“So there’s nobody in Cincinnati to ask.” Jaime sighed. “Shit. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?”

“There’s still the motivation lead,” I said. “Esus thinks we’re looking for a supernatural with a vendetta against the Cabals. The only other reasonable motivation is money. Pay me a billion bucks and I’ll stop killing your kids. But the Cabals haven’t received any blackmail notes.” I paused. “Unless they have and they’re just not telling us. Damn, I hate this.”

“I feel reasonably safe in saying that no extortion attempts have been made,” Lucas said. “Now that one of Thomas Nast’s grandsons is dead, a killer with any knowledge of Cabals would know he can’t buy his way out of this. As Esus said, it’s personal.”

“Then, when you put the clues together, we have a serious lead here. Adult male, living in the Cincinnati area, has reason to want revenge on the Cabals—not one, but all the Cabals. There can’t be many supernaturals who fulfill that criteria.”

“So we just ask the Cabals—” Jaime looked over at Lucas. “It’s not that easy, either, is it?”

“Probably not,” he said. “I’m afraid that if I give the Cabals too much information, we’ll have a repeat of the Weber incident.”

“Or a sudden epidemic afflicting male supernaturals living in Ohio,” I said.

“Precisely. We’ll start instead by canvasing my contacts. If a supernatural has reason to be this angry at the Cabals, someone must have heard of it.”

“There’s nothing we outsiders like better than gossip about the big bad Cabals,” Jaime said. “I could make a few calls of my own.”

“Excellent idea,” Lucas said. “First, though, let me talk to a local contact. He publishes an underground anti-Cabal newsletter, and he’s always my best source of Cabal rumor.”

“He lives in Miami and puts out an anti-Cabal newsletter?” I said. “He’d better hope your father never finds out.”

“My father knows all about Raoul. In such matters he follows Sun Tzu’s maxim about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Okay, well, is this Raoul someone I can meet?”

“He’s a shaman, not a sorcerer, so he’ll have no aversion to discussing matters with a witch. In addition, we may be able to find some, uh, interesting reading material in his bookstore.”

“Spells?”

A tiny smile. “Yes, spells. Remember, though, that by bringing you to the source of the spells, any that you care to acquire must be purchased by me, and therefore count toward my accumulated total option choices.”

I grinned. “You got it.”

“Spells don’t help me,” Jaime said.“But I could use a book to read. Mind if I tag along?”

That was fine with us, so we grabbed our things and left.

Literary Haunts

RAOUL WAS ON VACATION. ACCORDING TO HIS ASSISTANT, he hadn’t taken so much as two consecutive days off in five years but now, when we needed him, he’d decided it was time for a monthlong European holiday. I suspected this wasn’t coincidence—he’d probably heard of the Cabals’ latest “investigative” tactics, and feared he’d be next on their list.

Although Raoul was gone, he wasn’t out of contact. That’s the life of the self-employed—you can never really be away, or you might come home to find your business in shambles. Even lying in my hospital bed, I’d checked my e-mail and followed up on anything critical—well, anything my customers considered critical. Raoul hadn’t left a phone number, but he was available by e-mail. His assistant sent off an immediate “Call Lucas Cortez” message for us.

“Can we check out the grimoires?” I said. “Wait, let me guess. He keeps those locked up, meaning they aren’t available until he comes back.”

“I’m afraid so.”

I sighed. “Strike two. Well, let’s go find Jaime.”

Although the building was larger than most used book-stores, every available inch of space was in use, leaving a maze of narrow, serpentine aisles flanked by ten-foot-high shelves. The occasional murmur or shoe squeak indicated other shoppers, but they were lost among the stacks.

“Guess we should split up,” I said. “Should we lay a trail of bread crumbs?”

“Perhaps, though I may suggest a more prosaic solution. Do you have your cell phone?”

I nodded. “Whoever finds her first, calls. Got it.”

I tracked Jaime to the horror section and told her about Raoul.

“Shit,” she said. “There’s no luck like bad luck, huh? Guess we should get back to the hotel then, and Lucas and I can tap into the gossipmonger circuit.”

I looked at her empty hands. “You didn’t find anything?”

“Not what I was looking for.”

She turned to leave, but I put a hand on her arm.

“We can spare a minute. What were you looking for?”

“Stephen King. Now, every bookstore must have him. But he’s not here.”

I scanned the shelf, which appeared to be arranged alphabetically by author. “You’re right. That’s strange. Did you want his latest? Maybe it’s in general fiction.”

“I’m actually looking for Christine, which should be under horror.”

“Let’s check the map up front, maybe ask the clerk.” I started walking. “Isn’t Christine the one about the possessed car?”