Page 39 of Dead and Gone

I place a hand on the side of the door and shove. "Apologies for the broken lock."

Corrie stumbles back as I step inside with Rowan. "I never knew Alistair was a witch. I just thought he was weird," she whispers.

Alistair?

I'm in her mind in a heartbeat. A kitchen. A young guy with long hair. Threats. Human or supe? I take Corrie's arm. "Where's your unwanted guest?"

"This way."

The house smells overpoweringly of vanilla and berries from lit candles, and I drag a whimpering Corrie along the short, carpeted hallway where a door opens into a lounge room engulfed by cream leather sofas and a ridiculously large TV playing loudly on the wall.

Nobody.

"Where is this person?" I ask.

"Alistair waited in the kitchen to stay out of sight." Corrie clutches her hands together. "He says I can't leave the house until I tell him where the real eyes are. He won't listen to me. I sold him the eyes from the mole already!"

"What's Alistair threatening you with? Death?"

She squeaks in a way that reminds me of Holly. "No! Why would he kill me? Is that what Alistair does to people?"

"You're at home, Corrie, where Alistair would leave too many clues and would not escape a murder conviction. Now, if he'd found you somewhere that's less public?—"

"Violet!" interrupts Rowan.

Corrie's voice wobbles. "Alistair said that if I don't tell him where the eyes are, I'll 'regret it.' How can I do that if I sold them to him yesterday?"

Heavy footsteps interrupt us, and somebody walks into the room. "How long does it take to—" Alistair stops, stiffening like the dead mole.

I stare at him. Alistair's the same age as Corrie but looks completely different. A little like Holly and I are—bright and breezy versus dark and intense. He's dressed all in black, and his trench coat nearly scrapes the floor. The guy's long, straggly hair frames his pale face, and the faint hum of magic surrounds him, but it's diluted to almost nothing.

"Do your friends have my gems?" he demands. "How did these people get in?"

"Hello," I say brightly, stepping forward. "I'm Violet Blackwood. And you are?" Alistair recoils slightly, his bravado cracking under my gaze. "I presume by your reaction that you've heard about me."

"Why have you trapped Corrie in her home?" Rowan asks, stepping up beside me.

"I gave you the money back!" Corrie's voice trembles as she points to the kitchen counter, where a full white envelope restsbeside the silver kettle. "I should never have let you into my home!"

"I'm not leaving until you give me the real eyes! These are fake." Alistair unfurls his hand, revealing two red glass beads similar to the ones Dale showed me. "I only wanted to frighten Corrie so she'd tell me where her thieving friends hid the eyes."

"I didn't," Corrie whines. "Thosearethe eyes from the mole. Why won't you listen to me?"

Alistair ignores Corrie and gestures. "I paid her and look what she did. Stole from me!"

"No. We only stole the mole and we're returning that to the museum," she continues, the whine growing in pitch.

I take the beads from him, turning them over in my palm. "Why do you want the mole's eyes, Alistair? Are you a Redridge? What's your full name?"

"Forget it. Doesn't matter." As the guy grabs the envelope and makes a break for the rear door, I slam magic into his mind, and he staggers forward before gripping the handle. Alistair shouts out as if the metal shocked him, and he turns back, cradling his palm. "Let me go. I've done nothing wrong."

The door slams open, knocking Alistair to one side, and Grayson blocks the doorway behind him, arms crossed. "That will be no to leaving."

"Nothing wrong?" asks Corrie. "You locked me in my house and threatened me!"

"Answer her question," Rowan says coldly. "What's your name?"

"I'm Alistair Smith," he blurts, his eyes huge as he looks at the hemia vampire's fingers now curled around his arm.

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