Death Magic

THIRTY-TWO

TWENTY minutes later, Cullen was gone, eager to get his hands on Fagin’s translation of the grimoire. Karonski was gone, too, after calling the jail to ask about Lily’s blood sample. Surprise! No one could find it. He’d headed out to lean on them, see if he could find out who might have swiped it.

Lily had asked Karonski a couple questions before he left. He didn’t remember what Drummond’s alibi was for the day of Ruben’s heart attack—they’d checked literally hundreds of alibis. He’d get that information to her, he said. Lily told him to hold off—she might have a faster way of getting it.

Lily made a couple phone calls then. So did Rule. First he ordered lunch, then he called Arjenie back in California. He told her to set up access for Lily to the database, then handed her his phone. Lily told Arjenie what she needed her to find out.

So after those twenty minutes passed, they were alone in the house—no Rhej, Isen, Cullen, Deborah, or Karonski. No one but the two of them.

Made it easier to fight.

“That makes no sense!” Lily took three quick paces away, turned, and glared at him. “I said I’d take a guard with me.”

“I go with you. That’s not negotiable.” Rule’s face was closed up as tight as a vault. “You seem to be forgetting that I am in charge.”

“I don’t believe you just said that.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to bank her temper. “At the moment, our enemies want me alive. What good would my dopplegänger do them if I was dead? Whatever my double is supposed to do, people would know it wasn’t me.”

“Killers have been known to dispose of bodies.”

It was hard to argue when he was right. She did her best. “Rule, we’ll get twice as much done if we split up.”

“If you’re worried about efficiency, consider the fact that if your temper leads you to take off without me, I’d have to follow you. Taking two cars would certainly be inefficient.” The last was delivered with icy sarcasm.

“Look. I get that you’ve been worried about me, but—”

“Do you?” In two quick paces he was in front of her, his eyes blazing. He seized her arms. “Do you really have any idea? Because worried is a thin and puny word that would snap like a twig beneath the weight of my feelings.”

Last month, Lily had discovered just how terrifying it could be to know, deep in her soul, that she could not keep those she loved safe. That death could strike at any moment, no matter how clever or strong or quick she might be. It had been a hard lesson . . . and she wasn’t a control freak of a Rho.

She reached up and put both hands on Rule’s face. “Anyone can die,” she said softly. “In fact, with a very few weird exceptions, everyone does die. On any given day, there’s a chance you won’t make it, or I won’t, or my mother, or Cullen . . . the thing is, there’s every chance we will. We have to put our weight behind the second deal, not the first.”

For a long moment he didn’t speak. Then he took one of her hands, folded the fingers gently into her palm, and held it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles one at a time, all five, including the one at the base of her thumb. “You are very wise.” His mouth crooked up. “And I am still going with you.”

THEY went to Sjorensen’s apartment together.

Karonski said that Anna Sjorensen had been put on administrative leave, just like Lily. He didn’t know how they’d learned it was Sjorensen who’d tipped Lily off about Ruben’s arrest—shoot, maybe she’d confessed—but she was in trouble, too. That pushed her to the bottom of Lily’s list of suspects, but she still wanted to talk to the woman. It would be good to know just how Sjorensen had learned about the impending arrest. “We still don’t know what they’re planning,” Rule said.

Rule and Lily were in the backseat of the Mercedes with Scott at the wheel and Mark riding shotgun. José had decided that Scott could drive just fine with a broken arm, leaving the rest of them free to repel invaders or catch bullets in their teeth or whatever.

Rule had already finished the two huge roast beef sandwiches he’d ordered for himself. Lily was still eating hers—grilled cheese made with havarti and cheddar on rye. The deli had great cheddar and didn’t stint on the pickles.

Lily swallowed and slugged down some Diet Coke before answering. “We know they want to duplicate me. We know they can duplicate Ruben and Ida. We know they’re thinking big, since the end result if they win is lots of dead lupi and the country in chaos—martial law, riots, the president and vice president dead, the government splintered.”

Rule went along with her by adding to her list. “We know they didn’t plan on Ruben turning lupus. We know they’re using death magic, which means there are bodies somewhere.” He glanced at her. “We know someone in the Bureau’s involved.”

“Yeah.” She brooded on that a moment. “We’re pretty sure Parrott is, too. He’d be a suspect even if we didn’t know he’s tied in with Chittenden. First, he’s Gifted, and he hides it. Parrott could’ve been lying about Bixton knowing about his terrible taint. Or Bixton might have known, then found out Parrott hasn’t been staying on the wagon, magically speaking.” She flipped her hand. “Two birds, one stone. Take out Bixton and frame Ruben.”

“Or Bixton could have learned something about Friar or Chittenden that made him dangerous to the movement.”

“True. I wish I knew if Chittenden was Gifted. I’m betting yes, but we don’t know. It would help if we knew where he was.”

“Unfortunately, my people lost track of him last week.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Which people—ghosts or lupi?”

He smiled grimly. “Lupi, in this case, though they’re acting in accordance with Ruben’s plans. We’ve been keeping an eye on both Chittenden and Jones. Chittenden managed to slip away.”

“Huh.” There’d been a lot going on she hadn’t known about, hadn’t there? She glanced at what was left of her lunch. “Anyone want the other half of my sandwich? I can’t eat the whole thing.”

“I’ll take it,” Mark said.

She passed it to him and took another sip of soda. Living with lupi meant never having to worry about wasted food or leftovers. She looked at Rule. “Anything else I should know?”

“Perhaps.” He considered a moment, then said, “The president knows about Ruben’s visions.”

She choked on a swallow of Diet Coke. “The what? She what?”

“You knew she and Ruben have had a close working relationship.”

Yes, but... “How much does she know?”

“Nothing about the Shadow Unit specifically, but about the Great Enemy, Friar’s transformation . . . she has the basics. The White House has been quietly observing heightened security this past month.”

“And no one’s noticed? There hasn’t been anything about heightened security in the news.”

“She cancelled her visit to Mexico last week.”

“Because of the vote coming up on—oh. You mean that wasn’t the real reason.” Lily chewed that over. “Congress doesn’t know any of this, do they?”

“No. I’m not sure she’s told any of her cabinet. What could she say? That her pet psychic has had bad dreams?”

“They’d freak. At least half of them would think she’d lost it. Someone would leak it to the press, and before you know it the whole country would be debating whether the president was non compos or if everyone should be buying guns and stocking their bomb shelters.”

“And possibly getting rid of the Gifted in their midst.”

Thereby doing part of the enemies’ work for them. “I guess Ruben didn’t have one of his hunches to not inform the president.”

“He felt sure that was the right thing to do.”

“Shit. I just thought of something. We don’t know if Ruben’s still a precog, do we? I mean, normally lupi don’t have Gifts. Cullen does, but he’s the exception. I should’ve touched Ruben before the two of you took off.”

“You’d have lost a hand,” Rule said dryly, “so I’m glad you didn’t try. I suspect Ruben’s still a precog, but you’re right, we don’t know for sure. And I hadn’t thought of that until you mentioned it.”

He didn’t look happy to have thought of it now. “I guess we’ll find out. Do you—” Her phone cheeped like a baby bird. She grimaced. When she first heard the ring tone she thought it was cute, but it was already driving her crazy. She took it out and checked the number. It was the Etorri Rhej. Lily had left a message for her while they waited on lunch. “This is Lily.”

“Hi, Lily. I was so sorry to hear about your recent trouble.”

“Geez, that was on the news up in Canada?” She couldn’t believe her arrest had made even the national news, much less gone international.

A moment of silence. “No, I heard about it from others in the clan. Is your arm improving?”

Oh. Right. She was talking about the shooting. It made Lily want to laugh or groan. That news was a whole month old, and plenty of new troubles had replaced it. “It’s healed really well. There’s more to the story, but I’m pressed for time. Can I owe you the details for now?”

“Sure. Your message said something about a ghost that’s been bothering you.”

Like all the Rhejes, the Etorri Rhej was Gifted. She was a medium—a powerful one—plus she knew a lot about ghosts and death and all that, and was able to put it in language that mostly made sense. “Not bothering me exactly, but I have some questions. Killing people to make death magic tends to throw ghosts, right?” It had to do with what the Rhej called transitioning and the power involved in that process. Lily didn’t really want to hear the explanation again, so she hurried on. “That may be where my ghost came from, plus there’ve been other ghosts seen in the city recently. And I know someone’s been making death magic.”

“Ugh. Nasty stuff.”

“It is. There may be a lot of it involved, too, so—”

“How much?”

“Ah—I don’t know how to quantify it.”

“I see your point. I asked because . . . well, mediumship runs in my family, and has for a very long time. Mothers and grandmothers have passed down the Gift, the lore, and the stories for many generations. When you talked about a lot of death magic, I thought of one of the oldest stories. This would have been pre-Purge, probably by several hundred years.”

“That’s a long time for a story to keep its shape.”

“It is, but bear with me. The story tells of how an evil magician put a small village to death ritually to fuel a Great Spell.”

“How many in the village?”

“Fifty-five, I think. I can call my grandmother to make sure of the number.”

Which could have changed a hundred times over the years. “No, that’s okay. I was just wanting a ballpark on how many deaths we’re talking about.”

“Anyway, the evil magician ended up being killed by a rival magician—the Bán Mac. There are a lot of stories about him. You can find some in most folklore compilations. Apparently he rode all over Ireland on his ‘horse of flame’ seducing matrons, rescuing maidens, defeating evil magicians, and drinking enough ale to kill most men. Also tricking the little people and getting tricked,” she added, “because this was Ireland, after all. Most of the tales focus on Bán Mac, but the story passed down in my family tells about what happened after the battle. The area near the sacrificial site was plagued by instabilities.”

“What kind of instabilities?”

“Oh, the usual—water turning to blood, animals born malformed, cows going dry. And of course a lot of ghosts. But there were also reports of ‘divvil beasts’ and frequent earth tremors, and something about ‘time gang awry.’ I can’t say how accurate any of this is,” she said apologetically, “but there’s probably some truth in it. The solution is the point of the tale, to those in my family. The neighboring villages brought in a priest to lay the ghosts. He did that, but he also ‘poured Spirit onto the land to knit up its break,’ and the odd occurrences stopped.”

“Hmm.”

The other woman laughed. “You sure can pack a lot of skepticism into a single sound. I think you need to talk to a priest.” She laughed again. “I didn’t mean it to come out that way. What I mean is that the Church may know more about these odd occurrences at sites of death magic than I do. But even aside from that, you need to let the Church know. The Catholic Church is very good at laying certain kinds of ghosts. The souls of those killed may need the power of the Church to replace what was stolen in order to complete their transitions.”

That made two people who wanted Lily to talk to a priest. “A priest Cynna knows is supposed to call me about some stuff related to the case. I’ll ask him about it.”

“Good.”

“The other thing I wanted to ask was if there’s any way I could talk to that ghost if he shows up again.”

“I can’t help you with that. If you were a medium, I could offer suggestions, but mediums and non-mediums experience ghosts so differently that my training doesn’t really apply to you.”

“Is there any way you could come to D.C.?”

A moment’s silence, then: “I’m afraid not. I have a prior obligation I have to honor.”

It was the brief pause that made Lily suspicious. “Some kind of mysterious Rhej business?”

Another pause, then a chuckle. “You could say that.”

“It’s what the Leidolf Rhej said when she hit me up for five hundred dollars before heading for the airport.”

That seemed to make the Etorri Rhej’s day. She laughed and repeated it, then said goodbye in high good humor.

“I’m begining to think,” Rule said as the car slowed, “I should call my father and see if the Nokolai Rhej has also departed for an undisclosed location.”

“Surely not.” The Nokolai Rhej was blind. She couldn’t jet off on mysterious Rhej business ... could she? “Maybe you should. Not that it will do any good, since we still won’t know what they’re up to. I’m starting to have some sympathy for Cullen’s attitude about Rhejes.”

“They do know how to be silent.”

The car had stopped for a light. So had a couple dozen other cars. As backed up as they were, it would take a couple of light changes to get through the intersection. They were only a couple blocks from Sjorensen’s place. Lily tapped her foot, considering getting out and walking the last bit.

“Assholes,” Scott muttered.

“What?” Rule said.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. The bumper sticker on that gray SUV bugs me.”

Lily couldn’t see it until their own lane of cars crept forward—then there it was. A shiny gray Nissan SUV with three kids in the back—two boys and a cute little girl in pigtails—and two bumper stickers on its rear window. One read “Humans First.” The other said, “Honk If You Hate Weers.”

Lily couldn’t believe it. “Jesus. Honk for hate. They think they’re being cute.” One of the boys threw something at the other. The mother turned around and said something to them. She looked like a nice woman, not yelling or anything, just wearing her Mother Face.

“They’re probably here for the Humans First demonstration,” Rule said. “The big rally is tomorrow.”

She’d lost track. With everything that had happened, she’d pretty much forgotten about the demonstrations Humans First had planned. “Rule. Tomorrow. Are you thinking what I am?”

“I don’t think it’s coincidence, no.”

Their eyes met. He looked as grim as she felt. If whatever Friar was cooking up was scheduled to coincide with the demonstration tomorrow, they didn’t have much time. And they still had no idea what Friar was planning.

Anna Sjorensen was staying in an ESH studio suite, with ESH meaning extended stay housing, and “studio suite” meaning it was basically a hotel room with a kitchenette. It was the sort of place the government parked clerks, agents, and other human miscellany when it wanted them in D.C. temporarily. Sjorensen was still technically part of the Nashville office, temporarily assigned to D.C. for training, so she qualified for ESH.

Unless Croft had gone ahead and pulled her into the Unit. Lily would ask about that.

These ESH units weren’t bad; the location was decent, if noisy, being on a busy street. No parking, though. Scott dropped her, Rule, and Mark off in front. He’d have to circle the block until they came out again.

On the sidewalk, the two men flanked her. Lily sighed and decided not to make an issue out of it. At least Rule was on her right. He knew better than to get in the way of her gun hand. “We aren’t all going to fit going through the door this way.”

Rule slanted her a smile. “Mark will go in first.”

“Good grief.”

“It’s standard practice,” Mark assured her. “The Rho never goes through a door first.”

“I’m not a Rho. I’m the one who makes sure the area’s safe for the other people.”

“Not this time,” Rule said.

“I’d like to argue, but that’s Arjenie’s ring tone.” She took out her phone as they reached the revolving doors that led to the lobby. With a sigh, she waited beside Rule while Mark went first. “Hey, Arjenie. Does this means you’ve got something for me?”

“I’m not interrupting, then? Good. I e-mailed you the files. You didn’t ask me to call, so I wasn’t sure if I should, but I had a hunch you’d want to hear about this.”

Lily had asked Arjenie for the complete personnel files on Sjorensen, Mullins, and Drummond. She was absolutely not entitled to see those. Even if she’d still been Unit, she would’ve needed Ruben’s written authorization to see the complete files. But Arjenie had the highest clearance possible now, Rule had said. She could access anything.

Mark had reached the lobby without being shot. He nodded, and Lily and Rule took the wild risk of entering the revolving door themselves. “This is a good time, actually,” Lily said as they emerged in the small, empty lobby. “You found something interesting?”

“Nothing much on Sjorensen. She was a good student and did well at Quantico. Not much on Mullins, either, except that he’s a recovering alcoholic—that’s how they say it, you know, even if they’ve been sober a long time, and he has. Twelve years. But that’s not why I called.”

Lily smiled. Arjenie had trouble summarizing. “You found something on Drummond?”

“I think so. Maybe. His wife died last year. They’d been married twenty-two years. No children.”

They headed for the elevators. “This is important?”

“It’s how she died. She was killed by a woman named Martha Billings whom Drummond had arrested years ago. Billings was Fire-Gifted and mob-connected, and had a bad habit of burning things down for money.”

“Ah.” Some Gifted had killed his wife. “What happened?”

“Billings got out of prison, partied for about a week, then went and burned down Drummond’s house. He wasn’t home, but his wife was, and she died of smoke inhalation. They know it was Billings even though no one saw it because she confessed. She was mad that it hadn’t killed Drummond, so she sent him a video where she raved about how she’d killed his wife and she’d be coming after him next. Can you imagine that? She confessed in a video.”

“Criminals are often not all that bright.” The elevator doors opened and the three of them got in.

“She might have confessed, but she didn’t hang around to be found. Drummond went nuts. He tore up his office and did some raving of his own. Then he vanished. Just poofed, abandoned his cases, went missing. He’s gone for two weeks, and in that two weeks, Billings turns up dead.”

“That is definitely worth a phone call,” Lily said. “I take it there was nothing linking him to Billings’s death?”

“No, it was ruled an accident. The car she was driving burst into flames. There were witnesses, and no one saw anything except that it was suddenly engulfed in flame. No sign of ac-celerants, shots fired, nothing. The investigating officers decided she’d suddenly lost control of her Gift. She had a rep for doing drugs, and drugs do mess up your control,” Arjenie added, “so that wasn’t implausible. This happened four days before Drummond turns up. He’d been drinking the whole time, he said, and he doesn’t remember everything real well, but he had credit card receipts to show that he’d stayed at an inn down in Tennessee, a long ways from Boston. Boston’s where Billings died. It wasn’t a real alibi, but Billings’s death wasn’t ruled a homicide, so it didn’t matter.”

They’d reached the seventh floor. The doors opened. Mark went first again, with Lily and Rule right behind him. No one in the hall. “That was not all in Drummond’s personnel file.”

“No, but there was enough in it that I knew you’d want the rest of the story, so I went digging.”

“I’m glad you did. Thanks, Arjenie. Feel free to bother me anytime you get a hunch like that. Did you find anything about Drummond’s alibi for five to six on the day of Ruben’s heart attack?”

“He had his teeth cleaned at three thirty, and the dentist says he probably left about four thirty. The agent’s notes suggest he could have gotten to Headquarters by five if the traffic wasn’t bad, but in the end he was eliminated based on scan and visual records and the testimony of the guards on duty at the entrances that day. They know Drummond by sight,” she added. “He’s been at Headquarters for years.”

“Hmm. Well, send me the dentist’s contact info and address, okay? Thanks.” Arjenie told her to take care of herself and Lily disconnected. She looked at Rule. “You heard all that?”

He nodded. “You said Drummond had an attitude about magic. Now we know why.”

“It’s not proof, but it’s suggestive. If he decided once to take justice into his own hands, he could decide to do it again. Maybe wiping out one Gifted wasn’t enough. Maybe he wants to get rid of all of us.”

They’d reached a door with 715 over the spyhole. Lily knocked.

No answer. She waited a moment and knocked again. She’d been reluctant to call ahead. Too easy for Sjorensen to turn her down. “Damn. Guess we’ll have to try back later.”

“Lily. Step aside a moment, please.”

Something in Rule’s voice kept her from asking why. She moved away from the door. He moved up—and put his face next to the crack where the door met the frame. Slowly he crouched, sniffing all along that crack. He straightened and turned. “I smell blood.”

She dug in her purse with one hand. Pulled out her weapon with the other. And elbowed him aside.

To her surprise, he let her. “Anna!” she called loudly, banging on the door with the hand that held her weapon. “Anna, are you okay?”

No answer. She wasn’t expecting one. The hand groping madly in her purse connected with what she wanted. She pulled out a single latex glove, handed her weapon to Rule, and tugged the glove on. “Anna!” she called again, even louder. “I have reason to suspect you’re injured. If you don’t respond, I will force entry.”

Weapon ready in her right hand, she reached for the doorknob with her gloved left hand. The door had a key card lock like a hotel and the light was red, so she was startled when the knob turned. She swung the door open—and quickly, before the two lupi could shove her aside, she stepped in.

A short entry hall, angling almost immediately to the left. Blank wall dead ahead. Drops of dried blood on the pale beige carpet. And a very stubborn, very fast man dodging around her to run inside.

“Stay back,” she ordered Mark without knowing if he’d obey, and she followed as quickly as her merely human self could, weapon out.

On the left, a kitchenette. Directly ahead a single room—bed to one side, couch, desk, and tiny two-person table on the other. Big windows with the drapes closed. And a nice, reddish-brown stain on the carpet directly in front of her.

No body. No signs of a fight, aside from the blood.

Rule was moving quickly through the small space, pausing here and there to listen and sniff. Making sure they were alone, she supposed. Mark—wonder of wonders—had stayed out, guarding the door. Lily crouched and studied the bloodstain.

It wasn’t fresh, but the center looked to still be damp. There was some spatter. She tilted her head. She was no expert, but that didn’t look like spray from a bullet. “You smell gunpowder?” she called. Rule had vanished into the tiny bathroom.

“No.”

The wound hadn’t spurted. There was just that bit of spatter. Head wound, maybe? It looked like the victim had been struck, staggered a step or two, then fallen to the floor. The biggest spot would be where she’d lain, unmoving, her blood soaking into the carpet.

Lily turned her head. Brown spots led away, as if the wound had still been dripping when the victim was carried out. Or walked out on her own? “Can you tell for sure if that’s Sjorensen’s blood?”

He came out of the small bathroom. “Probably. I’ll need to get close.”

“Just don’t touch it.”

He came and knelt near to the stain, bent, and sniffed. Held still a moment, his mouth slightly open. “This is Anna’s blood.”

“There’s a trail leading to the door. Drops of blood. I don’t know if it’s enough to suggest she was still alive then, her heart still pumping, but maybe. Maybe she was. What I’d like to know is if she walked out or was carried. Can you tell by sniffing?”

“Not in this form. Probably not as a wolf, either. There are other smells here.” He sniffed the carpet again, this time a couple feet away from the bloodstain, then shifted position and did it again. “Mostly it’s Anna, but two of the not-Anna scents are recent. I don’t see how I could tell if they carried her out, though. They walked in, walked around, and walked out, but I can’t say if they were carrying her.”

“Okay.” She took out her phone. “You want to have not been here?”

His eyebrows snapped down. “What?”

“I’m calling Croft. Maybe I should call the locals, but Croft can get everything rolling quickly, and speed is important. She might still be alive. But that means we’ll be stuck here awhile. It might be that you and Scott dropped me and Mark off. You never came in. You’re on your way to the Twelfth Street Kitchen right now.”

“We’re not separating. If you’re here, so am I.”

She gave up and called it in.