Mortal Danger

ELEVEN

CYNNA hadn’t expected to like Lily Yu. That was envy, of course, with a healthy dose of its kissing cousin, jealousy. But what could be more natural? She didn’t fault herself for it. But somewhere along the line, a little worm of liking had surprised her by wiggling past all the other stuff.

Aside from that, though, she wasn’t sure what to make of the woman. Lily seemed to know her business, but why had she brought Rule along? No doubt he could guard the hell out of her, but she wasn’t exactly a fragile flower. Cynna couldn’t see what he could contribute otherwise. The lupi weren’t connected to the hunt for Harlowe… unless there was something she hadn’t been told?

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been left out of the loop. All too often, people thought of her as a handy sort of freak, like the spinner in a board game—toss her down, spin her around, see which way she pointed. The way they saw it, she didn’t need a brain to find stuff. So they assumed she didn’t have one.

Rule knew better, but he was just naturally secretive as hell. Still, she didn’t think he’d out-and-out lie to her.

She’d watch for a chance to catch him alone, she decided, and ask him why he was really along.

Temecula lay about halfway between San Diego and L.A. on 1-15. By the time they reached its fast-food and gas-station fringes, the sun had popped up over the horizon and Lily switched off the longhair music. She warned Cynna to be especially respectful of local authority.

Temecula, she said, used to be a small, sleepy town, but it had put on a real growth spurt in the past ten years. Like a gangly adolescent prone to tripping, it was jealous of its dignity. There was some rivalry between the newcomers and the oldtimers at the local cop shop. The ones who’d been around forever were outnumbered, but they had seniority and rank, and they didn’t need outsiders telling them how to do things.

Kim had been doing okay for herself, Cynna thought as they pulled up near their goal. Up until someone killed her, that is. She’d lived in half of a little stucco duplex roofed with those red tiles Californians were crazy about. The yard was tiny but green. She counted four cops tramping around in it.

As soon as they parked and got out, one of those cops came over to tell them to move on. Lily showed him her badge. He wasn’t impressed—said they’d have to wait until Detective Leung cleared them. He did manage to look apologetic when, in response to Lily’s question, he told them the body had already been removed.

Lily looked furious.

So they waited. It felt good to be out of the car. Not that Cynna got carsick anymore—she had a dandy little anti-nausea spell—but she hated riding in the backseat. She always felt cramped and left out.

The air had that slick, cool feel she associated more with spring than fall. But this part of the country didn’t really do fall, much less winter. She’d come here straight from another job in Kansas City with no time to pick up more clothes. She wasn’t dressed right for the climate.

Actually, she just plain wasn’t dressed right, but that was nothing new. She’d never gotten the hang of dressing like a fibbie. Cynna sighed as she looked at the China doll. Cynna was wearing tan slacks, too, but they didn’t look like Lily’s, and her jacket was not nearly as fashionable as the other woman’s trim little red thing. Lily didn’t carry an old black gym bag around, either. No, she had a big, flat leather envelope of a purse slung over her shoulder.

She and Rule were talking nearby, too low for Cynna to make out the words. They weren’t arguing, but they weren’t happy, either. That cheered Cynna up some. Call her petty, but she liked knowing the woman wasn’t perfect.

Finally someone came out of the victim’s front door. He was Asian and not in uniform, so Cynna allowed herself to jump to the conclusion that he was the guy they were waiting for.

Detective Leung was a small man, not much taller than Lily, and dressed just as pretty—pressed white shirt, navy suit, and narrow tie. He didn’t have much in the way of lines to give away his age, but his hair was more salt than pepper. By the time he reached them, it was obvious he didn’t plan to roll out the welcome mat.

He said his name and rank and then he got a good look at Rule. He went from chilly to frigid. “What is he doing here? And her?”

“Her” meant Cynna. She gave him an eat-shit-and-die smile.

Lily was crisp. “He’s consulting, she’s MCD, same as me… if it’s any of your business. Who ordered the body removed?”

“I did. The techs were finished with it.”

“I asked that the body not be moved.”

“We don’t always get what we want, do we? Guess I didn’t get the message.” His smile was tight—like his underwear, Cynna suspected. Just as she suspected he’d gotten the message and ignored it.

Lily’s finger started tapping on her thigh. “I’d like to see your shield, Detective.”

His eyes narrowed, but he took it out, flashed it, and then started to put it back in his inside jacket pocket.

Lily just stood there with her hand out. He paused, trying to look like he wasn’t pissed. Finally she handed it over.

She dug into one of the pockets in that oversize envelope and pulled out a snazzy little leather folder with a notepad inside. There she jotted down his shield number before giving it back to him. “We’ll look at the scene first. Where will I find the body?”

“The hospital morgue. We aren’t a big city with a separate crime morgue. But, ah…” And here he started to feel a bit better. “I’m afraid I can’t let you onto the scene.”

Lily’s eyebrows went up. “I’m at a loss to understand why you think you have a choice.”

“Oh, I’ll cooperate. If your district office wants to send someone else, I’d be glad to cooperate. But I can’t very well let you onto the scene.” He was enjoying himself now. “Not when you’re implicated.”

For a long moment, Lily didn’t say a word. Cynna glanced at Rule, expecting him to say or do something. But he was just watching, wearing this little smile as if he expected to enjoy what came next.

“I’m sure it can be cleared up,” Leung said, riding a good smug now. “But that note links you to the crime. I can’t take any chance of the scene being… contaminated.” He made it sound like the three of them contaminated the air by breathing it. “If you object, you can always go downtown and talk to the chief.”

“You misunderstand,” she said evenly. “Title 28, United States Code, Section 533 authorizes the attorney general to appoint officials to investigate crimes against the United States.”

“What the hell does that—”

“Title 18, Chapter 51, Section 1111 makes it a federal crime to use magical means to commit murder. Chapter makes it a federal crime to conspire to commit an act of violence, including violence by magical means. I am the duly constituted official investigating a conspiracy to attempt the murder of multiple persons, including law enforcement personnel, by magical means. My authority comes from the attorney general and supercedes that of your chief of police. My chief suspect was seen with your victim. He left me a goddamned signed note about it on the body. Title 18, Chapter 55—”

“I’m not disputing jurisdiction,” he put in quickly. “I’m saying that you—”

“And I’m saying that you lack the authority to bar me from this scene. If you have concerns about my fitness or possible culpability in this crime, you may relate them to my superiors. Don’t bother the district office—they lack the authority to interfere, too. You’d better go right to the head of MCD. Ruben Brooks. He’s at FBI headquarters in Washington. Call him.” She produced a cell phone from another of her bag’s pockets and tossed it to him.

It spoke well for Leung’s reflexes that he caught it in spite of his deer-in-the-headlights look.

Lily just kept rolling. “The number for his direct line is on speed dial. Hit seven.”

“Wait a minute,” he said. “I don’t want—”

“If you’re not prepared to challenge my fitness, then I request and require your cooperation.” She turned and started for the duplex. The two closest uniformed cops were trying to look like they weren’t enjoying the exchange. Maybe Leung wasn’t popular with the rank-and-file.

Rule had caught his cue immediately and kept pace with her. Cynna dropped in behind.

“What was the victim wearing?” Lily asked without looking back.

“Nothing.” Leung hurried to catch up and grabbed Lily’s arm just as she reached the porch. “I’m not letting that were in. He’s no federal agent.”

He hadn’t, Cynna noticed, tried grabbing Rule. Good call.

“You,” Lily said, her voice as cold as her eyes were hot, “had better let go of me right now. Unless you are planning to make an arrest?”

He dropped his hand, looking like he wanted to hit her with it. She looked back at him, her gaze steady as the bead of a sniper. Finally he looked away.

She stepped onto the porch. “Turner won’t be going inside right away. But that’s my call, not yours.” She opened her purse and pulled out a wad of plastic, which she separated into gloves and booties.

Cynna glanced at Leung’s feet. He hadn’t bothered with the booties. Now that she thought of it, he hadn’t been wearing gloves when he came out of the house, either.

“Where was the body found?” Lily asked, bending to pull the plastic over one shoe.

“Bedroom at the back. In bed, arranged neatly—her hands were folded over her heart.” He grudged it. but Cynna figured he was telling himself he’d won one battle, with the exclusion of Rule from the scene.

“Any signs of sexual assault?”

He shook his head. “No resistance wounds, no visible tearing, and I didn’t see any traces of semen.”

“The guy who found her—he’s a friend or a boyfriend?”

“He claims they weren’t steady, just dated now and then. But it bugged him enough when she went home with someone else that he came by later. Says he wanted to be sure she was okay.” His expression announced how little he believed that.

“Did he have a key, or was the door unlocked?”

“Open, he says. Ajar, not wide open.”

It was open now, too. Cynna could see an ordinary living room through the doorway—beige sofa and carpet, a television. No evidence techs in sight. Now that she thought of it, she didn’t hear their little vacuums, either. Surely they hadn’t done the whole place already?

Lily gave Rule a nod. He must have known what that meant, because he stepped up to the door, crouched down, and put his face next to the knob.

“What the hell—!” Leung exclaimed.

She waved him to silence. Rule got a good sniff, then faced into the beige living room. He did this thing with his head, like a dog scenting the air. Then he looked at Lily over his shoulder. Cynna got his profile—gorgeous, but grim. “I don’t get anything distinctive from the door,” he said. “But in there…” He jerked his head toward the living room. “Death magic.”

Lily turned to Leung. “This is my investigation now, and this place is sealed. No one goes in without my say-so.”

“You can’t—”

“I just did.”

Lily had to get her phone back from Leung. While he put in a call to his chief to complain about her, she punched seven—and prayed she hadn’t just seriously exceeded her authority.

She glanced at her watch as the phone rang on the other end. Seven-thirty here meant eleven-thirty in D.C., so unless he was in a meeting…

“Hello, Lily,” he said.

Unless he was in a meeting, he answered this phone himself. Only members of the Unit had the number. “I’ve got a murder by magical means. Harlowe’s involved.”

“Go on.”

She filled him in, including her announcement about sealing the place. “So,” she finished, “am I in trouble for exceeding my authority? And if not, can I get someone here to confirm manner of death in a way the courts will accept? Karonski would be best, but if not him, another

Wiccan. And I could use some evidence techs. Leung screwed up the scene, no telling how many big, dirty cop feet have already trampled through, but we still need to try. And who handles the door-to-door?“

There followed one painful second of silence, broken by Ruben’s chuckle. “You seem to be dealing well with the loss of Karonski—whom you can’t have back yet, I’m afraid, so we’ll have to call in civilian experts. There’s a coven in Los Angeles whose testimony has held up well. I’ll send them down. Call the district office—no, I’ll do it. They’ll take over working the scene, but you’ll need to solicit the cooperation of local authorities for the door-to-door.”

“Yes, sir. Leung’s an idiot, however.” They would need a whole coven to do what Karonski normally did on his own? She had questions about that but filed them mentally for now. “He’s the type who’d screw up the investigation just to make me look bad. Ah, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot.”

“So I gathered,” Ruben said dryly. “Cope. You’ll take Weaver in to check out the scene?”

“Yes, sir. She’s getting her feet covered now.”

“Good. I have this feeling… well, keep her involved, just in case. Oh, about the staff. I’ve been asked to instruct you to preserve it for study, if at all possible.”

Lily opened her mouth to protest—and closed it again. He hadn’t actually told her not to destroy the staff, had he? Just that he’d been asked to tell her that. “Yes, sir,” she said carefully.

“Call me this evening to update, unless events dictate otherwise.”

She told him good-bye, disconnected, and put up her phone.

Cynna had been listening in with an interested expression on her face. Rule stood a little ways away, closer to Leung—probably eavesdropping on that conversation instead of hers.

Good. She knew what he’d think about any directive to preserve the staff instead of destroying it. She tended to agree with him, but needed to think it over.

“Come on,” she said to Cynna. “Let’s see what we can learn.”

Lily knew she was locking the barn door after the proverbial horse had scooted. Leung had already botched the scene. But she’d preserve what she could, which meant Rule stayed out for now. He hadn’t given her a hard time about that, proving he could be reasonable when he wanted.

The living room was small, beige, and spotless. She stopped in the middle of it, looking around. Kim Curtis had been a tidy person. The carpet was recently vacuumed, the room itself as tidy as Lily’s apartment, if not as sparsely furnished. The matching armchairs looked new. The couch was slip-covered in ivory matelassé, with two pale green pillows that precisely matched the chairs. A couple of prints hung on the walls—nice frames, conventional landscapes. The entertainment unit held a large television, an old VCR, a new CD/DVD player, and five cloth-covered boxes.

No glasses or plates in sight. If Curtis had offered Harlowe a drink, they hadn’t had it in here.

Lily went to the entertainment unit and opened one of the boxes.

“What are you looking for?” Cynna asked from behind her.

“I don’t know.” The boxes all held CDs and movies— tapes and DVDs. “She liked old musicals. And chick flicks.”

“She was doing okay for herself, wasn’t she? She was just twenty-two, but she had her own place, decent stuff.”

“Yes.” She straightened. “Maybe some of this wasn’t paid for yet, but she was doing okay.” Until she ran into Harlowe. Lily’s jaw tightened. “Let’s check out the bedroom.”

‘’It was a real treat, watching you take that little pissant apart.“ Cynna said as she followed Lily down the hall. ”Quite a lesson for me in respecting local authority.“

Lily winced. “Is it too late for ‘do as I say, not as I do”?“

Cynna chuckled. “Did you make up all that legal stuff you quoted at him?”

Lily stepped into the back bedroom and looked around. “I may have gotten some of the section numbers wrong. The gist was accurate.”

“That’s just scary. You really know all that code?”

“Bits and pieces. I’ve been trying to get up to speed.” Kim hadn’t done as much decorating in here. White walls, hand-me down furniture that didn’t match, but it wasn’t an interesting mismatch, either. “I don’t know if Karonski told you, but I haven’t been with the Unit long. I used to work homicide.”

The unmade bed drooled white sheets and a faded pink-and-yellow comforter onto the floor. No blood, but the body had voided itself in death, so it didn’t smell great in here.

“Gah.” Cynna’s nose wrinkled. “I’m glad I’m not Rule.”

“He doesn’t react to smells the way we do,” Lily said absently. No pictures on the wails, but above the bed were three wooden crosses. Handmade, she thought. Pretty things, really. “Most of the time, scent is information to him. Like if we see a pile of dog shit on the ground, no big deal. We get the message to step around it. Smells are mostly like that for him.”

“If you say so.”

There was a Bible on the bedside table. Lily frowned at it, trying to fit the signs of religious devotion with someone who picked up a stranger in a bar. Some religious types strayed from the straight and narrow on a regular basis, yet that didn’t seem to fit this time. Why?

Because the devotional items were in here, she realized.

In Kim’s personal space, not out in her living area. Her faith hadn’t been for show, yet she’d picked up a stranger in a bar. She turned to Cynna. “From what you told me, you can’t look for traces of Harlowe yet because you don’t have his pattern, but you can look for bits that don’t match with the victim’s.”

“I’ll need to sort some of her things first, pick up her pattern. Then…” She glanced at the bed. “Then I’ll see what 1 can pick out that isn’t hers.”

“Have at it. I’ll check things in my own way.” Lily had only touched death magic once. It hadn’t been pleasant. She tugged off one glove, steeling herself.

Cynna was removing her gloves, too. “I was thinking that we might be able to estimate the strength of the staff.”

“How’s that?”

“What’s your I.M.P.?”

Lily paused. “My what?”

“I.M.P. You know—Innate Magic Potential.” When Lily looked at her blankly, she asked incredulously, “You have been tested, haven’t you?”

“Oh. Right.” She remembered Karonski saying something about it. “The test wouldn’t work on me because it uses a spell to gauge the strength of the subject’s Gift. The spell would slide right off.”

“Shit. I guess that makes sense. Maybe there’s some other way to estimate the strength of your Gift. It was strong enough to keep the staff from affecting you, so—”

“It doesn’t work that way. I don’t…” Lily’s voice drifted off as she placed her palm on the pillow, right where an impression remained from Kim Curtis’s head.

“Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine.” That came out automatically. It was almost true. “I just hate the feel of this stuff.”

“Death magic, huh? What does it feel like?”

“Ground glass and rotting flesh.” Only worse. She didn’t have words to describe the corruption of it. She’d hoped she could tell if there was some difference, some change in the magic with someone else using the staff, but the sheer foulness overwhelmed everything else.

Lily shook her hand to rid herself of the lingering sensation and pulled her glove back on. “As I was saying, being a sensitive isn’t like other Gifts. I never used to think of it as a Gift at all. actually.”

“Why not?”

Lily struggled for a way to explain. “You’ve got some kind of shields, right?”

“Sure.” She looked around. “Um… I’m going to need to touch something of Kim’s.”

“We’ll tag whatever you handle. Try not to leave fingerprints on anything else.” She moved to the dresser, which held a mirror, jewelry box, and several bottles of perfume on a little tray. “Anyone with a Gift can learn to do spells, right?”

“Pretty much.” Cynna elbowed open the closet door. “Some are better at spellcraft than others. Most of us are only really good at a few types of spells, the ones related most closely to our Gift.” She sat on the floor and pulled out an athletic shoe, running her bare hand over it. “This will work.” she said with satisfaction.

Apparently shoes absorbed more than sweat from their wearers. Lily opened the jewelry box. Kim Curtis had liked earrings and bracelets. No necklaces, though. “So shields would be stronger or weaker depending on how strong your Gift is and how good you are at that type of spell.”

“Basically. There are ways to store power, but it helps to have a strong Gift.”

“Well, I can’t use magic,” Lily said flatly, closing the jewelry box. “And I don’t have shields. Being a sensitive is more like… like not being porous. Some substances won’t soak up water, no matter how much you pour over them. Magic can’t soak into me, no matter how much I’m hit with. Except…”

“Don’t stop now. If there’s an exception, I need to know about it.”

“Last night Nettie was able to put me in sleep. I’m told she used some sort of religious energy, not magic. But it was still a spell. I don’t see why it worked on me.”

Cynna shrugged. “Can’t help you much. I don’t know what the difference is, either.”

She put down the shoe and rose.

“I’ve got Kim’s pattern. I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick up enough of Harlowe’s to do any good, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“You can limit your scan to Harlowe, right? So you won’t get anything from the staff.”

“I don’t scan. I sort.”

“I’m not following you.”

“They’re two different operations. Scanning would be… oh, like looking for a red scarf you dropped on the floor. You’d see it from a distance. You wouldn’t have to touch it or pick it up. Sorting is more like looking for a silk scarf in a tangled pile of scarves. You’d have to touch the scarves to find the one you wanted and work it loose from the others.”

“Then be careful what you pick up.”

She flashed Lily a grin and moved up to the bed. Gradually all expression bled out of her face, leaving only focus. She held her left hand at her waist, palm out as if deflecting something, and extended her right arm, elbow locked and fingers together, pointing down at the bed.

Slowly her arm swung to the left. Nothing else moved. She might have been a statue with a single moving part— the slowly swinging arm, moving now to the right. If she still breathed, it didn’t show.

The arm hesitated and stopped. Gradually, her fingers spread out.

Her eyes rolled back in her head. As if every muscle in her body had simultaneously melted, she collapsed.

Lily leaped for her. She got there just before the woman’s head smacked into the bed frame, but not with any grace. Off balance, Lily ended up going down with Cynna sprawled half on top of her.

She managed to sit up, shifting so Cynna’s head rested on her thigh. She was checking her pulse when those whiskey-colored eyes blinked open and Cynna said, “Shit.”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“Turns out the sorcerer was right. That staff does not want to be found.”

For a second Lily just stared at her. “You tried to find it. After everything I said—in defiance of a direct order—you tried to find the damned staff.”

Now she looked sheepish. “I, uh, figured you didn’t know what you were talking about.”

Lily stood. Cynna’s head hit the floor. “Hey!”

“Karonski was right when he called you a loose canon. How am 1 supposed to work with you when I can’t trust you?” She wanted to punch something. “Did you bother looking for Harlowe’s pattern at all?”

“Of course,” She had the nerve to sound indignant. “What I found—I assume it’s from Harlowe—was all tied up with the ugly stuff. Couldn’t sort it out.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“I wasn’t excusing myself. Just letting you know.” Gingerly Cynna got to her feet. “Whew. I feel as if I’m coming off a three-day drunk. Ah… I was wrong about one thing, so maybe you should, ah, check to see if… well, if something was done to me. It shouldn’t be possible,” she added hastily. “Not at a distance. But the impossible just keeps happening lately.”

Lily was mad enough to let her stew a while. It was only after a severe struggle with her less professional side that she managed to say curtly, “I touched your skin when I checked your pulse. No trace of death magic, so I’d say the staff didn’t do anything but knock you down.”

“I guess you couldn’t have missed it if there was just a teensy trace?”

“If death magic had a smell, it would be like that stuff they put in natural gas to make it smell bad—even the tiniest whiff and you know it’s there. If I touch death magic, I know it.”

“Good.” There was no mistaking the relief in Cynna’s voice. “Uh… there’s one more thing I need to tell you. It’s about Kim Curtis.”

“Yes?”

“She isn’t entirely gone.”