My thoughts returned to Ivy, huddled under her covers in a shock-induced sleep. My mother would be next. And she would die not even knowing why she was being tortured.

Shaking inside, I went into the living room for the phone. My fingers were trembling so badly, I had to dial it twice. It took a precious three minutes of arguing to get to Rose.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan,” the woman said, her voice so politically correct I could freeze an egg on it. “Captain Edden is not available, and Detective Glenn left word that he is not to be disturbed.”

“Not to be—” I stammered. “Listen. I know who murdered them. We have to go out there now. Before he sends someone after my mother!”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan,” the woman said politely. “You are no longer a consultant. If you have a complaint or death threat, please hold and I’ll transfer you back to the front desk.”

“No! Wait!” I pleaded. “You don’t understand. Just let me talk to Glenn!”

“No, Morgan.” Rose’s calm, reasonable voice was suddenly thick with an unexpected anger. “You don’t understand. No one here wants to talk to you.”

“But I know who the witch hunter is!” I exclaimed, and the connection clicked off.

“You sorry-assed idiots!” I shouted, throwing the phone across the room. It hit the wall, the back coming off and the batteries rolling over the floor. Frustrated, I stomped into the kitchen, spilling Ivy’s pens over the table as I reached for one. Heart pounding, I scratched a note to thumbtack to the door of the church.

Nick was coming. Glenn would talk to Nick. He could convince them I was right, tell them where I’d gone. They’d have to come out, if only to arrest me for interfering. I would have told him to call the I.S., but Piscary probably owned them. And though humans had as much chance of besting a master vampire as I did, perhaps just the interruption might be enough to save my butt.

Spinning, I reached for the cupboard, pulling amulets from hooks and jamming them into my bag. I yanked open a bottom drawer and grabbed three wooden stakes. I added the big butcher cleaver from the knife block. My splat gun was next, loaded with the strongest spell a white witch would have: sleepy-time charms. From the island counter I took a bottle of holy water. Thinking for a moment, I pulled up the valve top, took a swallow, recapped it, then shoved it in with the rest. Holy water wasn’t much good unless it was all you’d been drinking for the last three days, but I’d take all the deterrent I could scrape together.

Not slowing, I strode into the hall for my boots. I slipped them on and headed for the front door, laces flapping. Jerking to a halt in the hallway, I spun, returning to the kitchen. Grabbing a handful of change for the bus, I left.

Piscary wanted to talk to me? Good. I wanted to talk to him.