Miranda St. John was in the interrogation room. Her face was drawn and pale, and her hands were clenched together on the small table in front of her. She sat on the edge of her chair and stared at Moran as he paced the room, talking to her. Darius Vasil was sitting in a chair at the side of the table, watching.

“Why did that policeman call Darius a suit model when I quite clearly told him he was an FBI agent?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jacky,” I mumbled.

The skeleton beside me was quiet for a moment. I still couldn’t hear what Moran was saying inside the room.

“Should we knock?” Jacky whispered.

“No.”

“Emerra, I have places that I need to be, and I can’t leave the car with you.”

“Then leave me here. I can tell Darius when he comes out.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

I glared right into his eye sockets. “Why not?”

“Darius…”

“Darius what?”

“Darius might not want…”

“What? He might not want me here?” My voice rose. “Well, that’s tough.”

The vampire raise his head. I was outside the room, behind the one-way glass—he shouldn’t have been able to see me—but his eyes fixed on my position.

“He heard you,” Jacky said.

Vasil stood up. As he passed Moran, he put his hand on the detective’s shoulder and muttered something in his ear.

“If you’re certain you want to stay, then I think I’ll take my leave,” Noctis said. “Good day, Emerra.”

His instantaneous exit left nothing but a pit of silence and an empty spot beside me.

Coward.

Darius opened the door to the interrogation room and came out. The door clicked shut behind him.

“Emerra, how did you get in here?” Darius asked.

“Jacky brought me. Why are you interrogating Miranda?”

“Why were you with Jacky?”

“He took me over to see Summer’s apartment.”

Darius put a hand up to his forehead and grit his teeth hard enough I thought I saw a glimpse of fang. I might have felt some sympathy for his frustration, but I was too busy feeling pissed.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He didn’t show me the body.”

The vampire glanced at me. I had put on my flintiest and most guilt-inducing expression. Vasil had tried to leave me out. I knew it, and I was going to make sure he knew I knew it. I might have been a lousy liar, but that meant I was second to none when it came to being expressive.

The count’s expression softened. A quiet sigh escaped through his nose. “Did you touch anything?”

“Nothing. My hands were in my pockets the whole time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jacky warned me about fingerprints. And I was extra careful not to leave any stray hairs at the scene.”

His eyes flicked up to my bald head. He didn’t laugh, but his cheek twitched up a bit. “Did you find the scroll?”

“No, but we found a gun.”

“What kind of gun?”

“A hand gun.”

“What model?”

“Ha! Do I look like I know a lot about guns?”

“Can you describe it?”

I held up my hands to show the general size. “Black. Blocky. Bigger than I thought it would be.”

The count grunted. “I’ll have to arrange for the police to find the body soon. That’s probably the gun that killed Wayde. ”

The same thought had popped into my head when I saw it in Summer’s apartment. I didn’t like it then, and I liked it even less when I heard Darius say it.

“Do you think Summer killed Wayde?” I asked.

“Did Jacky tell you how Summer died?”

“He said it was a sudden deceleration after a big drop.”

“He fell from a bridge spanning a ravine. It was tucked away in the woods. Summer would have had to drive three hours to get there.”

“Is that unusual for a suicide?”

“Not particularly. What would be unusual is if he called up a friend to come along to take care of his soul afterward. Someone else was there, so there’s a good chance it wasn’t a suicide. If someone went through all that trouble to make it look like one, it’s easy for me to imagine them leaving a murder weapon in Summer’s apartment. It’d give Summer a plausible motive for killing himself.”

“You think he was framed?”

“We don’t know yet. All I’m saying is that it’s possible.”

“Cool. Now why are you interrogating Miranda?”

He stared at me for a while.

“I’m not,” he said. “Detective Moran is.”

“Because you told him she lied.”

“I’m not going to apologize for that, Emerra. She lied during a murder investigation.”

I pointed a lazy finger at him. “But surely that means you’ve already told Detective Moran about Louis Summer. I mean, you wouldn’t hide anything from him, now would you?”

“That’s different and you know it.”

“Why? Because you’re the one doing it?”

“I’m doing it to protect Jacky’s identity. Miranda St. John lied to make herself look less suspicious.”

My mouth gaped. A moment later, I shut it and gazed down at my boots. I nudged the line between the floor tiles. It didn’t move.

“Since you’re here,” Vasil said, “would you like to listen in?”

“Please.”

He reached up to a switch high on the wall and flicked it up.

Moran’s voice came through the speaker: “—don’t see how it can be anything else.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Darius said to me.

I obediently faced the room.

When the count reentered the interrogation room, Moran paused. The vampire crossed over to the chair beside the table, sat down, and nodded to the detective.

Moran turned back to Miranda. “It’s a simple question—would you like to look me in the eyes and tell me that Ryan Frost lied?”

Miranda lowered her head and pressed her lips together until they all but disappeared.

“It could be him in here,” the detective added. “It’s kind of a he-said, she-said situation, but I assure you, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Miranda still said nothing.

The detective sighed. “I thought you liked Professor Frost—”

Her head jerked up. “I do like Frost.”

Moran held up both hands. “No, that’s fine. He’s your uncle’s best friend and all. I would hope you like him…but if he’s lying about you…”

St. John put a hand up to cover her face. “He’s not lying,” she muttered into her palm.

“Come again?”

“Frost isn’t lying. I knew.”

Moran put his hands in his pants pockets, making his sports coat splay out to the sides. “Hmm. I wondered. You always seemed like an honest girl. Maybe you didn’t understand the question when I asked you the first time. It’s stressful—I get it. But now we can talk about it.”

He grabbed the chair across from Miranda, pulled it out, and sat down.

He said, “Are you ready to talk about it, Miss St. John?”

Miranda nodded. Tears gathered on her lashes despite her closed eyes.

“Did you know that Trevon Wayde had remade his will in favor of you?”

Maybe it was only a friendly cop routine, but I was glad his voice was gentle.

“Yes.”

“When did he tell you?”

She sniffed. “After he changed it.”

“We need a timeline, Miss St. John.”

“Almost two years ago?”

“How long after you arrived?” Darius asked.

“About a month.”

“Why did he change it?”

Miranda had to swallow before she could answer. “He said I was his family.”

“Was it because of your mother?”

“I think so.”

“Does your mother know he changed his will?” Moran asked.

Through clenched teeth, Miranda said, “My mother isn’t talking to me. That’s why I needed a family.”

“What did you think when he told you about the will?” Darius asked.

“I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know him.” She let out a brief, hollow laugh. Two tears ran down her cheeks. “It was so like him—impulsive, excited. I didn’t think it would matter. He wasn’t old. He could change his mind whenever he wanted.”

She pressed her lips together again.

“Why did you lie to us?” Moran asked.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“That’s not a reason to lie to the police.”

“I promise you, I didn’t kill him—but I didn’t have an alibi, and I inherit everything.” Her voice gave out. All she could do was shake her head.

“So you lied to us.”

“I was scared.”

“When you first arrived at college, you declared yourself an anthropology major,” Darius said.

Miranda nodded.

“Then you changed your mind.”

Another nod.

“How long did you wait to tell Professor Wayde?”

Miranda said nothing.

Vasil raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to lie to us again, Miss St. John?”

“A half a year.”

Moran looked at the vampire. Darius jerked his head in a quick nod.

The detective turned back to Miranda. “Why did you wait so long to tell him? Were you afraid he’d disinherit you?

“It’s a hang up,” Miranda muttered.

“What?”

She raised her voice. “It’s a hang up. If you don’t tell them what you’re doing, they can’t disapprove.”

“So you were scared he’d disinherit you?”

“That’s not it.”

The count put his hand on the table top. He studied his fingertips as they pressed down on the cheap laminate. “But you were scared he’d disapprove?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Because you wanted him to like you.”

“I wanted to like him. I didn’t want to lose him.”

“Because he was your ally.”

She gasped out the answer: “Yes.”

Vasil lifted his hand from the table and rubbed his jaw. “Miss St. John, why did you think your uncle had a girlfriend?”

Moran glanced at the vampire, but Vasil didn’t notice.

“He told me,” Miranda said. “About a month and a half ago.”

“Are you sure about the dates?”

“Not…no. Not really. It might have been two months ago. We were having dinner at his house. I said he looked happy. He said he’d been on a date. I teased him about that for a while, then he threatened to set me up with some old professor so we could go on a double date.” A weak smile appeared on her face, but then it disappeared. “Then next time I was over, I asked him if he’d seen her again. He waved away my question and said something about it being complicated. I didn’t want to say anything, in case she’d broken up with him, but he seemed too happy for that. I wondered—”

Miranda bit back her own sentence.

“What did you wonder, Miss St. John?” Moran asked.

“I wondered if she was already married or something.”

“You thought your uncle was having an affair, and you didn’t think to mention it?”

“How could I? I don’t know anything about it! He only mentioned one date. I never met her, I don’t know who she is, and he never mentioned her again. Isn’t it more likely it was just a date that went nowhere?”

Moran turned back to Darius, but the vampire was still too lost in thought to notice. As the seconds came and went, even Miranda looked at him.

At last, Darius raised his eyes. “A word, Detective?”

Moran motioned to the door. The two men rose and came toward me. I stepped back.

When the detective opened the door and saw me, he said, “Afternoon, Miss Cole. How’s the leg?”

“I’m going to have a gnarly scar.”

“Call it a battle wound. It sounds better.”

Darius closed the door. When he turned to face the detective, his eyes passed over mine. It felt like he was slicing me down. The message was clear: I was supposed to keep my mouth shut.

I clamped my teeth down on the inside of my lips.

Moran said to Darius, “Where did you hear about a girlfriend?”

“St. John mentioned something about it to Miss Cole.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“You know as much about it as I do, I’m afraid.”

Moran glanced my way, but before he could say anything, Darius went on.

“I’ve covered all the questions I have. Is there anything you need from me before I go?”

“Do you have someplace to be?”

“No, but I’ve got other work to do, and I don’t think that St. John is our suspect.”

“How so?”

“I’d be very surprised if she stole the scroll, and I don’t think she killed her uncle.”

I bit down harder on my lips to keep from cheering.

Moran ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I know she doesn’t seem like a murderer, but I’ve found a whopping total of one motive, and it belongs to her.”

“What about the fingerprints?” Darius said. “Haven’t you already checked hers?”

“That doesn’t give us anything. We knew she’d been in the study.”

“I’m talking about the bloody fingerprints.”

“What bloody fingerprints?”

The count’s whole body glitched—there was a jerk of stillness in his otherwise normal grace. It was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, but when he spoke, I thought I could hear some tension in his voice.

“The partial bloody fingerprints. The ones that you found in Wayde’s study.”

“We didn’t find any bloody fingerprints,” Moran said. “As far as we can tell, the murderer shot Wayde and walked away without touching him.”

Vasil looked off into space.

Moran watched him for a second, then said, “Are you sure you aren’t getting your cases mixed up, Agent?”

“Maybe that’s it,” the count muttered.

“You should take a break. Grab a cup of coffee before you leave.”

“I think I will. Do you want any, Detective?”

“Thanks, no. I’ll finish up with St. John.”

Moran and I waved to each other before he opened the door. His eyes lingered on the count as he passed inside.

When the detective was gone, Vasil said under his breath, “Emerra, do you remember him mentioning the partial fingerprints?”

“Yes,” I whispered back.

“Then she couldn’t have known about you.”

The count turned and headed back down the hall, passing by the breakroom with its promise of stale coffee, on his way to Moran’s desk. He sat down at the desk and pulled a large file toward himself.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I need a moment, Miss Cole.”

I stood there, next to Moran’s desk, smiling at the people who glanced our way and trying to look like I had a right to be there. After five minutes, I decided I’d have to talk to Darius about his definition of the word “moment.”

He flipped over the last piece of paper, closed the file, and put it back.

“Well?” I said.

“We’ll talk outside.”

He rose and led us out of the building. We were halfway to the SUV when Darius pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Is there anyone around, or does anything look weird to you?” he asked.

It took me a second to realize he was talking to me.

“Huh?”

“Look around. Does anything look weird to you?”

Weird? It was a parking lot! What did he expect me to see? There was some trash, a couple of cigarette butts, and a whole bunch of cop cars.

“Not really,” I said.

“Good.” Darius tapped his phone and raised it to his ear. “Mr. Uhler? This is Darius Vasil. It’s about the Wayde case. I need you to help me find a witch.”