"Werewolves, Dallas." Amused at both of them now, Peabody rolled her eyes. "A lot of good you're going to do if we have to defend ourselves against witchcraft."

"What does it to witches, then?"

"I don't know," Peabody admitted. "But I'm damn sure going to find out."

Shopping wasn't something Eve considered one of the small pleasures in life. She wasn't a browser, a window shopper, or a electronic catalogue surfer. She avoided, whenever possible, the shops and boutiques in, above, and below Manhattan. She shuddered at the very thought of a trip to one of the sky malls.

She imagined her outward resistance to the consumption of merchandise was the primary reason Isis pegged her as a cop the minute she stepped into Spirit Quest.

As stores went, Eve considered it tolerable. She wasn't interested in the crystals and cards, the statues and candles, even though they were attractively displayed. The background music was soft, more of a murmur than a tune, and the light was allowed to play over the edges of raw crystals and polished stones in pretty rainbows.

The place smelled, she thought, not offensively of forest.

If witches were what she was dealing with, Eve decided, Isis and Selina couldn't have been more dramatically opposed in appearance. Selina had been pale and slim and feline. Isis was an exotic amazon of a female with gypsy curls of flaming red, round black eyes, and cheekbones that could have carved wood. Her skin was the soft gold of a mixed-race heritage, her features bold and broad. Eve measured her at just over six feet and a well-packed and curvy one-seventy.

She wore a loose, flowing robe of blinding white with a belt studded with rough stones. Her right arm was wound with gold coils from elbow to shoulder, and her large hands winked and flashed with as many as a dozen rings.

"Welcome." The voice suited her, oddly accented and throaty. Her lips curved, but it was a smile of grieving rather than pleasure. "Alice's cop."

Eve lifted a brow as she took out her shield. She figured she looked like a cop. And, since Roarke, her face had been in the media relentlessly. "Dallas. You'd be Isis, then?"

"I would. You'll wish to talk. Excuse me." She walked to the door. Graceful, Eve observed, the way an athlete is graceful. She turned an old-fashioned hand-lettered sign to Closed, pulled the shade over the glass of the door, and flicked a thumb latch.

When she turned back, her eyes were intense, her mouth grim. "You bring dark shadows into my light. She clings – such a stench." At Eve's narrowed look, she inclined her head. "Selina. One moment."

She went to a wide shelf and began to light candles and cones of incense. "To purify and shield, to protect and defend. You have shadows of your own, Dallas." She smiled briefly at Peabody. "And not just your aide."

"I'm here to talk about Alice."

"Yes, I know. And you're impatient with what you see as my foolish window dressing. I don't mind. Every religion should be open to questions and change. Will you sit?"

She gestured to a corner where two chairs flanked a round table etched with symbols. Again, she smiled at Peabody. "I can get another chair from the back for you."

"No problem. I'll stand." She couldn't help it; her gaze traveled the room, lingering now and then wistfully on some pretty bauble.

"Please feel free to browse."

"We're not here to shop." Eve took a seat, shot Peabody a withering glance. "When did you last see or speak with Alice?"

"On the night she died."

"At what time?"

"I believe it was about two a.m. She was already dead," Isis added, folding her large, beautiful hands.

"You saw her after she was dead."

"Her spirit came to me. You find this foolish; I understand. But I can only tell you what is, and was. I was asleep, and I awoke. She was there, beside the bed. I knew we'd lost her. She feels she's failed. Herself, her family, me. Her spirit is restless and full of grief."

"Her body's dead, Isis. That's my concern."

"Yes." Isis picked up a smooth, rose-colored stone from the table, worried it in her hand. "Even for me, with my beliefs, it's difficult to accept her death. So young, so bright." The huge, dark eyes swam. "I loved her very much, as you would a younger sister. But it wasn't meant for me to save her in this life. Her spirit will return, be reborn. I know we'll meet again."

"Fine. Let's concentrate on this life. And this death."

Isis blinked back the tears and managed a quick, genuine smile. "How tedious you must find all of this. You have such a logical mind. I want to help you, Dallas, for Alice. For myself, perhaps for yourself as well. I recognize you."

"I gathered that."

"No, from another time. Another place. Another plane." She spread her hands. "I last saw Alice alive on the day of her grandfather's memorial service. She blamed herself, was determined to make an atonement. She'd strayed for a time, been misled, but she had a strong and bright heart. Her family was dear to her. And she was afraid, desperately afraid of what Selina would do to her – body and soul."

"You know Selina Cross?"

"Yes. We've met."

"In this life?" Eve asked dryly, and made Isis smile again.

"In this life, and others. She's no threat to me, but she is dangerous. She seduces the weak, the confused, and those who prefer her way."

"Her claims to be a witch – "

"She is no witch." Isis drew her shoulders back, lifted her head. "We who embrace the craft do so in the light and live by an unbreakable code. And it harm none. She used what pitiful power she has to call on the dark, to exploit its violence, its ugliness. We know what evil is, Dallas. We've both seen it. Whatever form it takes doesn't change its basic nature."

"We can agree on that. Why would she harm Alice?"

"Because she could. Because she would enjoy it. There's no question that she's responsible for this death. You won't find it easy to prove it. You won't give up." Isis kept her eyes on Eve's, looking long, looking deep. "Selina will be surprised and infuriated by your tenacity, your strength. Death offends you, and the death of the young cuts small slices from your heart. You remember too well, but not all. You weren't born Eve Dallas, but you've become her, and she you. When you stand by the dead, stand for the dead, nothing moves you aside. His death was necessary for your life."

"Stop," Eve ordered.

"Why should it haunt you?" Isis's breathing was slow and thick, her eyes dark and clear. "The choice was made correctly. Innocence was lost, but strength took its place. For some, it must be so. You'll need all before this cycle passes. A wolf, a boar, and a silver blade. Fire, smoke, and death. Trust the wolf, slay the boar, and live."

Abruptly, she blinked. Her eyes clouded as she lifted a hand to press fingers to her temple. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend – '' She let out a quiet moan, squeezed her eyes shut. "Headache. Vicious. Excuse me one minute." She got shakily to her feet and hurried into the back.

"Jesus, Dallas, this is getting way too weird. Do you know what she was talking about?"

"His death was necessary for your life.'' Her father. Eve thought, fighting off a shudder. A cold room, a dark night, and blood on the knife clutched in a desperate child's hand.

"No, it's just jibberish." Her palms were damp, infuriating her. "These people figure they have to pull out some magic tricks to keep us interested."

"I studied at the Kijinsky Institute in Prague," Isis said as she stepped back into the room. "And was studied." She set a small cup aside, managed a smile as the headache eased. "My psychic abilities are documented – for those who need documentation. But I apologize, Dallas. I didn't intend to drift in that manner. It's very rare for it to happen without my consciously controlling it."