“Oh, I feel fine.” I grinned. “Fine enough, anyway. Strip spell-casting okay?”

“Better than okay.” He looked down at my kimono. “Although you would appear to be at an initial disadvantage.”

“You arguing?”

A slow grin as he pulled me to him. “No, not at all.”

We didn’t get the spell working, having exhausted our—or my—store of energy before a successful cast. It didn’t matter. It used to matter. Success or failure at spell-casting practice used to matter a lot, to both of us, and we’d both admitted to hours or even days of frustration following a failure. But now that we almost always practiced together, it had become a game rather than a test. And, no matter whether we cast a new spell successfully or not, practicing together did have one definite advantage—it meant we never left a session feeling frustrated.

I’m Not Dead Yet

WE AWOKE AT SEVEN. JAIME POPPED OVER MINUTES LATER, and from the looks of things, hadn’t slept more than an hour or two. While Lucas picked up breakfast, I took a quick shower. I’d just stepped out when someone rapped at our door. Lucas probably, with his hands full again.

“Could you grab that?” I called to Jaime.

I dressed, then opened the bathroom door to find Jaime standing there.

“Vampire at the door,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I sighed. “Please tell me it’s not Cassandra.”

“Short auburn hair? Looks about my age? Perfect makeup? Designer outfit?”

“Shit,” I said, leaning against the wall.

“How about I don’t invite her in?”

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t work. Cassandra goes where she pleases, invited or not, wanted or not. Crosses, holy water, icy glares, nothing keeps her out.”

“I heard that, Paige,” Cassandra called from the main room. “Stop hiding in the bathroom and tell me what this is all about.”

I walked through the bedroom into the living area. Cassandra was lounging by the window, taking in the sunlight and, sadly, not bursting into flame.

I turned to Jaime. “Cassandra, this is—”

“I know who she is,” Cassandra said. “I have a television.”

“Oh, but you two had already introduced yourselves—No, wait…” I looked at Jaime. “You didn’t know her name. So how’d you know she was a vampire?”

“Easy. It’s like you witches and sorcerers can recognize one another. I’m a necro. She’s dead. So I can tell. Only dead things walking around are vamps. Well, there are zombies, but they don’t smell like French perfume.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cassandra said, fixing Jaime with a glower. “I’m not dead.”

“Of course you are. So you came all this way—?”

“I am not dead.”

Jaime slanted me an eye-roll. “Sure, whatever. Now—”

The hall door opened. Lucas walked through, then stopped. He looked at Cassandra, then down at his tray of breakfast for three.

“Don’t worry,” Jaime said. “She doesn’t eat. Well, she does, but even you aren’t that hospitable.”

“Ah, Cassandra, I presume,” he said, laying the tray on the dinette table.

“Cassandra, this is Lucas Cortez,” I said. “Lucas, Cassandra DuCharme.”

Cassandra’s gaze skimmed over Lucas, assessing and dismissing him in a millisecond. Anger darted through me, not so much at the insult as at the coolly confident way she did it, with a look that said, if she had wanted him, she could have him. Now I knew how Elena felt.

“Cassandra’s just leaving,” I said. “Seems she took a wrong turn on her way somewhere else.”

“I’m not leaving until I get an explanation.”

“First, we don’t owe you an explanation. Second, if I thought you’d leave once we gave it, I’d tell you in a heartbeat. We’re very busy, and as much as I appreciate your interest—”

“You said my name came up in reference to this case. I want to know who, how, and why.”

“Don’t know, don’t know, and don’t know,” Jaime said. “It didn’t tell us.”

“It?”

“The spook.”

Cassandra crossed her arms. “Spook?”

“Ghost,” I said. “Or maybe not—we haven’t determined that yet. A spiritual entity of some kind has been pestering Jaime and it has something to do with you. That’s all we know.”

“Me? Why on earth would a ghost want to communicate with me?”

“Maybe because you put him there,” Jaime said. “Dinner coming back to haunt you. Literally.”

Before Cassandra could answer, our room phone rang.

“Jesus,” Jaime muttered. “Grand Central Station.”

Lucas picked up the extension from the side table. He announced himself, then waited. His gaze flicked to me, a slight frown on his lips.

“Yes, of course, perhaps we—” He paused. “Oh, well, certainly then. Come up.” Lucas hung up and turned to me. “That was Sean Nast.”

“Savannah’s—Kristof’s son?”

“Yes, he has something to tell us, about the case. He was phoning from the lobby.”

“You want me to skedaddle?” Jaime said.

“No need. He knows from the trial that you’ve been working with us. But perhaps…”