Death Magic wotl-8

by Eileen Wilks

  “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 w
indow 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.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “YOU should’ve told him,” Scott said.

  They were in Rule’s car, headed for Bethesda. Scott was driving, of course. Lily had turned the heater on. The sun was down and the temperature kept dropping. Surely it was too early in the year for snow? She hoped so. She hadn’t brought a heavy coat with her.

  Rule was in the ambulance with Cullen. Her mate-sense told her they were still in motion, so they hadn’t reached the hospital yet. But they’d get there well ahead of her and Scott, having left first. Before Lily could wade through the surging sea of reporters to the car, she’d needed to hand off evidence and get a bandage on her arm so it didn’t bleed onto her jacket.

  Sherry had been right about the type of offering the elemental would require. The cut was small and tidy, on the inside of her elbow . . . her left elbow. That hand was working again. Not quite normally, but headed there. “I’m going to tell him. I want privacy for it.”

  She hadn’t had that at Fagin’s place. Once the elemental agreed to release them, things had moved quickly. They’d had a brief window of time to seal the deal with blood, then scramble or be passed over the earthen wall. Then they’d been surrounded by cops of both local and federal flavors, with the press just the other side of the barricades.

  “When are you going to tell him?”

  “At the hospital, probably. You don’t argue like this with Rule.”

  “You’re not my Rho. And I do get to argue with Rule if I think it’s important. Not during, but afterward.”

  She sighed and shoved back her hair with her left hand. Those fingers still felt thick and clumsy, but she felt them. She could use them.

  No pain bolt this time. Just a hand that forgot it was part of her body, or a brain that forgot how to talk to the hand. The paralysis hadn’t lasted long, but for a few minutes Lily had been scared shitless. She’d had Scott find her some coffee—old stuff that he’d heated up in the microwave. Ma
ybe it had helped.

  Lily let her hand drop to her lap. She closed the fingers in a loose fist. Opened them. Closed them. “Thank you for giving me time to tell him myself. I am going to. I’m not quite stupid enough to think I could keep this from him.” Or that she had any right to. But God, she was dreading it.

  Rule was teetering on some unholy edge. She might not understand what that edge was, exactly, but she recognized it. She’d seen his eyes bleeding toward black like that before—when she was threatened, when he was locked up, when the first of the power winds blew shortly before the Turning.

  She’d never seen the wildness try to take over, try to force the Change on him, when things were calm. He was angry that Cullen had been hurt, sure. But anger, even rage, didn’t threaten his control.

  Maybe he’d felt trapped because of the ward? That plus the imminence of the full moon . . . yeah, that might do it.

  Relief loosened the muscles across her neck. Much as he hated it, Rule did suffer from claustrophobia. Though it was usually triggered by small, enclosed spaces, and Fagin’s yard wasn’t small. Not like an elevator, which Rule hated but consistently used. Not like the cramped seating on a plane . . . which he also hated but consistently used. His eyes didn’t bleed to black when they flew across the country.

  But he had been trapped. Until the elemental agreed to let them out, Rule had been well and truly trapped. “Did it bother you?” she asked Scott. “Being trapped inside the elemental’s wards, I mean.”

  “I didn’t like it, but I knew we’d get out sooner or later. Why?”

  “Some lupi have a touch of claustrophobia.”

  “A touch of it, yeah, and that would be true for just about all of us. But there was plenty of room and, like I said, I knew we’d get out. I guess if we’d been stuck there a couple days I’d have started getting the willies, but we were only there a couple hours.”

  Two hours and twenty minutes, to be specific. Time enough for Lily to get quite a bit of glass bagged and tagged, with Scott’s help. With the help, maybe, of the coffee she’d drunk. Lily looked at the fist she kept clenching and opening. It was getting better.