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notice.” Those long legs, that flawless pale skin and the fullness of her breasts swelling from her silky demi bra. Thomas might be head of the Coven, but he was a man first.
    A satisfied little smile flickered across her lips. “Good.” She turned toward the door.
    What a strange woman. “Stay,” he said simply before she could leave.
    She turned back around slowly, wearing a questioning expression.
    â€œStay here at the Coven for a while. Work with us. Help us deal with Stefan. Help us find the demon.”
    Isabelle Novak possessed abilities uncommon to most water witches. Not only could she manipulate the water in a man’s body—a deadly skill she’d demonstrated readily on Stefan—she could access moisture memory, tapping into the water of a given area and replaying recent events. She could be valuable to them.
    She pursed her lips and thought about it for a moment. “You’ll make me play nice.”
    He smiled. “I’ll make you play effectively, not necessarily nicely.”
    â€œI want to be in on any official Coven communication with Stefan. Any contact you have with him in Gribben, I want to be present.”
    Thomas rubbed a hand over his chin for a moment, thinking over the issue. “I don’t see why not.”
    She considered him, worrying at her lower lip between her white teeth. “Give me time to tie up a few loose ends and I’ll come in.”
    Absurdly, he wondered what kind of “ends” she meant. He knew she wasn’t married, but did she have a boyfriend?
    Damn it, why did he care?
    He nodded. “Just tell them who you are at the front gate and Douglas will meet you. He manages the house. When you return there will be a room ready for you.”
    â€œAnd a prisoner to torture.” She clapped her hands together and rubbed them with glee. “If we play good cop, bad cop, can I be the bad cop?”
    â€œAfter what you did to his dick, Stefan probably thinks you’re the baddest thing around.”
    She smiled broadly. “Now I can die happy.”
    Lady, what had he just done?

FOUR
    I SABELLE ENTERED HER SISTER’S POSH CONDO IN L INCOLN Park, the rich scent of vanilla and roses enveloping her as soon as she stepped within. She’d been staying there since Angela had died and still burned her sister’s favorite candles every morning in a vigil of sorts.
    She set her keys down on the bar that separated the gourmet kitchen and large living room and glanced around at the homey furnishings. The place was decorated in calming blues and silvers, filled to bursting with overstuffed couches and chairs, soft throw blankets and plush area rugs covering the shining hardwood floors. Soothing modern artwork adorned the walls, pastel colors swooping and arcing across the canvases.
    This place was Angela. It embodied her very spirit—cool, composed, emotionally centered, and sensitive. It didn’t really suit Isabelle’s personality, but she wished it did. She wished she had a few more of her sister’s qualities, rather than their mother’s. Angela must have inherited her easygoing calmness from her father, whoever he’d been. Angela’s father hadn’t been the same as Isabelle’s. Their mother, Catalina, got around.
    Isabelle slipped her shoes off and unstrapped the small, pretty knife with the copper blade she wore sheathed to her wrist. Laying it on the counter, she ran her finger over the swoops and whorls engraved in the handle. Angela had given Isabelle the knife after a trip she’d taken to Peru. Isabelle had been wearing it to demon-hunt ever since Angela’s murder. Not built for anything more than looks, it was really just a symbolic gesture. A nod to her sister.
    After fishing a pint of Chunky Monkey out of the recesses of the freezer and grabbing a spoon, she padded across the area rug in the living room to the window that overlooked the heavily tree-lined street