Spellbound by Kelley Armstrong

feet in my face.
    I pulled off his socks, left them by his face, and went in search of coffee. If I’d had to go far, I’d have abandoned the quest—I didn’t want him freaking out because I’d gone into the assassin-infested streets alone. But there was a café beside the cocktail lounge. Just as trendy, unfortunately. I overpaid for a plain cup of coffee, got him a drink, and grabbed a pastry assortment.
    He was waiting at the door when I got back.
    â€œIt was directly across the road,” I said, handing him his drink as we backed into the room. “I even looked both ways before crossing.”
    He lifted the cup and sniffed. “Cinnamon? With whipped cream?”
    â€œYes, it’s a girly drink and I know you love it, so having made your token protest, shut up and drink. You can go scale a mountain or something after. Reclaim your manhood.”
    â€œWell, they do have mountains in Arizona.”
    â€œIs that still the plan, then?” I sat on the edge of the bed and took a muffin from the bag. “Head to Arizona? Focus on my little witch-hunter?”
    â€œOn a grand scale, she’s the minor threat. But she’s the major threat to you, so that’s the one I’m chasing first.”
    â€œThat’s so sweet.”
    â€œNo, this is sweet.” He lifted his cup. “What did you do? Double the syrup?”
    â€œYes. It cost extra, but you’re worth it. Now drink it while we tackle today’s tidal wave of e-mail panic and see if there’s anything useful in it.”
    Â 
    Â 
    Same song; second verse. More supernaturals had heard of the threat. More demanded answers. None offered to help.
    â€œAnd none offering any useful information,” I said. When Adam didn’t answer, I glanced over to see his gaze fixed on his screen.
    â€œGot one for you.” He turned his laptop to face me.
    My name is Gary Schmidt. I’m a necromancer. We’ve never met, but I think you know who I am. At least, you know my work. Leah O’Donnell.
    â€œSon of a bitch,” I said. “This is the guy who put Leah into Jesse’s body. He has the nerve to contact me? To do what?”
    To apologize, it seemed. Leah had said she’d gone to an old necromancer contact and “convinced” him to do the ritual. Schmidt wrote that she’d used her Volo powers to play poltergeist. Deadly poltergeist, first killing their cat, then knocking Schmidt’s wife over a second-story banister. The woman was still in the hospital. Leah had promised to finish the job by pulling out her life support. That’s when Schmidt capitulated.
    â€œCan’t say I blame him,” I said.
    â€œWell, I do. The minute she killed his pet, he should have seen where it was going and gotten help.”
    â€œHe probably figured he could handle it. I know what that’s like.”
    â€œBut would you let her hurt your family? Would you eventually give in and zap a psychopath ghost into a body, then wash your hands of it, be glad the bitch was someone else’s problem? He got his wife badly hurt, and got a lot of people killed. He almost got you killed. Now he wants to talk to say he’s sorry? Piss on him.”
    Schmidt did want to talk. He said it was a “matter of urgency” and “something I needed to know.” But with Leah back in her hell dimension, what could he need to tell me? Like Adam said, he was just feeling guilty.
    I still called. If he only wanted to apologize, I’d let him know what I thought of that. And I’d let him know exactly what Leah had done. The number rang through to an answering machine. I hung up without leaving a message.

eleven
    A my Lynn Tucker was dead. That would be a lot more comforting if my witch-hunter actually was Amy Lynn Tucker.
    As we sat at a picnic table in Arizona outside a dorm, the dead girl’s roommate gave us the news that Amy had died a few months earlier.
    â€œWe