The entry described a secret society of women who spent their childhood and adolescence preparing for the day when they would kill a witch or two. When they “came of age,” they finally got their chance. It reminded me of religions where the young adults spend a few years traveling, spreading the word and making converts. Only these girls hit the road in hopes of killing a few witches before rejoining civilian life, marrying and raising the next generation of assassins.

Like your standard myth, it made a good story, which is why my gut reaction was to treat it as such. And yet...

According to the legend, there were very few of these families remaining, as elusive as snow leopards. When they killed, they did it in a way that wouldn’t raise any alarms, even among witches. Wasn’t that exactly how Claire and Tiffany died? One the apparent victim of a serial killer. The other likely a suicide.

Witch-hunters were said to recognize witches on sight—as sorcerers do—then stalk their victims until they found exactly the right circumstances. What if one had been following Claire Kennedy? That witch-hunter comes to Columbus, and discovers another witch ... then another. She’d think she’d struck the jackpot.

Kill Claire and link her death to the first two crimes. Kill Michael when he got too close. Kill Tiffany in an apparent suicide. And then? Well, there’s one witch left ...

“If this is right, you’re in deep shit,” Adam said, around the time I came to the same conclusion.

“I’m not backing off.”

“I don’t expect you to. Just don’t blast me with an energy bolt if I dog your steps until this investigation is done.”

“I won’t.” I eased back on the bed, pulling my feet up. “My spell casting has fizzled, remember? Damned inconvenient time for the flu.”

Adam went still. Too still. I was about to ask if he was okay, when he grabbed his laptop and began typing furiously. When he looked up, his eyes were dark with worry.

“What have you been eating?” he asked.

“Um, lots of stuff. As usual. Most of it bad for me.”

“No, what have you been eating regularly? In the last few days. Something I might have had, too.” His gaze shot to the door. “The coffee shop. You had three meals from them, and I’ve had one ... No, I was feeling a little off before that. Something else then. What have you been eating a lot of? Especially something given to you by someone else—”

His gaze swung to the table and he let out an oath. I grabbed the box of cult cookies.

“You weren’t eating these, though,” I said. “You finished off Paige’s.”

He shook his head. “No, I swiped a cult one, too. I had to see if they lived up to the advertising. I liked Paige’s better, so I finished hers.”