“And this is a man, walking toward the door.”
“It’s from Simply Charming out in Marin.”
Will shook another handful of candies into his mouth. “And I pegged you more as a Crate and Barrel kind of bird.”
“Simply Charming is a shop for potions, spell books, candles. And this receipt isn’t mine.”
Will stopped then and turned, eyebrows raised. “So we have a witchcraft type killer and a receipt from a witchcraft type store.”
“Yeah, but this must have fallen out of Miranda’s book. She dropped a book of protection spells when she got in a scuffle with Fallon just a few minutes ago.”
“So Miranda is dabbling in the dark arts?”
I put my hands on my hips. “No, Miranda was buying a book of protection spells because Fallon keeps bullying her and knocking her around.”
Will came toward me, crushing the M&M bag in his hand. “And you don’t find it the least bit coinky-dink that she went directly to a spell book rather than, say, the principal? Or her parents? Or a bodyguard?”
“We don’t know that she went ‘directly’ to magic. She’s probably tried everything else to get Fallon off her case and she knew if she went to the principal it would only get worse. She was probably too humiliated to go to her parents.”
The rest of the school day passed uneventfully. After I scarfed the granola bar Nina had tossed in a paper lunch bag for me, I started topping each empty desk with the single-page pop quiz Heddy had delivered that morning. I paused when I got to the end of the room, brushing my finger over the carving on one of the last desks.
“Hello,” I said, dropping the test papers and sliding into the desk. I bit my lip, still tracing the little round carving. I recognized it, but I wasn’t sure from where.
After wracking my brain, I joined the twenty-first century and snapped a picture, sending it to Lorraine—my own personal witchcraft Wikipe-dian. As I waited for her response, Will poked his head into my classroom, did a quick sweep—obviously not seeing me in the back of the class—and sauntered in, snagging my cup of dry erase pens.
“Ahem.”
Will made the exact same high-pitched yip that ChaCha made the time I had accidentally stepped on her paw. I broke down laughing, watching my collection of pens—cup and all—rain down on Will’s head.
“Holy God, Sophie! There’s a killer in our midst and you’re trying your sodden best to add to the body count.”
I sat back against the attached-chair’s backrest and shot Will my best cop look. “Looks like murder might not be the only crime afoot. Why were you stealing my pens?”
Will strode toward me. “I think the real question is why weren’t you protecting your pens?”
“You know that makes no sense, right?”
“Subject changed. What are you doing back here?”
I grabbed a few strands of my frazzled red hair and twisted them around my finger. “I’m waiting for Lorraine to call me back. See what I found?”
I pointed out the carving and Will craned his neck to look at it. “Looks like a circle.”
“Look closer.”
Will squinted, but obliged. “A circle with stuff in the middle.”
“Really, you should share your brilliant powers of deduction with the world.”
Will opened his mouth to respond, but my phone exploded into an annoying series of chirps. I glanced at the text.
“Circle with stuff in the middle my butt! According to Lorraine, that’s a symbol of protection. It’s usually found on talismans. The pattern is called Luaithrindi, and these”—I drew my finger over each of the crossed lines—“are swords. The eight Ciphers of the Angels. This part where they interlock forms a—and I quote—powerful shield of protection.”
Will crossed his arms in front of his chest. “So a girl goes missing a year ago. She turns up with carvings all over her body.” He gestured toward the desk. “Do we know if this symbol showed up?”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “Not that I remember.” My stomach roiled. “Not that I want to remember.”
“One year to the day another girl goes missing. Her clothes are dumped and lit on fire. Same thing with Cathy?”
“No. I don’t think Cathy’s clothes were ever found.”
Will pressed his lips together, using his index finger to tap his clean-shaven (a rarity) chin. “So, how do we know that this”—he mashed his finger against the symbol—“has anything to do with our case?”
I could feel the adrenaline beginning to well. “Sampson suspected witchcraft. We find a symbol of protection carved into the desk, and earlier today . . .” I raised my eyebrows, assuming he’d finish my thought.
“Earlier today what?”
Of course not.
“The book—Miranda’s book of protection spells. She’s afraid of something—or someone.”
“So Miranda settles into her seat here in the back and carves herself some protection.”