“But Randy was Wiccan, not a ceremonial magician,” I said.
“Correct.”
“What would he have known, or thought, to say in the middle of a fight? What would have prompted him to think of an old chant, a memorized piece?”
“If you have a recording of what he said, then I can help, or even some of the words, and I can give you some hint.”
I looked at Edward.
“We don’t have anything we can let you listen to, Phoebe; I’m sorry.” It was neatly done, not that we didn’t have a recording but that we couldn’t let her listen to it. I’d have just told her we didn’t have one, which is why I’d let Edward answer.
She looked away from all of us and spoke in a voice that was shaky. “Is it that awful?”
Shit. But Edward moved in smoothly, even touching her hand. “It’s not that, Phoebe. It’s just that it’s an ongoing investigation, and we have to be cautious what information we let out.”
She looked at him from inches away. “You think someone in my coven could be involved?”
“Do you?” he asked, in a voice that was not the least surprised, as if to say, yes, we had suspected it, but we’d let her tell us the truth. I’d have sounded surprised and spooked her.
She looked into his eyes from inches away, and his hand on hers was suddenly more important. I felt the prickle of energy, and knew it had nothing to do with wereanimals or vampires.
He smiled, and pulled back his hand. “Trying to psychically read a police officer without permission is illegal, Phoebe.”
“I need to know more than you’re telling me to answer your questions.”
“How can you be sure of that?” he asked, with a smile.
She smiled and put her teacup on the coffee table beside the rest. “I’m psychic, remember. I have information that you need, but I don’t know what it is. I only know that if you ask the right question, I’ll tell you something important.”
I jumped in, “You know psychically.”
“Yes.”
I turned to the men with me and tried to explain. “Most psychic ability is pretty vague. Phoebe knows she has information that will be important, but there’s a question we need to ask to spark that knowledge in her.”
“And she knows this, how?” Bernardo asked.
I shrugged. “She couldn’t tell you how, and I couldn’t either. I’ve just worked with enough psychics to know that this is as good as the explanation gets sometimes.”
Olaf scowled. “That is not an explanation.”
I shrugged again. “The best we’ve got.” I turned back to the priestess. “Let’s go back to Marshal Forrester’s question. Could anyone in your coven be involved?”
She shook her head. “No.” It was a very firm no.
I tried again. “Could anyone here in the magical community be involved?”
“How can I answer that? I don’t know what spells were used, or why you believe that Randy was trying to say something. Of course, there are bad people in every community, but without more information, I can’t tell you whose talents this could have been.” She sounded impatient, and I guess I couldn’t blame her.
I looked at Edward.
“Do you have a priest’s seal of the confessional?”
She smiled. “Yes, the Supreme Court upheld that we are truly priests, so what you tell me is covered under the law.”
He looked at Michael’s looming figure. “Is he a priest?”
“We are all priests and priestesses if we are called by Goddess,” she said. It was a very priestess answer.
I answered for her. “He’s her black dog.”
Both Phoebe and Michael looked at me, as if I’d done something interesting. “They come here pretending not to know anything about us, but they’ve checked us out. They’re lying.”
“Now, Michael, you should know not to jump to conclusions.” She turned those gentle brown eyes to me. “Have you checked us out?”
I shook my head. “I swear to you that other than finding out you are Randy Sherman’s priestess, no.”
“Then how did you know Michael was not my priest?”
I licked my lips and thought about it. How had I known? “There’s a bond between most of the priests and priestesses I’ve met. Either they are a couple, or the magical working as a team just forms a bond. There’s no feel of that between you and him. Also, he just screams muscle. The only job in a coven that is all about muscle, either spiritual or physical, is the black dog.”
“Most covens don’t have them anymore,” she said.
I shrugged. “My mentor is into the history of her craft.”