"The more chaos, the more payoff. Right. Commit a few nasty murders, cover your tracks and move on, and people will forget. Let the killer get caught—or make sure she does—and you double your fun."

He arched his brows. "You have an innate sense of—"

"Let's just say the Fates didn't pick me for my charm."

How much did he know about me? Dumb question, I suppose, considering what that "gift" of his did. But if it bothered him, he hid it well.

"So I'll find the partner, then you move in and do your thing."

"That's probably what the Fates had in mind. But that doesn't mean I couldn't help—"

"Thanks, but this I can handle."

He hesitated, as if this wasn't the answer he'd wanted.

"Yes, well, don't worry about whittling the list down too much. I can help with that. I've dealt with this Nix."

When I looked up in surprise, he shrugged, and continued. "A couple of times… briefly. First when I brought her in—"

"You're the one who captured her?"

"It was more a delivery than a capture. I was sent to retrieve the witch she first inhabited."

"And the second time?"

"Hmmm?"

"You said you met her a couple of times."

He hesitated. "Right. Well, there's not much to tell about that one. No capture or delivery involved, unfortunately." He got to his feet. "I'll leave you to your investigating, then. If you want anything, just whistle."

"You know how to whistle, don't you?" I said, in my best Lauren Bacall voice.

As the words left my mouth, I mentally slapped myself in the forehead, expecting Trsiel to turn to me with that confused frown he'd given when I'd said "MO." Instead, he smiled.

"Bogie and Bacall," he said. " To Have and Have Not."

"Very good. When he died, she buried a gold whistle with him, inscribed 'If you want anything… just whistle.'"

A corner of his mouth twitched, twisting his smile into a crooked grin. "I didn't know that."

"Well, now you do," I said. "So when I need you…" I grinned. "I'll just put my lips together… and blow."

I did just that. Put my lips together, and blew. Then disappeared. Let's see Bacall top that.

Chapter 12

IT WAS NOW NEARLY TWO IN THE MORNING, WELL PAST necro office hours. Time for a much-delayed Savannah checkup. I popped over to Portland, and found her asleep. I could hear Paige and Lucas downstairs, discussing a new case, some wrong that needed righting. And if anyone had ever told me that I'd be doing the same thing, I'd have pissed myself laughing.

I lingered for another minute, sitting beside my daughter and catching snatches of the impassioned debate downstairs. Then I kissed Savannah's forehead and left.

My first urge was to hunt down Kristof and get his take on everything that had happened. Yet if I was going to use him, even just as a sounding board, I had to do something for him in return… even if it wasn't a favor I could tell him about. I'd checked in on one of his children. Now, time for the other two…

Kristof limited himself to one parental checkup a month. He thought it was better that way. I disagreed, of course, but I tried to see his point and, in the meantime, did more frequent checkups for him.

Kris's younger son, Bryce, was in California, asleep in his grandfather's villa. He should have been in college, but he'd dropped out last term. Kristof's death… well, naturally it affected both his boys, but in different ways; maybe the opposite of what anyone would have expected. Bryce had always been the difficult child, the one who'd started pushing Kris away even before the Great Divide of adolescence.

Kris had respected Bryce's rebellion, stepping back, yet staying close, always there to catch him when he stumbled.

When Kris died, Bryce had been in his first year of college, a music major, having declared that he had no intention of following his father into Cabal corporate life. After Kris's death, Bryce had dropped out of school and decided to work for the Cabal part-time. Now he was a company AVP, living with his grandfather—the CEO—and planning to return to college in the fall, not to music at Berkeley, but political science at Harvard, with law school to follow—the same path Kristof had taken.

Next I headed to New York, where Sean was finishing his MBA. He shared an apartment with his cousin Austin, but only Austin was there, sitting up watching CNN. I was about to leave when the doorknob turned, so slow I thought I was imagining it. The door eased open and Sean peered around the edge of it.

The sight of Sean always made me smile. He reminded me so much of Kris when we'd first met, tall, lean, and broad-shouldered, with thick blond hair and gorgeous big blue eyes. Kris had lost that lean build, and about half the hair, but there was still no mistaking the resemblance. In personality, Sean and his father couldn't be more different, but Sean did share his father's values. He was the only Nast who'd made any effort to contact Savannah—and had not only contacted her, but had become a part of her life, despite his grandfather's disapproval. That made Kristof prouder than Sean could ever imagine.

As Sean opened the door, he saw the light on in the living room and winced. He was tiptoeing past the living room entrance when Austin turned.

"Hey, Casanova," Austin called. "I thought you were studying tonight. Library closes at eleven."

"I went out for a couple of drinks."

Austin leaned over the back of the sofa, grinning. "A couple, huh? What are their names?"

Sean mumbled something and slid toward the bathroom. Austin zipped through the kitchen and cut off his cousin.

"Oh, come on. You used to tell me everything. What's happened? Meet someone special? That's what Granddad thinks. He called tonight and when I told him you were out, he said to tell you to bring her home next month."

Panic shot through Sean's eyes, but he dowsed it fast and shrugged as he slipped past Austin.

Sean had indeed met someone… and he would never take that someone home to meet his family. For a Cabal son, there was only one thing worse than bringing home a witch—bringing home a lover who was never going to produce that all-important heir.