Fire Within

chapter Sixteen

Andreas’s warning left Ari stunned. She really hadn’t considered the possibility of Daron losing control. Riverdale’s vampire community would be wide open for someone really evil, like a 1000-year-old vampire named Sebastian, to take over. A chilling possibility.

Propelled by a new sense of urgency, Ari scurried to the ancient library at the Otherworld Research Center. She flipped through the index of every book on demonology and checked out the volumes that held promise. She hoped to find at least rudimentary information on image changers. The more data, the more likely she’d find a solution. If she was really, really lucky, Ari might discover the demon’s true name. It would give her power over him. Half the books set aside were encyclopedias of ancient demon names.

Among the spell and potion books, she looked for methods successfully used to banish lesser demons or creatures related to demonkin. She even intended to read about the dark art of vanquishing. Although she couldn’t handle black magic, she needed a starting point, a formula for a banishing elixir or a script for a magical incantation.

Arriving at her studio apartment, she stacked the books on the dining table, put on a pot of coffee, and started reading.

Two hours later, Ari sat back and stretched. She had skimmed through half the books and was no closer to a solution. No mention of image changers or demon vanquishing spells. The volumes were either too general or too specific in the wrong areas.

She took a break from the books and opened her laptop. What she needed was a worldwide search. The first search for “image changer” returned 332,000 hits for software, website development, and photo editing. Nothing even vaguely referring to demons. “Demon” proved to be a more prolific search factor, showing 44,700,000 references, beginning with the Magikpedia definition and revealing hundreds of lists of demonic names and images. She sighed. It was going to be a long, long night.

Three sites provided extensive demonology lists claiming to include the real names, aliases, powers, and brief histories of all the known demons, greater and lesser. She scanned each tab for image changer. No listing. Without knowing a name, even an alias, there was no easy way to look for Riverdale’s demon visitor. She read on, page by page, clicked on each name, read through the descriptions and slowly eliminated the possibilities, one by one. The demon Amaymon, who she hoped never made his way to Riverdale, was a really creepy dude; his breath released a deadly poison. She laughed when she read about the Kappas, water demons who carried all their strength in their water-filled heads and had to be careful that it didn’t spill.

It was all very interesting, but by 2:00 a.m., the only reference even marginally helpful was the following:

Baelenor: the 37th Spirit appeareth before the people as a Daughter of Eve and later putteth on the Shape of Man, first one then another, as he pleaseth. His office is to Deceive and Confuseth his enemies and any who doeth not his biding.

Baelenor might be an image changer. Or a shapeshifter. Or something else she’d never heard of. Discouraged, she slumped back on the couch. Unless Baelenor happened to be the demon’s name, a really far-out possibility, this reference meant nothing. She didn’t need proof image changers existed; she needed to know how to get rid of them. She jotted the name on the notepad, which was otherwise empty. Not much to show for…she checked the clock again, calculating…almost eight hours of research.

Ari uncurled her legs, crossed to the table, and set the laptop on a stack of discarded books. The table was covered; one reason she had retreated to the sofa. She rubbed her face, trying to relieve the fatigue. Too many hours staring at a computer screen, and too many short nights in a row. Sleep would be nice. She stretched her arms, gave the bed a longing glance, then put it out of mind. Time was moving on. They say there’s no rest for the wicked, but in this case, it was no rest for she who had not yet found the wicked—or a way to destroy the wicked.

She grabbed a fresh diet coke and picked up the next well-worn tome on demonology. Within five minutes, she read her first mention of an image changer, defined as a demon mutation. The image changer is a highly evolved specimen of a rare mutation, tainted by human blood, and infected by lycanthropy. The IC is highly intelligent, without conscience or empathy. It can slip between dimensions and alter its appearance at will. Excited to have found the passage, Ari read on, hoping for more, but soon realized that’s all there was. Apparently the image changer was so rare, no one had bothered to write much about it. She skimmed the remaining books without success and returned to her laptop.

At 6:30 in the morning she ran out for coffee and a bagel from a local drive-up. Two large cups, liberally doctored with cream and sugar. Straight coffee wasn’t enough this morning; she needed the sugar and calories. One cup was gone by the time she reached home. She sipped the other and nibbled the bagel as she tapped the keyboard.

Since 4:00 a.m. she had been following a brief one-liner from an obscure online demonology reference: A Changeling Daemon found in the Shape of Man is subject to Man’s laws. She had reasoned from this that an enhanced binding spell might capture the creature before it blinked into another form. That could give her time to use other magic or potions to banish it. All theory, of course. But it felt right.

At 9:30 Ryan called. “Are you up?”

“I haven’t been to bed. Researched all night. I might be on the right track finally, but nothing definite.”

“Yeah, slow going here, too. We’ve cleared all of Shale’s support staff, except Amelia Binderman. Mostly locals and easy to trace. Binderman and the counselors are taking longer because Shale hired them from out of town. We’re doing nationwide checks on everyone. You’d be surprised how many Sarah Youngs there are.” Ari heard him rustling papers. “If you’re going over there today, pay special attention to Frieda Stanley. We have a local address, but no credit cards, no phone listing. That’s not unheard of, but I’m considering it suspicious at this point.”

“A visit to the agency might be the break I need,” Ari said, flexing her stiff shoulder muscles. “That—and a long, hot shower.”

“Definitely, the shower,” he chuckled. “Especially if I have to be near you today. Of course, if you’re too tired, I could come over and scrub your back.”

“Don’t you wish.” Ari clicked off, inordinately pleased with Ryan’s teasing. It showed he wasn’t letting this thing with Andreas interfere with their friendship.

She tapped her pen on the table, considering how best to approach Shale’s agency. It called for a plan or, more accurately, a cover story. She considered telling Shale the truth, but that wouldn’t work. Technically, he was still a suspect. She picked up the phone and called Ryan back. They talked it over and decided to conduct formal interviews using a version of the truth. They would stress the need to eliminate the staff as suspects. Just routine.

When Ari and Ryan walked in the agency door, it was late morning. The air conditioning provided a welcome relief from the hot, steaming air outside. Ari had called ahead and asked Shale to assemble his staff for an impromptu meeting. At first he had flatly refused, citing impossible schedules. When she insisted, he gave in with poorly disguised irritation and said he’d gather those that were available. When she told him he needed to do better than that, the conversation ended. Ari wasn’t sure how they’d be received.

Ms. Binderman wasn’t at the front desk. A rosy-cheeked woman in her early twenties directed them to the main conference room, next door to Shale’s office. Everyone was there: Shale, Sarah Young, Richard Batty, Jerome Fitzhugh, Amelia Binderman, and a forty-something woman Ari assumed was Frieda Stanley. Shale had taken her seriously.

“Guardian,” he said coolly, stepping forward. “Lt. Foster. I hope this will be short. We do have clients to see.”

“Appreciate your cooperation,” Ryan said, “especially on such short notice. We don’t want to interrupt your schedule any more than we have to.”

“Yes, thank you,” Ari echoed. “We’ll get your staff members cleared, and let everyone get on with their work.” As Ryan and Ari had pre-arranged, Ari started the show. “As I’m sure you all know, two clients of this agency were recently murdered. A third death may be related. There are two things we need to do today. First, clear each of you by establishing your alibis for the time periods of those three deaths. And second, even more important, learn anything you might know that would help us to find the killer.” Of course, she didn’t mention they’d be assessing each person for hidden psi ability and their potential to be the demon.

“You may return to your regular schedule, and we’ll conduct the interviews as each of you becomes available. Please don’t leave the building until your interview is complete.” She turned to Ryan with a nod.

He stepped forward, a stack of papers in his hand, and handed one to each of the suspects. “In order to save time, I’d like you to think about where you were on certain dates and times. I’ve given you a sheet with that information. It should make the interviews go more quickly.” He gave them a broad smile. “I appreciate your help.”

None of the suspects commented. No one cracked a smile, not even Sarah Young, as they filed out. Ari wondered what Shale had said to them that elicited such somber faces.

Their first interview was a mid-fifties male with the unfortunate name of Richard Batty, not a handle to inspire confidence in a counselor. He provided a response for every date, even showed his personal calendar entries, which proved nothing, of course. Mr. Batty was unmarried and lived alone. He said he’d attended a public fireworks display on the evening of the Fourth, the first murder date, but he didn’t remember seeing or speaking with anyone he knew. His other alibis were solitary evenings in front of the television. Batty reported he’d been recruited from a dead-end, hospital-based job in Albuquerque. When Ari shook hands with him at the end of the interview, she felt the expected mild psi tingle. Inconclusive. They left him on the list.

Ms. Binderman produced an uneasy smile when her turn came. “I hoped you’d get to me soon. Carol isn’t very experienced on the front desk.”

“Then we’ll try to hurry,” Ari said. “Have you thought about the dates we gave you?”

Binderman pushed the sheet forward. In neat, dainty writing, she had recorded her whereabouts next to each date and time, along with any person who could verify the information. “The first date was easy. We had a staff picnic at Goshen Park on the Fourth,” she said. “We can vouch for each other.”

“Who was there?” Ari asked, taken by surprise.

“Mr. Shale, Frieda, Amy Ferguson, and Terry Lowry, two of our night staffers. Jerome and his family stopped by. Barney, the night janitor. Richard Batty never comes. It was a small affair.”

“Did anyone leave during the evening?” Ryan asked.

“Well, Frieda left early, I believe. 7:00 or 7:30. But the rest of us were there, except for nature calls, of course.”

“Were the restrooms close by?”

“A five minute walk. I think that’s how long it took Amy and I. We walked over and back together. You could check with her, but I’d say five, six minutes at the most. You have to go around or across the baseball diamond. It certainly wasn’t enough time for anyone to leave the park and come back.”

Not unless you’re a demon with supernatural speed and the ability to change your appearance, Ari thought. On average, she figured each person would have been gone fifteen, twenty minutes. Plenty of time to reach the bar, kill Jules and return with no one knowing a thing. The picnic alibi wasn’t worth much.

Ryan spent a little time discussing Binderman’s past working history in Chicago, Illinois. When Ari offered to shake her hand, the receptionist declined, murmuring a concern about viruses. Considering the Saniwash dispenser on her desk, Ari conceded the excuse could be genuine.

Sarah Young’s interview was the least productive. Uncomfortable and distracted from the beginning, she fidgeted in her chair and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her slacks. When asked where she was on the nights of the murders, she burst into tears.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “This is so hard. The murders, the tension. I’m questioning whether I even want to be a counselor.”

Since she’d already written out her answers, Ryan gathered a brief background sketch about her hometown and her transfer to graduate study in Riverdale, and they ended the interview. As Ari pulled the door closed behind her, Sarah was still sitting at her desk staring into space. Her behavior was troublesome; the outburst was out of character for the composed woman Ari had met on her prior visit.

They came closest to clearing Jerome Fitzhugh. An earnest black male in his thirties, he was cooperative and attentive throughout the interview. Fitzhugh was married with two children and laughingly added that his wife could account for most of his time. Like Sarah Young, he was a recent PhD graduate, and his credentials would be easy to verify. He leaked psi energy throughout the interview. Not an alarming amount, about what Ari would expect from a talented and nervous counselor. Ari figured he’d pass all the necessary checks.

Freida Stanley, on the other hand, sent up immediate red flags. Forty, rough around the edges. She had that well-used air about her, and an evasiveness in her manner. Frieda didn’t like the questioning and showed no interest in cooperating.

“If you expect me to answer questions, then I want my lawyer present.”

“No problem.” Ryan pulled out his cell phone. “His name?”

Fifteen minutes later they were still talking back and forth on the phone: first, Ryan and the lawyer; then Freida and the lawyer. Finally, Ryan’s suggestion to move the interview to the police station tipped the scales toward cooperation. Stanley decided to talk, and she answered every question, but the responses were vague and incomplete or she said she couldn’t remember. Ari observed her closely throughout the phone discussion and Ryan’s questioning. Stanley shifted in her seat, drummed her fingers, one foot constantly moved in a rhythmic tap-tap on the floor. Ari was sure she was covering something, but would a demon be that obvious?

“What do you want me to tell you, officer?” Freida Stanley carped. “I live alone. When I’m not home, I’m working. Can’t help it, if that’s not good enough.”

Ryan flashed a winning smile. Deceiver.

“All right, Ms. Stanley,” he said. “Why don’t we move on? Tell me how you got this job?”

“Shale interviewed and hired me. What’s that got to do with the murders?”

Ari noted Stanley was the only person who had asked. Was that significant? Maybe.

“Routine,” he said easily. “Anything we learn about the agency might help us.”

“Uh-huh.” It was a clear statement of disbelief. “I’m not saying anything else. I know my rights. Don’t have to answer that.”

“That’s true. But keep yourself available in case we need to talk again. Downtown.”

As soon as he said this, Stanley sprang to her feet and hustled out the door. Ryan and Ari exchanged looks. Since they were sitting in Stanley’s office, her abrupt departure revealed how anxious she was to end the questioning.

“Number one suspect,” Ryan said. “She’s guilty of something. Didn’t your witch senses tell you anything? It’s damned inconvenient you can’t recognize this creature.”

Ari hid a grin. For someone uncomfortable with magic, he sure liked it when it worked for him. “Her aura is so lacking in color, I have trouble believing she has an ounce of intuition or magical ability. But that could be part of her demon cover. “

As they headed for their final interview, Ari considered whether the morning had been worth the time. Had they gained anything? So far, they hadn’t eliminated anyone. Freida Stanley had surfaced as a suspect, but her credentials had already been suspicious.

Ari gasped as a stab of hot malignancy hit her in front of Shale’s office. She leaped forward and threw the door open, catching four people in a heated argument. The raging magical energy blinked off. Amelia Binderman, Sarah Young, Harold Shale, and Freida Stanley stared at her intrusion.

Flashing a frown at Ari, Ryan recovered first. “Sorry, if we interrupted. We’re here for your interview, Mr. Shale. If you have the time?”

“Yeah, sorry to intrude,” Ari added lamely.

The agency owner frowned, picked up the sheet of questions from his desk, and handed it to Ryan. The answers were neatly typed. “I have an appointment to keep,” Shale said. “I’ve covered everything on this, but call Ms. Binderman if you need something more. I trust you have gotten what you needed from everyone else?” He made it a question.

“I understand your time crunch,” Ryan said. “I still need a couple minutes. It’ll be short.”

During this conversation, Ari watched the four counselors, reaching out with witch senses. Where had that revealing energy come from? She was sure the creature was in this room, and its blocking defenses had faltered for an instant, a second of lost control during an argument. Ari’s hasty response may have alerted the demon she was aware of its existence. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, but it added a new dimension.

Shale gave in to Ryan’s insistence. Glaring at his employees until they hustled out the door, he returned to sit behind his imposing desk. Establishing a barrier this time, Ari thought, wondering if Shale’s attitude was more than normal irritation.

She paid little attention to the initial questions, allowing her gaze to wander around the room, as Ryan asked about Shale’s background and counseling experience prior to Riverdale. She heard Shale mention California, but her mind was still on that moment outside the door. “What was the argument about?” she popped in at the first pause in the conversation. “The one our arrival broke up.”

“I hardly think that concerns you.” When she frowned, Shale softened his response. “Our differences over office policy can’t be of much interest to you or your investigation.”

“I’m surprised you allow employee dissent. I mean, this is your agency. Doesn’t that mean your policies?” She was sure he was lying.

“We work as a team. Are we done?” He started to get up.

“Is this office locked when you’re not here?” she asked.

Shale’s frown was puzzled. “My personal office? Of course. There are confidential files in my cabinets.”

“Who has keys?”

His frown lines deepened. “Counselors, secretaries. I guess the janitorial staff. Why do you ask?”

Ari smiled. “Thanks.” She and Shale stared at one another for a moment.

“My appointment is waiting,” he finally said. “Ms. Binderman can help you with anything further.”

Ari got to her feet. Shale didn’t like them being there, or maybe it was just her, but she wasn’t picking up anything more disturbing. Excellent blocking or wrong suspect?

As she and Ryan stepped out of the agency’s front door, the early afternoon heat blasted their AC-chilled skin. Instant perspiration popped out and Ari blinked in the sun’s glare. “Wow. How high is the humidity?”

Ryan shed his jacket and slung it over one shoulder. “You want to tell me what happened outside Shale’s office?”

“Demon energy. I’m sure of it. But I don’t know which one.”

“Let’s arrest all four.”

Appalled, Ari spun to face him. “Good goddess, Ryan, you can’t arrest a demon. It would kill us and everything else in its path. We can’t make a move until we figure out how to contain it. I thought you understood that part.”

“When this is over, I’m demanding a transfer,” he growled. “I’m sick of this mystical shit.”

“Oh, yeah, and I’m going to take up knitting. It’ll get better, as soon as we figure out the magic.”

“What’s next?” he asked, still sounding gruff.

“Back to the research. Maybe I’ll catch a short nap first. I’m running low…” Ari stopped as Sarah Young exited the building and hurried toward them. Ari tensed, wary of a potential demon attack. Her witch blood stirred in response to her concern.

The counselor walked straight to Ari. “I wanted to apologize for breaking down like that,” Sarah said, her voice loud, shrill, as she grasped Ari’s hand in both of hers. Ari felt something small, a folded paper perhaps, thrust against her palm as Sarah continued. “We need for this to be over soon. Well, ah, thanks for understanding.” Sarah turned abruptly and ran back into the building without waiting for a response.

“That was strange,” Ryan said.

“Not at all,” Ari murmured, closing her fingers over the object and turning toward his car. “Let’s take a ride.”

He gave her an odd look but unlocked the cruiser. She slid in.

Once he pulled away from the curb, Ari opened her hand and unfolded the paper. West fountain—20 minutes.

“You asked what was next? A stroll in the park.”

Anyone who lived in or around Olde Town knew Goshen Park’s west fountain. Surrounded by stone benches and well-tended flower gardens, the stone swan stretched her neck toward the sky from a watery lily pad. It was a favorite place for locals. Ironically, it also had been where the third body was found. Ari wondered if Sarah knew that. She would for sure, if she were the killer-demon.

Sarah arrived looking hot and flustered, and yet there was a definite change in her manner since the interview. She was back in control, as she sank onto one of the stone benches. Whatever had caused her earlier breakdown, she was passed it now. Or it had been faked for their benefit, which meant that Sarah might be the demon.

Ari kept her distance, declining the seat beside Sarah. Until she knew more, Ari wanted space to use her magic, including witch fire, if Sarah proved to be dangerous. Ryan stood next to the bench, his jacket still slung over his shoulder. Too hot for formalities.

“I don’t have long,” Sarah began. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “The others can’t know I’m talking to you, but this is eating me up inside.” She took a deep breath and focused on her hands. “I knew Vanessa. She and I were…more than friends.” Sarah gave Ryan a direct look, almost defiant now. “We were lovers. For almost two years. We met through the vampire shelter when I was doing an internship for school.” She moved her attention to Ryan. “I know how you cops think. You’re wondering if our relationship soured, if I killed her. I couldn’t hurt anyone, but especially not Vani. We were in love.”

Ryan didn’t respond right away. Ari could almost hear the mental wheels turning as he processed the information and decided what line he wanted to take. Ari moved closer, feeling nothing from Sarah but a reasonable amount of psi energy and grief.

“If you loved her, then help us,” Ari said. “Help us find this killer.”

“Of course. I want to, but how? What can I do? I don’t have any idea who it is.”

“You can start by telling us why you kept quiet so long,” Ryan said.

“I wanted to tell you right away. Really, I did. I just couldn’t decide what to do. We kept our relationship secret so I could keep my job. My credibility as a counselor would be destroyed if anyone knew I was involved with a female prostitute.” Ari heard the bitterness. “I’m sure they’d claim conflict of interest when they fired me, because she was an Otherworlder, a potential client, but that wouldn’t be the real reason. The agency is very conservative. If they knew how Vani made a living…you can imagine.”

Sarah’s face asked for understanding, but she wasn’t apologizing for anything in her life. Ari dropped onto the bench next to her. Sarah continued without wavering. “You know, it was just a job to Vani. Something she was good at. But she’d decided to give it up, so we could change our lives. Eventually, when I had enough experience, we wanted to move, live somewhere more openly.” Her words took on an angry edge. “I’m only a first year counselor, and I needed this job, so we stayed hidden.” She frowned, as if collecting her thoughts. “When Vani died, I needed my work more than ever. It was all I had left. Then you started asking questions, and I began to wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Ryan prompted.

“If someone I knew had murdered her. Someone at the agency. I’ve watched you, and that’s what you think, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’d die if I thought she was killed because of me. It’s been driving me crazy.” Sarah stopped, her face demanding answers. She’d finally run out of words, regurgitated all her fears.

“We think there’s a tie to the agency,” Ari said. “But we don’t know what the tie is or who’s involved. Do you suspect anyone?”

“No.” Sarah shook her head. “I’ve thought about it. Watched for a hint, a strange look, but nothing. I can’t imagine. I thought they were all good people. Some a little odd, maybe, but no one who could commit murder.”

“Did you share your secret with anyone at all? In or out of the agency?” When Sarah shook her head, Ari added, “Could someone have seen you together?”

“I don’t think so. We were careful and rarely out in public together. She came to the office a few times, when I was working late. I let her in the back door after everyone else was gone. The night girl at the front desk can’t see back there. No one saw us. Or at least I didn’t think so. Now, I can’t be sure.” Sarah looked at Ari, anguish written across her face. “Vani left my office at 5:00 the morning she died.”

On the drive to Ari’s apartment, she and Ryan discussed Sarah’s story. If she was telling the truth, the two women had parted at the center’s rear door within an hour of Vanessa’s death. The demon must have attacked her in the alley or followed her from there to a more secluded spot. In either case, he had been outside the building, waiting for her or simply because he belonged there. It was more proof to Ari that the demon was one of the people in the agency. She called Gillian and asked her to check the back alley and other likely spots nearby. Maybe they’d find physical evidence if she located the primary crime scene.

Ryan pulled to a stop in front of Ari’s apartment. “Why’d you ask about Shale’s keys?”

“Sorry, I almost forgot. His collection. All those ceremonial knives and swords, and no locks on the cases. The killer wouldn’t have had to use a demon sword, it could have been one of those. And, there’s another possible weapon in plain sight. Binderman has a letter opener that’s a realistic replica. Small but sharp. In a demon’s hands, it might work.” Ari shook her head. “Before you get excited, you won’t find Vanessa’s blood. It would disintegrate, and fingerprints on a demon? Nuh-uh. I wish we had a way to identify the weapon. I could use it in scrying for the creature.”

Ryan’s fist tapped the steering wheel. “Why do Otherworlders have to be so strange? Just one solid piece of evidence would be nice. Instead, what we have is all this mumbo jumbo.” He stared determinedly out the window. “I’m still getting a warrant and putting those weapons out of reach.”

Ari dug into the research, hoping to find something that would translate Ryan’s mumbo jumbo into a solution. She stacked the discarded books on the floor and relocated operations to the kitchen table for additional space to spread out her notes. She also hoped the harder chair would keep her awake. She didn’t dare doze off now, and the couch was way too cozy. Sarah’s confession had been interesting, but the candidates for demon still numbered six, maybe four, if confined to those in Shale’s office, or even three, excluding Sarah. Binderman, Shale, Stanley. Ryan and his officers were making steady progress on the backgrounds and alibis. Identification could happen at any moment. Ari had to figure out what to do when that time arrived.

She returned to the phrase she’d puzzled over before, the demon’s possible vulnerability while in human form. While she was musing over this, Gillian called from the alley behind Shale’s agency.

“Demon reading is off the chart. Your full blood theory is verified. I found a pink cell phone near the trash bins. It’s a throw-a-way, but Sarah Young’s number is on speed dial. Sorry it took so long to identify your monster type, but the creature’s behavior is abnormal. Why is he hiding and sneaking around like this?”

“Smarter than the average demon? Who knows?” Ari shifted uncomfortably, the confirmation increasing the weight on her shoulders. “I’ve given up worrying about that. Thanks, Gillian. Can you call Ryan and give him your report? I think he’d like to hear it first hand, and I’ve got to figure out how to defeat this thing.”

“Sure, but before I let you go, one of our scholars has been making inquiries. Of the one or two known world sightings of image changers, the demon wasn’t defeated. It left on its own, after weeks of killing. Sorry I don’t have better news.”

Rather than lose hope, Ari immersed herself in research with renewed determination. The last doubt about the enemy’s true nature was gone. Maybe the knowledge should have scared her, but frankly, she didn’t have time to think about the personal dangers. Riverdale couldn’t endure long weeks of bloodshed.

She concentrated on how to force the demon to vanquish itself. If she could trap it in its human form, and destroy that body by witchcraft or any other means, the demon would try to save its essence. During the last moments, it could choose to become an earthbound shade or banish itself forever to the demon realm. Either way, its reign of terror would be over.

Freezing spells, binding potions. Ari found dozens, but all were temporary fixes and not one claimed to work on demons. Would they work on a demon in human form? Could she increase the strength? After hours of searching, she’d found nothing that gave her the answers.

Ari’s eyes grew blurry. How long had it been since she’d slept? Blowing an exhausted breath between her lips, she collapsed facedown over the keyboard.

“Forget it,” she mumbled into her arms, “the answer isn’t here.”

Ari was saved from drifting into a deep sleep by Ryan calling to complain. “How the hell am I supposed to find a demon?” he demanded. “No name, no description. It’s impossible.”

“On a hunch, I’d guess the search has bogged down.”

“The only good news I have is Olde Town is quiet. No fights or confrontations. At least Andreas is having more success on his end than we are.”

“Speak for yourself. I’ve learned all kinds of things. Need your love life improved? How about good fortune? Or maybe the ideal job? The internet is full of useless spells written by amateurs. There’s a spell for everything, except vanquishing demons.”

“Maybe you should talk with your witch mentor again.”

“Moriana told me all she knew. Even the scholars at the research lab can’t find an instance where an image changer was defeated. I really need Great-Gran. She’d know what to do. She had centuries of knowledge stored in her head.”

“Too bad she didn’t write it down.”

Ari gave a weary sigh. She had. In the missing Book of Shadows. Witches were prolific recorders. Something they were taught as soon as they could hold a quill or a pen. Even Ari had a diary of her own.

She sat up straight. The notes! Maybe the Book wasn’t her only source. She had the personal papers and letters written by Great-Gran and her mother. It was worth a try.

Ari had used the old trunk as a coffee table for years and didn’t give its contents a second thought most of that time. She hadn't looked beneath the top tray of scrying equipment in a long time. Great-Gran had produced the trunk from somewhere after Ari’s parents died. At six-years-old, the young witch had barely understood what had happened to her parents. Great-Gran had made a ritual of storing the small mementos away. Many years later, Ari had added a new layer of Great-Gran’s things. Among the contents, Ari was sure she remembered letters, a journal of Great-Gran’s, some old photos, and miscellaneous loose papers. Ari had skimmed the papers at one time, but that was years ago, before she had given up believing The Book of Shadows would return. She’d intended to sort the contents at a later date, but like so many good intentions, it hadn’t happened. Maybe she hadn’t been ready to face the pain. Now she wondered if one of the missing women in her life might be able to help defeat the demon.

Half-way through the trunk, she began to think this wasn’t such a hot idea. So far she’d cried over Great-Gran’s shawl and the six-inch seashell that had sat next to the old woman’s bed. From the time Ari was very little, she’d been told it was a secret portal to the ocean. She used to sneak into Great-Gran’s bedroom and hold the shell to her ear, fascinated by the sound of the waves trapped inside.

Damn, Ari thought, wiping her cheeks, she was too tired to do this. The memories were too distracting. She re-wrapped the shell in the soft towel and returned it to the trunk for another day. Ari pushed her hair behind her ears. She was tempted to close the trunk, but something urged her to keep digging.

Great-Gran’s journal was buried under layers of trinkets, family photos, and old books. Still sitting on the floor, Ari opened the thin brown journal, flipped through the pages, skimming handwritten notes on herbology, potion ingredients, and whatever else her great-grandparent had found noteworthy. She was amazed and chagrined at the contents. Why had she never looked here before? This was the next best thing to The Book. Field notes. Before the elder witch had transferred the information into the formal records. More cryptic, of course. Often just a word or two, but a wealth of information, if she could interpret it.

Excited by the find, she scanned through the recipes, tempted to stop and devour every word, but knowing her time was slipping away. She read every entry that contained the word demon. About two-thirds of the way through, a written question caught her eye. Is the woman a human or demon?

Ari’s heart beat a little faster as she read on, putting together snatches of a visit to a remote village in the hills. Great-Gran had been asked to come because three local witches had vanished, leaving no trace. Suspicion had settled on a woman, newly arrived in the community. Then came the question Ari had read. Human or demon? A page later, Great-Gran had added a note in the margin. Bind it before vanquishing.

Ari dropped the journal into her lap. If this was an ordinary demon, why the binding? She began to smile. That would only be necessary if the demon could change in some way. Other demons didn’t look human, not to Ari’s knowledge. Was she groping at straws? What else could the human or demon phrase mean? Oh, Great-Gran, she lamented, why aren’t you here?

She thumbed through the rest of the journal without success. Bind it, she murmured. Was there some kind of binding spell for demons? If so, what were the elements, and where was the incantation? She knew where it was. The Book of Shadows.

She was staring at the journal, willing it to give her a clue, when the phone rang. What was Ryan’s problem this time?

“Good evening, little witch.”

Ari smiled, and her weariness fell away at the sound of Andreas’s voice. Ordinarily she might have worried about her reaction. Not tonight. “Hi. I’m glad you called. I need a break from the research. I think I’ve found something, but I’m not sure what to do with it.”

“You sound tired. Have you slept?”

Oddly enough, his concern gave her a spurt of energy. “Not a lot of time for sleep.”

“I take that to mean you have been up all night. Have you eaten?”

“Not lately, but did you hear me? I think I’ve found something.”

His voice was warm, soothing. “Of course I heard you. That is good news, and you can tell me all about it when I get there…with your dinner.”

She could hear music and the sound of voices in the background. “Is the club ready to open? The kitchen’s already working?”

“It is. The rest will be ready tomorrow night. Band is rehearsing now, and we will open on schedule. Marcus can supervise for tonight. Have you spoken with Lt. Foster?”

She leaned back and rested her head against the couch behind her. “Yeah. I assume you did, too. He’s pretty frustrated, weeding out suspects. Did he tell you about the interviews at the agency? That Sarah and Vanessa were lovers?”

“Yes. He mentioned it. I am eager to hear the details. I’ll see you soon.”

Ari knew she had a silly smile on her face when they hung up. She must be more tired than she realized. She could use a break. Maybe she’d rest here just another minute.