clutch and the Fairlane jumped forward, across the highway and through the O'Hallorans' gate with an impact that ricocheted me off the steering wheel and whipcracked my seat belt against my body.

Ignoring the ringing in my head, I wrestled the car under control as it headed for the ditch at the side of the gravel road. A piece of my undercarriage fell off and I ran over it, wincing at the h.e.l.lacious grinding sound coming from my engine.

I shifted and gunned up the road, spraying pebbles from my back tires. Belatedly, I dug my flasher out of the glove compartment and stuck it to the Velcro strips on the dashboard, starting it revolving as I raced up the mountain toward the lodge.

The O'Hallorans' lodge, if it could be called that, was one of those new buildings made to look old and not pulling it off very well. The aged patina of the wide porch and the carefully arranged log walls looked like a giant-sized challenge on a miniature golf course.

It was also surprisingly deserted. One black Humvee sat in the driveway, but no sentries sighted me in their crosshairs from any of the gabled windows and the only sounds after I killed the engine were water birds crying over the lake.

The silence creeped me out far more than if I'd faced an armed regiment of Seamus's security people. It was a dead silence, like I imagined you'd find at Chern.o.byl just after the blast. Bad magick p.r.i.c.kled around me like air, and the place just smelled smelled wrong, an undertone that made the were snarl and retreat into its cave inside my subconscious mind. wrong, an undertone that made the were snarl and retreat into its cave inside my subconscious mind.

Keeping the Fairlane between me and the lodge, I crawled out the pa.s.senger door and around to the trunk, where I pulled out my Kevlar vest and strapped it on over my T-shirt. Not like anyone inside couldn't aim for my head, but it was better than nothing. I checked my Glock to ensure the clip was full and tucked the extras from my shoulder rig into my back pocket.

From the treeline across the lake, I heard the soft whud-whud-whud whud-whud-whud of the SWAT helicopter. All my training dictated I should wait for them to make entry before going in-seven h.e.l.ls, I shouldn't even of the SWAT helicopter. All my training dictated I should wait for them to make entry before going in-seven h.e.l.ls, I shouldn't even be be here-but my imagination served up a mutilated Valerie Blackburn and I eased my shaking body out from behind the Fairlane and moved in a tactical crouch across the open expanse of gravel to land against one of the tree-sized porch posts. here-but my imagination served up a mutilated Valerie Blackburn and I eased my shaking body out from behind the Fairlane and moved in a tactical crouch across the open expanse of gravel to land against one of the tree-sized porch posts.

My heart was hammering and sweat trickled underneath the forty pounds of Kevlar piggybacked on my torso. I wasn't scared, any more than I'd been the other times I'd made entry on an armed suspect, but that unidentifiable wrongness was seeping into me, throwing my senses out of whack.

"Police!" I shouted. "Exit the building with your hands up!" That never does any good, but routine rea.s.sures me. No sound came from inside the lodge. I listened hard, with my were hearing, and detected a few soft murmurs and shuffles, normal sounds of inhabitation. That was enough-someone was in there.

I moved up to the door, keeping myself out of the lines of sight from the broad picture windows on either side, and hammered against it with the b.u.t.t of my gun. "Police! We have a warrant!" "We" being me and the approaching SWAT team, which would do all the good of pointing my finger and going "Bang!" until they landed.

The door was solid pine boards as wide as I was, strapped with iron bands. No way I was kicking that thing in Dirty Harry-style, even with were strength. The same ward marks were burned into the frame. I was very glad at that moment not to be a witch.

Out of a sudden bout of logic, I tried the ma.s.sive iron pull-handle and the door creaked open. I jumped back, aiming into the shadowy interior. Nothing jumped out at me. No bullets flew. As far as tactical operations went, this one was about as hot and heavy as one of Sunny's meditation circles.

"Police. We have a warrant!" I called halfheartedly one more time, then stepped into a tiled foyer with a cathedral ceiling full of rough-hewn crossbeams, sterile and devoid of any sign that people actually lived here.

Every sense I possessed was on edge, and my palms were slicking the dock's grip with sweat. My instincts were screaming at me, the fight-or-flight ingrained into my blood wanting to get the h.e.l.l out, away from the crushing quiet and that subtle, rotten scent that cloyed the air heavier and heavier the farther I went into the lodge.

A kitchen appeared, all copper countertops and empty cupboards, and I saw that the hallway after it opened into a gallery facing the lake, solid floor-to-ceiling windows giving a panorama view. In that weirdly detached part of my brain, I thought, Must be a b.i.t.c.h to heat this place. Must be a b.i.t.c.h to heat this place.

Then I heard voices.

"Write, you stupid wh.o.r.e." The voice wasn't shouting, quite the opposite. It was soft and unconcerned, attached to the type of person who's used to being obeyed without question.

Valerie answered him. "I can't. I don't know how to translate this."

I sagged against the kitchen doorway, never more relieved to hear someone speak. She was alive, and well enough to talk. My city wouldn't go to cinders because of the witches and their pointless war.

The crack of a palm on skin echoed into the kitchen, and the same male voice said, "Karl!" It was sharp this time, sharp like a combat knife. I was glad I wasn't Karl.

"Why isn't the G.o.dd.a.m.n working ... well, working?" Karl demanded. "Can't you tell she's lying to us?"

"The working never failed before," said the voice. If I wasn't so ramped up, I would swear I'd heard it before, but I put it down to being hidden in a creepy kitchen while at least two men held a hostage not twenty feet away.

"We should just kill the kid and go for the old man," Karl muttered. "Did I not say this when the order came down to s.n.a.t.c.h this skirt in the first place?"

"Are you questioning my judgment?" said the first voice. Silence followed. "Good. Now, Valerie. Please read this page and translate the inscriptions."