Ritual Magic

SEVEN

THE coffee in Lily’s cup was black, burned, and bitter. Suited her just fine. Maybe that was because it fit her mood, or maybe it was the comfort of the familiar. How many cups of bad coffee had she drunk when she was a local cop like the man who’d just handed her this one?

“If that doesn’t work, you’re gonna need toothpicks,” Officer Perez said.

“It’ll do. Thanks.” They were in the tiny alcove of a room where visitors to the patients on this floor could get coffee or a soft drink. Scott and Mark—her designated bodyguards, though she preferred to think of them as mobile backup—were just down the hall. Lily had snarled her way into this abbreviated privacy after interviewing the newest vic, needing a moment alone to gather her thoughts.

A moment was all she’d gotten, too.

The second victim, Ronnie Winsome, was being moved up here from the emergency room, but hadn’t arrived yet. Lily sipped nasty coffee. “Your sergeant clear you to help me out?”

“She did,” Perez said. “She cursed, but she cleared it. She wants to be kept informed.”

“She can know what you know. She won’t be brought into the case further at this point.”

Officer Ramon Perez wasn’t quite a rookie, but his big brown eyes hadn’t turned cop yet. He was a patrol officer, but he wanted to be more, and probably would be. Called to the scene of an ordinary rear-end collision with no injuries, he’d realized that the at-fault driver was confused. Lots of cops would have noticed that much, but Perez hadn’t thought he seemed intoxicated, and the man had passed the breath test. Winsome hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital, but Perez had persuaded him he needed to be evaluated.

Meanwhile, unknown to Lily, Ruben had been hit with one of his hunches. He’d instructed the SDPD to put out an alert for all units to watch for “impairment or memory loss of an unusual nature.” They were to report same to FBI Unit Twelve. Perez had heard the alert about an hour after the ambulance carried Winsome away and he’d gone the extra mile, heading for the hospital to reinterview the man.

That was when he discovered that Ronald Ralph Winsome, known to friends and family as Ronnie, didn’t know what year it was.

Winsome had only lost three years, not most of a lifetime. Lily didn’t know of any connection between him and her mother, and the accident had taken place more than ten miles from Uncle Chen’s restaurant, so there was no obvious geographical link. But the time fit. Winsome had rear-ended the car in front of him at roughly 8:15. Julia Yu had started screaming at 8:20.

Lily had just finished interviewing Winsome. He was upset by the memory loss, but otherwise seemed okay. She’d talked to his doctor, too. Amnesia was rare and the MRI didn’t show any head trauma. The ER doctor was mystified, but he would have released Winsome with a recommendation to seek counseling if Perez hadn’t persuaded him to hold off until Lily arrived.

Lily planned to take advantage of Perez’s competence, his big brown eyes, and his bilingual abilities. “Winsome’s wife is with him—Cara Winsome, fifty-one, brown and black, five-five and one fifty. She’s the second wife. First wife is Anna Caraway. Winsome and Number One have one son, thirty-two, named Brian. Brian lives in Santa Ana and is on his way here. Cara has two daughters, both grown, both living here in San Diego. She says he’s been under a lot of stress because of overwork—he’s in management at a national clothing chain—and he worked late tonight. He was presumably on his way home when he had the accident, though of course he doesn’t remember.”

Perez nodded.

“I know that much, and that’s all I know. I need more. Lots more. I want you to talk to the wife. She defaults to Spanish under stress. You said you’re fluent.”

He straightened unconsciously, looking very young and very serious. “You want me to conduct the interview in Spanish?”

“I want her comfortable so she’ll open up. I think using Spanish will help with that.”

“Anything in particular I’m looking for?”

“Connections. You know I’m a touch sensitive, right? When I interviewed Winsome I got his permission to check for magic. Found something, the same sort of something that was on my other vic. At this point, we’ve got nothing to connect the two of them but that vague trace of magic and memory loss. I want you to find out who Winsome knows socially. I need names, addresses, professions, and when and where Cara thinks her husband might have last seen each person. I want to know about his ex, her ex, and casual acquaintances. The guy who mows their lawn. Where they shop for groceries and go to church and fill up the gas tank. Find out where and how Winsome spends his time when he isn’t at the office. Does he read a lot? Work out? Go fishing? Haunt the home improvement center? You get her talking, you’ll get some of this without asking. Take your time. Get her comfortable with you. I’ll send someone else to talk to his boss and coworkers, see if there’s a work connection. You’re going to focus on the personal.”

“Okay. Who’s the first vic? You have someone cross-checking there?”

“Her name is Julia Yu. She’s my mother, so I’ll be cross-checking on that end.”

“Your . . . shit. I mean—I’m sorry, Special Agent. Is she okay?”

“She will be.” Somehow. Getting her to Sam was the first step, and Rule would handle that. Lily didn’t have a clue what the next steps were, but they’d find out. Somehow. “I’m going to—” Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it. “I have to take that. Get busy. You’ve got my number.”

Officer Perez nodded crisply and left. The call was from Ackleford, who’d already conducted the interview with Winsome’s boss. “She never heard of Julia Yu or any other Yu. I got the names of twelve of Winsome’s coworkers from her. My men are calling them.” One of Ackleford’s charming habits was referring to the agents in his command as his men, regardless of their sex.

“Good. I’ve got a local cop digging for more names from Mrs. Winsome. He speaks Spanish, and she’s more comfortable in that language. I’m going to contact more of my family to see if they know of any link to Winsome. I’m also going to alert area ERs to watch for cases of unusual impairment or memory loss.”

“Fuck. You think there’s more?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Maybe this isn’t about you, after all.” He hung up.

Lily stood there a moment, holding her phone tightly. She needed to call Ruben, but she wanted to call Rule instead. There was no point in it. If Rule had persuaded her mother to let Sam treat her, he’d have let her know. He hadn’t, so there was no reason to call him . . . but he’d have texted instead of calling, wouldn’t he? Knowing she might be with the victim or a witness, he’d text so he didn’t interrupt, and sometimes texts were delayed. She could call him and check and . . . maybe interrupt him when he was talking to Julia.

Lily stood there and breathed and couldn’t make her phone ring no matter how hard she tried, so she did what she was supposed to do and called Ruben. She had the authority to put out the alert herself, but Ruben needed to know about it.

“I should have done that when I alerted the local police,” Ruben said as soon as she told him. “Any additional cases will probably be seen by the hospitals, not the PD. I’m relying too much on hunches, not enough on logic. I’ll take care of it from here.”

“You have any other logic or hunches to share?”

“I do. This is both. Karonski will be there at noon tomorrow to assume the lead, as I said. I’ve decided to place you in charge of the Shadow Unit’s operations regarding this situation.”

For a moment she had no idea what to say. Finally she managed, “You must be very confident that this line isn’t being monitored.” Normally Ruben didn’t refer even indirectly to the Shadow Unit over the phone. Normally the dragons handled most of the Shadow Unit’s communications. They weren’t part of the Shadow Unit—dragons weren’t exactly joiners—but they were allies, and mindspeech was perfect for a clandestine organization, being as untraceable and undetectable as it was uncanny.

Things were not normal, were they?

“Mika contacted me about what Sam plans to do to help your mother. While that is in process, Sam won’t be able to handle communications for us, so I took certain measures. These measures are temporary and cannot be used often. This is our only chance to talk freely until Sam is able to handle Shadow communications again.”

What measures? She didn’t ask, much as she wanted to. Ruben would have told her if it was okay for her to know. “All right, but why me? If Karonski’s in charge of the Bureau’s investigation, shouldn’t he be in charge of both? Or Rule could handle the Shadow end.” He was second-in– command and knew a lot more about Shadow stuff than she did.

“You and he will function as a team, no doubt, but I want you in charge. That’s both hunch and logic. I think the Shadow Unit will be needed, but in parallel to the official investigation rather than in support of it. Both investigations will share the goal of finding the person or persons responsible, but the official investigation will of necessity focus on acquiring evidence to prosecute and convict. Your goal will be to stop the perpetrator, period. If that can be done through official means, good. My hunch—a strong hunch—is that it cannot.”

“I’m not an executioner or assassin.” Unlike Rule. He considered assassination a valid and moral tactic in war. Lily understood his reasoning intellectually, but the idea made her insides roil. “I know this is a war, but I . . .” Could kill whoever had done this to her mother. Wanted to kill them. The realization jolted her, then, oddly, steadied her. “There’s a conflict of interest for me. Even more so than with the official investigation.”

“There are others who can kill should it prove necessary, and I can make that call if you can’t. But killing isn’t the only solution the Shadow Unit can provide that our legal system cannot, just the most obvious. That’s why I want you in charge of that end, Lily. Not in spite of what you call a conflict of interest, but because of it. Your awareness of that conflict, and your visceral distrust for such unilateral action, will make you work hard to find the less obvious solutions, if they exist.”

Again she didn’t know what to say. “Thank you” didn’t fit. “Damn you” did, but was a little too revealing.

When Lily had first learned of the existence of the Shadow Unit the previous September, she’d been appalled. For law enforcement officers to be part of an organization whose very purpose was to operate outside the law violated everything she stood for. Grudgingly, she’d come to accept the need. The law simply didn’t cover the sort of attacks the Great Enemy could wield and the wider world didn’t even know there was a war going on, so the law was not going to be changed to apply to wartime conditions. She’d still wanted no part of it, personally. The Shadow Unit had to operate in secret. Secrecy eliminated accountability, and without that, abuse was all but guaranteed.

But Ruben had been right. She should have known he would be. Lily’s boss was a precog, with the most uncannily accurate precognitive Gift on record. That Gift usually manifested as hunches, but for a time he’d had actual visions of the various ways the country was going to be destroyed if the Shadow Unit didn’t exist . . . and if Lily didn’t take her place within that Unit. In the end, she had.

If Ruben had a strong hunch the law would be unable to deal with this threat, he was right. She hated it, but he was right. “All right. I’m still lead on the Bureau’s end of things for now, though, so I need to go deal with that.”

“Of course. Abel is aware of your role in the Shadow investigation. He won’t mention it unless you do, but he’s aware. I haven’t spoken to Rule about it yet. I leave that to you.”

“Okay.” Her stomach hurt.

“I’ll see that hospitals in your area are alerted.” He disconnected.

Lily lifted the cup still in her hand and sipped. And grimaced. She could drink coffee burned and bitter, but cold . . . no. She went to the small sink and poured it out, still holding her phone in the other hand. She had calls to make.

Then she just stood there, her head down and her eyes burning.

“You all right, honey?”

Lily jumped and turned. A woman in blue scrubs stood just behind her, watching her with a gentle smile. Her name tag read ELOISHA MORROWS, RN. “I’m good,” she said automatically. The nurse must think she was an anxious and overwhelmed family member . . . which she was. Not of any of the patients here, however.

“Well, you just let me know if I can do anything.” The nurse put a hand on Lily’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’re not too busy right now. If you want to talk, you come get me, okay?”

Lily wasn’t up to explaining, so she thanked the woman, who nodded and left. Thank God. Lily poured more hot sludge into her cup and hunted up Aunt Mequi’s mobile number in her contacts list. Mequi and her mother were close, so she was an obvious choice to ask about Ronnie Winsome. If she’d never heard of him, Lily would have her ask the rest of the family, except for Lily’s father. Lily would talk to him herself.

First she checked her texts. No word from Rule.

She wanted to be at the other hospital, where her mother was. She wanted Rule’s touch. She wanted to be with her mother, who wasn’t really her mother right now, but a girl named Julia. She wanted . . .

She called her aunt.

Mequi didn’t know anyone named Winsome. While Lily was talking to her, she got a text. She got Mequi to agree to ask the others, disconnected, and read what Rule had sent: Edward delays to consult other doctors. Sam says no time. Implementing Grandmother’s plan, but I can’t talk to Julia yet. Your father is with her.

Lily heard a rushing in her ears. It was happening. They were circumventing her father. Rule would persuade Julia—he had to—and Julia would go to Sam’s lair.

Would her father forgive them? He’d feel so betrayed . . . but they had to do this. And now she had to call her father and ask him about Ronnie Winsome. Knowing she was acting behind his back, knowing . . . Do it, she told herself.

Edward Yu didn’t answer. Maybe he’d turned his phone off. He was with her mother, so that was possible. He wouldn’t want to be interrupted. He might worry that the sound of the phone would wake Julia.

Did she keep trying? Send someone from the family to get him? She could have another agent conduct that interview . . . and that was pure cowardice. If this had been a normal case, she’d send someone to him to ask him to either call her or turn on his phone so she could call him.

Lily was about to call Aunt Mequi to do just that when her phone buzzed. It was the ring tone for calls forwarded from her official number. She answered.

The voice on the other end was crisp, female, and unfamiliar. She identified herself as Dr. Harris at UCSD Medical Center. Within moments, Lily had disconnected and was calling Ruben, not her father.

Dr. Harris had admitted a patient earlier that night, Barbara Lennox. Barbara Lennox was seventy-eight and lived with her son and his wife. At eight fifteen in the evening she’d appeared to suffer a stroke—or so her son and daughter-in-law thought when they called the ambulance. On arrival at UCSD Medical Center, she’d not reported any pain, but had been disoriented and extremely anxious. Brain scans had shown no sign of damage.

Barbara Lennox was now catatonic.