Her gaze dropped to Hope. "Still unconscious? I suppose that's just as well."

A click as the door closed. I looked past May and saw four others crowding into the tiny room. Three men, one woman, all on the far side of forty. At a gesture from May, two of the men walked to Hope and carried her into the middle of the room.

Something was etched into the concrete-a symbol they'd found in a book, presumably. As the men laid Hope on it, her hand flopped onto the stainless steel drain, sparkling and spotless, no sign of its purpose evident. Of course there wasn't-the point of having a concrete room with a drain was to wash away all the evidence.

I swallowed.

One of the men retrieved the gas can he'd left by the door and set it down on a lock of Hope's hair. The other woman held the matches, flipping them in her fingers, not nervous, just toying with them. I glanced at their faces, relaxed, unworried and unhurried, as if they were preparing the room for yet another dull but necessary business meeting.

I opened my mouth to stall them, but my mind and gaze stayed caught on Hope, on that gas can carelessly laid on her hair, on her graceful fingers and chewed nails stretched over that immaculate drain.

"You really can talk to the dead, can't you, Jaime?"

I jumped, startled, and looked at May. Her face was impassive, but her eyes were fever-bright. The eyes of a fanatic spotting proof of the divine.

The other woman harrumphed. "She's a good actress, that's all. Just like the rest of them."

"I don't think so. Someone-or something-led her to those bodies."

In her voice was the longing I'd heard so often from the bereaved, those desperate to believe. In May, it was magnified a hundredfold.

"I can," I said. "I see them, hear them, speak to them."

"May, don't let her-"

"You don't believe me? There's a ghost right next to you. A seventeen-year-old named Brendan, though you may not have bothered asking his name before you downsed him with gas and set him on fire. May, you picked him up at-" I glanced at Brendan, who told me the place and I relayed it. "You tricked him into your car, you and Don-" Another look at Brendan, who pointed to a tall balding man with a cleft chin. I nodded to him. "Over there."

Expressions ranged from May's exultation to incredulity to grudging acceptance.

May smiled. "You and I have a lot to talk about, Jaime."

In other words, I'd just bought myself a temporary pass. I tried not to let my relief show.

"First, though…" May continued.

She waved to Don, who held the gas. He uncapped it and stepped over Hope's body.

"No!"

I leapt forward, but May grabbed my arm.

"Please don't make us restrain you, Jaime. You know we can't let her live. Sheknows-"

"But she's one of us. Magical."

May shook her head. "Don't-"

"She's a half-demon. That's what we call them. Demons take human form and impregnate women. The children look human, but they have special powers. The ability to control an element or improved senses or-"

"The X-Men." The other woman rolled her eyes. "I may be a bit old for that sort of thing, but I have teenage boys, Miss Vegas. Try something a little more original please."

"It's not just elements and senses. Like Hope. She can pick up chaos, senses it and sees-"

May cut me off with a look. "So you're telling me that sweet Hope Adams is really… a chaos demon?"

"Half-demon."

"And your companion the other day? The one Eric Botnick swore had superhuman strength? I suppose he's one of these half-demons."

"No. Werewolf."

May cast a look at the group. I couldn't see it, but everyone laughed. Then she turned back to me, her hand still on my arm, squeezing gently.

"I understand why you're doing this, Jaime. You want to protect your friends. But-" The squeeze tightened. "Please don't insult our intelligence."

I opened my mouth to protest, but know I'd overplayed my hand… and I hadn't even been bluffing.

A smell filled the air. The slosh of liquid hitting concrete. I turned to see Don trickling gas over Hope.

I wrenched from May's grasp. May lifted a handful of gray powder and started to cast. I stopped.

"I'm sorry. I just- I just want to talk."

"Tell more tales of demons and werewolves?" the other woman scoffed.

"Why not? Couldn't there be-?"

A quick look around told me I was losing my audience. I glanced down at Hope, her small form, her faded jeans freckled with splashed gasoline, more dripping from her fingers, into the drain…

"Why kill her like that? It's a horrible way to die."

"The suffering enhances the potency," May said, voice as cool as her eyes.

"No, it doesn't."

Her face hardened, but she hid it behind a condescending smile. "You may be able to talk to ghosts, but that doesn't make you an expert on magic."

"Maybe, but I know people who can cast spells that make yours look like parlor tricks. Even for the rituals that need human sacrifice, it doesn't matter how you kill the person. It's the fact of death that counts."

I could see this wasn't getting me anywhere. "Never mind. I know you don't believe me about Hope, but if you gave her time to wake up, she could demonstrate-"

"Not interested," said the other woman-Tina, as Murray called her.