“All right,” he said. “That could be helpful.”
“It brought you here so I’d say it was very helpful.”
“You can’t just summon me like that, Raye.”
“Apparently, I can.”
“You shouldn’t. I didn’t come when you called because I was in the middle of something very important. I need to—” He flickered.
“Don’t you dare!”
My voice was too loud. I listened for the sound of Larry crashing through the door, but silence reigned.
“I’ll just call you back,” I warned.
He let out a breath. “It’s too late now anyway. I’m sure your…” His lips tightened. “I’m sure Pru was able to handle things.”
“Who was that woman who looked like me?”
“You saw her?” he asked, and I nodded. “It’s a long story.”
“Then you’d better get started. You can begin with what happened to your daughters.”
“How do you know about them?”
“Three people can’t disappear into thin air without someone talking about it. Even though McHugh’s followers were terrified of him, some of them still wrote things down.” I lifted the Book of Shadows. “Books last longer than memories.”
He hung his head. “Your mother wanted to tell you.”
My heart took a hard, fast leap. “You know who she is?”
He coughed and, from beneath the bed, Samhain growled. “Since when do you have a cat?”
“She came with the book,” I said absently. “Is my mother alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
His gaze met mine. “With your sister.”
“I have a sister?”
“Mo leanabh.” That dark gaze gentled. “You have two.”
*
Bobby ended his call with Agent Franklin. “He’s on his way.”
Johnson grunted. Though he might have called the feds for help, no local really wanted them in their town, even when they needed them. Christiansen poured the chief another drink.
“He’s bringing some sort of witch expert,” Bobby said.
A few seconds with his computer, clicking away while Bobby waited on the line, and Franklin had connected the burnings and brandings, and the Venatores Mali. He’d also used whatever resources he had, wherever he was, to check the backgrounds of Bobby’s victims. Several of them were involved in the occult—voodoo, hoodoo. Who knew? In truth, he wasn’t surprised.
“It might take them a few days to get here,” he continued. The witch expert was in high demand.
“What is a witch expert, and why do we need one?” Johnson asked.
“The Venatores Mali were witch hunters. They branded victims with their symbol—the snarling wolf. They also burned them. Mrs. Noita and her niece were witches who were branded and burned.”
The chief rubbed his forehead. “Is everyone crazy?”
Bobby figured that was rhetorical.
“Is there anyone in town who doesn’t belong?” he asked.
“You,” the chief answered.
“Thanks.”
“Sorry.” Johnson appeared contrite. “People drive through on their way north. They stop and gas up. None of them belong.”
“Whoever killed Mrs. Noita broke into Larsen’s house and killed Raye’s pillow. Wouldn’t crazy like that stand out?”
“You’d be surprised,” Christiansen murmured.
“Probably not. I stayed at Raye’s dad’s because there wasn’t a hotel.”
“What’s your point?” The chief drained his coffee cup.
“This killer, and the maniac too, were in town more than a day. Where did they stay?”
Johnson spread his hands and shrugged. So did Christiansen.
“There’s one question that’s been keeping me up at night,” Johnson said.
“Only one?” Bobby asked. Lucky man.
“Why are they trying to kill Raye?”
“A less likely witch was never born,” Christiansen agreed.
Bobby frowned. Both men sat up and asked, “What?”
“She’s adopted.”
“Point?” the chief repeated.
This time the doctor answered. “We don’t know what she was born.”
*
“Two?” I asked.
I understood the implication, but I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it. Because the implication was insane.
“The young woman you saw is named Becca. She’s a veterinarian in Three Harbors.”
“That’s about a hundred and fifty miles from here.”
“Miles don’t matter to me.”
“Do miles matter to Pru?”
“Are you asking if she’s a supernatural wolf?”
Was I? Why not? I nodded.
“She can share her thoughts with those who have the ability to hear them. Does that mean she’s supernatural or that they are?”
“You’re making my head hurt,” I said.
“Wolves can run up to forty miles an hour. They can cover one hundred and twenty-five miles in a day, though forty is average. They’ve been known to follow their prey at a run for five or six miles and then accelerate.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Wolves that are merely wolves can travel much faster than humans.”
“You still haven’t answered the question.”
“It will take her longer to get here than it took me, but less time than it would take you.”