I’ve always resisted the idea of asking him for help. I never want to be in debt to him. There’s really no bargaining with the devil. I know what he’s capable of doing. Still, if there’s anyone who can see through a deception, it has to be him.

I give up fighting the question. “So what do I look out for?”

Damian’s face changes to delight as he realizes I’m asking for his help. “He’s probably not walking around in a cape. Although I’m sure he’s dying for them to come back. He probably has one picked out with purple trim. No. He’s in love with this idea of the Warlock. It’s a character he created. He wants to be him. But he’s afraid to actually step into the role—to put himself in public as the Warlock. That’s why this is all about ideas. I bet he looks quite normal. Probably tries to use that as camouflage. Buys his clothes at Old Navy. Looks like a square. He’ll be hard to find. He blends right in.”

“I know the type.” I wonder how long Damian had been watching me. He had to go out of his way for me to see him sitting there.

“Ahem, I can’t tell you how much effort it takes for me not to stand out.”

“Well, just the same. Do it a little farther away. And your profile is about as useless as a fortune cookie.” I’m resisting the urge to call one of the airport police officers to detain him. Maybe not press charges, but at least have him held long enough to find out who he really is. Sadly, that would be one more complication I don’t need at the moment. I might regret not doing it, but it’s not going to help me catch the Warlock right now.

Damian reads my face. “I can tell you’re conflicted by my presence. I need to catch a flight anyway. I’ll leave you with a thought. And this doesn’t come from an amateur. As a person who takes making himself appear to be other people very seriously, it’s not hard to see when someone else has stumbled onto one of my secrets.”

“What would that be?” It’s rare that he ever acknowledges his penchant for deception, much less his technique.

Damian stands up and straightens the crease in his slacks. “I don’t choose the role. I let it choose me. At first I wondered if he chose the girl because she looked like Chloe McDonald or if Chloe was murdered because she looked like the second victim. When I saw our fake pilot it became obvious. He’s choosing his victims to fit the faces of the already deceased. Both the second girl and our fake pilot were chosen because they looked like somebody else.”

“I think we already know this, Damian. Sucks that you came all the way out here to tell me this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Then you know how as well? It was an old family trick, wasn’t it?”