I smirked. “Forgive me. Let me rephrase that. Were you aware of him on the flight?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I might have seen him come through first class, after I took my seat on the plane. It’s not every day one sees a man with swastika tattoos on a commercial flight.”
“Did you see him deplane?”
“No. By that time I knew that Patricia was on board and I was watching for her once I was back in the terminal.”
“So you and she didn’t sit together.”
“No, we didn’t. She flies coach; I don’t.”
“Did you take notice of any of the other passengers?”
She frowned again. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Did you notice any other weremystes?”
“Ah,” she said with a sage nod. “I take it Mister Howell was killed with magic.”
Kona wouldn’t be happy with me, but I didn’t bother to deny it. “That’s right.”
“Your visit makes a bit more sense to me now. To answer your question, no, I can’t say that I noticed any other weremystes. That doesn’t mean there weren’t any, but I didn’t see them. And so, allow me to anticipate your next question. Patricia and I never went near the airport men’s room. We remained by the gate, and, after the body was discovered, were questioned by the police. Once they were through with us, we went to the club lounge, of which I’m a member. We stayed there-chatting, getting some work done-until our new flight finally departed late in the day.”
She was pretty convincing, and her story dovetailed perfectly with Patty’s. I wondered if they’d worked on it together, or if they were both telling me the truth.
“And how was your time in Washington?”
For the first time, I sensed a weak point in her armor. Her smile slipped momentarily and I thought I saw a flicker of unease in her blue eyes.
“It was fine, thank you.”
“You were there on business?”
“I’m not sure how this relates to your investigation, but yes, I was.”
“And so was Patty? Excuse me: Patricia.”
“I don’t know why she was there.”
I furrowed my brow. “Really? You spent hours with her in the terminal and then in the lounge, and it never occurred to you to ask why she was going to Washington?”
“Well, I’m sure I must have. I might . . . It was a business trip; I’m sure of that. I think she must have been meeting a potential client, someone who plans to move here in the near future. I was preoccupied with my testimony. I had some last-minute work to do before I appeared before the committee.”
She shifted in her chair, no doubt trying to look casual; it had the opposite effect. I’d managed to put her on edge, and I decided to push her a little harder.
“I saw you on television,” I said. “It must be quite an experience to testify before a Senate committee.”
Her laugh sounded tight, nervous. “It’s not really very exciting.”
“The last time I was in Washington, I wound up spending some time in Arlington and Alexandria. Nice area. Did you get over to Northern Virginia this visit?”
“No.” It was too abrupt, too final. I didn’t believe her for a minute. “Is there anything else, Mister Fearsson? My time is quite valuable.”
“I didn’t recognize the magic that killed James Howell,” I said, ignoring her question. “I used a seeing spell to try to learn what happened in the last moments of his life, but that didn’t tell me much either. And it occurred to me that there have been some odd murders committed in the Phoenix area over the past couple of months. Some in the police department have been talking about cults and ritual killings, but I’m wondering if it’s something else. Do you know anything about dark magic?”
She sat bolt upright. “Are you suggesting-?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m certainly not accusing you of anything. I was just wondering what you know about the darker side of what we weremystes do.”
“Nothing at all. And for you to imply otherwise is . . . is as ridiculous as it is insulting.” She stood, smoothed her slacks with a shaking hand. “Now, I think you should leave.”
I stood as well, knowing that I couldn’t stay without her permission, and reluctant to get into a fight with her security guys. Before either of us could say more, though, the cordless phone on the table by her chair rang. She glared at me for another moment, but then grabbed the phone on the second ring and switched it on.
“Yes?” Her gaze flicked in my direction like a snake’s tongue. “Yes, hold on.” She put a hand over the receiver. “Wait here,” she said to me. Before I could respond, she stepped back into the house and closed the glass door. She crossed through the rec room and out of sight, leaving me little choice but to remain there. Several minutes passed; I started to wonder if I wasn’t being a fool. If this woman was guilty of a fraction of what I suspected, I needed to get the hell out of her house. I recited a spell in my head; three elements: any magic Witcombe might try on me, a shield of power, and me at the center of it. On the third recitation, I released the spell and felt the warding settle over me like a winter coat. Wardings worked better when they were specific to the attack spell, but I wasn’t sure I would have that luxury if it came to a fight. This was better than nothing. With the spell in place, I checked the door connecting the patio to the house, half expecting to find it locked.
It wasn’t. But as I opened it and took a step back inside the house, Missus Witcombe appeared in the rec room doorway on the other side of the room. She still held the phone, but her conversation appeared to have ended. When she spotted me, she faltered, then strode through the room in my direction.
“Where were we, Mister Fearsson?”
“You were in the process of throwing me out of your house.”
She flashed a smile that made me shiver. “An overreaction on my part. Forgive me.”
I remained in the doorway. “Still, perhaps I should leave.”
“There’s no need for that. Come back outside with me. We’ll have a drink and discuss those questions of yours.”
“The ones that outraged you? The ones about dark magic?”
“As I said, I overreacted.”
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t have asked them, and I have someplace I need to be.” A lie, but I wanted out of there.
“But you did ask them, Mister Fearsson. And I feel that I should have the chance to respond.”
We stood there for a few seconds, her eyes locked on mine. Eager as I was to be on my way, I found it hard to argue with her logic, and harder still to imagine how I would get past her guards if she didn’t want to let me go. I acquiesced with a lift of my shoulder and backed out of her way. She crossed to her chair and gestured for me to do the same.
I didn’t trust this change of heart, and so I chose to stay on my feet, though I wandered a bit closer to where she sat.
“Dark magic is such an odd term, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” I said.
“I mean, for centuries it was all considered dark, wasn’t it? The witch trials and all that.”
“I had something specific in mind, Missus Witcombe, and I think you understood that when I asked the question. Now, I don’t know who that was on the phone, and I don’t think I want to find out. Thank you for speaking with me. I’m going to leave now.”
I turned to go. But before I could take more than a step, the air around me chimed like a plucked harp. Magic. For a split second, I was glad I had warded myself. Then her spell took shape, and I realized once more the limitations of such a general-purpose shield spell. I’d protected myself from an attack. But she had cast a barrier spell on the door. I hit it and bounced back, feeling like I’d walked into brick.
I clung to that image-the brick wall-and added two more elements: a sledgehammer and me swinging it. Her barrier gave way, but by now she was on her feet.
“Andrew!” she called.