She gave Sarah a grim smile. “Nobody’s hurting my baby, and I’m not going to wait around for someone to rescue me if I get into a tight spot. So I need to learn how to fight if it comes down to a battle with another witch.”

Chapter Seventeen

In Atlanta, multiple investigations marched on.

Even though Josiah did everything he could to make Molly disappear without a trace, none of the other members of the coven trusted the safe house now that she could potentially expose its location.

So Richard scrubbed it. He eradicated the spells, filled in the tunnel and repaired the hole in the basement, stripped out the security equipment, and methodically wiped the house of prints from top to bottom. When he finished, Josiah would sell it and buy another, and they would undertake the laborious task of setting up a new country safe house within driving distance of the city.

In their forensic accounting, Henry and Steven traced multiple paths to and from the Russian bank, the Seychelles islands, and Sherman & Associates, but a discernible pattern had yet to emerge.

It wasn’t clear if the law firm was laundering money or taking payment for services rendered. Perhaps both? They only knew one thing for sure. The connection between Sherman & Associates and a Russian organization or company was strong and unmistakable.

Anson and Maria continued to painstakingly build files on each person of interest in Atlanta—anyone who might possibly be their quarry. Josiah would have suspected Russell himself if that hadn’t been patently impossible. Bodies changed over time, and cosmetic surgery could easily alter facial features, but Russell was a good four inches shorter than Rasputin had been, and while he wore various magic items, he had no intrinsic Power himself.

Josiah read files, created scenarios to meet each individual they had researched, processed cases, and ordered an extensive audit of the Sullivan estate. But his head wasn’t in the game. It hadn’t been since he had returned from New Orleans.

One night Anson was waiting for him in the apartment after work, sitting on the couch with the living room lights on.

Josiah paused, then locked the door behind him. They rarely met in person, preferring to conduct most business via email, text, and the occasional phone call. “Anson. What do you need?”

“To talk to you. What are you doing about that tracker on your Audi now that Richard’s scrubbing the safe house?”

“Nothing.” Josiah carried his briefcase, suit jacket, and a bag of takeout to the kitchen counter. “I’m going to work, and I’m coming back to the apartment, and I’m doing normal things the DA would do. If somebody wants to waste their energy tracking that, let them. If we remove the tracker, it will alert the watchers that we know about them.”