Alexandra Sokoloff - Book of Shadows

She looked amused, as if she’d heard his mental correction. “Someone who does errands for me occasionally. Very reliable. Single-minded, one might say.”

Garrett had the distinct sense that he was being toyed with. He spoke roughly. “I’m looking for Tanith Cabarrus. Are you going to help me or not?”

“She is easily available to you. It’s a matter of intention and attention.”

Fuck this New Age witch shit, Garrett thought grimly. He stood. “You can tell her that disappearing was a bullshit thing to do. There’s a warrant out on her, now. Even if she wasn’t involved with Jason Moncrief, she’s looking at serious jail time. The whole department thinks she’s complicit in the attack on my partner.”

“And what do you think, Detective Garrett?” Fox looked at him with ageless, clear blue eyes.

The question stopped him and he found he could not answer smartly or facetiously. “I know she hasn’t told the truth. I know she knows more than she’s telling.”

Fox lifted her hands. “Oh, certainly. But can you really blame her for that?”

“I know she’s been arrested for fraud,” Garrett ground out. “I know she’s been institutionalized for paranoid schizophrenia.”

“For seeing demons,” Fox said pointedly.

“Yeah. For seeing demons,” Garrett said.

“Perhaps you should ask her about that,” Fox suggested. Garrett stared at her. Her gaze on him was steady, probing. “Do you know what I see, Detective? I see two people who are not at odds. Who perhaps have two different sides to a vital puzzle. A puzzle in which lives are at stake, and in which the clock is running out.”

Garrett was not merely struck by her words, he was close to mesmerized.

She looked at him, and the sunlight behind her illuminated her pale hair. “So many lives at stake,” she repeated softly. “And perhaps more than just lives.”

Without realizing he was doing it he nodded, which she took as a sign to continue.

“Every life in the balance here—and each soul as well—deserves a little faith. And I believe that you are not a man who must follow the book to the exclusion of truth, or justice. I believe you are willing.”

“Willing to what?” he said, and his voice sounded strangled.

“Willing to make a leap of faith. Willing to do things by a different book.” Her blue eyes held his. “Three children killed,” she recited, in muted tones. “Another imprisoned. A good man at the brink of death. And three more children to die, if someone does not intervene.”

Garrett’s stomach roiled, but he couldn’t look away from her eyes.

“Your own department has banned you from the hunt, when even given what you are reluctant to believe, you know you are light-years closer to the truth than they are. This masculine jockeying will most certainly cost more lives if someone does not say, ‘Enough.’ ” She opened her hands. “Are you willing to work outside your comfort zone?”

Through his confusion and gnawing anxiety, Garrett managed to speak. “What do you think I’ve been doing?” he retorted.

Her eyes twinkled at him. “You’re quite right.”

“I want the killer.” Garrett’s voice was suddenly harsh. “I don’t care who it is. I don’t care what gets me there. I want this to stop. I want this guy put away for eternity. That’s all I want. You’re supposed to know things. You decide.”

She was very stiff and still, her eyes boring into his. And then she suddenly went limp, some hidden tension relaxing. “So mote it be,” she said, and the words were formal, with a regal import.

She took a deep, shaky breath… for a moment Garrett feared he would have to perform CPR. Then she glanced toward the other high-backed wicker chair across from her.

Garrett followed her gaze, and then shot to his feet, staring.

Tanith sat in the other chair, as if she had been there all along. He had not heard, nor felt her come. She sat very still, leaning on her forearms on the arms of the chair, barely breathing.

“Jesus Christ,” Garrett muttered, and wondered crazily if she had been there, invisible, all along, until she—or Selena—had chosen to make her seen. “How the fuck did you do that?” he demanded, completely forgetting all manners.

“A trick.” Selena shrugged. “But we will need more than tricks to achieve our purpose.”

Tanith spoke, avoiding looking directly at Garrett. “I heard about Detective Landauer.”

“You heard about him?” he responded bitterly.

Her eyes flashed. “You think I would ever do that?”

“How would I know what you would do?” he demanded. “You drugged me—why wouldn’t you drug him?”

“I didn’t hurt you,” she retorted, but there was less fire in her voice, and Selena glanced at her.

“It was wrong,” the older woman said, and Tanith looked away.

There was an icy silence, which Selena broke, her voice sharp. “There’s no time for recriminations. There is one center of this investigation, and it’s time to do what needs to be done.”

Garrett looked toward her, confused. Tanith spoke warily. “Jason Moncrief.”

“Of course,” Selena said, with an impatient wave. “Have you ever even spoken to him?” she asked Garrett pointedly.

Garrett sat for a moment, stupefied at the simplicity of the suggestion, then he remembered. “Once. His attorney took out a TRO: a technical restraining order. No law enforcement officer is allowed in to talk to him.”

“That won’t do,” the older woman said. “It should not have prevented you when you knew he was not guilty.”

“I don’t know that,” Garrett countered angrily. He was about to continue arguing but she cut through him.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You have the key, Detective Garrett.” She suddenly reached forward and grabbed his wrist, a bony grip so strong Garrett drew in a startled breath. Her eyes were black, all pupil as she stared unseeing into his eyes.

“The book,” she gasped, and she kept speaking, but Garrett didn’t hear words. Images were blasting into his head: the hand-bound book of maroon leather, the rough paper, the twiglike lettering, the disturbing black-lined drawings.

He jerked his hand away from the older woman’s grip and was shocked to find he was standing, but so shaky he was barely able to keep his balance.

Selena was also standing, rigidly, drawing deep, shuddering breaths. “Where is it?” she whispered.

Garrett stared at her, for the second time wondering if she was on the verge of a stroke. Tanith rose from her chair, and her dark eyes locked on Garrett’s. “You know what she means. The grimoire.”

Selena felt for the back of a chair and Tanith was there at her side, instantly, helping her to sit. After a moment, Selena lifted her head, looked up at Garrett. “There is a book, then. A grimoire. If you still think Jason Moncrief is guilty, perhaps you have only to read it to find all you need to set your mind at rest.” Her eyes drilled into his. “Do you have it?”

Garrett was about to say it was in evidence and he was off the case, and then he remembered. Not only did he still have his copy, he had his copy in the trunk of his car.

“I think we might have a look at it, then,” Selena said, and Garrett was not even surprised that she’d read his mind.

The two women set the copied book on a long oak table in what Garrett supposed was a dining hall. The chairs were medieval-looking, with lions’ paws for armrests and feet, and tapestries and marble friezes were hung on the walls. The women stood over the table with the stack of pages in front of them and studied them, and Garrett could only think of priestesses, of sibyls, of goddesses. They reached for pages in tandem and communicated only with looks and once in a while by pointing to passages.