Retribution

Damn him.

I step back onto the sidewalk, barely avoiding a toddler walking on unsteady legs a few feet in front of her parents. The adults don ’t notice that I’ve just materialized out of nowhere but the kid does. She plops down on her bottom and starts to cry, which garners me dirty looks from her parents. I step gingerly around them and head for the fountain in the center of the quad a few yards away, yanking my cell phone out of my handbag.

The first time I ring through, predictably, the call goes to voice mail.

I picture Williams reading the caller ID and refusing to answer. I leave a curt message, telling him it’s important and to take my call.

I don’t add that if he doesn’t, I’ll find a way in and rip his head off. My hand is shaking with impatience. I wait two minutes and call again.

This time Williams does answer, his tone cold. “What do you want?”

“A witch.”

There’s a moment of silence before he asks why.

When I tell him, some of the antagonism drops from his tone. “Where are you?”

“Outside by the fountain. Seems I’ve been locked out of the clubhouse. My key no longer works.”

“Try it again,” he says, disco

The kid and her parents are still hanging around the bench. I ’m not sure what to do. If I walk right past them and they watch to see where I go, how will they react when I disappear? Always before it’s been early in the morning or late at night when I’ve shown up here and nosy humans have not been a problem.

I can’t wait. Not with Culebra’s life at stake.

I sidle past them, pretending to be interested in the flora, touching the bushes as I walk. Williams always said supernaturals could access this place without attracting attention. Damned if he isn’t right. This time, the three don’t so much as glance my way as I pass right by them and disappear again through the magic portal.

Now the key works. The door opens and I’m in a small windowless room equipped only with a desk and a computer. I punch in a few keys, and the room becomes an elevator that whisks me downward.

Williams is waiting. No exchange of pleasantries. He gestures for me to follow him, leading me away from the busy command center in the middle of the room to an area off to the side—an area I’ve never seen before.

He opens a door. “Inside,” he says.

It’s a small room with a circular table and five chairs. Three women are seated around the table—each as different from one another as is humanly possible—for they are humans. No supernatural emanations.

Williams makes the introductions quickly, pointing as he goes. “Min Liu.” A small Chinese woman with piercing eyes and waist-length black hair. “Susan Powers.” Middle-aged WASP with a quick, bright smile, chin-length bob of salt-and-pepper hair. “Ariela Acosta.” The youngest of the three, midtwenties, I’d guess, Latina, pretty, dark eyes and hair drawn back into a ponytail.

He finishes up with a jab of the thumb in my direction. “A

It’s his only diversion. “Tell them what you need.”

They are witches?

Isn’t that what you asked for?

He is still pissed over what happened yesterday. His tone resonates with it. Well, I am, too. It’s surprising he took my second call.

Quickly I explain about Culebra—his symptoms, who I suspect is behind the spell. They listen with careful attention. Williams listens, too. He knows of Burke. He remembers what she tried to do, how close Frey came to dying at her hand.

When I’m done, Min speaks first.

“We know of Belinda Burke. She, alone, is more powerful than we are working collectively. We ca

“But we may be able to locate her,” Susan adds.

Ariela is nodding. “We can follow her telekinetic trail. To cast a spell such as the one you described involves creating a psychic bond between victim and witch. We can tap into that trail and follow it to its source.”

Susan must read the question on my face because she says, “It’s like a GPS system. We follow the signal to its point of origin.”

“You said you couldn’t reverse the spell,” I say. “What would happen if Burke was to die? Would that break the spell?”

Min frowns. “It would be dangerous to attempt to kill this one, ” she says. “She has a powerful protective glamour. You must tread carefully.”

“But would killing her break the spell?”

She nods.

That’s all I need. I have some pretty powerful glamour myself—vampire strength and if that’s not enough, a nice .38. Witch or no, Burke is human. Once I have her in my sights, I’ll know what to do. “How long will it take to locate her?”

The three exchange calculating glances. “If we can do it, an hour.” Ariela says. “Maybe less.”

“If you can do it?”

Another exchange of glances. “If she’s on this—an earthly—plane we can find her. If not—” Ariela’s shoulders raise in a shrug.

Williams touches my arm. “We’ll let you get to it. We’ll be in my office.”

Great. Bad enough that I may be wasting an hour of Culebra’s life, but the idea of spending that hour alone with Williams sets my teeth on edge.

I don’t like it any better than you do, he snaps. But something else has happened that you should be aware of. It affects the vampire community.

When I don’t respond fast enough, he bristles with indignation. You can’t choose to be a part of this community only when it suits you. I’ve made my resources available to you. The least you can do is hear me out.

He’s right. I lift my shoulders in a half shrug of resignation and reluctantly follow the lion into his den.

CHAPTER 11

GUILT GOT ME HERE. BUT ONCE WE’RE SEATED in uncomfortable silence around Williams ’ desk, I’m reminded of my conversation last night with Lance—and what happened after. I smile, letting some of the good stuff through.

“My boyfriend says hello.”

Williams acts like he doesn’t hear me, but the coil of his antipathy tightens. He pretends to ignore me, shuffling papers around his desk as if searching for one in particular, but a muscle at the base of his jaw jumps, betraying his agitation.

After another minute of thumbing through the piles on his desk, he finds what he’s looking for and shoves a sheet toward me.

The first thing I notice is the letterhead: “SDPD Headquarters.” Then, in bold letters: “Internal Memo.”

I glance over at him. Are you supposed to have this?

Again no reply, concentration focused instead on arranging the discarded papers he’d shoved aside in search of the one I’m holding.

I take that as a no.

His mind is shut so tight, his jaw muscles strain with the effort.

That must hurt.

I barely suppress a smile as I start reading.

The memo is the summation of three police reports filed during the last twenty -four hours. Both involve males attacked by females who cut their victims with knives and suck at the wounds. The men describe their attackers as in their early thirties, attractive, seductive. Not the same woman, though the MO is the same in all three cases. The men meet the women in bars, the women agree to go home with them but instead of engaging in sexual activity, the women attack. They don’t appear to want to kill their victims, the wounds are superficial, on the arms or legs, and the men easily subdue the women once they get over the shock. The women seem to just want to suck their blood. All three women have managed to escape before the police arrive.

Weird, I say, handing the report back to Williams. They’re obviously not vampires. Newly made vampires are still stronger than the strongest human. I pause a second before adding, Are you getting information from Ortiz?