But right now, my biggest worry was that I’d made a mistake by walking away and leaving Tiffany with a warning. I’d wanted to push harder, yet I’d realized that I didn’t have any leverage. All I knew was that she’d done something she thought worthy of council attention. I needed more information.

Molly said the ritual was druidic. I kind of hoped she was wrong, because that added another complication to a case that didn’t need it, not when I was already following leads on witchcraft and Santeria. Did that mean Tiffany Radu wasn’t the only supernatural hiding out in Columbus? Was she hiding? If so, from what? Was it related to the person stalking her? The person stalking me? Was that person involved in Michael’s death?

As I walked toward the Thompson home, I called Paige.

“So, how’s the beach?” I said when she answered.

“We saw it.”

“Through your resort room window?”

She gave a throaty laugh. “No. We went for a beach walk last night. Today we’re touring the volcano. Tomorrow we’re going into the rain forest.”

“Missing the point, aren’t you? You’re supposed to be lying on the beach, soaking up the rays ...”

Paige made a gagging noise. Even on vacation, it would take a binding spell to get her to stay still.

We talked for another couple of minutes. Then, as I was ready to hang up, she suddenly said. “Is everything okay, Savannah?”

“Hmm?”

“You sound a little off. Are you okay?”

My throat clenched and I gripped the phone. No, I’m not. The guy I went out with last night is dead. I found his body. I spent the night being interrogated by the cops. I don’t want to tell you what’s happening because you’re on vacation, and I can handle this, but I just feel ... lonely. I feel lonely.

“Everything’s fine,” I said.

A pause. “Okay, then, well, if you need us, just call.”

“I will.”

NEXT, JESSE CHECKED in to say he’d gotten tied up in Seattle—a client showed up just as he was grabbing stuff from the office. He was on his way now and would call me when he was in town.

I told him about Tiffany. I’m not sure what bothered him most: that she knew who I was or that we both thought someone was spying on us.

“The targeting of two witches doesn’t constitute a racially motivated pattern, as Lucas would say,” I said. “We could just have a random peeper.”

“Still, I don’t like it,” he said. “Be careful, okay?”

When I told him about the druidic link, he seemed far less concerned.

“Not many of them practice the old rites these days,” he said. “Who’s your source?”

“A friend of my mom’s.”