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Karen Holtzer. She was a student at UCLA.”
    “Yeah? She have any life or interests beyond being a student at UCLA?”

    28 Josh Lanyon
    It occurred to me that what was really biting him was the fact that he hadn’t considered tracking back to the original class Angus had attended or the professor who had taught it -- and I had.
    But I didn’t want to fight with Jake; I saw little enough of him as it was. I said,
    “Look…” and filled him in on exactly what had been said -- and to whom.
    When I’d finished Jake stared at me like he’d never seen the species before. “What the hell are you doing butting in on this?” he asked. “You’re not the punk’s father. Or do you have something going with him too?”
    I admit that took me off guard. My stomach dropped a floor or two. I blinked at him, at a loss for words. I had a sudden vision of myself lying in his arms, soaked and sticky with his cum. Did he honest to God think --?
    He glared back at me, but then his gaze swerved. He grimaced. “Forget it.” He sighed.
    “Adrien, you’re trying to help the kid, but for all you know you made it worse, and now you’ve set yourself up as a target too.”
    “You don’t know that. Snowden may not have talked to anybody yet. This could be the natural progression.”
    He was silent. Too silent. When he could apparently trust himself to speak, he said crisply, “I’m going to tell you nicely. Stay out of it.” He slid his sunglasses back on. I had twin reflections of myself looking pissed. “Understood?”
    “Got it,” I bit out.
    It didn’t go a long way to cooling me down when he reached over and gave my hair a quick, casual ruffle before turning to go.

    * * * * *
The shop was called Dragonwyck. As fate would have it, it occupied the building which had once housed Café Noir. The pink stucco walls were painted with ivy and thorns and magic symbols. In the glass-front box that used to display the menu was a listing of the classes offered for the winter session: Magickal Tools taught by Rhiannon. Dreams and Divination taught by Cassandra. Finding and Communicating with Spirit Guides taught by Ariel.
    I stepped inside and was greeted by soft sitar music and the scent of incense. The place was brightly lit, clean, and well organized, which I didn’t expect. If Claude’s spirit was still hanging around, I couldn’t tell. Neatly labeled shelves were packed with books, gems, minerals, crystals, candles, candles, more candles, goblets, chalices, incense, oils, and bumper stickers.
    GODDESS ON THE LOOSE
    MY OTHER CAR IS A BROOM
    WITCHES PARKING (ALL OTHERS WILL BE TOAD)

    The Hell You Say

    29
    A plump, middle-aged woman stood at the counter dressed in purple tie-dyed gauze.
    She had a kind, freshly-scrubbed face -- nothing like the babes on Charmed.
    “Blessed be,” she greeted me.
    “Hi,” I said.
    “Can I help you find something? Herbal tea? A Renaissance Fair costume?” She twinkled at me. “A love potion?”
    Herbal tea is one thing, but did I look like the kind of guy in the market for a Renaissance Fair costume?
    “Information.”
    She tipped down her gold-wire specs, peered at me.
    I showed her a couple of the photos I had enlarged on my computer and printed out.
    She stared for a long time, frowning. Then she said, “This is an inverted pentagram. It symbolizes the Morning Star -- Venus -- and Satan. That’s not what we’re about. We’re Wicca. We have nothing to do with Satan.”
    That sounded familiar. I’d done reading on the subject years ago. Nothing attracts adolescents like the promise of supernatural powers. If ever a kid had felt the need to overcompensate, it was me.
    “In fact, we don’t recognize a supreme evil deity like Lucifer or Satan, whatever you want to call Him,” she added. “We worship the God and the Goddess, the harmony of male and female. We honor Mother Earth and hold all of nature sacred. This…” She looked at the photo. “This is entirely different. This