What's a Witch to Do?: A Midnight Magic Mystery by Jennifer Harlow

says in that harsh tone he always has.
    “Jason, it’s Mona McGregor.”
    “Mona. What do you want?” This guy does not know the meaning of the word manners .
    “I want to know why you didn’t tell me someone put a hit out on me.”
    His end is quiet for a few seconds. Even his silence is intimidating. Thick even. “I wanted to get all the facts before I contacted you. How did you find out?”
    Okay, in normal circumstances, I’d tell the truth. It goes against the co-op’s spirit to lie to other members, but if half of what Adam said is true—and I’m literally betting my life that it is—then I have no choice. “Lord Thomas of Richmond called me last night. Apparently he discovered Alejandro’s plot, and unlike you thought I should know.”
    He’s quiet for a second, his breathing ragged. “He killed Alejandro? Did he say anything else?” he asks, voice like an ice pick.
    “Like what? He doesn’t know who wants me dead, if that’s your concern.”
    “Mona, has Adam contacted you at all in the last few days?” he asks, voice tinged with fear, not an emotion I thought him capable of.
    “Why would he?” Not technically a lie.
    “If he does, would you have him call me?”
    “Jason, what about me? I could still be—”
    “You’ll be fine. I have to go.” And he hangs up on me.
    The bastard! Both of them! I am literally vibrating with rage. What the hell is the purpose of the co-op if I’m the only one who cooperates with the others? Hell’s bells, I cannot believe this. Well, next time either of them needs a favor, they can forget it. Screw them both.
    There’s only one more person (and I use the term loosely) that I can call, but he won’t get my message until tonight. I’m not as friendly with Lord Thomas as the other members since he only attends summits once every three years if that, but he’s my last hope. I leave a message. “Thomas, this is Mona McGregor from the P.C.O. I, uh, there’s no easy way to say this.” I sigh. “Your second, Alejandro, along with one of my witches, was plotting to kill us. I understand, uh, that your end has been taken care of, but any help you can give me to find my wicked witch would be much appreciated as … she might still want to kill me. Ha ha. So please call me. Soon. Thank you.” I’m about to hang up when I remember, “Oh, and if Jason Dahl calls, could you please tell him that you were the one who filled me in on this whole mess? I’d appreciate it. Bye.” I hang up and thump my head on the altar.
    Okay, now what?
    I’ve read enough mystery novels to formulate a plan. I can do this. What would Stephanie Plum do? Sleep with two gorgeous guys then have her car blow up. Okay, not applicable. Miss Marple. What would Miss Marple do? Identify potential suspects.
    Assuming this is a power play for my job, there are seven women in line for Priestess, all cousins of one stripe or another: Shirley, Whitney, Erica, Ann, Esther, Collins, and her sister Cheyenne. I can’t see eighty-three-year-old Ann or sixty-seven-year-old Esther sleeping with a vampire, and Whitney is fourteen, so for the time being I’ll discount them. That leaves four.
    Shirley Andrews is a distant cousin I’ve had few dealings with. She’s in her fifties with two grown children, a sheriff husband, and a driven attitude. She won’t be happy until her husband is mayor or a senator. She barely associates with the rest of the coven unless it’s an election year. The only reason I know she’s an aether is Granny wrote her name down in a ledger that keeps track of all of us. If I was running against her husband for mayor then I wouldn’t put it past her to put a hit on me, but not for the run of the coven.
    Next there’s Erica Fitch, who was my only real competition when I became High Priestess. She’s in her early forties but looks much younger thanks to constant glamour spells and trips to the plastic surgeon. Being a former trophy wife then rich widow is hard work. At age