‘Xantippe?’

Xan sat bolt upright as Maxine stood before her. ‘How the hell did you get back here?’

Maxine blinked. ‘The portal by the Dumpster was still open.’

Xan closed her eyes. If someone breathes in the natural psychic energy of a supernatural center like Salem’s Fork her entire life, Xan told herself, even if she’s a dolt like Maxine, she’ll pick up some basic skills. ‘Yes?’

‘Danny James just checked into the Lighthorse Harry Lee Bed and Breakfast Inn.’

Xan nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Maxine nodded back. ‘About the Martinis, I-’

‘Maxine, do you have any idea how powerful I am?’

‘No, Xantippe.’

Xan waved her hand and Maxine became a mouse, frozen in terror on the floor, the only part of her left that resembled Maxine her tiny horrified beady black eyes. Xan waited a beat and then waved her hand and Maxine stood before her again, shaking so hard, her head bobbed.

‘Never forget, Maxine,’ Xan said gently, ‘that I turned you back by choice. The next time, I may leave you turned. And you might not be a mouse.’

Maxine sucked in a terrified breath.

‘But of course, I won’t,’ Xan said. ‘I need you, Maxine. You’re my friend.’ She smiled into Maxine’s eyes, radiating hypnotic goodwill, and after a moment, Maxine relaxed.

‘Good one,’ Maxine said, still a little rocky.

‘Go watch the girls.’ Xan waved her hand and Maxine disappeared, only to reappear in the see glass, next to the Dumpster again, stumbling as she landed. ‘Next time, it’s in the Dumpster, Maxine,’ Xan said to the glass, closed the portal, and sat back, catching sight of the sisters in another angle of the see glass: Dee flying away in the shape of an owl, and Lizzie and Mare in the doorway, talking.

Xan leaned closer to the glass and whispered, ‘It’ll be a fair trade, darlings, those spells were true,’ and Lizzie looked up, startled, and said something to Mare, who looked stolid as ever, shaking her head and then pounding off down the pavement like the draft horse her nickname said she was. They didn’t know it, but they were lucky to have Xan looking out for them, taking care of them, making them the deal of their lifetimes. It wasn’t going to hurt, it truly wasn’t, and they’d be better off in the end. She wouldn’t miscalculate, nothing would go wrong this time, and if it did, it would hardly be her fault. No, they were very lucky. Especially Lizzie, Xan thought, feeling a pang of jealousy as Lizzie turned to go inside.

Especially Lizzie…


If this had been any other morning, Dee would have been delighted to be flying off from the house. Her favorite times had been spent as a bird. She loved flight: the sudden lift, the ruffle of air through her feathers, the illusion of freedom. She adored the patterns and colors the earth revealed from this indifferent height. But mostly, she liked being alone, responsible for nothing, failing no one, just focused on the scene around her and how it would translate onto the canvas that waited her back in her studio.

Not today. Today, she had to waste her precious time trailing Danny James.

He was trouble, she just knew it. And not just because he exuded enough pheromones to melt a girl into a coma. Dee couldn’t believe that neither Mare nor Lizzie had reacted to him. She still felt as if she’d been gigged like a frog.

He was trouble because he knew who they were. Because he wanted to know more. Because, damn it, she couldn’t be sure he hadn’t come from Xan.

Ah, there he was. On a motorcycle, of course, hot enough to make Mare notice as he rolled past. But then, who wouldn’t notice Danny James? Heck, every woman he passed turned for a second look. Some a third. Of course, it wasn’t often that strangers made the turn into the blind valley that cradled Salem’s Fork. Maybe it was just curiosity.

Uh-huh. And maybe the next time Dee tried to have sex she’d stay her own shape.

She watched closely, hoping against hope he’d betray himself quickly so she could waste a bit of time skimming the warm air currents before heading into work. He didn’t oblige. He rode straight through Salem’s Fork toward the river. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone or pass incriminating notes. He did seem compelled to wave and smile to every person he passed. And everyone seemed equally compelled to smile and wave back. Oh, he was real trouble.

He made her suddenly yearn for things she couldn’t have, him and that happy smile and that damned motorcycle of his. He probably felt as if he were flying down there on his bike. She bet he felt free.

‘Mrs Washington!’ he called as he pulled the bike to a stop in the driveway of Lighthorse Harry Lee, a lurid pink and chartreuse Queen Anne monstrosity that sat a block from the town square. ‘I was hoping I could ask a favor from you.’

He’d caught little Verna Washington at her biweekly hedge pruning. She was in overalls and a floppy straw hat, a living lawn ornament. Like every other female in this benighted town, she smiled, almost impaling herself on her pruning shears when she tried to pat down her tightly permed gray hair. ‘Why, of course, honey,’ she caroled. ‘Didn’t you see the girls, then?’

‘I did. Thank you.’

And here Dee had thought Verna was a friend. Dee alighted in the willow that grew at the northwest corner of the house to see Danny lope up the sidewalk, another of those bright smiles crinkling his eyes.

‘Would you mind if I checked into my room a bit early?’ he asked Verna. ‘Since I have to wait to interview my subjects, I was hoping I could catch a shower and make some calls.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Verna trilled, sounding just like Dee in her mating-owl mode. ‘You go right on up. I had Mel take your bag up to 3B. It’s the Lighthorse Suite, Mr James. We call it that because Lighthorse Harry Lee himself came through town on his way to the Revolution and left behind a boot. See the planter on the porch? It’s an exact replica.’

Verna pointed to the boot, now sporting pink begonias, but Dee was fixated on her good luck. The Lighthorse Suite was situated no more than ten feet from where she sat. She felt like a good smile herself. The window was open. Could be a good chance to see what secrets Danny James might reveal.

Danny was trying to go inside, but Verna was still talking. ‘You sure you don’t want to give me just a little hint about what the girls’ story is?’ Verna asked, snagging Dee’s attention. ‘I know it can’t be bad. They’re such good girls. Why, they can’t even seem to shoo all those bunnies out of their yard, and them with that big garden and all. Soft hearts, you know. But you were saying…’

Don’t blow our cover, Dee silently begged. Not yet. Stupid to worry. Their cover was already blown. There wasn’t a person in town who wouldn’t find a reason to ask just what that handsome stranger had been doing at the O’Brien house at eight in the morning.

‘Oh, it’s no mystery,’ Danny James assured the little woman. ‘I’m just researching some history for a book, and I was hoping they might be able to help me.’

Verna patted him on the arm as if he were a gentleman caller. ‘Well, how fascinating. Maybe you’d like a cup of tea while you tell me all about it.’

And, of course, he smiled and offered her his arm. ‘What a lovely offer, Mrs Washington.’

Excellent. Verna would keep him talking for hours, while Dee searched his room. She quickly scanned her target. Verna had decorated the inn in Early Ruffle, all lace and chintz and vacant-eyed china dolls ranged on high shelves. Danny James was going to look like a panther at a tea party tucked under Verna’s pink sheets. His luggage sat by the door, just waiting to be searched: a backpack and a wheeled softsider, both unopened; a briefcase that sat tantalizingly open on the wedding ring quilt.

Making sure the coast was clear, Dee lifted off and slipped smoothly in through the open window.

She must not have been as smooth as she’d thought. She hardly made it into the room before there was a loud slam behind her. She turned to see that the window had fallen closed.

Oh, dear God. She was stuck. She plopped down on the quilt right next to the briefcase and tried not to panic. The door was open into the hall, but she sincerely doubted that an owl could flap right down the stairs without being noticed. Maybe she should hide in the closet until Danny James got too warm and opened the window again -hopefully before she turned back into a naked human. Of course, if she was a human, she could get the window open…

There was a big time planner on the desk. Dee tilted her head. Hmmm. Not a very modern man, with no PDA. No, he had a book with everything she needed to know about him, right there for God and the world to see. She looked toward the open door again and then the closed window. She did her best to tamp down the instinct to batter herself against the glass to get out. She had to stay calm.

She decided she could stay calmer if she distracted herself with her mission. She had turned pages before as a bird. Maybe she’d have enough time to turn these and see what she could find out. Flapping as quietly as she could, she flew over and settled on the desk.

The address book was open at the Ds. She scanned it to see only two names that meant anything: Dellwood Press and Mark Delaney. Tidy. Dellwood Press was the publisher who put out the wildly popular Mark Delaney books.

Was that who he worked for? If it was, he had a great job. Delaney was a legend. Best-selling, award-winning, as notorious for his obsessive reclusivity as his immense talent.

Easy to be reclusive if you have this many addresses, Dee thought in passing. New York, L.A., London. Detroit. Detroit? Not her idea of a world-famous hideaway. The question was, what was a genre writer who penned alternative historical novels doing researching Phil and Fiona Fortune?

Dee hopped closer. Balancing on one claw, she reached over to try and flip pages. She needed the X page. Maybe the O. She needed to know if Xan had sent him. D… E… damn, this was hard. If she’d been human, she’d be sweating. Hop, pull, hop, flap…

She was concentrating so hard that she missed the sound of approaching footsteps. Suddenly the top stair creaked. Dee spun so fast, she almost fell over.

‘Remember,’ Velma’s voice trumpeted up from the front hallway, ‘the window’s a little loose and can close sometimes. If it does, just prop it with that big old dictionary on the desk.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Washington,’ Danny James answered from right outside the door. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Dee had to hide. The minute Danny James turned from calling down to Verna, he’d see her. She didn’t even think about it, just swooped straight up to the top of the chifforobe, her tiny heart stumbling. She tucked herself in among the garden of silk flowers Verna had crammed onto the cherrywood top. Maybe if she sat very still she’d look like decor – if the dust up there didn’t make her sneeze. Besides, she needed to see what Danny James was going to do. He was already closing the door before it occurred to her that if she changed back, she might have a better time of it under the bed.

At first the situation looked promising. Once he was in the room Danny James walked straight to the window and yanked the sash open. A fresh breeze wafted in along with the sound of desultory traffic. Verna could be heard chattering with Mrs Phipps from next door. Grabbing the huge dictionary from the desk, Danny James wedged it in the window to keep it propped open.

She could get out now, Dee thought, shifting from foot to foot. If he’d just turn his back, close his eyes, and ignore the sound of wings. Instead, he stood right in front of the window. Stretching his arms overhead, he slowly arched his back until Dee could hear little popping noises. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he muttered, stretching sideways. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for about five hundred miles.’

Dee knew she should scrunch down so he wouldn’t notice her up there, especially with his eyes facing the ceiling. But she was terrified into immobility, an owl statue surrounded by silk flower bouquets.

Facing out the window again, Danny pulled out a cell phone and punched buttons. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘It’s Danny. No luck so far, but I guess I expected that. I’ll call when I get something.’

And?

And he’d evidently finished with phone calls. Tossing the phone onto the bed, he shucked his jacket. Not just a leather jacket. An old, battered bomber jacket with the 390th Fighter Wing insignia. The Fighting Boars. The plain white T-shirt underneath betrayed every muscle in his chest and torso, and highlighted rock-solid shoulders.