Grave Dance (16 page)

academy.

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the ABMU’s

magicaldampening evidence bags, the box locked magic safely away inside itself. It was one of my spel casting instructors who’d given me the box, and I think she assumed I would eventual y botch a charm so badly that it would have to be contained. I’d never used it before, but now I dumped the disk, paper, and wax inside and flipped the latch. The prickly tingle of dark magic that had been nibbling at my senses for the last hour cut off and I sighed from the sudden relief.

PC, who’d curled up beside Falin on the bed, lifted his head to see why I was making so much noise. He must have judged my activities uninteresting because after a have judged my activities uninteresting because after a single glance, he laid his head on Falin’s calf and closed his eyes again. I shook my head and settled in front of my computer.

Out of the sixteen runes from the disk, I thought that one looked similar to the rune for health—though it would have to be an archaic form of the rune—and that another looked like something I’d seen in academy, but couldn’t quite remember. The other fourteen were complete mysteries.

Pul ing up a search browser, I dove into the task of solving those mysteries.

Several hours later, I’d gained a serious crick in my back and learned that the rune I thought looked like health was, in fact, very similar to an archaic version of the rune, though the older version also meant life.
Is that the spell that
animates the constructs?
I’d added the idea to my list of notes on the case—a very short list.

I pushed away from my laptop and stretched. I’d gone through a pot of coffee since I’d started scouring the Net, but my gritty eyes were blurring with exhaustion. I’d even switched gears at one point and searched maps for the kelpie’s “thundering gate.” After al , I had multiple directions from which to attack this case. Finding the kil er would lead me to a counterspel for my friends and it would fulfil my obligation to Malik.

I searched the Net as wel as studied several maps as I looked for the gate. The major interstates passing through Nekros had stylized gates, though they were just decoration, the recent beautification project downtown had added green space, some of which was gated, and even some “art” that looked more like gates than anything else, but none of those were near the river and thus they were not good candidates. Most of the warehouse district had chain-link fence blocking off the river, as did many of the link fence blocking off the river, as did many of the residential areas, but I couldn’t see why they’d be considered “thundering.”

With my muscles cramping and my butt asleep from too many hours in a chair, I final y switched off the computer and gave the research a rest.
Time for a little legwork.
But first, lunch.

Falin woke as I ransacked my fridge.

“What else did she say?” he mumbled, stil half asleep.

Then his eyes popped open. He glanced at where the afternoon sun stretched across the floor and groaned. “I fel asleep? You should have woken me.”

I shrugged and pul ed a cardboard container of Chinese takeout from the top shelf of the fridge.
What day had I
ordered it?
I didn’t think it was more than a week ago.

“I got some stuff done,” I said, though what I’d actual y done was establish where I
wouldn’t
find useful information.

Falin joined me at the fridge, his movements smoother and clearly less painful than before he’d fal en asleep. He glanced over the limited contents before plucking the carton of Chinese from my hands.

“Hey!”

He chucked the carton back on the top shelf and shut the fridge door. “I’l buy lunch,” he said. Then cut off my protest with, “I need to stop by my office to grab Nori’s case files.

We can grab lunch afterward.”

“I have a lead to fol ow up on as wel .” Okay, what I had was a plan to drive around town near the Sionan and search for a gate, but it was kind of a lead. “We should divide and conquer.”

“You think I’m letting you out of my sight? Alex, you’re a magnet for trouble, though, in the trouble’s defense, you go out looking for it. What with tearing holes in reality in the middle of populated streets and wandering the wilds using raw meat to draw out a fae wel known for tearing people to shreds and eating them, it’s a wonder you’re not completely entangled in trouble.” He shook his head.

entangled in trouble.” He shook his head.

Like he was in any shape to help me should “trouble”

come cal ing. Though I guess his point was to prevent the situations I occasional y—Not typical y! Real y!—stumbled into. Before I had a chance to respond, he continued.

“Besides,” he said, “I need your car.”

Chapter 16

A
s it turned out, Falin did let me out of his sight, and at his own insistence. He requested that I wait in the car while he ran inside his office, so I sat in my own car, in the mid-August heat, glowering. Granted, his reasoning was sound.

Letting on to Nori that Falin and I were friends probably wasn’t in anyone’s best interest, but I couldn’t help feeling that our very association was a secret he didn’t want his fae acquaintances to know. Hey, girls have feelings.

When he returned he carried only a single distressingly thin folder. It was my car, so I was driving, but with the case file so close, I was tempted to hand off my keys. I didn’t. I’d seen Falin drive before, and I didn’t trust him behind the wheel of my car.

“So what does it say?”

“I’m stil on the first page, Alex,” he said, his head bent over the file as I drove.

He tore two pages from the file, folded them, and shoved them in his pocket. I twisted in my seat, never actual y taking my eyes off the road, but only just barely.

“What was on those pages?”

“Court business.”

Right. As in none of my business. Why was he real y here? I didn’t know.

He’d finished reading the file by the time we reached the restaurant. I debated driving through to save time, but I wanted to get my hands on the file before he changed his mind and decided not to share. Folding myself into one of the uncomfortable particleboard booths that tended to the uncomfortable particleboard booths that tended to populate al fast-food chains, I pored over the file, barely noticing the chicken nuggets I ate while I read.

The main thing I learned was that Nori couldn’t document worth a damn, and unless she’d left out a lot—or the two pages Falin removed had contained the useful information

—her investigation had gone al of nowhere. Most of the events in the files were ones where I’d been present, and my firsthand experience was much more informative than her abbreviated write-ups. If she’d heard back from the ABMU about the spel s in the feet or the disk, she hadn’t included that information in her report. The only exhaustive record she kept was a list of fae who’d been questioned and relocated to Faerie, and that was a big, long list.

After flipping the last page, I shoved the file away in disgust and polished off the last of my fries. “Hey, agent in charge, I think your subordinate could stand to brush up on, wel , everything.”

“She gets her job done,” he said, which didn’t quite count as disagreeing with me, but he focused on his hamburger, obviously not wil ing to discuss the matter further.

As we finished lunch, John’s ringtone—the theme song from
Cops
—cut through the air. I dug in my purse and grabbed the phone as the song started its second repetition.

“John, did you get my message?” I asked by way of greeting.

“Good afternoon to you too, Alex,” he said, his deep voice ful of amusement. “I did get your message. I also heard some water-cooler gossip that you might have had some trouble this morning. Everything okay?”

I gave him the summarized version of the morning’s predawn events, then asked him the question no one seemed to be able to answer. “Has the ABMU turned up any leads on the spel s in the feet or the disks?”

“Definitely not on my case, but if you’re correct about the caster responsible for the feet being the same as the one caster responsible for the feet being the same as the one who sent the construct, I can probably make a case to get a copy of the results from the disks. If there are any results, that is. No guarantee, and I’m not saying I’l be able to pass it on to you, but I’l check.”

“I’l owe you one,” I said, and suddenly, sitting in the middle of a fast-food restaurant with John al the way across town, I felt the potential for imbalance grow between us.
Damn. It’s going to take time to get used to that.

“Yeah, wel , I’m inclined to tel you to let the police handle this, but with the attacks targeting you, and with Hol y caught up in the middle of it, I know you won’t. Have you tried contacting Dr. Aaron Corrie?”

The name sounded familiar, but it took me a moment to remember why. “He was one of the founding members of the Organization for Magical y Inclined Humans, wasn’t he?”

I’d had to write a paper on him in academy. As wel as being one of the founders of OMIH, he was from a family that had been practicing magic generations before the Awakening and reputedly had one of the largest col ections of ancient grimoires in the world.

“Yeah, but did you know he was local?” John asked. “He consults for the police on occasion, and he likes puzzles, so he might help you for a modest fee. I’l give you the address.”

Now I real y did owe him, though I didn’t say as much—I seriously disliked the feeling of debt racking up around me.

I jotted the address John gave me on a napkin and shoved it in my purse.

“So, back to the message you left me,” John said. “What makes you think you’l be able to raise a shade now when you couldn’t before?”

“I’l bring another grave witch. I’m not promising it wil work, but between the two of us, we might be able to pul a shade out of one of the feet. Can you get us access?”

The line was silent for a long moment, and I could imagine John tugging his mustache as he considered the imagine John tugging his mustache as he considered the obstacles ahead. “Wel , technical y you were already hired to consult on the case, so I guess there wouldn’t be much need to file additional paperwork.” In other words, if I performed another ritual, the higher-ups, and presumably the FIBs, wouldn’t know about it. “But I couldn’t pay you for your time.”

Yeah, definitely off the books. “Don’t worry about that, John. The department is already paying me for my time in the floodplain. Think of this as tying up loose ends.”

Besides, at this point, I was being paid to investigate by Malik—at least in a roundabout way—and it would have been sleazy to bil two different clients for one ritual.

The sound of papers fluttering on the other end of the line filtered over the phone and John said, “While we haven’t gotten any magical results yet, the DNA profile on the first three feet we found came in. Nothing. Not a single match.

I’m stil waiting on results for the second batch. I’m grasping at straws in this case.” There was a muffled sound of something hitting the mic on the phone, and I knew John had rubbed his hand over his face, his knuckles scraping the mouthpiece.

“Okay,” he said at last. “What could it hurt? Besides the FIB’s egos if NCPD finds the kil er first. Maybe your ritual wil be the case-breaker. How does tomorrow evening, about six thirty, sound? Those FIB suits never stay around here that late.”

I agreed to the time and wrapped up the cal . Then I looked at Falin, who’d been listening avidly to my side of the conversation.

“Come on,” I said, shouldering my purse. “We have to see a witch about a rune.”

“This is the one?” Falin asked as he stared up at the large brick wal topped with ornate fleur-de-lis.

Fleur-de-lis fashioned out of cast iron.

Fleur-de-lis fashioned out of cast iron.

I glanced at the address I’d written on the napkin and checked it against the large numbers in the brick. They matched. I nodded and shoved the napkin back in my purse.

While most witches lived in the Glen, the suburbs surrounding the Magic Quarter, Aaron Corrie lived
in
the Quarter. And not only in it, but in the very center of it. His house overlooked one side of Magic Square, the park in the middle of the Quarter. The streets this far inside the Quarter were narrow, cobbled, and reserved for pedestrian and horse-drawn carriages only, so I’d parked several blocks away and we’d walked. Now we stood on the sidewalk staring at the old house.

Okay, so in a city only about fifty years old, we didn’t real y have
old
houses, but in Nekros, Corrie’s house was what passed as historic. Not that we could see much of it.

The tal brick wal blocked most of the house from view. The only opening in the brick was a narrow walkway barely wide enough for two people to walk through side by side—I’d hate to see what Corrie would do if he ever decided to replace his furniture.

A tal cast-iron gate blocked the walkway. More fleur-delis had been worked into the gate’s intricate design, as wel as several runes. From more than a yard away, I already could feel the buzz of Corrie’s wards—and the nausea from being near such a high concentration of iron.

“I don’t feel very welcome,” I said, staring at the gate.

While cast iron had been popular pre–Magical Awakening, post–it was considered rude. And a sign of bigotry.

“I’m guessing we’re going in anyway?” Falin asked.

I nodded. I needed answers and I didn’t care if the person who had them happened to hate fae. Or maybe we were jumping to conclusions. Maybe he was just a fan of pre-Awakening architecture.

I scanned the wal , searching for a cal box. There wasn’t one, and now that I real y looked, I realized the gate didn’t one, and now that I real y looked, I realized the gate didn’t have any electronic locking devices.
I guess we let
ourselves in.
But I didn’t immediately try. Instead I reached out with my senses, feeling the magic in the wards and making sure old Corrie hadn’t cast anything nasty for unwelcome visitors.

His wards were powerful, but the only unexpected spel I found intensified the sting of the iron.
So much for the
theory on pre-Awakening architecture.
I stepped closer to the gate and a wave of sickness washed over me. My stomach clenched, my tongue curled, and I stumbled back, farther from the gate.

“Jeez, how do you deal with that?” I whispered, wrinkling my nose.

Falin watched me, his lips tugging down at the edges.

“Iron didn’t used to bother you, did it?”

I shook my head.

“You’l get used to it.”

“Yeah, right. If that was true it wouldn’t be one of the universal deterrents for fae.”

He shrugged. “Hey, I can offer you hope, right?” He gave me a smile, but there wasn’t much to it. “You wil grow accustomed to feeling sick, but remember that the symptoms are warning signs. Fae can die from iron poisoning, and if you’re experiencing the symptoms, you might be able to as wel .”

“Good to know, sensei.”

The quip earned me another frown, and I immediately regretted it. Like most people raised in the mortal realm, I had only dodgy knowledge of the fae at best, more than likely fil ed with enough gaps to hold one of Faerie’s endless hal s. If Falin was wil ing to share information without making me trade for it, I real y shouldn’t discourage him.

“Come on, let’s do this,” I said, nodding toward the gate.

The wave of sickness washed over me again, but this time I rol ed with it and forced my hand to reach for the latch rol ed with it and forced my hand to reach for the latch anyway. Falin caught my wrist before I reached the gate.

“Gloves,” he said, splaying his own gloved fingers in front of me.

Right. That made sense—and explained the gloves he always wore.

Falin grabbed the latch, and as soon as his gloved fingers touched the iron, his glamour shattered, his ragged and bloodied clothing becoming visible for al to see. I noticed that this time his holster and gun didn’t disappear.

He must have picked them up at his office. The gun added to his bloody clothing didn’t improve his appearance, and people on the street behind us stopped, staring.

I motioned him ahead of me as soon as he pushed the gate open. I fol owed close behind, and the moment we were inside he released the gate and let it swing shut behind us. It didn’t latch, but neither of us bothered touching it again to close it properly.

I expected Falin’s glamour to bounce back in place as soon as he released the gate, but it didn’t. I hoped Corrie didn’t peek out his window, because we certainly looked like disreputable guests at the moment.

“Give me a moment to rebuild the glamour,” Falin said.

He wasn’t breathing hard, but the skin around his eyes was pinched and I knew that brief contact, even through the fabric of his gloves, had taxed him.

And how much worse did Corrie’s spell make the effect?

“Iron does more than make fae sick, doesn’t it?”

Falin nodded as his clothing returned to its immaculate glamoured state. “Iron blocks fae from the magic of Faerie.”

So what would it do to changelings? We were almost to Corrie’s front door, so I didn’t have time to ask, but I made a mental note to avoid iron when I was with Rianna. Not that I was exactly seeking it out now.

I trotted up the front steps and ground to a halt. There was no bel at the door, but a large knocker. An iron knocker.

The doorknob was iron as wel .

The doorknob was iron as wel .

I gave a low whistle. “Man, this guy is serious.”

Falin grimaced at the sight of the knocker, but reached for it. This time I stopped him.

“Let me. I don’t have a glamour that wil fail,” I said, and he acquiesced with a smal smile that was either gratitude or amusement—I couldn’t tel which.

Digging through my purse, I pul ed out the gloves Rianna had given me when I visited the Bloom. I didn’t put them on, as short white gloves real y didn’t match my emerald green halter top, but I did use one of them to grip the knocker.

After banging out three loud raps, I stepped back and dropped my gloves back in my purse, waiting. I was becoming afraid I’d have to knock again when the large door creaked open.

Aaron Corrie stood in the doorway, or at least I assumed the old man was Corrie simply because I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone older and Corrie had been a young man during the Magical Awakening seventy years ago. It was obvious that he’d been tal once, but age had stolen his height and curved his back so that the top of his head with its thin wisps of silver hair reached no higher than my nose. But his green eyes were clear and bright.

“Yes? Who are you?” His voice was gravel y, as if he hadn’t used it yet today.

“Hi, I’m Alex Craft, a private investigator with Tongues for the Dead.” I held out my hand. Corrie’s handshake was firm but friendly, and almost unbearably painful. The heat of his skin did nothing but exacerbate the chil ing ache as his ring pressed against my flesh.
Iron jewelry? Seriously?
I’d had a lot of practice recently in keeping my face impassive during handshakes, so I managed not to wince or jerk away. When he dropped my hand, he turned to Falin and I rushed on. “And this is—” I hesitated. I’d first met him as Detective Andrews, but now that I knew he wasn’t, introducing him as such would be a lie. I also couldn’t introduce him as Agent Andrews. Corrie was fae-phobic introduce him as Agent Andrews. Corrie was fae-phobic and “agent” was a dead giveaway for the FIB. Final y I said,