Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set
Page 59
She paced the garden for a few moments, then went back to the cafeteria for more gut-rot coffee. She had to focus on what was important. And as much as she wanted a happy life with Ben, she knew she couldn’t live with herself if she let their fight distract her and another girl died.
With that thought held firmly in her mind, she went back to work. But it was a fight to concentrate.
Finally, after supper — soggy pasta with meat sauce — she packed up her books and went to the Federal Building, ready for a boring evening of hurry up and wait.
Brown called everyone into the conference area to cover the evening’s details, and she stood at the back behind a dozen real federal officers, trying to keep from being noticed. She was only half paying attention, since none of it applied to her, and instead of watching Brown she stared at the crime scene photos taped to the whiteboards behind him.
Nothing new popped out at her, and even though she’d been to the third crime scene in person, she still hadn’t seen anything different there. She wished—
There were many things she wished for, none of which she expected to get.
Shannon eased out of a nearby cubicle and stood beside her. While it seemed to everyone else that Brown had organized the evening, she knew it was really Shannon who was the strategic planner in the unit.
Brown was a leader and an investigator. He also didn’t look too bad on television and didn’t clam up when he got within ten feet of a reporter. All good things to have in a leader. Shannon was the proverbial strong silent type — at least the one in this world. He had military training and was terrifyingly competent with any firearm she’d seen him pick up. He also never seemed comfortable in any situation.
Maybe it was her. She didn’t think she was intimidating, although some men didn’t appreciate her height — men didn’t seem to like it when you towered over them, as much as she was sure every single one of them fantasized about dating a supermodel. But she’d seen Shannon in conversation with Brown and other agents when she was certain he didn’t know she was near, and he seemed just as uncomfortable with them. Perhaps that was why he was so skilled with firearms. Maybe he didn’t get out much.
Shannon crossed his arms and leaned toward her. “Gee, Hill, did you sleep in that suit?”
Where had that come from? — regardless that it was true. She stared at him, searching for any hint that she’d jumped worlds. But his eyes were brown, not gold, his hair was dirty blonde, not brown, and she could still hear Agent Brown droning away at the front of the room.
“Dr. Hill,” Brown said, his voice rising in volume to call to her.
She met his gaze over the heads of the other officers. He had that look, the one that said he’d called her name at least once before and she’d been caught daydreaming.
“Special Agent,” she said. She glanced at Shannon. If it were the other-world Shannon, he would have snickered, but the man beside her had become stony-faced, closing himself off from the world again.
“After the area is secure, Dr. Hill will look for indications of occult practices.”
She wanted to ask how much trouble he thought these people were going to be, but she resisted the urge. Brown wouldn’t appreciate her questioning him in front of anyone but Shannon, and if this coven leader and his followers were involved in the murders, they were certainly flight risks.
Then she really heard what Brown had said. She would look for signs of occult practices, which meant she had to be on the scene and not waiting in the office to listen in on interviews.
She bit back a smile. Maybe Brown’s boss was starting to come around. And maybe they just had three dead girls and no answers.
42
The coven Rowan and the Occult Crimes Unit team were after met on the outskirts of town at an old farmhouse. It looked abandoned. The team parked their cars and SUVs at the end of an overgrown driveway, where the weeds had been left to grow wild all summer long. To the casual observer, the weeds obscured any indication of use, but Rowan could discern the hint of tire tracks weaving up to the dilapidated house, which meant someone had been there recently.
But perhaps not right now, even though the girls back at St. Anne’s had said the coven met during the full moon.
All the windows on the house were boarded up, and there wasn’t any light from within. The front porch sagged, and the beam holding the awning up bowed under the weight. Clouds raced across the sky, revealing an orange, pregnant moon, and for a moment, no longer than a heartbeat, she thought she saw smoke curling up behind the house.
Brown approached her, a shadowy figure dressed all in black. “Stay here.”
She must have looked like she was going to argue. Or perhaps her boss knew her too well. Not that she’d really argue. More like ignore any unreasonable instructions.
“Let the people with the guns secure the scene,” he said, his voice low. Then he strode away, not waiting for a response. She opened her mouth, determined to debate the issue that she needed to get a look at things before his men ruined any possible evidence. If she was there to know what the coven was doing, then she needed to see and, more importantly, hear what was going on before the FBI stormed in.
But fighting with Brown in front of the men was a surefire way to get sent back to the office.
No, if she kept her mouth shut and crept to the outskirts of the action, she might be able to get close enough to see and hear what she needed. If Brown had asked, she’d have promised to keep a close eye out for any guns, certainly not to step into the line of possible fire.
Soooo, she’d just assume they’d had that conversation and carry on.
Yes, not staying put when dangerous people were doing dangerous things was dumb. But this could be her only chance to determine who the murderer was. She couldn’t risk him getting away and killing someone else.
Wonderful. Dumb was her only option.
Well, if she was going to be dumb, she might as well commit to it.
She wandered behind the vans, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder. She needed to look bored and boring. Brown had a lot on his hands at the moment. If she appeared trustworthy, he’d forget that she wasn’t and ignore her.
When she was out of sight, she eased into the tall weeds and scrubby bushes and ducked down. She picked up her pace so the FBI SWAT team didn’t get too far ahead of her, and curved around to the back of the house. She didn’t believe she could sneak into the house before Brown and his agents stormed in — or whatever he was planning, and really getting into the house was probably too dangerous — but perhaps she could get close enough to catch a glimpse through the boarded up windows and get a better idea of what was going on.
The night was warm for September, but maybe that was her nerves and not the weather. There wasn’t a breath of wind, and everything was still and quiet, creating a strange contrast with the dark splotches of clouds flying across the full moon. It made her think of the quiet before the storm, that moment when nature was building up energy, making skin tingle and small animals search for shelter.
In a way, she was one of those small animals. Her universe had grown, reaching into the impossible, and that impossible had become reality. Except she didn’t have enough common sense to find shelter.
She rounded to the back of the farmhouse, to the edge of a mowed clearing with a small bonfire on the far side. A group of people, camouflaged by flickering shadows, stood around it. Beyond, ten feet away, lay a cornfield stretching as far as the eye could see. The stalks stood silent sentinel over the group. It was a perfect place to hide. Or at least that’s where she’d run when Brown and his men came storming in. And she was certain they’d storm.
Brown wasn’t particularly subtle, and — even though he’d never say it — he didn’t want to risk losing his only lead. She was still too far away to discern anything specific, and although she could tell that someone around the bonfire was speaking — a man from the pitch of the voice — she couldn’t understand his words.
A shadow rustled the grass a few feet before her, and she froze. She was too close — at least to avoid a dressing down from Brown — and still not close enough to determine what was going on.
The agent in the grass inched toward the house, and she held her breath. It would be better, at least for Brown’s blood pressure, if she wasn’t caught.
She gave the agent generous space and continued onward toward the bonfire. The man still addressed the group. He stood on a box or something that raised him up a few feet. Either that, or he suffered from gigantism and was naturally head and shoulders taller than everyone there. If she were to hazard a guess, it was the guy they were after, but she was still a little too far away to get a good look at him. She squinted, but couldn’t see any farther. It didn’t appear as if those around the fire were doing anything, save listening to the man talk.
She inched closer, the grass and weeds scratching and pulling at her suit until she was on the edge of the light created by the bonfire. Near the house were a few wood and wire crates, all empty except one, with a thin, sickly-looking chicken inside.
The bonfire crackled and spat. She studied the scene but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, or at least anything that screamed evil occult fanatics who mutilated college co-eds. Chickens, maybe. But so far there wasn’t any ritual involved so she couldn’t say this was occult worship of any kind.
A breeze, the first she’d felt all night, swept over the field, blowing smoke into her eyes. She turned away, shielding her face. From the corner of her eye, she caught the hint of light.
Not firelight, more like moonlight reflected on water.
But when she looked back she couldn’t find any water. Just waves of long grass, weeds, and tired shrubs.
Somewhere in the sea of undergrowth were a dozen FBI agents, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. She wondered where Brown and Shannon were. Surely they’d gotten in place by now. But flickering shadows shrouded the house, and she couldn’t find them.
Again she saw the glow. This time, she kept her gaze unfocused, just off from really looking at it. It emanated from two people in the crowd, near their hearts. Just like what she’d seen with Seth and Azkeel and the girl who’d been friends with the victims.
She shook her head. Now she was seeing that damned glow everywhere.
The agent near her rose, hunched in the grass, and ran toward the house. Other agents crashed out of the bushes and weeds. Yelling erupted as the group around the fire scattered, running in all directions.
She raced behind the closest agent. The scene would be destroyed in the chaos and then she wouldn’t really know anything.
The leader bolted toward the cornfield. Shannon dashed from around the house, his long stride propelling him toward the guy, but she knew he’d reach the tall stalks first and disappear before Shannon could catch him. He was two steps from the field when a figure eased from the shadows of the corn. Clothed in black with his face turned away from her, she couldn’t determine any features, but she could see a bright glow around the middle of his chest.
The leader swerved to avoid the figure, stumbled, and Shannon tackled him. The two tumbled to the ground. Shannon rolled, landing on top and using his weight to pin the man down. Then the figure with the mid-chest glow turned, allowing the moonlight to catch his profile.
Seth.
His gaze met Rowan’s and he nodded, then stepped back into the shadows.
She dashed past Shannon and the leader, after Seth. It was more than mere coincidence that Seth had made an appearance, and she had to know why. From first glance, he had helped her, but she doubted that was really the case. He didn’t do anything that didn’t benefit himself, and whatever his agenda was, she was certain it wasn’t good news for her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Brown barked, his voice booming over the field.
She stopped, torn between chasing after Seth and listening to Brown.
“I thought I told you to stay put.” He stormed across the field toward her. “Don’t you have any common sense?”
She pursed her lips and looked for Seth, but with that split second of hesitation, he was gone. So much for catching him. She thought of half a dozen nasty comebacks, but couldn’t decide which would be the most satisfying.
Shannon fastened the leader’s hands behind his back with a zip-tie and hauled him to his feet. Close up and in the light of the bonfire, the leader looked like the warlock from the other-world.
She shivered. If this man was anything like his other-self, then they might just have caught their killer.
43
Hours later, Rowan watched the coven leader in the FBI’s interrogation room through the one-way mirror. She couldn’t get over how much he looked like Diego, the warlock from the other-world. Both worlds seemed smaller and smaller every time she turned around. Out of all the possible choices, decisions, and results, it seemed improbable that she would keep meeting the same people in both worlds. It made her wonder if there was such a thing as fate, some mystical fabric woven across all possible worlds.
The man was skinny, not quite Diego’s heroin-chic, but with the same long stringy hair. His complexion wasn’t quite so gray, but he was still pale, and he had the same dark eyes as the other-world warlock. He also exuded the same creepy, slimy vibe that would have made her sit at the other end of the bus just to avoid him.
Brown sat in the chair across from him, while Shannon stood by the door. Rowan hadn’t been invited in, and that cold shoulder had been present the rest of the night while they’d searched the farmhouse and the grounds, the entire morning filling out paperwork, and most of the afternoon waiting for someone to tell her to do something.
Now she had no more paperwork to write, and Brown and Shannon were back, after having taken turn after turn in the interview room trying to get information from the cult leader. Agent Brown hadn’t said as much — he hadn’t said much of anything to her since they’d returned — but she was certain he was angry at her for not following a direct order, yet again. And she… well, she was frustrated that she couldn’t tell Brown anything important about the coven leader or his practices.
There hadn’t been much at the old farmhouse that said occult practice save for maybe a chicken in a cage with a pentagram on it, and Brown hadn’t given her time to listen to what the coven leader had been saying to his followers — not that he’d known she’d been listening and needed time. And no matter what Brown tried, he wasn’t getting anything out of the coven leader, either. The man never admitted to knowing the murdered girls, only claimed that girls came and went. They thought being in a coven was cool, but weren’t committed to the religion, which didn’t surprise Rowan. Wicca, regardless of its cool-factor in popular media, was still a religion that required dedication. She doubted the coven leader’s commitment as well, but couldn’t go in there and tell him.
Besides, it wouldn’t help. They still had no evidence of anything.
All they had was that the girls had checked out the coven. She didn’t know if it would be enough for Brown to get a warrant for the leader’s residence, then amended the thought. If it wasn’t enough, Brown would find some kind of spin to make it enough.
Rowan doubted Brown would find anything, though. The more she listened to the coven leader, the more her thoughts kept going back to the mystic glows around two of his followers. The same kind of glow Seth and Azkeel had.
Azkeel had said it was a world-walker glow.
Kate, the girl from the school who’d been friends with the murder victims, had that glow as well.
Rowan left the observation room before Brown finished his interrogation. There was nothing there that Brown would let her do, and she didn’t want to risk him taking out his frustration over their lack of information on her.
The world-walking glow was her only con
nection, so far. If she could confirm that the victims were latent world-walkers, then she would have something to go on.
Not that she could tell Brown. Gee, boss, the big connection between the victims is a mystic latent ability to walk to a parallel universe, which implicates a demon who can do the same.
He’d never believe her. As much as he had her in the OCU to prove an occult link, it was the link that the perpetrator believed in magic, not that magic itself was real.
First, she had to prove that a latent world-walking ability really was the connection between the victims. And the only way she’d ever seen the glow was looking at the individual in person.
Which meant a visit to the medical examiner on the off-chance that she could see the glow on the victims’ corpses.
She left the Federal Building, surprised it was after dinner and the sun had already set, and got on the subway to go to the medical examiner’s office. Looking at the bodies was a long shot. There was no guarantee they’d still glow after death if they’d even had the ability in the first place. But it was better than waiting on Brown, or searching through more books to recognize that scrap of mystery text that had been found on the first victim’s body.
The subway rattled and groaned. The hum of recycled air and the roar of the car as it hurtled through the tunnel wrapped around her senses, dulling them, lulling her. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was, and yet intellectually she could work out that she hadn’t had much sleep in the last few days. It only made sense that she was tired. Except how could she rest when girls were being murdered?
Of course, working to exhaustion didn’t seem to be of any help.
She let her mind drift, flitting from thought to thought, but they kept returning to Seth. The sculpted planes of his body, his dark demon eyes, and the fact that he was connected to both the murdered girls and the missing entities.