Blood Lines

SEVEN

CYNNA skidded into Headquarters at two minutes after ten o'clock. Elevators never come when you're late, so it was 10:07 when she arrived, only slightly breathless, at his secretary's desk. "He's expecting me."

Ida Rheinhart was older than God and a lot meaner. She looked at Cynna over the top of bright red reading glasses and handed her a folder. "He was expecting you at ten. Everyone else is here already. Conference room B-12."

She started to explain—Ida had that effect on her—but closed her mouth. What was the point? Ida had never been late in her life. But that was easy for her, because she never left her desk. Cynna was pretty sure she curled up beneath it at night, waiting to snatch unwary agents or cleaning people who trod too close to her lair.

Cynna tucked the folder under her arm and hurried down the hall. She hadn't expected they'd use a conference room. Apparently this was a bigger meeting than she'd thought.

That worried her. The news this morning had been decidedly odd.

The demon she'd killed had been given a big play, of course, but that was only one of last night's oddities. The New York Times online edition reported all sorts of sightings—of lupi, yeti, banshees, even fairies. Of course, people claimed to see things they hadn't really seen all the time, but what about that brownie reservation in Tennessee? Supposedly it had doubled its population overnight.

A school bus in Texas had disappeared on the way back from a football game; drivers around it claimed they'd seen it vanish. A well-known medium had announced the end of the world. So had an infamous terrorist organization. Not that Cynna put any stock in end-of-world bullshit, but something was up.

She shoved open the conference room door and stopped dead. Two dozen people sat around the dark wood table. Every one of them turned to look at her.

"Sorry. Car died." Jesus. She'd never seen this many of the Unit's agents in one meeting before. And it wasn't just Unit agents at the table. Not even just FBI.

Sherry O'Shaunessy, the high priestess for the oldest and largest Wiccan coven in the country, sat beside a short, dark-haired man in a clerical collar. Cynna was pretty sure he was Archbishop Brown, a fiery Catholic with reformist leanings. She didn't know the old guy with Einstein hair or the bald man built like a pro wrestler, but she recognized the woman sitting on Ruben's right.

Cynna swallowed and hurried to sit down. She'd never met the president's senior adviser, but she'd sure seen pictures.

Ruben sat at the head of the table. Nothing about his appearance explained the respect he commanded. He was painfully thin, making the custom-tailored suit a necessity. His nose was large, and Cynna knew for a fact that his wife cut his hair. He'd mended his glasses with duct tape again. On his good days, when he could walk with a cane, he was slightly above average height.

Cynna hadn't seen him on a good day for over a year. Today, as usual, he sat in his motorized wheelchair.

Ruben gave her a nod. "Gentlemen and ladies, this is Cynna Weaver, one of my best agents. Her particular Gift is Finding, but she's trained in spellcraft and demonology as well. Cynna, Agent Yu just finished summarizing two of last night's ASEs—ah, excuse me. Some of you aren't familiar with our jargon. ASE stands for apparent supernatural event, which is the designation given to events that meet our criteria for investigation."

"Two?" Cynna repeated, zeroing in on the important part. "How many ASEs were there?"

"Since ten o'clock last night, we've received fifty-seven reports of ASEs from official sources and two hundred forty-two reports from unofficial sources."

Cynna's jaw dropped. That was beyond unprecedented. It was… scary as hell, she decided.

She wasn't the only one shocked. Ruben had to quiet the questions and exclamations with a raised hand before continuing. "This is more than ten times our usual load. Since we can't suddenly acquire ten times our usual personnel, we're forced to apply triage. Only the most critical incidents will be handled by Unit agents. For the rest, some investigations will be delayed, some will be left to local authorities, and some will be turned over to our non-Unit colleagues in MCD. I realize," he added with a brief smile, "that will displease some of you."

No duh. In Cynna's opinion, most of MCD—the FBI's Magical Crimes Division—was staffed by pencil pushers and exterminators. The pencil pushers were useless. They wouldn't know a spell after it turned them small, furry, and fond of carrots. But the others were worse—MCD agents who'd tracked down lupi and others in the bad old days, before the Supreme Court changed the rules.

Exterminators wasn't Cynna's nickname for that bunch. It was what they'd called themselves.

"However," Ruben was saying, "because these events lie within our jurisdiction, we will retain some control. MCD agents will be loaned to us and will report to Special Agent Croft."

Cynna's eyebrows shot up. How had Ruben pulled that off? On paper, the Unit looked like part of MCD. In practice, Ruben operated free of the nominal chain of command, which did not endear him to the rabidly territorial head of MCD.

She glanced at the presidential adviser. Had she leaned on MCD? What was going on here?

Ruben shifted in his chair. "So far I've referred only to ASEs within our borders, but the United States wasn't the only country affected by what happened last night. For example, in Dublin a pair of banshees—"

The bald guy snorted. "If I had a dollar for every Irishman who claims to have seen a banshee, I could pay off the federal debt."

Ruben nodded politely. "Perhaps, though I believe there are somewhat less than eight trillion Irishmen. But irrelevant. This sighting was witnessed by the Japanese prime minister—you may recall he's on an official visit to Great Britain—as well as three journalists and two members of Parliament. And that was a single example. Ms. Pearson brought me a report, which I'm unable to share with you due to security constraints, but it confirms my gut feeling that we are dealing with a worldwide phenomenon."

Holy shit.

"Perhaps all of the consequences of this unknown phenomenon have already occurred. Perhaps not. My strong feeling is that we've seen only the first wave—that more will follow."

One of the Unit's agents said quietly, "One to ten, Ruben?"

Ruben gave him the faintest of smiles but spoke generally to all of them. "Sean's in the habit of asking me to pluck a number from thin air to back up my hunches. On a scale of one to ten, he's asking now how certain I am that I'm right." He looked at Sean. "I'd give this one a ten."

Cynna shivered suddenly. She knew about Sean's scale, including the part Ruben hadn't mentioned. Ten meant Ruben was slightly more sure of this hunch than he was of gravity.

"Yet we need more than my gut feelings. We need to know what happened, whether it could happen again, what the consequences might be. The president has asked me to create a task force to answer these questions. Dr. Fagin will head this task force."

Einstein-hair was doodling on a pad of paper. He looked up to smile vaguely at them.

"Archbishop Brown and Ms. O'Shaughnessy have also agreed to serve, and Hikaru Ito will be joining them soon. Dr. Fagin has the authority and the budget to add to his staff as needed. They will require your utmost cooperation and have been granted security clearances that will allow you to freely answer any questions."

He shifted again. Cynna hoped he wasn't having one of his bad spells, when his muscles ached constantly. He'd probably been up most of the night.

"Some of you have already received your assignments and are eager to be off. I think you understand now why I delayed your departures for this meeting. Before you go, you need to know two more things. First, I will be unable to monitor individual investigations as I normally do, nor can even one of my Gifted agents be pulled from the field to assist with coordination. We have too many fires to put out. Therefore, for the duration of this emergency, field agents will operate with full field authority. Get your codes from Ida before you leave."

Full field authority. For all of them. That slid down Cynna's gullet and settled in her stomach with all the comfort of a lumpy rock.

"Second, you are to consider this morning's briefing highly confidential. Full field authority permits you to reveal classified information if such revelation is essential to your investigation. It does not allow you to discuss it around the water cooler."

There was a bustle of papers and movement as Ruben dismissed those agents who had their assignments. Cynna was so busy assimilating the morning's shocks that she didn't notice Lily until she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Come on. You're with me on this one." Lily grimaced. "Though we'll have to use your office. They haven't assigned me one yet."