by Jayne Faith
He chuckled, a surprisingly warm and human sound. “No pressure, got it.”
I managed a tiny smile at his dry humor. “Thanks, Atriul.”
There was a moment of silent hesitation on his end. “Would it be weird if I asked you to call me Rogan?”
My lips parted in surprise. “The name of the mage you . . . uh . . .” I couldn’t think of a polite phrase for the mage you extinguished when you ate his soul.
“I know it might seem odd or even offensive to you, but I feel like it’s a way to keep a piece of him in this world. It’s the least I can do.”
“Sure,” I said. “Rogan it is.”
“I will be in touch soon.”
We disconnected, and I sat holding my phone for a few seconds. Would my reaper someday have a similar conversation with someone? Would it take my body as its own and then want to honor me by using my name? The image of the little nebula of collected souls welled up from my memory, and I shuddered. I didn’t think my reaper was like Atriul. Somehow I doubted my reaper would be concerned with such things as memorializing the human it’d killed.
I raised my phone and flipped to my contacts, where I changed “Atriul” to “Rogan.”
I dressed in sweats, a down vest, a knit hat, and gloves for my run. The temperature wasn’t cold enough for the air to sear my lungs, but in a few weeks it would be. For the worst of the winter months I resorted to a treadmill in the gym at the station, but for now I relished the freedom of my shoes pounding over concrete and the chilly autumn air stinging my cheeks.
After my sit-ups and pushups, I ran through the magic drills Damien had instructed me to do daily and then spent about fifteen minutes practicing with my whip.
Pleasantly spent from the physical and magical activity, I carried a mug of coffee into the bathroom and jumped into the shower. After, I was once again faced with what to wear to the Supernatural Crimes precinct. I put on the same form-fitting pants as last time, and found a blue chambray button-down shirt shoved to one end of my closet that wasn’t too wrinkled.
Damien showed up at about nine, and we sat at my kitchen table with our chairs pulled together so we could both look at his laptop.
“There are ways to protect yourself from verbal magic,” he said, scrolling through a document of notes he’d compiled. “You should take those steps for future protection, but obviously these won’t do much good for your current situation with Lynnette.”
“Could you send those to me?” I asked.
“Sure.” With a few keystrokes he sent the info, and a second later my phone pinged with the received message. “Now, if possible I think what you should do is find a way to break her spell, but without her knowing it.”
“Ah, I like that,” I said with an approving nod.
“But it’s the breaking that’s the problem. You could try soaking in salt and herb baths and repeat some spell-breaking chants. A skilled spell caster might be able to stir something up for you. But I think the success of that approach is unlikely, considering that Lynnette is powerful and seems to be quite shrewd. She probably wouldn’t cast a spell of verbal magic that would be so easily broken.”
“Good point.”
“Ideally, you need to find the spell cord that binds you to her and cut it,” he said.
“Cord?”
“It’s not literal, obviously. It’s . . . astral, I guess you could say.”
“It sounds a bit like the connection I feel with the demons I control,” I said slowly. “It’s like I mentally trace a line from my own mind to theirs. I’ve never felt that sort of thing between me and another person, though. I wouldn’t even know how to locate it.”
He leaned back with a thoughtful look, folding his arms across his chest. “Supposedly there are mages who can travel on the astral plane,” he said. “I honestly don’t know if that’s just a legend or not, but I could try to find one for you.”
I could hear the reluctance in his voice. He came from a family of renowned and powerful mages, and he was the only one with sub-mage abilities. He’d left his roots on the East Coast and come here, two thousand miles away, in part to escape the stigma of being a failure in the eyes of his family. I knew he had no desire to contact them or anyone in their network to beg for help.
I shook my head. “Thanks, but a mage’s services are way beyond my price range. I need to learn how to handle Lynnette without throwing myself into a sinkhole of mage debt.”
A tiny light bulb lit in my brain, and I picked up my phone to type a text to Rogan.
Any idea how to break a verbal spell on the astral plane?
My phone beeped, but it wasn’t a reply. It was a scheduling reminder.
“Guess we need to head into the SC precinct,” I said, standing with no small amount of reluctance.
“Hey, we got to spend the morning hanging out here drinking coffee in your kitchen instead of tromping around in the cold trapping demons,” Damien said. His half-smile folded into concern. “You don’t think we’ll get in trouble, do you? After all, we’re on the SC payroll right now.”
“Nah. I was up til after ten last night with the coven. I’m counting that as work time, since the Baelman threat is my only personal reason for putting myself through that nonsense.”
“The Baelman, and the spell that won’t allow you to do otherwise.”
I gave him an exaggerated pissy look. “Thanks for the reminder.”
He pushed his fist against his mouth in a poor attempt to hide a wide grin. “Never fails. Every time I think of it, I get a kick out of the image of you in a magic circle with all those witches, chanting and holding hands and swearing oaths to each other.”
He snickered.
I smacked his shoulder. “There was no fricking hand-holding.”
Damien drove us to the SC precinct. I’d expected something like the briefing I’d attended before, but this time it was just us plus Lagatuda, Barnes, a couple of investigators, and an SC technology expert. They took us to a conference room that was more cushy and corporate-looking than the chief’s office at my station.
“From now until the new moon, we’re going to do daily briefings here at this time,” Barnes said once we were all seated around a conference table. She sat at the head, of course. “That’ll be seven days a week.”
She paused to look at me and Damien, which I took as her way of asking us if we could accommodate that.
I nodded while Damien said something acquiescent. I didn’t love Barnes’s tone, but I wasn’t going to argue at a time when urgency was necessity.
“Lagatuda tells me your coven is prepared to perform collective magic to combat the threat,” Barnes said to me, pinning me with her eyes. “He’s also said you’ve learned something new about the Baelman that will emerge with the new moon.”
For a second I thought maybe Lagatuda had somehow bugged my call with Rogan but then realized that no—I’d told him I knew who was behind the creature assassins.
Everyone seemed to shift forward, waiting for me to speak.
“My source has confirmed that Gregori Industries sent the Baelman that killed Amanda,” I said. “I’m positive he’s correct about that. He believes the next Baelman will come through at or near the Gregori campus. This morning he contacted me to tell me his sources think Gregori has found a way to get more than one Baelman into our dimension at once, using the thinning of the veil, and the dark power that will reach its peak at the new moon.”
I expected Barnes to challenge me or demand proof of my claims. Instead, she gave me a grim nod and then rose from her chair. “Okay, we will fold all of this into our strategy, but it won’t change the overall approach.”
The screen on the wall lit up.
“SC has determined that it’s too risky to involve a civilian coven,” she said. “Please tell your coven that we appreciate the offer but must ask that they stay in their respective homes until we give them the all-clear. That includes you, Officer Grey. We’ll have each of you under guard. Now, we’
re coordinating across several different supernatural departments—”
“Wait just a second,” I interrupted. “You don’t want the coven’s help? You don’t even want mine?”
“It would be irresponsible for us to involve the civilians that the creatures are going to target. Each witch needs to stay in her own home during the window of time we specify,” Barnes said, her voice rising with a tone of authority.
I shook my head vigorously. “Sorry, but putting a couple of SC patrol cars on each witch isn’t going to help them one damn bit. The coven will be much safer if they’re—if we’re—all together. That way I can protect them, and we can defend ourselves with collective magic if we have to. Forcing them apart makes them each sitting ducks, and it’s just—well, it’s idiotic. Surely you can see that, can’t you?”
I could feel my face flushing, and it was all I could do to keep the volume of my voice under control. I stared at her with my hands raised in a near-plea. I could see what she was trying to force, and I couldn’t let it fly. SC wanted to keep the women—the targets—spread out to mitigate the risk. I could easily guess SC’s reasoning: if the women were all in one place, it would be too easy to attack them all at once; keeping them each in a different location was like taking a paper shooting target, tearing it into thirteen pieces, and letting the wind scatter it. There was a logic to it, except for one thing. Coven witches were stronger together.
I thought I saw a flash of agreement in her eyes, but then her face hardened.
“It would be irresponsible,” she repeated, lowering her voice in a way that told me I was probably right—she didn’t have a choice in this. Her orders came from above.
“You can’t force us to stay in our homes. We’re not criminals under house arrest,” I said, matching her steady gaze and tone. I gripped the armrests so hard my hands began to cramp.
“Actually, we are prepared to use force if necessary.” Her jaw muscles flexed. “We have to keep the potential victims under tight control. It’s for their own good. For yours, too.”
Hell, no. No one—especially not Barnes—was going to tell me I had to do something for my own good when it was so fricking clear that the opposite was true.
I seethed through the rest of Barnes’s talk about how SC would bring in Strike Team as well as their own supernatural special forces. I wanted to holler at her that Strike’s weapons were designed to combat arch demons. Their traps wouldn’t work on Baelmen. Their people weren’t trained for something like this. But I knew I couldn’t try to engage in a convincing discussion. I’d ask Damien if he could plead the case that Strike Team was ill-equipped for such an assignment. Maybe Barnes would be more open to him. Anyway, at the moment I was too worked up to be any good.
A few times when she seemed to expect some sort of reaction from me, I just gave her vague nods. I could feel Damien’s attention on me, the glances he was flicking my way when Barnes wasn’t looking.
When she reached the end of her presentation, she leaned one hip against the table.
“Look, I know this isn’t what you were expecting,” she said to me, speaking as if we were the only two in the room. “But we’ll be engaging resources that are way beyond your clearance level. We’ve dealt with unknown threats before. Have some trust that there’s more to this than meets the eye.”
I ground my teeth. “I see that I’ll have to leave the execution of your plan to you,” I said stiffly.
She nodded, apparently satisfied by my half-assed response.
“For now, we want the two of you to work on getting more specifics about what Gregori’s going to throw at us.” She flipped a glance between me and Damien. “You and Officer Stein are dismissed.”
I managed to hold my shit together until we were in the parking lot.
“They’re going to get Strike Team killed!” I burst out, my voice shrill with pent-up frustration. “And there is no way in hell they’re going to force me to hide out in my house. Wait till I tell Lynnette. She’ll shit a brick. I bet my entire SC paycheck that she has no intention of taking this sitting down, regardless of what anyone says. Can you even believe the nerve of this department? I honestly fear for the safety of the general public if this is how SC handles new supernatural threats. Piss poor approach, if you ask me. Fine example of bureaucratic idiocy.”
He waited, his key fob in one hand and his weight shifted over to one hip, until I was finished with my tirade. I kicked at a small rock and sent it skittering across the parking lot, stalked in a tight circle, and then stopped near the rear bumper of his Lexus, facing him with my hands planted hard on my hips.
“Okay, I’m done,” I said sullenly.
The car’s locks disengaged with a smooth, soft snick.
We got in, and I took a slow breath.
“So what do you think about all of this?” I asked.
“I understand their desire to keep civilians out of the operation,” he said. “But, I agree with you, it’s wrong to try to keep the coven separated. They’re making each one of you into sitting ducks.”
“I know!” I burst out, throwing up my hands and smacking my elbow against the door. I cleared my throat. “Sorry. You were saying?”
He pulled out of the SC lot.
“And I’ve been doing some calculations,” he continued, ignoring my interruption. “I don’t think Gregori’s creatures are going to emerge near the company grounds.”
“You don’t?”
“It doesn’t make sense, from a magic standpoint. There’s nothing special about the location of the Gregori Industries campus. Assuming that Jacob wants to maximize the dark power available at Samhain, he’s going to want a spot that amplifies the magical energy.”
I nodded, my eyebrows pulling low. “Yeah. Like a ley line?”
“Possibly. But ley line magic isn’t specific to dark magic. I’d expect him to go with a location that caters to the type of power he’s going to need in order to bring forth a horde of Baelmen.”
“Hm. Do you have any candidates?”
“I have a short list of possible locations, but . . .” He shook his head and a look of frustration crossed his features. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“What about the Boise Rip?” I asked. “That seems like the most concentrated area of bad juju.”
“Yes, it is. But it’s so heavily guarded, it’s a bad choice for him for that reason alone. Too much attention and too many eyes. Plus, the Rip isn’t special to the timing of this year’s dark harvest. As I’ve been able to discern, rips don’t change with moon phases or other events on our earthly calendar.”
“Okay, so you think it’s a spot that might be dormant, or at least uninteresting, unless the conditions are right.”
I realized we’d missed the turn that would have taken us back toward my place. Instead, Damien was driving us west on State Street.
“Something like that.” He signaled left and then pulled into the parking lot of a popular local Mexican chain. “I’m starved. Let’s grab something to eat, and then I’ll get back to my calculations and you can talk to Lynnette.”
After we were seated, I sent a text to Rogan and realized he’d never responded to my previous question about breaking verbal spells.
Got another one for you: what would you expect to be the most powerful dark magic location around here come Samhain?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a group filing through the restaurant toward a room that held tables that could accommodate larger-sized parties. When I twisted partway around, I expected to see a bunch of coworkers with matching corporate badges out to lunch together. But my gaze was met with the green sea-glass eyes of Rafael St. James, well-known activist and my one-time fling.
He raised a hand partway in greeting and veered over toward our table.
“Ella, I hear you’ve joined a coven.” His generous mouth quirked with amusement. “Have to say I’m surprised.”
I pursed my lips and gave him a look of chagrin, trying to play it do
wn. I didn’t want to let on just how badly I’d been snowed into joining the exorcist-witch’s coven. “Yeah, well, you warned me before: Lynnette Leblanc should be handled with care.”
“It’ll be good for her to have someone to butt heads with.” He let his half-controlled grin bloom into a full smile of appreciation, as if he were picturing me and Lynnette clashing and liked what he saw.
I shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll do what I can. Hey, I have a random question for you. If you had to pick a place where dark magic would be the strongest at Samhain, where would you put your money?”
His amusement dissolved into trepidation. “You’re not getting into the black arts, are you?”
“Good gravy, no,” I said emphatically. I tipped my head toward Damien. “We’re on temporary assignment with Supernatural Crimes, and well, I can’t get into details but we’re trying to combat something ugly. Just thought with your extensive travels you might have a guess.”
He tilted his gaze up at a corner of the room. “I’m assuming you’re looking for something beyond the obvious, so not any of the major rips. If you want to reach back in history, I’d say around Salem.”
“Like witch trials Salem? Massachusetts?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah. Site of some of the first European dark magical arts on this continent, right?”
“Good point,” I said. I noticed one of his entourage trying to get his attention and nodded that way. “I won’t keep you.”
“Good to see you both,” he said, and sauntered away.
I watched Damien watch Raf move through the tables to his group. Once Raf was out of sight, Damien took a long breath in through his nose and reached for his water glass.
“Yeah,” I said. “He does tend to do that to a person.”
Damien widened his eyes in a brief look of unabashed agreement.
“So is he your type?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure Rafael St. James is everyone’s type,” Damien said drily.
I snorted a laugh. “Yeah . . . but is he?”
“Not important right now.” He made a dismissive gesture. “I hadn’t been thinking of distal locations, but now that changes things. Maybe Gregori’s Baelman horde won’t originate close by.”
