“Let’s say Claire found evidence that Paula killed Ginny and Brandi. She goes to Alastair to get his advice. He kills her.”

“Then Michael starts getting close. Alastair lures him to a warehouse staged for a ritual—”

The Jeep thumped into a pothole. My stomach heaved and I grabbed the dashboard. Adam hit the brakes and my breakfast almost hit the windshield.

“Shit! I’m sorry.” He eased the Jeep to the side as I bent forward, eyes closed.

“Kleenex,” I mumbled, trying not to open my mouth too far.

“Right. Okay. I’ve got napkins.”

He passed them to me and I spat out the stuff in my mouth. As I wadded up the tissues, an opened pack of gum appeared in front of me. I took a piece, and chewed before saying, “I think I’m coming down with something.”

“You haven’t been feeling well?”

“A bit nauseated.” I glanced over. “And no, it isn’t morning sickness. Somehow I doubt I’m a suitable candidate for the next immaculate conception.”

“I was feeling a little off myself first thing, and it’s definitely not morning sickness for me. Could be the flu. Any other symptoms?”

I told him about the headaches and the spellcasting.

“You’re having trouble casting spells?”

“Just a few misfires. It’s nothing.”

“You should have told me. If I’m watching your back, I need to know that your spells are on the fritz.”

“Let’s just get to the motel and talk to Jesse about the photos. Avoid the potholes if you can.”

He pulled back onto the road.

“Maybe whoever gave Jesse those photos did the doctoring himself,” I said. “He wanted Jesse to investigate Claire’s death, so he Photoshopped the others. I keep going back to that witch theory. If Ginny and Brandi’s deaths weren’t connected to Claire’s, then that makes even more sense. Claire could be a witch. She’s killed. Two weeks later, I’m being stalked and Tiffany—who we know is a witch—is killed.”

Adam didn’t say anything. When I looked over, he was staring straight ahead.

“What?” I said.

“I just keep ...” An angry shake of his head. “About the witch thing. It’s tweaking a memory, and it’s driving me crazy because I can’t figure it out. I’m going to check a few more things in the database, then I may have to break down and call Dad.”

THE FIRST ORDER of business at the motel was to talk to Jesse and get specifics on where he got the crime-scene photos. When we pulled in, though, the parking spot in front of his room was still empty.

“Shit,” I said. “I gave him the file.” I walked to Jesse’s door. “Time for a little B&E. Not like he hasn’t done the same to me ...” I murmured an unlock spell under my breath, then grabbed the handle and—