Princess of Wands

by John Ringo

  Instead, Barbara slowed and then turned in carefully. The road was heavily potholed and might once have been a logging road but now was used for illegal dumping and, she suspected, as a parking and partying area for local kids. The trees were mixed pine and oak with an understory of what she thought might be beech. Without the garbage dumped in corners it would be a pretty area. And without the reason they were visiting it.

  Donahue directed her through a couple of turns and then she stopped when she saw the police tape. The area marked out, with tape around the trees, was about thirty yards across. It had, apparently, been turned over by animals.

  “When we investigate something like this we tend to tear the place up looking for evidence,” Donahue admitted. Most of the pine and oak leaves from the area were gone, leaving empty loam.

  “That also tends to make it harder for us,” Janea said, getting out of the car and looking around. “Where was the body?”

  “Wait,” Barb said, following her out. She looked around the area, then ducked under the police tape, moving to a spot behind one of the larger oaks. “Here,” she said, pointing to the ground. “Right here.”

  “You can still sense it?” Janea asked.

  “Maybe I got sensitized,” Barbara replied, looking at the ground unseeingly. “She wasn’t covered, was she? She was on her back.”

  “That’s right,” Donahue said. “But that was in the pictures.”

  “There’s not much else,” Barbara replied, swallowing. “It’s like a strong… I hate to use the word but ‘psychic’ imprint. Not only of the necromancy but of the dead body. I hope I don’t start doing this for everyone who dies.”

  “Anything about the killer?” Donahue asked. “We don’t even have a good tire track. We’ve got his DNA but…”

  “No,” Barbara said, closing her eyes. “Just the… sad feeling of death with that ugly hint of necromancy. That’s weaker than the feel of death itself.”

  “We can probably reach one more site today,” Donahue said. “But it’s older.”

  “We’ll go there,” Barbara said. “See if there is anything.”

  “Can I drive?” Janea asked.

  “No.”

  Even with a stop for lunch it didn’t take as long as Donahue expected to reach the next site. This one was right by a minor back road. Apparently the killer had stopped, dragged the body into the weeds just beyond the right-of-way and then driven away. The area was thick with high grass and blackberries and Janea hadn’t even bothered to try to crawl into the brush. However, it didn’t make much difference since Barb couldn’t even pick up the residue of the body.

  “All the others are older,” Donahue said.

  “I don’t think this is going to do any good,” Barbara said, pushing aside some high grass. “There’s hardly anything…” She paused and then stepped further into the grass. “You picked this area over?” She asked, turning her head from side to side, her eyes closed.

  “Yes,” Donahue replied. “Should have, anyway.”

  Barbara stopped and bent down, digging into a section of briars with a set expression on her face.

  “Do you have a set of tweezers or a bag or something?” Barbara asked.

  “Here,” Donahue said, handing over a long set of tweezers and a plastic bag. “Don’t touch whatever it is with your fingers.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” Barbara replied in a strained voice. She reached into the brambles and carefully extracted something, dropping it in the bag. “I don’t want to be doing this, much less touching it.”

  “Interesting,” Donahue said, taking the bag by the corner. “A gem?”

  “Moonstone, I think,” Barbara said, wiping her hands on her skirt again. “And it’s steeped in that necromantic… stench.”

  “Let me see, please,” Janea called, stepping up to the edge of the brush.

  Donahue first put a small yellow marker in the briars, then gave Barbara a hand getting out of the scrub. Barbara didn’t complain; the aura from the moonstone was nearly as intense as from the dead girl. Certainly more concentrated. The hand wasn’t entirely unnecessary; she was shaken by being as close to the gem as she had been.

  “That’s a moonstone, all right,” Janea said, taking the bag carefully. “And Barb’s right; the aura level is massive. I’d say that it was used as part of the rite. Perhaps a decoration on the althane or on ceremonial dress. I’d strongly suggest turning this over to Special Circumstances forensics. They have some ceremonials that might give us a better handle on what it was used for. I…” She paused, then shrugged and handed the bag back.

  “This feels as if it has been used for a power repository. But I don’t know a ritual that does that, not at the levels I’m feeling from this. The writing was from an unknown source and this might be an unknown ritual. In which case, we really need to know about it; we’ve got a library of most of the true rituals out there.”

  “I’ll leave that up to the SAIC,” Donahue said, pocketing the gem.

  “Well, leave it in the trunk at the very least,” Barbara said, shuddering. “You have no idea what horror you just dropped in your pocket. Think of it as every concentrated scream, every concentrated plea, every drop of blood, every soul, in micro, there in your pocket.”

  Donahue slowly drew it back out, then walked to the car and put it in a case in the back.

  “Wait,” Janea said, digging in the small bag she’d brought along to hold her “necessary” cosmetics. She pulled out a scarf and handed it to the agent.

  “Wrap it in that,” Janea said, backing away from the trunk.

  Barbara, even without being able to see what he was doing, could tell when the thing had been wrapped. The aura of evil was abruptly cut off.

  “What was that?” Barb asked as they got in the car.

  “Silk,” Janea said. “I was so overwhelmed by the stench from that thing I forgot. But silk will stop most power emanations dead in their tracks.”

  “I’m going to make some silk bags for investigations, then,” Barbara said, feeling much better with that… thing wrapped up. “And we need to suggest to the FBI that they invest in silk covers for bodies. I don’t think that being around that sort of necromantic power is good for anyone in the building, sensitive or not.”

  They drove back to the Academy, dropped off the gem along with a description of where it had been found, then caught dinner at a steak house.

  “I’d always heard of psychic consultants,” Donahue said, as the waitress left after getting their drink order. “And I’d always discounted them. I guess I shouldn’t have.”

  “Well, the Bureau sometimes uses what we call ‘real’ psychics,” Janea said, chuckling. “At least, so I’m told. People who think they have the ability to feel psychic emanations. We don’t do that. We have a sort of connection to a god. The god, in turn, gives us certain gifts.”

  “I hadn’t really realized I could do that until just today,” Barb said. “And now I wish I couldn’t. I can still feel the residue from that thing in the trunk and we haven’t really helped.”

  “Oh, yes you have,” Donahue said. “Just that moonstone could be a major key. In this case, we have a solid case against some unknown perpetrator. The DNA is solid, there are various other pieces that are solid and, guaranteed, as soon as we know the perp there will be witnesses that put him and the victims, some or all, together. Just the DNA, these days, is good enough for a conviction. We just have to find him. And that moonstone could very well be the key.”

  “Unlikely,” Janea said. “Moonstones are common in fandom and we’re thinking this guy is a fan, right?”

  “Yeah,” Donahue admitted.

  “Moonstone is relatively cheap and looks cool,” Janea continued. “You see it all over. I’d been thinking about the properties of moonstone. One of them is, yeah, the enhancement of power and power storage. But not at that level. If there’s a lost ritual that actually permits the stones to store power for a greater rite, then…”

>   “The stone was being used like a battery?” Donahue asked.

  “Maybe,” Janea said. “That’s what some people do. But not that powerful a battery.”

  “I want to know how it was attached,” Barbara commented. “Was it on a ring? In a setting? On a costume? What? I think if the… perp has whatever it was attached to at the con I’ll feel it. He… heck, I think I’d feel it if I was in the same county.”

  “Unless it’s wrapped in silk,” Janea pointed out.

  “The lab will be able to find that out by tomorrow,” Donahue said. “The con starts Friday evening in Roanoke. It’s small. In one way that will act in our favor; we won’t have as many people to try to sort through. In another, it will be a problem since we’ll tend to stand out if we don’t be careful.”

  “Careful is my middle name,” Janea said. “Of course, it’s from my real name and I never use that.”

  “I just don’t see you as a Doris,” Barb admitted, smiling.

  “Hush your mouth,” Janea replied, waving a finger at her. “I hate that name.”

  “Do we go together or separate?” Donahue asked and then looked at Barbara’s expression. “We’re staying separate, obviously.”

  “Pity,” Janea said. “Hey, if I go with Greg, there’ll be more room for the luggage!”

  “How much luggage do you have?” Greg asked, worriedly.

  “A lot,” Barb said, frowning.

  “You’ve got a rentacar, right?” the agent asked. “Why don’t I see if I can check out a Bureau unmarked Expedition. More room for luggage, more room for us.”

  “And you can drive?” Barbara asked, grinning.

  “That, too,” Donahue admitted.

  “We can do that,” Barb said. “I’m not sure how we get back.”

  “We can fly out of Roanoke,” Janea replied. “You can fly home direct. We’ll drop the rentacar off before we go down.”

  “Let’s do that,” Donahue insisted. “Among other things, it will give you a chance to catch up on your reading.”

  “More reading?” Barbara said, smiling.

  “You’re going to have to be able to discuss the collected works of K. Goldberg,” Donahue said.

  “Who?”

  “She’s a horror and mystery writer,” Donahue said, handing over a book with a dripping knife on the cover. “You’ll want to read at least one book of hers before the con. You can keep that one; get it signed if you wish.”

  “Great,” Barb said. “More homework.”

  Chapter Eight

  I’m not too sure about this,” Barbara said as they pulled into the parking lot. Donahue had managed to wangle an unmarked Expedition after he saw how much luggage was “a lot” and the drive down had been uneventful. But as they pulled into the registration area of the hotel and Barb saw the con-goers unloading, she got a little nervous. “I haven’t read science fiction in years. The only fantasy I’ve read is Lord of the Rings. And I’m only half way through Goldberg’s book and it’s the first horror I’ve ever read. I usually read romance novels for heaven’s sake.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Greg said. “We’ve got two rooms, a double and a king. I couldn’t get them adjacent but they’re on the same floor and wing. Obviously, you two get the double.”

  “And you’ll be with me,” Janea said. “Other than… you know, how much trouble can you get into?” She had chosen to wear a pair of hip-hugger jeans, stilettos and a halter top for the drive down. As she put it: “Comfortable clothing.” Barbara looked at her for a moment and shook her head.

  “A lot?” Barb said, chuckling.

  “Not at this con.” Janea sighed. “This is a lit-geek con. Now, you go with me to DragonCon or Arisia and we’ll burn the hotel down. I’ve got some costumes that would probably fit you…”

  “No way,” Barbara said. “I’m not wearing a chain-mail bikini.”

  “Okay, okay,” Janea sighed. “Jeeze. But… how about a corset?”

  * * *

  The hotel for the con was an old resort north of Roanoke off of U.S. 221. Time and highways had passed it by and it had fallen into disrepair before being purchased by an enterprising Hindu family. They had slowly fixed it up and then offered it as a getaway for corporate functions. Together with the occasional small gathering like the convention, and some solid work, it had begun to be regain its former glory. It was set well back from the highway up a steep and winding road through leafless trees. The check-in was smooth and with the help of a luggage cart they got all their bags up to the rooms. Donahue, in contrast to the girls, had only brought two small carry-on type bags.

  Once in the room Janea started pulling out outfits.

  “What do you think of this one?” she asked, holding up a midriff top and a miniskirt.

  “Well, it’s definitely you,” Barb said, shaking her head. “But we could, you know, wear the same clothes to go register.”

  “What’s the fun in that?” Janea asked, opening up another bag. “Or this?” she added, holding up a corset and a long, matching skirt with a wide slit up both sides.

  “What are you going to wear over the corset?” Barbara asked.

  “Nothing, of course,” Janea said, frowning. “What should I wear?”

  “Janea,” Barb said, gently. “It’s freezing.”

  “You’ve got a point,” Janea admitted, digging in the clothes. “I’ve got the perfect outfit.”

  The “perfect outfit” turned out to be another pair of hiphuggers, these with laces down the side that left large, triangular gaps, a bra and a see-through shirt. She threw a leather coat over the ensemble and then posed.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I still think you’re going to freeze to death,” Barbara replied. She’d gotten into the spirit to the extent of changing from the skirt and blouse ensemble she’d worn down into a pair of relatively tight jeans, a blouse that showed a small amount of cleavage and one of her heavier “dressy” jackets.

  “We’re gonna slay ’em,” Janea said, grinning. “But, really, I could loan you a corset. With that jacket over my green one, it would be really outstanding. All the guys would drool. They’re probably going to think we’re lesbians, anyway, and some guys really get off on-”

  “Janea,” Barb said, tightly. “I’m not an acolyte of Freya. Try to remember that.”

  “Oh,” Janea said, slightly abashed. “Sorry. Uhm… Greg’s probably wondering what took you so long, so let’s get going…”

  When they got to Donahue’s room it took him a moment to answer the door.

  “Sorry,” the agent said, waving them in. “I was checking my e-mail.”

  “You get that much?” Barbara asked, stepping into the room cautiously. She had a vague feeling of uneasiness entering the room of a person, a male person, she wasn’t married to. Donahue hadn’t changed and except for opening up one bag to get out his laptop his bags were undisturbed. She mentally sighed at the amount of room he had compared to them; his room wasn’t crowded with luggage.

  “I had a few,” Donahue admitted. “But I was replying to some and I called the lab. The moonstone was apparently part of a piece of silver jewelry. There were striations on the surface indicating that it had been set and traces of silver. It’s been sent on to the Special Circumstances forensics group to see what they can get off of it.”

  “They’ll take it slow,” Janea foretold. “That’s a damned evil piece of rock. They’ll have to set up precautions to ensure the evil won’t spread or contaminate anything or anyone.”

  “Well, it’s all we have so far,” Donahue said, shrugging. “That and the generic description of the perp. Have you two… felt anything?” he asked, uneasily.

  “No,” Barbara replied, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

  “Generally you won’t feel a necromancer,” Janea said. “Or so I’ve been told. Not unless he… It’s hard to explain. He doesn’t have to perform a rite but if he uses power you might sense it, Barb. And if he… sort of thinks abou
t necromancy… if he starts to slip into the mental state where he’d be… stalking or hunting, he might give off a trace. But if he’s just… wandering around or gaming or something, we could walk right past him and not even notice.”

  “I’d think that if he was carrying whatever had that gem on it, I’d feel it,” Barbara pointed out.

  “I don’t know whether to hope he does any of those things at the con or hope he doesn’t,” Donahue said, seriously. “This assumes he’s even at this convention. But let’s go register and sort of look around.”

  * * *

  “Welcome to KaliCon.” They had been in the registration line for about half an hour and Janea had already collected a legion of followers; the male con-goers kept running into walls as they passed. It wasn’t a very long line but there was only one person giving out badges and “Black Kitty,” or so her badge read, seemed prepared to chat with each person or group. Black Kitty was a short, wide woman in her fifties with thin reddish hair and a broad smile that gave her face prettiness that was belied by her overall looks.

  “Donahue, Janea and Barbara E,” Greg said. “We only registered last week.”

  “Well, let’s hope we got them done in time,” Kitty said, digging into the box that held the badges. “Sure enough,” she continued, pulling out badges and slipping them into holders. “Have you been to the con before?”

  “Not this one,” Greg said. “I’ve been to a couple and Janea has been to several. Barb is a con virgin, though.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have a good time,” Kitty said, handing over the badges, which had pins to stick them on a shirt. “We’re a very laid back con. There will be some room parties you might enjoy, though.” She looked at Janea and a frown momentarily crossed her face. “There’s a DragonCon party on Saturday I hear.”

  “We’re mostly here to see Miss Goldberg,” Barbara said, smiling. “I’d really like to meet her.”