She regarded him with equal amounts of loathing and fear. But he was not at all interested in that, and now he had what he wanted from her.
“I like your cookies,” he told her as he tied her to a kitchen chair. He didn’t bother with a complicated binding since he didn’t plan on leaving her alone for long. He dissipated and flowed out the dryer vent, and as soon as he had rematerialized, he tugged on the connection that led to Ismat.
The other Djinn streaked toward him and formed in front of him. This time the Djinn chose the form of a dark-skinned, stocky male, with hawkish features and a twinkle in his starred eyes. “If you keep up this impetuous spending spree,” said Ismat, “you will convince all the younger Djinn that the sky is falling. Everyone will rush to call in all their favors, and our venerable society will collapse.”
Khalil didn’t smile. He said, “I’m asking you to agree to an open-ended favor that will cancel out the rest of what you owe me. I trust you, and you’re one of the few people I would call friend. I need you to help me, and I’m not yet sure what that means. Are you willing and able to pay your debt this way?”
The other Djinn’s merry expression faded. “Of course. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But it involves Grace and the children.” He explained rapidly. “I need to find out where Brandon lives, and somebody needs to do something with Therese. I don’t know what, question her to see if she knows anything else or take her to the witches’ sheriff’s office, except I’m not sure yet if she’s actually broken any laws. I almost killed her, but Grace asked me not to start an inter-demesne incident.”
Ismat turned toward the house. “I’ll take care of her.”
Khalil started to dematerialize then paused. “I almost forgot—you’ll want to enter the house through the clothes dryer vent. She has all the doors and windows spelled. I’m not sure who would be alerted if the spells are tripped, but I prefer not to broadcast our intentions.”
“Got it,” Ismat said. “Good hunting.”
It took Khalil longer to find Brandon Miller’s house than it had for him to find Therese’s. He called his Djinn associate with the facility for information gathering on the Internet, and he did something he rarely did any more—he bargained away a favor for information.
His contact got back to him quickly. Brandon didn’t live in the city. He owned a twenty-five-acre property about a half hour’s car drive south of the Louisville International Airport. As soon as Khalil had the details, he took off.
It took some effort to locate the property. While he searched, Khalil’s sense of unease deepened. Grace had said that Olivia thought the other witches from Saturday had known each other very well. If Olivia was correct, what did that mean? Why would they all wish to work on Grace’s property together?
Why would they wish for other witches to stay away while they did so?
Why did Brandon want to know if Isalynn LeFevre had contacted Grace?
Even though Brandon’s property wasn’t marked with so much as a mailbox, Khalil finally located it. A long gravel drive led back through a tangle of old-growth forest. The day had turned into a bright afternoon, and a fierce humid heat lay heavily across the land like a dense fog. He traveled through the forest carefully, all his senses wide open for sparks of Power that could be traps.
He found plenty of them. The land was layered with traps overlaid on traps. There were so many magical and physical traps, he stopped trying to gain information by slipping through the forest. Instead he soared over the land until he spotted a small cluster of buildings well away from the road. A large vegetable garden bordered the buildings, along with a chicken coop.
He drifted down as gently as a snowflake, spreading his presence so thin, almost nobody would have been able to sense him. Nobody except for his extraordinary Grace.
There were three older, rusted vehicles near the buildings, but none of them looked like they were in drivable condition. The main building was the house. He slipped close and listened, but he didn’t hear anyone stirring. It appeared Brandon was not at home. As he circled the house, he glanced in the windows at a cluttered interior. One room had several brightly colored signs stacked against the wall and piles of posters and buttons on a table, all with the American flag rippling in the background. Some signs had the slogan: THE HUMANIST PARTY. Others read: JAYDON GUTHRIE FOR HEAD OF THE WITCHES.