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black magic witch who stopped at nothing to get her way.  
    A shiver of repulsion makes me move away from the creature on the bed. Even vampire is reluctant to interfere. We can only watch and wait and hope reason returns to Sophie before it is too late.
    I remember what Jonathan said. If he dies, Sophie does, too. Is she aware that her own fate is tied to his? And what if Jonathan is wrong? What if she can rid herself of him and continue on as before? Would she revert to her real age? Would she care? The frustration I felt in her makes me believe that life or death may make no difference to her. Her only goal is to be free.
    Finally, the chanting stops. Sophie’s body relaxes as she slumps back against the pillows. The sphere of sinister light that surrounded her is gone. Her eyes remain closed, but her face softens. A small smile touches the corners of her mouth.
    “Sophie?”
    Her eyes open, her expression is at once surprised to see that I’m still in the room and pleased that I am. “I did it,” she says. “How long?”
    At first I’m confused by the question, but then a flash of understanding. “Five minutes. Maybe less.”
    The smile widens. “I’m getting better. The first time it took almost twenty minutes and I was exhausted after.” She stretches, languid as a cat. “I feel fine.”
    “Jonathan?”
    “He’s where he can’t hurt me. I think he may be gone longer, too. The magic felt more potent. It was wonderful.”
    I don’t know how to respond. “Is he aware?” I ask.
    A shrug of indifference. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
    “How did you learn to do that without Jonathan knowing?”
    She smiles again, this time a smile of conspiratorial slyness. “When we were writing the book. He’d delve into his memories, lost in his own world, leaving me free to do some research of my own.”
    “Research?”
    “I was a practicing witch, remember, as was my mother and grandmother before me. I have texts and journals from before the Salem witch trials, hidden by my family down through the ages.”
    “Were some of them Belinda’s?”
    A furtive glance as elusive as her ambiguous answer, “Maybe.”
    I push aside the dark foreboding creeping into my head like an icy fog and concentrate on the more immediate problem: Prendergast. Jonathan will have to wait it out in his isolation cell.
    “What do we do about Prendergast?”
    That elicits a real smile. “Easy,” she says. “We tell him the truth. The real story now that we know it. And I turn all of Jonathan’s holdings over to him.”
     

 
    CHAPTER NINE
     
    At first I think she’s joking. But that’s not a “gotcha” smile, but a triumphant one.
    “You can’t do that.”
    She raises an eyebrow. “Of course I can. Jonathan made me his heir. I figure this solves all our problems. Prendergast will go away satisfied and I will go back to living the way I did before Jonathan took over.”
    “You don’t think Jonathan will have something to say about giving his fortune to this stranger?”
    “Jonathan won’t have anything to say. Now that I know how to silence him temporarily, it’s only a matter of time before I learn how to do it permanently.”
    “Think this through, Sophie. What if banishing Jonathan banishes you as well?”
    “Then I will still have accomplished my goal. I’ll be free.”
    The unconcerned way she says it makes me think there’s more to her plan than she’s willing to share. The cagey look in her eyes, though, says grilling her about it is useless.
    “What do we do now?”
    “I think Prendergast should learn about his grandmother where it all happened. Do you know The Matchless is in the same building where Leticia had her brothel? She had the whole building then, of course, but the dining room was actually the saloon.”
    It doesn’t hit me until I hear Sophie talking about The Matchless. Then a light goes on and I stare at her in disbelief. “You knew the truth about Jonathan’s story?”
    The look she