Nashville
12:00 p.m.

The mood on the ride back to the CJC was triumphant. Taylor called Commander Huston and told her about the morning’s events, got a nice attagirl that left her feeling good. They were getting close, getting very, very close.

Lincoln met them at the door to Homicide, his grin ear to ear. Even the space between his two front teeth looked cheerful. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Got it,” he said.

“Got what?” Taylor said, discarding her leather jacket behind the door to her office.

“The IP address of the video uploads. I cross-referenced the IP addresses the video-sharing sites gave me and got a match to one here in Nashville. Right now, I’m looking for the actual place where the movie was uploaded. It came from Davidson County, that much I know. I’m waiting on BellSouth to give me an exact location.”

“Oh, that’s great news. How long, do you think?”

“Within the hour.”

“Fantastic work, Lincoln. Really.”

“I’m also collating some reports for you from the autopsies. Hang tight, I’ll be there in five minutes. Sam wants you to drop by her office this afternoon when you have a chance. She has something to show you.”

“Gotcha, thanks. We’ve got too much stuff to cover to handle it in my office. Move everything into the conference room.”

She felt good, that high that comes when a case is about to break free. They were forty-eight hours in and had almost all the pieces together. Good old-fashioned police work, not mind reading and other bunk.

Ariadne stepped into the Homicide offices, the patrol escort at her elbow looking nervous. Ariadne seemed to have that effect on men, Taylor noticed.

Taylor nodded to her, thanked the patrol, who wiped his hand surreptitiously on his blues and backed into the corridor.

“I’m sorry we’re so late. Why don’t we go in my office,” Taylor said.

“All right,” Ariadne responded.

Taylor led the woman in, then shut the door behind her.

“You’re looking very pleased this morning,” Ariadne said.

“It’s been a productive day so far. Listen. I have what we call a six-pack of photos that I want you to look at. You tell me if any of the men in the pictures match the one you saw at Subversion Halloween night, okay?”

“Certainly. Anything I can do to help.”

Taylor laid the hard sheet of paper on her desk, facing Ariadne. Six sets of eyes glared up from a white background. Ariadne sat forward, running her finger along the pictures, absorbing.

She finally sat back. “I’m sorry. No one in those pictures is the boy I saw.”

Taylor shook her head slightly. “Look again.” She couldn’t lead the woman, but Juri Edvin was the second from the right, top row. If she was telling the truth at all, surely she’d recognize him.

“I’m sorry,” Ariadne said. “The boy we’re discussing isn’t in these photos.”

Taylor felt the wind go out of her. She pulled the sheet with the females on it, handed it over.

“What about this?” she asked.

Ariadne was quick this time. “That’s her. Bottom right. She’s the one I saw at Subversion, the one that slapped the boy.”

A little relief bled into Taylor’s system. At least they had a positive confirmation on Susan Norwood.

“Okay. Would you be willing to sit down with a sketch artist to help us draw up something with the boy and the other girl that you saw?”

“There’s really no need for that, Lieutenant.” She reached into a capacious velvet bag and pulled out a roll of parchment. “I’ve drawn them for you.”

She unrolled the paper, the stiff vellum crackling. It was a scene from a bar, happy faces, laughing and jumping in the background. Taylor could almost hear the music that made them sway to and fro. In the center were a boy and a girl. The girl was tall, willowy, the boy ramrod straight. They looked like they were wearing masks.

“You’re an excellent artist,” Taylor said. “These are the two you were talking about?”

Ariadne nodded.

“There’s just one problem. It’s going to be hard to figure out who they are with all this makeup on them.”

“I took the liberty of trying it without, as well,” Ariadne said.

She flipped the paper; a second drawing was below. This captured the exact same scene, but none of the children were obscured by makeup.

“Ah,” Taylor said. “If this is them, we can work with this.”

“That’s them. The little girl from the photograph slapped the big boy here, then they chased after her. I’m sorry, it’s the best I could do under the circumstances.”

Taylor was glad they’d decided to let Ariadne go home last night, with a patrol on her house to assure that she didn’t try to leave. Taylor imagined it hadn’t been a fun night for her. Regardless, the drawings were as good or better than any of their artists could have done with an Identi-Kit, that was for sure. Taylor looked them over one more time.

“I’m going to take these pictures with me, okay? I need to see if anyone who knows these children might recognize them. What do you plan to do?”

“Pray. I plan to pray to the Goddess for your success.”

Taylor stared at the picture for a few more minutes, then looked Ariadne straight in the eye. She weighed her words carefully.

“My detective thinks I should trust you.”

“He’s a very smart man.”

“Then tell me the truth. Do you honestly believe in all of this?”

Ariadne didn’t blink, but the pupils of her eyes grew larger. “I do, Lieutenant. With all my heart. It is who I am. I know that’s hard for you—you’re a very black-and-white person. There’s nothing wrong with that, nothing at all. I imagine in your line of work it can be quite useful. But me…I see all the colors of the universe, and then some. I find the path between the markers, and set upon that. What’s happened over the past two days is evil. It’s bad. It’s wrong. No true witch would consciously seek such power over others. Psychic vampires, yes. But Wicca is the way of the light, of good. It wasn’t one of ours, I promise you that.”

Taylor had to admit, Ariadne was at least partially right. She did see the world in black-and-white. It was how she slept at night.

“Okay,” she said, finally. “I can respect that.”

“Good. Then we can be friends.” Ariadne stuck out her hand, and Taylor shook it.

“You have a huge burden on your shoulders, Lieutenant. May I ease it for you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Ariadne waved toward the roses, toward Taylor. “There’s a storm brewing behind your eyes. You’re suffering, trying to make a major decision. On one hand is your true path. The other leads to pain and suffering. You’ll choose the correct path, and you already know which that is. But a sacrifice must be made. Use your strengths to divine your way.”

Fitz? Or Memphis. Who was the witch talking about? And where did she get off prophesying?

“My path. What do you know of my path? Of my responsibilities? Of the people I care for, and who care for me?”

Ariadne looked at her with sympathy. “It’s all written on your face, and in your aura, Lieutenant. And I may have done a tarot reading last night, just out of curiosity. If you give me your palm, I can direct you. The key to the occult is applying what works for you. You must seek your own truths.”

“Ariadne, now you’re getting into the silly stuff. Tarot cards and palm reading? Come on. Give me a break.”

She smiled, an impish grin. “Aren’t you the least bit curious, Lieutenant? Just the tiniest bit?”

“No, I’m not. I have absolutely zero desire to know what’s coming.”

Fitz flashed into her mind again, bloody, hurt. She couldn’t help but shut her eyes and swallow.

“I can tell you what will happen to him, if you want to know,” Ariadne said softly.

Taylor opened her eyes and stared into the deep blue of the witch’s soul. Yes, she probably could hazard a guess. She had a fifty-fifty chance of being right, too. There were only two outcomes for Fitz—life or death. Taylor didn’t know if she wanted to think about the possibility of the latter.

Ariadne didn’t budge, didn’t breath. They stood, locked in each other’s gaze, until Taylor broke away.

“He’s going to live,” Taylor said with finality, then swept from her office, leaving the witch behind.

Dear God, I hope I’m right.