“Think we can pull it off?” Brayden lounged in the booth, his arm slung over my shoulders.
A Patsy Cline tune warbled on Antoine’s jukebox. Power had been restored, and the place was hopping. Cowboys two-stepped with their girls across sawdust-covered floors.
“The exorcism?” I shouted back. I wasn’t worried about anyone overhearing. There was no way with all the noise.
He nodded. “It’s a big area to cover.”
Riga had said it was our intent and belief that counted, that the size of the area didn’t matter. But if that were true, why call in reinforcements like Hermia? I tapped my fingers on the damp table.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I groaned and buried my head in my hands. “I’m doing it again, letting my suspicions run wild.”
He raised a brow. “That’s not exactly an off-the-wall reaction in Doyle.”
“It’s not Doyle. It’s ego.”
“Jayce—”
I tugged down the hem of my sapphire tank. “Look, I’m not proud of it, okay? But yes, I have an ego, and it got outta control, and I second guessed everything Riga said and did.”
“In fairness, we’ve had a lot of trouble with other magicians in Doyle.”
“Not her.” I shook my head. Not after what she’d told me. I’d felt the grief in Riga’s voice, seen the lines of pain and regret in her face. I won’t say what she’d done had hurt her more than the guys who’d been killed. They’d been killed, after all. But she had been hurt. I wasn’t sure where that left Riga, but she wasn’t a monster.
I felt bad for her.
“She’s here to help,” I said. “And I think she might be able to do it.”
“That’s a relief. At least she’s bringing solutions and not more problems.”
My gaze dropped to my hands.
“She’s not bringing more problems,” he said sharply, “is she?”
“No, but what she’s proposing will change… things.”
“How?”
“Riga’s figured out a way we can change Doyle’s energy from negative to positive.” I took a quick gulp of my beer.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “So, good, right? No more riots? Less violent crime?”
I nodded.
“That’s all positive,” Brayden said. “So why do you look so worried?”
I drew in a ragged breath. “If we change the way magic works here… There’s a chance the magic might not work for me anymore.”
A series of emotions flashed across his face—surprise, concern, uncertainty. “I see.”
“Yeah. I mean, there’s also a chance I’ll be fine. I’ll probably be fine.”
“But there’s a risk.”
I nodded.
“What are you going to do?” He bent his head closer to mine.
“I don’t think I have a choice. We have to try.” A knot lodged in my throat. “So many people, lost, gone,” I said brokenly. “Mac—”
I pointed my finger at his beer and made a circling motion. Gold and purple sparks drifted upward from the mug and vanished. I smiled, rueful. “Brigitte taught me that today.” And as silly as the spell was, I loved it.
But I loved Doyle more.
He laid his broad hand atop mine. His warmth flowed up my arm and into my heart. It was a different sort of magic, and better than any spell I could pull off. “We’ll get through this,” he said.
“I know. I’m glad you’ll be there, be a part of it, when it happens.”
“Now that I know what you’re risking, you couldn’t keep me away. Though I still don’t understand how she thinks I can help,” he said. “I don’t have magic.”
“But you believe.” I turned my hand beneath his and laced our fingers together. “You’ve seen what’s come through that door, and you believe. And you’re good, and you want to make Doyle better.” And if I was going to lose everything, I wanted him by my side. I swallowed. “Besides,” I said lightly, “Nick will be there too.”
Karin had volunteered her husband. I’d no doubt he’d jump at the chance to help, since his own sister had been a victim of the Doyle disappearances.
“What about Connor?” he asked. “It might be useful to have a cop on board.”
I frowned. Lenore hadn’t said anything about her boyfriend, Deputy Connor Hernandez, joining the exorcism. “I don’t know. Lenore probably doesn’t know his work schedule yet.”
He pulled me close. “No matter what happens, we’ll be fine.”
I pressed my face into his plaid shirt, hot tears springing to my eyes. We would be fine. I just wasn’t sure if I would be. I sniffed and straightened, roughly wiping my eyes. “New topic. Any topic.”
“Okay. What did Brigitte give you at Wits’ End?”
“Broomsticks. I totally forgot.” I dug the scrap of paper from the rear pocket of my jeans. “Think it’s too late to call?”
“No, but good luck in this noise.”
“Good point. I’ll be right back.” If I kept busy, I wouldn’t think so much about the exorcism and what might come afterward.
I hurried through the batwing doors to the raised, wood-plank sidewalk. It was cooler outside, and I inhaled deeply. But the roar from the bar was still too loud for a call, so I rounded the corner into the darkened alley. I called the number.
“Bert here.”
“Hi, I’m...” Jumping the gun. Why should Mac’s buyer talk to me? I needed a better reason than nosiness. “I’m with the Doyle Times, business section.”
“And you’re calling me at this hour?”
“Sorry, I’m on a deadline. I heard you were intending to become a part-owner in Doyle Magazine, but the sale may not go through now?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
My spine straightened. “Because of Mac Davidge’s death.”
“His wife is still planning to sell. Nothing’s changed but the shape of the magazine.”
“The shape of it?”
“Look, I plan on turning it around.”
A car cruised past the alley entrance. Its lights flared, illuminating garbage bins and stacked crates. And then the car passed, plunging me again into darkness.
“I didn’t know it needed turning around,” I said.
He snorted. “Are you kidding me? They’re running it like it’s still the 1980s, with a big building and a roomful of staff. These days, magazines use freelancers, and they don’t have to be in Doyle. It’ll save on payroll costs.”
That might be good for the buyer, but what a disaster for the employees. I thought of all those cheerful, wrinkled faces. He couldn’t do this. “But... You’d only be a third owner. Are Stetson and Hayleigh okay with these changes?”
“It doesn’t matter what they’re okay with. I’ll hold fifty-one percent of the company.”
“Fifty-one?”
“That was Mac’s share. There’s a lot of dead wood in that magazine. I intend to clear it out. It’s the only way Doyle will still have a travel magazine. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“What? Oh. Thanks.” I hung up, my mind jumbling. Dead wood. “Crap.” I dialed Sheriff McCourt.
It went to voicemail.
“Sheriff, it’s Jayce.” I began to tell her what I knew and suspected. A beep and a dial tone cut me off.
Pacing, I dialed again.
“This is the voicemail of Sheriff McCourt. If this is an emergency, dial nine-one-one. Otherwise, leave a message.”
“I think Oonagh Davidge is in danger. She’s staying at Hayleigh’s house.” I hung up and tapped my phone against my jaw. I could dial nine-one-one, but I didn’t know if it was an emergency. All I had was suspicion.
I called Connor. And dammit, it also went to voicemail.
“Connor, it’s Jayce. I think Oonagh Davidge is in danger. Brayden and I are going to Hayleigh’s house to try to find her.” I hung up and jogged inside the western bar.
I touched Brayden’s arm. “We’ve got to go.”
He slid from the booth and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, tossed a bill on the table. “What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you outside,” I shouted over a Garth Brooks tune.
We hurried from the bar to Brayden’s Jeep.
“What’s going on?” He helped me inside the car.
I told him what I’d learned. “If Mac was killed because he was selling his share, and now Oonagh’s selling—”
“Oonagh’s in danger.” He hurried around the front of the Jeep and climbed inside, started the engine.
The Jeep crawled down Main Street.
I bounced my heel with impatience. But there were people on Main Street, and Brayden, bless him, was doing the smart thing.
Finally, we turned off Main.
And he didn’t speed up.
“Brayden,” I said through clenched teeth.
“This is a residential area. There are kids.”
“At this hour?”
He edged the speedometer up another five miles per hour. “Why do you think this has to do with the magazine sale?”
“It’s like a logic puzzle. The motive for Mac’s murder can’t be jealousy. Well, it could be. But Rye, who obviously loves Oonagh, was with her when Mac died. The two could have done it together, but if that was the case, then she wouldn’t be in danger. And if it isn’t the case, that leaves either Stetson or Hayleigh. And if they found out Oonagh’s still selling, she’s in danger.” So I guess I didn’t hate logic puzzles so much after all.
“So if you’re wrong, we look like idiots. And if you’re right, we may be able to save the girl.”
“Basically.” Though if I was wrong, and Oonagh and Rye were killers, we could be dropping into a bad situation.
A shape flashed in front of the Jeep’s headlights.
Brayden slammed on the brakes, flinging me into my seatbelt.
A buck stopped in the middle of the road and stared. Its antlers cast crooked shadows down the street in the glare of our lights.
The deer bounded onto a lawn and vanished around the corner of a Victorian.
I gulped. “Did I imply a criticism of your driving earlier? Because that was so off base.”
He edged the Jeep forward, and I knew he was watching for the rest of a herd. When we were half a block away, he sped up.
Finally, we pulled in front of Hayleigh’s Victorian. Light glowed through its windows. Riga’s Lincoln sat parked in front of the picket fence.
My shoulders relaxed. “Riga’s here. We’re not too late.”
Brayden frowned, saying nothing, and I realized my mistake. Riga could be standing over Oonagh’s dead body right now calling the cops.
But that wasn’t what I felt. Oonagh was alive. We had time to warn her.
We started toward the house and walked up the brick steps.
Brayden reached for the doorbell. I caught his arm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice.
“I want to try something before we knock on the door.” Rooting myself into the earth, I pushed more energy into my aura. And then I tried Riga’s trick, imagining eyes and hands on my aura, adding my sense of sight to the mix.
I expanded my aura toward the house. Shapes and colors flashed through my mind. Two vague forms, seated, and a third, in the doorway. And fury. And fear.
I grasped Brayden’s hand. “Something’s wrong.”
We walked down the steps and crept toward a window. Ducking my head, I peered inside.
Riga and Oonagh sat opposite each other in the colorful living room. Hayleigh Davidge stood in its entryway.
A gun glinted in Hayleigh’s hand.