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I zabela sat on the high stool in front of the square oak table where she worked her magic.

After decades of use, its surface was scarred and scored and badly burned in one place where a transformation spell had gone horribly wrong.

A large glass-fronted cabinet took up most of the wall behind her.

One shelf was crowded with glass bottles of all shapes and sizes, beakers and bowls, and dozens of small containers that held a variety of oils and flower petals, including mugwort, wormwood, sage, rosemary, thyme, peppermint, and cloves, among others.

A second shelf held candles in an assortment of sizes, colors, and fragrances.

Her wand, made of hawthorn, rested on a pillow beside her grimoire and her scrying mirror on the third shelf.

A heavy black cauldron, a large wooden spoon, an athame, and a pair of heavy leather gloves occupied the fourth shelf.

An assortment of odds and ends took up the shelf on the bottom of the cabinet.

The soul-catcher and the silver dagger rested side-by-side on the table in front of her.

A fat black candle filled the air with the scent of sage and cedar.

Thinking to try something new, Izabela found a piece of heavy paper and drew a picture of a little girl with the long, red pigtails.

Chanting softly, she filled her cauldron with water and dropped the image inside.

Dark gray smoke spiraled from the container. For an instant, Izabela saw a little girl playing in front of a house, and then the image was gone. Drained, she sat back in her chair.

Tomorrow morning, she would try again. Perhaps next time she would see more. An address, perhaps, or a street name.

Four hundred miles away, Luca Sasan felt the witch’s power crawl over him. Just for a moment, and then it was gone.

The witch was getting close , he mused. Too close.

Izabela decided not to wait until morning.

Magic was always best done during the witching hour.

With that thought in mind, she rose from her bed at midnight, pulled on her robe and stepped into a pair of furry pink slippers.

With the gray cat at her heels, she made her way to her worktable where she drew another picture of the little red-haired girl.

This image was more detailed than the first. Having seen the child more clearly, she gave the image big, brown eyes and a smattering of cinnamon-colored freckles across her cheeks and nose.

Holding her scrying mirror in her right hand and the drawing in her left, Izabela began to chant. “By the power of earth and sea, I bid thee show this child to me.”

The mirror grew cloudy and then slowly cleared to show a little girl sitting on the front steps of a two-story house located on a street named Willow. White paint, bright green shutters, a red front door.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Izabela laid the mirror aside and made her way back to her bedroom. Strong magic took a lot out of her these days, she mused, as she removed her robe and kicked off her slippers. She was too tired for company tonight. Her good news could wait until tomorrow.

She smiled as she crawled under the covers. This information was surely worth double the amount of blood she usually required.