“It looked real to me,” one of the officers said, waving a cookie that looked suspiciously like the same cookies that were in my cupboard.

His wave scattered crumbs across my ivory carpet. I looked at those crumbs, looked at the muddy boot prints surrounding it, looked at the bookcase behind it, my books and photos and mementos shoved into haphazard piles, and I felt a snap. Just a small one.

“And you say that based on witnessing exactly how many Satanic altars?” I asked.

“We’ve seen photos,” he muttered at last.

“Oh, right. The photos. There’s probably one genuine photo circulating endlessly around the entire country. Attention all units: beware of Satanic cults. Do you know who builds all those so-called Satanic altars you hear about? Kids. Bored, angry teenagers trying to shock the establishment. That and the occasional homicidal moron who’s already planning his defense: the devil made me do it. Satanic altar, my ass. What you saw out back there is a prank. A very, very sick prank.”

“You sure seem to know a lot about this stuff,” one officer said.

“It’s called a college education.” I wheeled on the detective. “Are you charging me with anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Then get the hell out of my house so I can clean up your mess.”

INDUSTRIAL MAGIC

INDUSTRIAL MAGIC

Now that Paige Winterbourne has broken with the elite, ultraconservative American Coven of Witches, her goal is to start a new Coven for a new generation. But while Paige is pitching her vision to uptight thirty-something witches in business suits, someone is murdering the teenage off-spring of the underworld’s most influential Cabals—a circle of families that make the mob look like amateurs. And none is more powerful than the Cortez Cabal, a faction Paige is intimately acquainted with. Lucas Cortez, the rebel son and unwilling heir, is none other than her boyfriend. But for the smart young witch, love isn’t blind, and Paige has her eyes wide open as she is drawn into a hunt for an unnatural-born killer in a corrupt realm of supernatural espionage. Pitted against shamans, demons, and goons, it’s a battle chilling enough to make a wild young woman grow up in a hurry. If she gets the chance…

As I rounded the last corner, I noticed two suspicious figures standing in front of my building. Both wore suits, which in my neighborhood was extremely suspicious. I looked for Bibles or encyclopedias, but they were empty-handed. One stared up at the building, perhaps expecting it to morph into corporate headquarters.

Both men had short, dark hair and clean-shaven, chiseled faces. Both wore Ray-Bans. Both were roughly the size of redwoods. My only way of distinguishing them was by tie color. One had a dark red tie, the other jade green.

As I drew closer, both men turned my way.

“Paige Winterbourne?” Red Tie said.

I slowed and mentally readied a spell.