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to love that human sacrifice.
    “This three-fold death thing is disgusting,” I said.
    I pointed to the sketch of a victim succumbing to each stage of death.  The drawing was worse than the diagram of stomach contents.
    “The number three is significant to humans and the fae,” Kaye said, shrugging.  “At least the victims ate or imbibed the mistletoe first.  That was a kindness.  The sacrificial lamb would hallucinate and die from poison before realizing the horrors of the first beating.”
    Kaye seemed unfazed by the stories of sacrifice.  Had she taken part in such a ritual in her past?  I shook my head.  No way.  My friend may have a practical approach to magic and its uses, but she wouldn’t step over that line.  Kaye had given her life to protecting humans.  She wouldn’t go around using them as spell components.
    “So mistletoe is a poison and a part of murderous rituals,” I said.  “What else?”
    I had a feeling that Kaye knew most of the wisdom found in her library.
    “Mistletoe is a magical amplifier,” Kaye said.  “Adding the plant or berries to almost any magic, good or evil, will increase the desired outcome of a spell.  The mistletoe that grows on oak trees is the most powerful, but any type will do.”
    “Great, this stuff acts like a shot of energy drink to casters,” I said.  “Is that it?”
    “Just a question, dear,” she said.  “Was there anything else at the scene?  Perhaps something that could indicate what magic, if any, was being used.”
    I thought back to my conversation with Forneus.  According to the demon, the only thing left at the crime scenes, once the bodies disappear, was mistletoe and blood.  I ran a gloved hand through my hair and voiced the idea that came unbidden to my lips.
    “Blood,” I said.  “At every scene there was blood.  I assumed it was from the act of murder itself.  But…”
    “It could be something else entirely,” she said, nodding.  “Blood magic is powerful, hostile.  Mistletoe may amplify the outcome of a spell, but blood amplifies both the magic and the emotions of the caster.”
    “Let me guess,” I said, giving Kaye a mirthless smile.  “That doesn’t usually end well.”
    “No, it never does,” Kaye said.  “Blood magic ends badly, indeed.”
    “Could someone be using this kind of magic in Harborsmouth without you knowing?” I asked, staring at the books that lined the walls. 
    I couldn’t meet Kaye’s eyes.  She worked hard to spread her awareness over our city, like a magical security blanket to protect innocent humans from harm.  But like any hand knit afghan, Kaye’s awareness spell had holes.  She had tightened the magical threads that detected demons, but that didn’t mean something else couldn’t slip through.
    I darted my gaze in time to see my friend’s shoulders slump.  Kaye’s head dipped to her chest as she let out a sigh.   Kaye was a tough old bird.  That sigh said it all.
    “I’m not getting any younger, dear,” Kaye said.  She lifted her head to meet my eyes, but a bleak look had replaced the fire I was used to seeing reflected in their black depths.  Kaye raised a hand, wiggling her fingers.  The bell sleeves of her blouse fell back to reveal a mass of twining tattoos.  “My magic comes at a price.  I do what I can, but yes, someone could be practicing blood magic without my knowing.”
    Since the each uisge attack, I’d been lucky.  Business was booming and Jinx and I had settled into our daily routine.  I was courting an immortal kelpie king, and my witch friend, with the aid of every magic user in the region, had cast a spell more powerful than anything I’d ever seen.  For the first time since becoming aware of the monsters that walked our streets, I had felt safe.
    I was a fool.
    Now I was taking another job from a demon, Ceffyl was away negotiating water fae treaties, someone was killing faeries like they were mosquitoes, and my all-powerful witch friend