“You lost your spells, Savannah,” I muttered to myself. “Not your brains.”

I slipped inside. I was at the far end of the house, away from the kitchen and front rooms, where I could hear girls giggling as Adam held court. I crept to the closed office door, then stopped and listened. Inside, it was silent.

My kingdom for a sensing spell.

Scratch that. From now on, I needed to be really careful what I wished for and what I offered in return.

I wondered how someone without a sensing spell ensured a room was empty. I had no idea. I’d never foreseen a time when I’d need to do it any other way.

I rapped at the office door, strained to hear any sound, ready to sprint if I did. Yes, I felt ridiculous, like a five-year-old playing Nicky Nine Doors—knocking on a door and running away. It worked, though. When no one answered I turned the knob only to discover that I did need the picks here. Damn.

Luckily, it was just your standard home door lock, easily thwarted by anyone with a paper clip. Once inside, I locked the door behind me.

My goal was in plain sight. The filing cabinet. Now, I just had to hope they kept paper copies of their admission forms.

They didn’t. Or so it seemed as I leafed through sparse files of packaging mock-ups and media pieces. Then I spotted a second, smaller filing cabinet. One with an electronic lock.

Admission forms hardly seemed to require such security. But Alastair was also a therapist and a place like this attracted girls with problems. Whatever Alastair’s faults, he seemed to take that aspect of his role seriously, so I wouldn’t be surprised if application forms were locked away, along with counseling notes.

The problem was the lock. It was a combination, and I didn’t have a hope in hell of figuring it out in the next few minutes. I tugged on the door, just in case it wasn’t latched. No such luck.

As I fiddled with it, footsteps sounded in the hall. I backed against the bookshelf. Someone tried the door and I congratulated myself for having the foresight to lock it behind me. Then, after a test jangle, a key turned in the lock. I quickly cast a cover spell. Only as the last words left my mouth did I remember that it wasn’t going to do any good.

The door swung open. In walked a young woman with a blond ponytail and the kind of Nordic beauty normally seen only in skin care ads. Megan. When her gaze fell on me, I stiffened, but her brows only lifted in the barest expression of surprise.

“I—” I began.

“Savannah,” she said. “I expected I’d find you in here. Tossing a good-looking guy in the front door? About as obvious as dangling a steak over the wall to distract the guard dogs.”

“It works.”

“Only on the bitches who are starving.”

She picked up a pair of scissors from the desk. When my hands flew up, she shook her head.

“Stabbing really isn’t my style.” A sly smile. “Not from the front, anyway. I need these to open a delivery box.” She glanced at the file cabinet, the top drawer not quite closed. “I presume you’re still interested in Amy.”

“I—”

“I never trusted her. It was Alastair who insisted we let her in. Damaged, he said. Playing damaged, I said.” She looked at me. “She picked a very convenient time to leave, didn’t she? I suspect that means she had something to do with what happened. The murders. You were investigating. You came asking about her. The two cannot be unconnected.”

“I—”

“You won’t find her files in the cabinet. We keep the girls’ records a little more secure than that.” Her gaze shifted to the locked one, then lifted to mine. “Do you know how much our cookies cost?”

“Your cookies?”

“Nine-ninety-eight a dozen. We’re avoiding breaking that tendollar mark, obviously. A small thing, but important for marketing purposes.”

At the door, she turned. “A word of advice, Savannah. If you’re breaking into a place and you hear the door opening? You’re supposed to hide.”

She left and closed it carefully behind her. I walked to the locked cabinet and entered 998 on the keypad. The lock whirred and the door popped open. I found Amy’s file and got out of there.

Abject humiliation didn’t set in until I was sitting at the roadside, waiting for Adam. I’d screwed up on the kind of break-in I’d done dozens of times before. The kind of break-in we might need to do again before we caught this witch-hunter.

I’d been lucky. Insanely lucky.

The next time I screwed up, we might find ourselves explaining things from a jail cell. Or worse. Until I got my spells back, I had to shift into the backseat and let Adam take the wheel.

As Adam drove us back to the motel, I read through Amy’s application. For future reference only. Adam had already decided we could hold off on following up on the information. First, we needed to fix my power outage.

“You’ve got some crazy assassin chick hot on your trail,” he’d said. “Hell, yes, you need your spells.”

Getting in touch with the Fates isn’t easy. We aren’t supposed to know anything about them. I only do because Paige took a nosedive through a portal six years ago and had to deal with the Fates to get back.

From that, I knew they made deals, which is why I was sure they were responsible for my situation. The last time, though, the person who actually made the bargain was my mother. So that was whom we had to talk to. Not easy when she’s been dead for almost ten years. But I knew a way.

By evening, we were in Seattle, having left my bike and Adam’s Jeep at Lucas and Paige’s place, then caught a plane from Portland. It’s only a three-hour drive, but both our vehicles were still in rough shape from separate accidents in Columbus. Adam could have left his Jeep at his apartment, but he was hoping for Lucas’s help fixing it. Or at least his tools.

A drizzling rain started as we drove downtown in a rental car. Enough to be annoying. Not enough to actually make a pit stop to buy an umbrella.

The people lined up outside the theater weren’t happy about the weather either, not when they had another twenty minutes before the doors opened. The marquee read WORLD-RENOWNED SPIRITUALIST JAIME VEGAS. ONE NIGHT ONLY. A banner across it announced that the show was sold out.

Jaime always sold out. If she didn’t, she’d book herself into a smaller venue the next time. She figured that as long as people knew it wasn’t easy getting tickets to her show, they’d keep coming, and she’d have a reason to keep touring, which she loved.