"You did all right."
Amanda shook her head. “I managed to prevent Ben from doing something he'd regret, but I wasn't a hell of a lot of help otherwise. I need to find someplace to set up a working circle."
Rachel didn't know what that meant, but had a suspicion it had something to do with spell-casting. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly but the younger woman didn't choose to clarify. After a moment she shrugged and turned back to Bigby. “Where is everybody?"
He glowered fitfully. “Last I heard Tooms and Shine were out on the streets showing that composite around. That was last night. They haven't called in this morning. Binks is out getting coffee."
"Too good for the zombie potion they brew here, are you?” she teased.
He didn't even smile. “I tried to call Tooms this morning. No answer."
She frowned. “You don't think...” her voice trailed off at the look in his eyes. He was worried, which explained the anger she'd seen when they'd entered.
He shook his head. “More than worried. You know Redburn—they roll the sidewalks up at dusk. There's no way they were canvassing much later than that. They should be here. And he damn well should be answering his phone."
"How ‘bout if I go look for them?” she asked. “I mean, if you're that concerned."
He glowered at her. “What took you so long to ask?"
He spun on a hell and walked back into his office.
"Well, hell,” she muttered. “Why didn't he just say so?"
"Your boss is a strange one,” Amanda observed dryly. “Is he deliberately obscure or is it something that comes naturally?"
"I haven't been able to figure that out yet. Come on—I'll take you somewhere you can rent a car before I head out to Tooms’ place."
* * * *
Rachel pulled into the driveway with her heart pounding in her chest. She could tell something was wrong even before she pulled off the main road. She wasn't even sure why. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she threw the car in park and climbed out, leaving the engine to idle. Pistol in hand, she slipped up toward the front door. Seeing it actually open a crack threw her heart up into her throat.
She nudged it open with a foot and slid carefully through the swinging door. Fuck. I should have backup for this. The only one available was Binks. Should have gotten Amanda's number, she berated herself, feeling stupid.
The door opened into a five by ten foyer. Light streamed in from the narrow window in the center of the door, casting odd shadows. She crept inside, leaving the door hanging ajar. Just in case she had to make a hasty exit for one reason or another.
She edged her way into the living room, peered around the corner. The entertainment center was against the far wall, next to a doorway leading deeper into the house. Against the opposite wall was a tan leather couch, chafed by years of use.
The walls were strewn with paintings of Jesus and a few photos of Bob Marley and Peter Tosh, among other figures she assumed were Reggae singers or Rastafarian leaders of some sort. She shook her head as she realized how little she really knew of Tooms. If she'd come into any other house and found this stuff she would've been pretty sure to find pot plants in the basement.
Racist? Or just realist? She wasn't sure, but the notion made her a little ill. She slipped through the living room to the doorway. It was a long hallway with a number of doors visible. Within a few feet was a door leading into what she assumed was the kitchen. She darted through, pressing her back against the corridor wall, pistol held high.
She took two steps into the kitchen and froze. It was clean, neat, and complete normal looking. She checked the back door leading from the kitchen into the yard, then made her way back into the hallway. The first door was the nursery. Inside were an empty crib and a couple of dressers.
The next door belonged to the bathroom. It was a standard bathroom. She moved on to the next one. The bedroom used by Tooms and his wife.
Jackpot. Of course, it was a mystery jackpot. The bedroom window was shattered. Inward, she noted, inspecting the glass on the floor. The waterbed hadn't been made and there was no obvious signs of a struggle. Also no sign of Tooms or his extremely pregnant wife.
She got on her cell and called Bigby.
* * * *
"We're going to need our own goddam CSU team if this keeps up,” growled Bigby, as he came in the front door.
"Like that's going to happen,” Rachel replied. “We're lucky to budget in fuel for our cars."
They stood alone about five feet apart in the center of the Tooms’ living room. Bigby had shown up within twenty minutes of her call, leaving Binks back at headquarters to “hold the fort” as he said. Actually, he didn't want Binks underfoot while they scoped the place out.
Since he didn't want to call in the Bend CSU for this one, he led her on a section by section search of the whole house. About an hour into it, she glanced over at him. Both of them were on their hands and knees, crawling around the bedroom floor. “You're good at this."
"It's all about patience,” he said. “And not getting so bored and frustrated you don't see what's right in front of your nose."
There wasn't much she could say to that. “Looking for anything in particular here?"
"Won't know until we find it. Hmm.” He leaned down close to the floor and pulled something from under the edge of one of the drawers beneath the bed. “Think this belongs to anyone here?” He lifted what looked like a gold cross on a chain.
"Seen the living room?” she retorted. “Wait a minute. Take a closer look at that."
He fumbled with it for a second and paled. “It's upside-down."
"Not a normal cross at all. A Satanic symbol."
"Which makes it very unlikely it was worn by anyone in this house."
"Satanic trappings seem kind of redundant for a vampire,” she snorted. “Kinda creepy, if you think about it."
He nodded, and then stood. “Let's scope the yard."
* * * *
They didn't find anything. The ground was far too dry to hold footprints outside the window. After about ten minutes Bigby called a halt. “Damn. I was hoping we'd find something more than that reversed cross.
"Doesn't look like it. On the good side, we didn't find any blood."
"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better."
"Tell me about it. Get a hold of Ms. Keening,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe she's got some hocus-pocus that can tell us more than we can figure out the old-fashioned way."
Rachel winced. “I forgot to get her number."
He smirked and shook his head. “You're forgiven. You've got a lot on your mind."
"Gee, thanks.” She pulled out her own cell, pulled up Athena Cross's number. “On the other hand, I'll bet I can get it pretty quick."
The phone rang twice. “Athena here."
"Athena—this is Rachel Flynn."
"I know. How can I help you?"
"I really hate to bother you with this—but I need Amanda Keening's cell phone number."
Athena laughed. “Okay. I'll zip it over to your phone. How are things going?"
"They've been better."
"Sorry to hear that. Please feel free to give me a ring if you need anything else."
"I will. Thanks."
Athena cut the connection without another word. Mildly affronted, she stared at the phone for a long moment before Amanda's number appeared on the screen. “How do they do that?” she wondered aloud before quickly saving the number, then keying the call.
It rang four times.
"Hello?"
"Amanda. It's Rachel."
"Hey, what's up?"
"Got a problem. A missing detective—and his missing wife. She's eight months pregnant."
"Ooh. That doesn't sound good. What's the address?"
Rachel told her.
"I think I can find it. Let me..."
Rachel heard the sound of keystrokes, then a grunt.
"Okay. I'll be there in what—twenty minutes?"
* * * *
It was closer to fifteen when Amanda pulled up in an almost-new forest green Cherokee. She climbed out and walked up to the front porch, where Rachel and Bigby were waiting in respective silence. She glanced from one to the other and sighed. “This is bad, isn't it?"
Rachel nodded as Bigby gave a snort. “I've been away from the office too long,” he said. “Who knows what kind of trouble Binks has gotten into by now?"
"Never know. Might've drunk some of your coffee,” Rachel said with a tired smile. Her attempt at levity fell flat at their feet and the Chief rumbled a thick goodbye and headed for his car, the battered brown ‘78 Camaro he'd been driving since it was new.
"He looks worried,” Amanda observed quietly. She followed the car with her gaze until it turned a corner out of sight.
Rachel had the sudden impression she wanted to say something more, but restrained herself. She shrugged inwardly. If so, she'd probably get around to it later. “I don't blame him. Got a question for you. Can you wiggle your nose and get us any more info about what went down here?"
"Wiggle my nose?"
"You know. Do that hoodoo you do."
Amanda stared at her. “Are you asking me if I have any magic that can animate a crime scene? Like some sort of mystical CSI op?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Damn. That's a good question. I'm not sure anyone has ever even thought of that. So, basically, that means it's not in my current repertoire."
"Oh."
"Hold the disappointment. Doesn't mean I can't try to figure out how to craft one. I just gotta find the right pattern."
"Huh?"
"Unless you can see and channel mana, I can't explain it to you."
"Fine. How long will it take to put it together?
"I need someplace I won't be disturbed for about two hours. Can you swing it?"
"Just do it inside.” Rachel jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.
Amanda winced and shook her head. “My instructors would've said this is superstitious nonsense, but I don't want to put together a spell in there. The idea just gives me the creeps."
"Yeah, I know what you mean.” Rachel held out the inverted cross. “What do you think of this?"
"Whoa.” Amanda reached up and took the chain from between Rachel's fingers, frowning at the dangling cross. “This adds a whole new element."
"That's what we thought."
Amanda rubbed her forehead with one hand, chewing on her lower lip. “Rachel—what do you know about Bigby?"
"Huh?” Is this what she wanted to bring up earlier? “Doesn't matter what I know. I trust him."
"I know that. But Chase's warning made me think. I looked into his background and..."
"Oh, no. Not you, too. Shit, Amanda, what are you getting at?"
"According to his records, he was born in a small town in Alabama in 1951. He joined the Marines in 1968 and spent two years in ‘Nam. Of course, it's impossible to verify this, since the county courthouse burned down the same year he joined the service."
"Okay. That doesn't sound too weird. What's your point?"
"Does he look fifty-eight years old?"
She hadn't taken the time to do the math, but the only possible answer to that was “hell, no.” He might pass for a well-preserved forty-five, but even that was stretching the imagination. For the most part he didn't look much older than Rachel's thirty-eight.
Amanda must've recognized the acknowledgement in her eyes. “Just think it over. I don't think Bigby's who we think he is."
Rachel nodded numbly. Could Chase have been right? But she couldn't imagine Bigby working against her—against the town. He loved Redburn. With everything he'd done for her, she trusted him more than just about anyone she knew. “Dammit."
"Sorry. So what about a place to put this together?"
"Oh. Yeah. Have to do it at my house, then."
Amanda nodded. “That'll work."
Rachel's phone rang. “Rachel Flynn,” she said.
"Rachel. I'm heading over to Shine's apartment. Meet me there in ten.” Bigby's tone allowed for no argument. She'd only heard that one a couple of times before.
"Yes, sir. See you in a few."
"Bye.” He hung up.
Rachel fished her keys out of her pocket. She unsnapped her house key from the ring and handed it over. “Don't mind the dog. He likes strangers better than he likes his own people. He's weird that way."
"I'll need a room where he can't come in. Can I use your bedroom?"
"Feel free. He might stand outside and yodel at you, but it doesn't make a difference—"
"It doesn't. Yodel?"
"That's what they call it. I can't really explain it any better, either. It's a noise I've only heard out of a Shiba."
"Shiba?"
"Shiba Inu. They're a small Japanese hunting breed. Cousin to the Akita."
"Sound pretty cool."
"Oh, they are. Independent little shits, though. Rowdy's one of a kind."
"Well, as long as he doesn't bite."
"I'm not sure he knows how to bite a person. Don't worry about it."
"Okay. I'll get that taken care of and then ... call you, I guess. I assume you don't want me to come back here alone."
Rachel shook her head. “Uh-uh. I need to be able to see or experience the re-creation myself, if possible."
"That's what I figured. Better get moving."
Rachel gave a quick nod. They separated then. Amanda had parked behind her, so she had to wait for the younger woman to back out before she could get out. She sat in the car, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, keeping time with some rocked-out cover of the old Coven hit, “One Tin Soldier."
She chuckled, realizing she hadn't turned on her car stereo since Cory'd disappeared. The CD in the player was his. She popped it out. A burned copy marked “Thor's Hammer."
Once Amanda had left, she pulled out and headed cross town to Shine's apartment.
* * * *
They were in luck. One of the neighbors had seen Shine getting in the passenger side of a red car. Not so much in luck that she recognized what kind of car it was, but they'd take what they could get. Neither she nor Bigby could think of anyone off-hand that had a red car, but that didn't mean anything.
"Maybe Shine's got a boyfriend,” Rachel said, thinking aloud.
"Could be,” the Chief said doubtfully. It was a small town. If she was seeing someone it was unlikely they wouldn't have heard about it from someone before now. Still possible, though. “Let's go up and check her place."
"Ummm. Warrant?"
He just gave her a look. “Ummm. No."
She shrugged. “Well, you're the boss."
They didn't find anything out of place. It was a single woman's one bedroom apartment, occupied by no one but her and her cat. The cat was the kind who didn't like strangers, so Rachel found its food and water bowl and refilled them before they left.
"No sign of foul play,” she remarked as they tromped down the stairs after giving the place the once over.
"Yeah. Still bugs me. Especially after Tooms."
"Well, she wouldn't have gotten in the car with someone she didn't know. Especially not after dark."
"My thoughts exactly. This case is just getting weirder and weirder. Was your magician able to pull anything out of her hat?"
"Not yet. She had some prep work to do first."
He grunted noncommittally and headed for his cruiser. “You hear anything, you give me a call."
"Uh-huh.” She watched him as he climbed into his vehicle and drove away. She couldn't imagine him having anything to do with any of this. But the questions prompted by Amanda's revelations just wouldn't go away. Great. I'm having some real trust issues lately, aren't I? First Chase, now Bigby? What is it with the guys I know? Is there a rule that they have to be mysterious all of the sudden?
She felt a sharp sting in her left arm. She caught sight of a slightly fam
iliar face out of the corner of her eye as she spun, but before she could focus he was gone. She rubbed her shoulder. What the hell just happened?
It felt like a hypo jab. She stripped off her jacket, pulled her shirt down, and spotted a red mark in the muscle of her shoulder. Holy shit. Someone just shot me up.
With what? Now that's the question.
She called Bigby on the way to the hospital. Thought better of calling Amanda. Something gave her the feeling that calling her in the middle of her spell work wouldn't be a good idea. She ground her teeth as she tried to get a handle on the face she'd just caught sight of. Familiar, but not too familiar.
Who had it been? And how had he—at least she thought it was a he—disappeared like that?
By the time she pulled into the hospital parking lot, she was starting to feel a little dizzy. She made it to the waiting room and collapsed in a chair. She felt weak and feverish. Did someone drug me? If so—with what?
She was still pondering the question when she fell face-first into the floor, out cold before she hit the tiles. The last thing she remembered was the nurses rushing toward her and then perfect blackness.
* * * *
She swirled upward into whiteness, the void filling with voices as she lay there in a cocoon of misty gauze.
"Her temp spiked to 107 for nearly five minutes,” one voice said. “She'll be lucky if there isn't brain damage."
"I don't want to hear that, Doc. What the hell's wrong with her?"
She knew that voice. Bigby. What was he doing here? Where was here?
"Some sort of virus. Nasty bugger, too. She's fighting it, but it looks like it's winning."
"Some sort of a virus? You don't know anything more than that?"
"No. But we have figured out how it was introduced. It was injected into her arm. See that red spot in her bicep?"
"I see it. Who would deliberately infect someone with a killer bug? That certainly doesn't sound like...” His voice trailed off. “What's going on?"
"She ... she's coming around."
Rachel opened her eyes. The hospital room swam around her for a long moment—long enough to induce nausea. She swallowed hard. “Water."
"Nurse!” The doctor, a lean, older man with a long, handlebar mustache and sandy hair with a touch of gray at the temples, yelled over his shoulder. “Get her a glass of water.” He leaned down and brushed her forehead with the back of his hand. “No doubt you're thirsty. Lay back and relax. You'll have something to drink in a minute."
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