Death Magic

TWENTY-ONE

THE problem with earth elementals was that they were very literal.

A warded wall of dirt and stone, concrete and grass, sticks and boards from the fence that used to divide Fagin’s yard from his neighbor’s now encircled the property. It was roughly four feet wide at the base and nine feet tall. The ward extended above the wall, Cullen had said. It was unlike anything he’d seen.

The good news was that they didn’t need to worry about firefighters increasing the damage to Fagin’s library with water. They didn’t need to worry about subsequent attacks, either. Nothing was getting across that property line.

That was also the bad news. Cullen was pretty sure the ward went both ways—keeping things out and keeping them in. He was also pretty sure he didn’t want to test it to find out. He’d said so when Rule retrieved him from the roof—just before he passed out.

“The Rhej will meet us at Memorial in Bethesda,” Rule said, putting up his phone, “once we’re able to leave.”

“Bethesda? You’ve got to be kidding. There must be closer hospitals.”

“All of which consider their facilities inadequate to treat a lupus patient.”

“Assholes.” Lily leaned her head back against a chunky post holding up the roof over the porch and let her eyes close.

The air was still and sullen and smelled of burned things: ash and smoke and a whiff of chemical nastiness mixed with the singed-pork stink from Cullen’s burned flesh. The temperature had dropped enough to make her glad for her jacket. Clouds had moved in to dull the day, hanging low as if working themselves up to rain. Three days in a row now it had rained. Surely it couldn’t do it again?

Against those clouds a red and white mechanical dragonfly darted. Lily could hear the whomp-whomp-whomp of the news helicopter as it dipped closer. She resisted the urge to shoot the bird at the reporters. Not a good image for the six o’clock news.

There were four of them on this side of the wall: her, Rule, Cullen, and Scott, who’d leaped it before it finished growing, unwilling to leave his Rho without protection. Scott sat on the bottom step frowning at the earthen rampart enclosing them. Rule sat across from Lily near the other pillar. Cullen lay between them in a nest of blankets and pillows that Scott had found in the house.

Damn them. Whoever they were. Lily didn’t know, couldn’t even guess. Friar’s people were staying so many jumps ahead she was dizzy, furious with her own consistency. Again and again she failed to keep up, much less catch up. Why had they attacked Fagin? Had Fagin even been their target? Why a firebomb, of all things?

She was just so damn tired. It felt like she’d been up all night or tried to run for miles after fasting. No reserves. “What did you mean when you asked Cullen if the elemental was emerging?” she asked Rule.

“You know that each type of elemental has a preferred form they take sometimes?”

“Yeah, I guess. Salamanders, sylphs . . . I can’t remember the other two.”

“Earth elementals emerge as giant worms or snakes when they want to do battle.”

“Oh.” She made an effort and got her eyes open. “Guess we should be glad it didn’t emerge, then.”

She glanced at Cullen, but he hadn’t shifted. When she looked at Rule, she frowned. His eyes looked funny.

“Are you holding up okay?” he asked.

“I’m tired, pissed, but my head doesn’t hurt. How about you?”

“Me?” His eyebrows lifted. “I’m fine.”

He sounded fine. His body looked loose and relaxed. But his eyes . . . there was too much black in his eyes, she realized. Not a big difference. If you didn’t look closely, you’d think his pupils were slightly enlarged, but she knew better. Black was trying to eat the irises and spread itself out over his eyes.

The Change. That’s what that meant. When black swallowed Rule’s eyes, he was fighting the Change. But why? They weren’t in immediate danger. And maybe why wasn’t as important as doing something about it. She got up and went to sit beside him. His arm came around her, and she leaned into him.

If this felt as much better to him as it did to her . . . “Full moon tomorrow night,” she said casually.

“I’m okay, Lily.”

When she looked at his eyes, they were normal again. So maybe he was okay, now. She wasn’t sure he had been a minute ago.

At the moment, he literally had his hands full—one arm around Lily, the other hand resting on Cullen’s shoulder. It allowed Cullen to relax, he’d said. Lily wasn’t sure relax was the right word, but she knew what Rule meant. The contact let Cullen know all the way down that his Lu Nuncio was with him. He didn’t have to fight to retain control of himself or cling to consciousness. He was safe.

They were, too—as long as they didn’t try to leave. Fortunately, Cullen had told them what to do before unconsciousness claimed him. Call Sherry. Get some of Fagin’s blood.

Sherry was on her way. Lily was on hold. She put her phone on speaker so she’d hear it when Croft returned and set it in her lap.

“You think they were after Fagin or Cullen or the library?” she asked. “Cullen thought it was the library.”

“Hard to guess until we know what Cullen was doing here.”

“True.”

Rule never had trouble controlling the Change as full moon drew near. Even on the night of the full moon when, he said, moonsong was so pure and sweet it made a mountain spring seem tainted, he could refuse the Change if he needed to. But it was taking effort for him to hold it off now, with a day still to go. “Rule—”

“Sorry that took so long,” said a voice from her lap.

It was Croft. She picked up the phone and took it off speaker. Not that it mattered—Rule would hear both sides of the conversation anyway. “No problem. I’m here.”

“I’ve got people heading for the hospital to guard Dr. Fagin. One of them will bring you the vial of blood, assuming Fagin gives consent—either Matthew Cates or Royce Richards. Do you know them?”

“I don’t know Richards. Cates is . . .” She searched her memory. “Late twenties, shaggy hair, very slight charisma Gift?”

“That’s him. Richards is in his early fifties, brown and black, mustache, small half-moon scar on his jaw. Wiccan with a teleport Gift. Ida is sending you their phone numbers so you can get in touch if you need to.”

“Any word on Fagin’s condition?”

“Just that he’s reached the hospital. Do you think Sherry can get you out without Fagin’s presence?”

“Cullen thought so. Sherry does, too. She knows the specifics of the bargain Fagin has with the elemental. She knows how to contact it.”

“For which she needs Fagin’s blood.”

“Apparently.”

“How’s Seabourne doing?”

Lily glanced at the pale face of the unconscious man stretched out between her and Rule. Rule had used the pillows to get Cullen’s feet higher than his head. While it was rare for a lupus to go into shock, taking steps to prevent it kept his healing from having to work on that as well as the burns. “Second- and third-degree burns over an estimated nine percent of his body. Breathing shallow, but not labored. He’s hurting, he needs fluids, but he’s lupi. He should be okay.”

“Good. You’re cleared to collect evidence. Ida is setting up the expert consult you requested.”

Evidence collection was not Lily’s job. Sure, she’d had training, but a patrol cop’s job was to secure the scene, not wander around picking up cigarette butts. Homicide cops and FBI agents didn’t play CSI, either. There were specialists for that. At the moment, though, Lily was all they had. She wanted help, advice, questions answered. “Thanks.”

“You should get a call soon about that. Oh, and I’ll have someone waiting to take custody of whatever you collect once you’re able to leave. Hannah, probably. The press is out in force.”

As if to underline that thought, the news copter dipped close enough for her to see faces and a camera behind the glass bubble. No doubt there were plenty of the earthbound version of the press waiting to pounce on the other side of the barricades the police had set up on Fagin’s street. “You need to tell them to keep their damn helicopter higher. No saying what the elemental might do if it decides they’re a threat.”

“They’ve been warned. I’ll repeat it. When the press descends on you—”

“I’m good at ignoring them.”

“I don’t want you to. Tell them that the elemental is not dangerous as long as it isn’t disturbed. Emphasize the need to keep back. Emphasize that it hasn’t harmed anyone. You can add that we’re pursuing all leads regarding the bombing, and I’ll be giving a press conference at three thirty.”

“Bless you.”

“You’re welcome.” He sighed. “What the hell was Fagin thinking, dealing with an elemental?”

Lily didn’t try to answer that one. It was a good question, though, so after she disconnected she repeated it. “What the hell was Fagin thinking?”

The unconscious man spoke. “Thought it was little.”

Lily jumped. “You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately. Thirsty.”

“I’ve got water,” Rule said. “No, hold still.” He lifted Cullen’s head and shoulders with one arm and held a glass to his lips.

Cullen drank the entire glassful without opening his eyes. “Ah. Good. That’s good.” Rule lowered him back to flat. “Fagin thought the elemental was little. Sherry probably told him that. I thought so, too. Looked small, not much power. Turns out most of it was asleep. They don’t sleep here.”

Lily frowned. “Here . . . you mean in our realm?”

“Yeah. We need Fagin’s computer. I’ve got the journal, but we need the other one. The book.”

Rule spoke. “What book?”

“Ars Magicka. A grimoire. By Eberhardus Czypsser.”

“Gesundheit,” Lily said.

“It’s in medieval German. The translation’s on Fagin’s computer.”

“The one on his desk?”

“Yeah, it . . . shit. Fire’s probably not good for computers.”

“I’m guessing it isn’t. But—”

“Original’s in his safety-deposit box. Cambridge. You can get a warrant or something.” His eyes came open, burning blue in his pale face. “I need that book.”

“I was about to say that Fagin is not an idiot. He’s bound to have backed up his work. Even if he didn’t, it may be possible to recover the data from his hard drive.”

“Get everything. I need . . .” He winced. His eyes closed again. “Dammit,” he muttered. “Think some of the nerve endings are coming back online.”

Lily glanced at Rule, who shook his head. “He needs to shut up and rest.”

“I need,” Cullen said, his voice faint but adamant, “to see that damn grimoire.”

“Does this have something to do with the dagger?”

Blue eyes popped open. “That’s mostly Vodun work. I’ve got the reference I need for that. But there’s something else.”

She waited. When he didn’t continue, she prodded. “What?”

“Don’t know. It looks almost like elf work, though.”

“Elf? As in Rethna?”

“I’m probably wrong. I need to see that grimoire.” His eyes closed again.

“We’ll work on that,” Lily said. “You called it a bomb. You didn’t see any magic involved?”

“No. Purely physical stuff.”

“Okay. Did you see or smell anything I need to know before things went boom?”

“Two projectiles, one right after the other. First one broke the window. Second one lit everything on fire. Lots of nasty smoke. Smelled . . . sweet, for a second. Then nasty. Uh . . . like garlic, matches, and smog. Don’t know what else. I was busy.”

A raspy baritone called from the other side of the wall. “Agent Yu! Ms. O’Shaunessy’s here.”

The baritone belonged to the police sergeant who was handling crowd control. Lily shoved to her feet. If only she wasn’t so tired . . . tired of trying to do unofficially what she should be investigating with the full force of the Bureau. Tired of keeping secrets from her boss, from everyone. Tired of people she cared about being attacked, hurt, killed. Tired of clandestine organizations and war—God! The war had barely begun and she was so sick of it! Sick as hell, too, of mantles—stupid damn mantles that did what some stupid damn Old One wanted them to do, and never mind who got used up in the process and what that did to Rule.

Anger smoldered in her at that last thought. It gave her the energy to head for the stupid damn wall.

“Hey, Sherry,” she called as she drew near the earthen rampart. “Do you have what you’ll need for contacting it?”

“Except for what only Fagin can provide, yes. I understand that’s on its way.”

“Should be.”

“Emily and Kirk are with me. Emily’s a strong Earth-Gifted. Kirk’s Earth Gift is minor, but he’s very skilled. They’ll be handling the contact under my supervision.”

“Why—oh. Right.” Sherry’s Gift was Water. “The elemental isn’t crazy about water.”

“I should never have been the one to deal with it in the first place,” Sherry said grimly. “Hubris and stupidity are a bad combination. Can you climb over the wall? Rule said Cullen’s out of commission, but I have some questions you might be able to help with. It would be better if I didn’t have to shout them where prying microphones might hear.”

“Uh, the ward can’t affect me, but if the elemental decided to drop me in a pit and fling big rocks at me—well, my Gift doesn’t stop rocks.”

“Of course. Sorry. I’m shook up,” Sherry admitted. “I can’t believe I missed how big this one is.”

“Cullen missed it, too. He says most of it was asleep, and they—earth elementals—don’t sleep in our realm.”

“He’s sure of that?” she called, her voice sharp.

“Cullen’s always sure. He isn’t always right, but he’s always sure.”

Sherry’s mutter was barely audible with all that dirt separating them. “He’s right a disagreeable amount of the time.”

Lily had to grin. “We’d better talk over the phone,” she said, and took hers out. As soon as Sherry answered she went on, “I’m not sure what help I can be. Mostly I can only repeat what Cullen told me before . . .” She caught a glimpse of movement and turned. “Or maybe you can ask him your questions after all. Looks like the stubborn son of a bitch has talked Rule into bringing him over here for some reason. You’ll still need to talk to him by phone so he doesn’t have to raise his voice.” She paused. “I have some questions, too.”

“I do need to talk to Cullen, but if you can make your questions quick, go ahead.”

“You said you might have to negotiate a separate agreement to get us out of here. Why’s that?”

Sherry’s voice was dry. “That’s not a quick question—or not one I can answer quickly. Basically, all I can do is remind the elemental of its agreement with Fagin, using his blood. The problem is that the agreement uses words, but earth elementals are nonverbal.”

“Not making sense yet.”

“Elementals can use words, but only in the most literal way. They think spatially rather than verbally. The agreement is both spatial and verbal. Fagin’s blood . . . um, you might say it activates the spatial portion of the agreement. That’s why the elemental erected the wall and wards—because Fagin bled. There are two ways the elemental is allowed or required to act: first, if Fagin specifically invokes its protection. Second, if Fagin’s blood is spilled within the defended space.”

Lily chewed that over a moment. Scott had brought Cullen’s nesting materials out; she watched as he made Cullen a pallet several feet back from the wall. “So if Fagin had cut himself shaving, the elemental would have closed down the property?”

“It’s literal, not stupid. It knows the difference between an attack and an accident. Accidents don’t invoke it. But if it had been invoked in error, Fagin could ask it to remove its protections.”

“He didn’t do that.”

“So I noticed. Since he hasn’t, we have to negotiate a second agreement to get all of you out. First we remind the elemental of the original agreement, which does not require it to keep you inside the defended space. Then we persuade it that allowing you to leave will benefit it.”

Rule settled Cullen on his new nesting spot. Cullen frowned at Lily briefly, then turned his head to study the earthen wall. “What does an earth elemental consider a benefit?”

“Power or love.”

“It wants love?”

“The stories say that Earth elementals have sometimes formed a loving bond with a human and will go to great effort on their behalf. But love can’t be arranged or bartered, which is why blood is the usual initial offering.”

Yuck. “Initial? And whose blood are we talking about?”

“Possibly a small amount from each of you, with additional non-blood offerings at subsequent full moons for an agreed-upon period. At least that’s what we’ll try for. Which reminds me—Fagin probably won’t be able to make his offering tomorrow. Tell him one of my people will take care of that for him.”

“Will do. How long do you think this negotiation will take?”

“Anywhere from an hour to the rest of the day and into the night. And now I need to talk to Cullen.”

“Wait—one last question. This one really is quick.”

She asked, Sherry answered, and Lily got off the phone with a real sense of relief. Sherry was willing to speak to the press about elementals. After Lily gave the piranhas of the press her brief spiel and promised them a press conference with Croft, she could hand them off to Sherry. Which was really mean, but Sherry wanted to do it. She was sort of the Wiccan equivalent of Rule: the public face of her people. She considered it her duty to educate people about her faith and about magic in general—preferably in ways that made it all less scary.

Lily wasn’t sure how she’d explain an ancient and powerful elemental in a way that made it less scary, but if anyone could, it would be Sherry.

Lily went to stand beside Rule and looked down at Cullen. “He looks terrible. Why is he out here instead of decently unconscious?”

“He wants to study the ward while it’s still up.”

Of course he did. Lily looked at the pale and strained face of Rule’s obsessive friend. Her friend. Who could have died, but hadn’t. “The elemental won’t be taking down its ward anytime soon. You can study it later.”

“You sure about that? If the original bargain was done right, there should be a mechanism for terminating—”

“There’s a problem with that,” she said firmly, then subvo-calized so those on the other side of the wall wouldn’t hear: “If the ward stays up, Fagin’s library stays safe. Sherry knows we want that, for now.” In a normal voice she added, “Sherry wants to talk to you, if you’re up to—”

On cue, Cullen’s phone beeped. He fumbled it from his jeans pocket, touched the screen, and said to it, “I’m here. Hold on a sec.” He looked at Lily. “Go see if Fagin’s computer got crisped and if he has DVDs or whatever for backup. If you can’t find them, or if they’re cooked—”

“Cullen, shut up.” Lily knelt beside him, bent, and smacked a quick kiss on his forehead. “I am deeply, completely glad you’re going to be okay, but you’re not okay now. You need to rest. You need to let me do my job.” She looked at Rule. His eyes were almost normal. Almost.

She stood and went to him and touched his arm. “Time for me to work the scene.” A bombing wasn’t a Unit case, not unless they found magic involved, but she was here and no other investigator would be, not anytime soon.

“Of course. I need to stay with Cullen.”

“I know. It’s harder to be the support system, to worry about others, than it is to be the one out there risking yourself.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Darkness flickered once around his pupils, then they returned to normal. Or almost normal. “That has always been true. Would Scott be any help to you?”

Rule wasn’t going to talk to her about it right now. Whatever “it” was. She looked at the bespectacled wolf in geek’s clothing. “Sure. I might be able to use his nose.”

First, though, Lily sent Scott to scrounge for some items she needed. She had her purse but not her evidence kit, so she’d be improvising. While he was on his scavenger hunt, she made a phone call.

Maybe she’d find some DVDs or a flash drive in Fagin’s library. Maybe the data on the hard drive would be recoverable. But there was another possibility that might be even faster. Fagin might have backed up online. He was probably used to doing that at Harvard, which might still have his files. Or he could’ve used one of the commercial online backup services. She called one of the agents Croft had sent to guard Fagin at the hospital.

Turned out Cates was on his way here with the vial of blood and Fagin was in treatment, but Richards would ask him about backup once the doctors let him.

Time to get to work. While she waited to hear from whatever expert Ida found, she took her phone to the porch and set it to camera mode.

The porch was compromised from being occupied by many sets of feet, but she took a couple photos of it anyway, then a few more of the bay window. She moved closer so she could shoot inside the library.

The rear of the room looked untouched. The center was blackened. The desk Cullen and Fagin had sheltered behind was a charred hulk. Lily assumed the plastic blob on top of it had been a computer a couple hours ago.

The fire had melted the computer before Cullen could put it out. She didn’t know exactly how long it took Cullen to do that, but she was guessing no more than a fistful of seconds. How did a fire get that hot that fast? Some kind of accelerant, obviously, but she didn’t know much about the makeup of firebombs.

Lily got pictures of the window frame, then of the floor. The burn pattern was clear even to her ignorant eyes—roughly circular, originating five to nine feet this side of the desk that had shielded Cullen and Fagin. She got some pics of that from the window, then headed for the door. She’d enter the library from its undamaged rear. Even if Scott hadn’t found any Baggies yet, she could start making sketches and notes, but—

Her phone chimed. After a quick glance at the number, she answered it. “Special Agent Yu here.”

“This is former CSO Rod Uddley,” a hearty male voice announced. “Retired now, but I’ve worked more bombings than anyone in the country, living or dead. The Bureau likes me so much they let me teach the babies now and then, and now and then they pay me big bucks to consult. I understand you want a consult.”

“I do. Did Ida brief you on my situation?”

Captain Uddley said she had indeed and congratulated Lily on having the good sense to ask for help.

“I need help establishing priorities. I may only have an hour to work the scene. I may have all afternoon and part of the evening. It depends on how long it takes to get the elemental to agree to let us out. I need to know what to do in that first hour.”

He asked a few questions. Lily paused just inside the front door to answer, sent him the pictures she’d already taken, and then told him what Cullen had reported about the smell of the explosion. “I’ve got another lupus standing by in case his nose might be of use.”

“Ah! Yes, that might help. That might indeed help. They’re supposed to have a very keen sense of smell.”

“It’s strongest when they’re in wolf form, so I’ll ask Scott to Change.”

“Excellent. First I need to look over those pictures you sent me. Hold on a moment.”

Scott came out of the back of the house, carrying a plastic grocery sack. “Baggies, trash bags, Sharpie, masking tape, paper towels.” He held it out. “I couldn’t find paper bags or a ruler.”

“Thanks.” She took the sack and reported to the hearty Uddley on what kind of crime scene equipment she had. “I’ve got my spiral, so I can take notes, make some sketches. I don’t have anything to measure with, but I can estimate shorter distances pretty well. My spread hand is eight inches from thumb to little finger, so . . . just a sec.” Scott still stood there, waiting. “Yes?”

“Is it okay if I scrounge for sandwich fixings or something? For all of us, I mean, but especially Cullen. Healing burns a lot of calories.”

And lupi shouldn’t get too hungry. “Sure, go ahead. I won’t need you right away, but eat quick, just in case.”

He headed for the back of the house. Lily did, too, stopping at the doorway into the library. “We’re going to do this bass-ackwards,” Uddley boomed cheerfully in her ear. “Could all blow up in our faces, but we’ll go for it anyway.”

“I’m not following you.”

“When you work a scene, you never start with a theory and look for evidence to support it—but that’s what we’re going to do. It gives us a clear set of priorities, you see, in case you run out of time. Now, we know we’ve got an incendiary device, not a true bomb—not much blast, plenty of burn. According to your witness, there were two projectiles.”

“According to one of them, yes. The other—Dr. Fagin—I haven’t interviewed him yet. His injuries needed attention.”

“Two projectiles fits my theory. They wanted to break the window first so they could get their incendiary device well into the room before it broke and started burning everything. The witness you interviewed is a lupus, yes?”

She agreed that he was.

“Excellent. It’s his description of the smells that all but clinches it. Good man. Observant. I’m betting someone tossed an SIP.”

“Okaaay.”

A quick, booming laugh. “Jargon’s a bitch. Sorry. SIP stands for self-igniting phosphorus. The original SIPs were made during World War II by the British, but were never used in combat. Too dangerous to the user. They’re a take on the good old Molotov cocktail, though more sophisticated chemically. Easy to make. You put white or yellow phosphorus—that’s the garlic smell—mixed with benzene, water, and a bit of rubber into a glass bottle. Benzene smells sweet, see? Like your lupus reported. You throw your bottle at a hard surface. It breaks, the ingredients ignite, and you get a quick, hot fire, caustic smoke, and fumes from phosphorous pentoxide and sulfur dioxide. Sulfur dioxide—that and phosphorus make a burned match smell, and it’s also a key ingredient in smog. It all fits. So here’s what we’ll do.”

Uddley went on to give her a quick précis of what she would do in the first hour and what would come later, if she had more time. He assured her he could stay on the phone with her all day, if necessary—“No need to rush on my account! It’s all billable hours!” They’d keep the line open, but she’d need both hands to work the scene, so she put her phone on speaker and clipped it to her waistband.

Thirty-eight minutes later she’d taken dozens of pictures, completed a rough sketch, and had begun collecting trace evidence. She’d scraped burned crud from walls and floor, carefully marking each Baggie with the precise location, and sticking each location with a bit of masking tape, then taking a picture of the marked location. She’d also taken into evidence one larger item—a big chunk from a concrete block. Probably the first projectile.

Now it was time to collect glass. Unfortunately, there was glass everywhere from the window. What they wanted was glass that might have come from a bottle filled with phosphorus, benzene, and a bit of rubber.

Time for less conventional means. Lily straightened. Her right arm, the weak one, was aching. She’d been leaning on it a lot. Absently she rubbed it. “Scott? I’m ready for you to Change.”

A tinny voice came from near her waist. “I’d like to brief him myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Hold on a minute, Scott,” she said, heading for the door to the kitchen. She reached for her phone with her left hand and unclipped it.

And dropped it when her hand tingled, then turned numb and useless.