Oracle's Moon (Elder Races #4)(85)

He took a last bite of cookie and said, “Hello, Therese.”

She whirled to run. He stood in her way. She screamed again and spun to lunge for the back door, only suddenly he stood there too, blocking it. He watched her coldly, his arms crossed. A nice man probably would have felt bad at causing her panic. But Khalil remembered her digging through Grace’s things, and he wasn’t a nice man at all.

Therese flushed a deep red then turned pasty white. Her hands shook, and her eyes darted around. “H-how did you get in? All the entrances were spelled!”

Someone ought to tell her about the dryer vent, but it wouldn’t be Khalil. He said, “I should have followed up with you before this, but I’ve been busy. You might not know it to look at me, but I do have a day job.”

“You’re going to be sorry you broke in,” Therese spat.

“Am I?” He regarded her, almost with interest. “Probably not before you’re sorry you dug through Grace’s things. What were you looking for?”

“Nothing!”

“The thing about panic,” said Khalil, “is that it lessens one’s ability to lie, especially to someone who has an exceedingly well developed truthsense.”

“My gods, I was just looking for a pen and a piece of paper!”

In the next moment, he held her pinned by the throat against the wall. He hissed, “You would not be lying unless the answer mattered.”

“I was only looking for information!” she sobbed. “That’s all, I swear it!”

“What information?” Max and Chloe—his babies—had been playing innocently the whole time.

“I was looking to see if Isalynn LeFevre had contacted Grace!”

He was so angry, and it would be so easy to close his hand tighter and crush her windpipe. He barely held himself in check. “Why?”

“I don’t know why.” Something must have shown on his face or maybe his fingers started to tighten, because she screamed, “I don’t know why! Gods damn you freaksome bastard, someone asked me to check!”

“Who?”

“Brandon Miller!”

Brandon, from Grace’s work day yesterday. There was the connection to follow, and it wasn’t even difficult. His hand relaxed. “How convenient,” Khalil said. “He was next on my list.”

She regarded him with equal amounts of loathing and fear. But he was not at all interested in that, and now he had what he wanted from her.

“I like your cookies,” he told her as he tied her to a kitchen chair. He didn’t bother with a complicated binding since he didn’t plan on leaving her alone for long. He dissipated and flowed out the dryer vent, and as soon as he had rematerialized, he tugged on the connection that led to Ismat.

The other Djinn streaked toward him and formed in front of him. This time the Djinn chose the form of a dark-skinned, stocky male, with hawkish features and a twinkle in his starred eyes. “If you keep up this impetuous spending spree,” said Ismat, “you will convince all the younger Djinn that the sky is falling. Everyone will rush to call in all their favors, and our venerable society will collapse.”

Khalil didn’t smile. He said, “I’m asking you to agree to an open-ended favor that will cancel out the rest of what you owe me. I trust you, and you’re one of the few people I would call friend. I need you to help me, and I’m not yet sure what that means. Are you willing and able to pay your debt this way?”

The other Djinn’s merry expression faded. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But it involves Grace and the children.” He explained rapidly. “I need to find out where Brandon lives, and somebody needs to do something with Therese. I don’t know what, question her to see if she knows anything else or take her to the witches’ sheriff’s office, except I’m not sure yet if she’s actually broken any laws. I almost killed her, but Grace asked me not to start an inter-demesne incident.”

Ismat turned toward the house. “I’ll take care of her.”

Khalil started to dematerialize then paused. “I almost forgot—you’ll want to enter the house through the clothes dryer vent. She has all the doors and windows spelled. I’m not sure who would be alerted if the spells are tripped, but I prefer not to broadcast our intentions.”

“Got it,” Ismat said. “Good hunting.”

It took Khalil longer to find Brandon Miller’s house than it had for him to find Therese’s. He called his Djinn associate with the facility for information gathering on the Internet, and he did something he rarely did any more—he bargained away a favor for information.

His contact got back to him quickly. Brandon didn’t live in the city. He owned a twenty-five-acre property about a half hour’s car drive south of the Louisville International Airport. As soon as Khalil had the details, he took off.

It took some effort to locate the property. While he searched, Khalil’s sense of unease deepened. Grace had said that Olivia thought the other witches from Saturday had known each other very well. If Olivia was correct, what did that mean? Why would they all wish to work on Grace’s property together?

Why would they wish for other witches to stay away while they did so?

Why did Brandon want to know if Isalynn LeFevre had contacted Grace?