She flipped open the iPad cover and pulled up a map of the world on screen. Then she dug a crystal on a long silver chain out of her pocket.
I stared at her over the rim of my mug. "You're kidding, right?"
She raised an eyebrow. "No. Should I be?"
"You just pulled up a map program."
"How astute." Evidently I wasn't the only one around here schooled in sarcasm.
I gave a little growl of frustration. "Don't you need a proper map? Like a paper one?"
She rolled her eyes. "This is the twenty-first century. Nobody uses paper anymore. Online maps are so much more accurate and detailed. Now, do you have something personal of Alister Jones's?"
"Yeah." I dug into my pocket and pulled out the letter opener.
Emory took it from me and turned it over carefully in her hands. "This should work," she said finally. "Watch." She held the crystal above the iPad making sure the stone was perfectly still. Then, holding the letter opener in her left hand, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and muttered something so faint I could barely hear it. She opened her eyes and stared intently at the crystal as though her will alone could move it along.
For nearly a full minute, it didn't move. I was beginning to think this was a waste of time. Then the crystal began to swing gently back and forth like a pendulum. I narrowed my eyes. Was Emory deliberately moving it? But her hand seemed rock steady. The crystal began to jerk and wobble and circle in a way she couldn't possibly have done on purpose. Then it seemed to practically leap across the pad and hit the screen with a sharp thump. I winced, sure the crystal had cracked it.
Emory didn't seem worried. She leaned over the iPad to see where the crystal had landed. A small smile curved her lips. "How very interesting indeed."
"Why? Where is he?"
She didn't answer me right away. She moved her fingers over the screen, zooming in closer to the location. As she did the crystal skittered this way and that, until it finally stilled.
"There we go," she said, leaning back a little. She looked altogether too smug as she took a genteel zip from her mug. It had a picture of a lady from the '60s with the words "If you're going to kick ass, you need kickass shoes." Ironic, since I'd yet to see Emory wear shoes. Even on board the ship, she'd been barefoot.
"Well," I prompted. "Where is he?"
Her smile grew wider. "Here."
"What you mean?"
"Alister Jones is in Portland," she said taking another sip of tea.
I stared at her. "Impossible. We would know."
"Would you?"
She was right. It was annoying, but she was right. We wouldn't know necessarily. But why would he come back to Portland? He hadn't been here in years. Since before I was even born. "Where is he? Exactly."
"Here." She tapped her forefinger on the screen.
I stared at the place she pointed and felt myself go a little pale. Alister Jones was at my house.
I left Emory's house at a dead run. As I slammed my car door and took off down the street, I was already on the phone with Trevor, giving him a quick rundown of the scrying and Emory's results.
"But you're not sure he's there," Trevor said. "I mean, you haven't seen him with your own eyes."
"Oh, he's there," I said grimly. I could feel it in my bones. Talk about in plain sight.
"I want to believe you. I do. But I can't send men out there because some witch says so."
I scowled even though he couldn't see me. "That's a bit prejudiced, don't you think?"
"I didn't mean it like that and you know it. I need confirmation, Morgan."
"Fine," I snapped. "You want confirmation? I'll get it." I hung up before he could say anything else. Next I dialed Kabita. She picked up right away, and I told her what I'd told Trevor and his refusal to help without confirmation.
"Can't say I blame him," she said. "His superiors would have his head if we're wrong. He's already walking a fine line for us."
"We're not wrong."
"You know that, and I know that, but some idiot bureaucrat doesn't know that. Do you want Trevor to lose his job?"
"Of course not."
"Then don't give him such grief," she snapped. "I'm on my way. Be there in ten." This time it was she that hung up.
My tires squealed as I took a corner a little too fast. I could only hope there weren't any police nearby, or I was going to be in some serious trouble. I pressed on the gas, veering in and out of traffic to get around the slower-moving vehicles. I tailgated a powder-blue Nissan that was poking along at five miles an hour under the speed limit. As soon as I could, I swerved around while the driver, who looked about eighty, laid on her horn and gave me the finger. I flashed a smile and kept going.