She flinched, turned her gaze to me, and there was a lot less welcome in it. “Hey,” she said. “I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t out me.”

“You don’t tell people you’re a sorceress?” I asked.

“No, and you don’t have to be rude about it. This isn’t Chicago, and there are many reasons not to tell people, including discrimination. Humans might think of me as eccentric, but they think of me as human.”

“That’s fair,” I said.

“Does the Order know you’re here?” Connor asked.

A blush rose high on her apple cheekbones. “I’m nonpracticing, so I don’t have to be registered. I run a legitimate human-oriented business, so either tell me what you want or get out.”

Our questions had been pointed, but not rude. So they didn’t explain the sudden nerves or high-pitched protests.

“We just want information,” Connor said. “About what you sold Zane Williams.”

Her lips pursed. “If he’s complaining about the price, we negotiated that, and he said it was fine. It’s past the return date, and we don’t give refunds.” She pointed to the sign beside the cash register. It did, indeed, state NO REFUNDS ALLOWED.

“We don’t care about refunds. Have you seen him in the last few days?”

“Zane? No. Why would I? I know in Chicago Sups are one big happy family, but Sups don’t mix up here. We keep our magic to ourselves, and I don’t have anything in common with the clan.”

The bell on the door rang, and we all looked back. Four humans—all women, one of them wearing a white “Bride to Be” sash. They were all giggling and immediately began pawing through the merchandise.

“A bachelorette party,” Paloma said. “Just what I need.”

“What did Zane buy?” I asked.

“Why do you—”

“Paloma,” I said, leaning over the counter, “let me make this simple: We’re trying to find Zane. We’re looking for information that will help us find him so we can all get on with our evenings, okay? The faster we do that, the less chance those girls have to figure out who we are and wonder what we’re doing here. So maybe knock it off with the questions?”

Her eyes widened. “Okay. I’m just— I don’t get many nonlocals in here. Or many people trying to interrogate me. He bought a geode.”

“A geode,” Connor said quietly. “He spent four hundred dollars on a rock?”

“It was a really gorgeous rock,” she muttered. “And there were a few other things.” She closed her eyes. “He bought some wax and a brass seal, some essential oils, a quartz crystal.”

There was absolutely no way the Zane Williams whose room we’d surveyed was going to seal envelopes with fancy wax.

“Did he buy anything magical?”

This time, all the color went out of her face. “Keep your voice down. I don’t sell real magic here.”

“Do they know that?” I wondered, gesturing toward the bridal party.

“Humans believe what they want to believe. Spellselling without a license is illegal.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t even sell charms, grimoires, because I don’t want to get in trouble with the Order.”

In addition to her body language and the nervous magic, that she wouldn’t meet my eyes told me she was lying.

I’d play along. For now. “Why did Zane want a geode? From what we hear, he’s not exactly rolling in money.”

“I don’t know,” she said quickly. “Maybe he liked the look. Wanted to spruce up his decor.”

“Paloma,” Connor said, leaning over the counter, “Loren Owens is dead. And we think the person who killed him also attacked Carlie Stone and tried to attack us. We think Zane and several of his friends are involved in that. So if you have information that would help us find them, we need it. Now.”

“I don’t know,” she said again, this time defensively. “But I think Zane was hoping to sell it—to break off the crystals and pass them off as gem-quality amethysts.”

No way was Zane that organized. And I couldn’t imagine anyone would be dumb enough to buy fake gems from him. Who would have trusted him enough to do that?

“Why do you think that?” Connor asked.

“He asked about the stones, if you could take the stones out. I said you could probably chip them out, but why would you want to, because it would ruin the geode?”

“Do you know where he was going to do this potential selling?” Connor asked.

“No. I don’t even know if he was going to do it. He was pretty keyed up when he left, but I haven’t talked to him since.”

* * *

* * *

We left her after that pronouncement to let her handle the bachelorette party.

“She was lying,” Connor said, glancing back through the glowing window.

“Oh, completely,” I agreed. “She made up the story about the geode. Not that I’d doubt Zane would pull the con, but he isn’t organized enough to do it.”

“And the brass seal,” Connor said, shaking his head. “Because he has a lot of fine correspondence to take care of.”

“Right?” I looked back. “There’s magic in the air, but it’s faint. I think she sold them something magical. A charm, a spell, an amulet, a potion, something that contributed to what’s going on now. She may not know what it was for—or she doesn’t want to know. But she’s involved.”

“We need her to tell us the truth.”

“We can’t make her talk.”

He just looked at me, a gleam in his eyes.

“We can’t legally make her talk,” I amended. “If she’s the only sorceress in the area, yeah, it’s likely she’s the source of the magic. But it’s not positive, and we don’t have any evidence she was involved other than the receipt, which could be totally innocuous.”

“It’s not innocuous.”

“No, it’s not, and she’s lying. But we need more information, or something to pressure her with.”

That gleam came back.

“You’re very bloodthirsty today.”

“Sayeth the vampire.”

“I’m bloodthirsty every day. It’s part of my charm. We need leverage. Maybe Theo can find something when he reaches the Order that we can use against her.”

Bells jingled, and Connor looked back at the store, watched the bachelorette party walk outside, each carrying a small white bag with CRYSTAL INFERNO printed on it. They strode down the street in their short dresses and stiletto heels, then slid into the back of a waiting pink limousine.

“Why do humans do that?” Connor asked.

“Ride in limousines? Fastest way to get from point A to point B while also drinking cheap champagne.”

“The sash and the giggling.”

“Do you have any idea how many giggling girls I’ve seen you with?” I touched a hand to his arm. “‘Oh, Con, you’re so strong. And you’re just so handsome.’”

He just stared at me with a mix of horror and amusement in his eyes. “Never happened.”

“Oh,” I said with a grin, “it happened. And gave me plenty of ammunition.”

“You’re a brat.”

“So you’ve said.”

Connor glanced at his watch, his grin fading. “I need to get back. The memorial’s in less than an hour. I can give Georgia an update while we’re there, make sure the search is under way.” He looked back at me, frowned. “You’ll be okay on your own?”

“I’ll watch my back. You’ll keep an eye out for Zane?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “We have many things to discuss.”

* * *

* * *

I still wasn’t sure what the memorial would involve, but he didn’t change clothes, so given that—and the general nature of shifters—I assumed it wouldn’t be a formal affair.

I knew it was safer to stay near the cabin, but I couldn’t just sit. If I sat, I’d think. And I didn’t want to think right now. Not about last night—the blood and the fire and the gore. Not about Carlie and the sickly gray of her skin, and not about the danger we were still in.

We had an idea who the creatures were and knew they’d been using magic of some type. But we didn’t know the magical details or where Zane and the others had gone. We needed more information.

We needed more luck.

So I’d try to be productive. I’d start with another look at the ground near the cabin, at the shutters. Maybe I could find a trail, a scrap of fur that could be tested for magic, some bit of evidence I could ship off to Theo and Petra and, in return, get a solution.

And because I apparently had a target on my back, I’d be very careful. I found a penlight beneath the kitchen sink, and walked outside. The temperature had dropped, and the chill seemed to soak the scent of woodsmoke into the air. The resort was quiet, probably because most were attending the memorial and those who were left were subdued enough to stay quiet.

I walked around the side of the cabin, thought enough to stop and flick the light toward the ground. The tracks we’d seen earlier had been mashed and covered by others, probably clan members curious about Connor’s story. I didn’t see any other evidence, so I turned to the shutters.

The grooves were obvious in the sharp circle of light made by the penlight. Striped grooves where something with claws—very large claws—had gouged the metal. Not just scratching at it—although there were scratches, too—but actually trying to rip it apart with claws. Not the smartest tactic.

On the other hand, they were smart enough to try to remove the shutters. Punishment by sunlight.

I moved the beam of light around the rest of the shutters, but didn’t see anything else unusual. Or at least not any more unusual than unique Supernaturals making a go at the real estate.