Thrall

by Jennifer Blackstream

  “And you didn’t make him redo it?” I asked.

  Nikolaos leaned closer. “Never let them see that they’re getting to you, Ms. Renard. Good advice for all areas of life.”

  None of us said anything else until we got to our vehicles and Nikolaos had closed his doors behind us.

  “What did she do to you?” Stafford asked as soon as we had some semblance of privacy.

  “Some sort of psychic attack.” I pressed a hand to my forehead, hissing as the pressure sent waves of pain through my skull. “Whoever did it knew what they were doing. It was well-aimed and fast.”

  “What did they do?” Liam asked. “I mean, what was the point?”

  “Took out her third eye, looks like,” Stafford guessed. He looked genuinely sympathetic. “That has to hurt.”

  “Yes, it does.” I looked at Liam. “I used to be able to detect magical energies, see the colors and identify the spells. And if I concentrated, I could see alternate planes. It’s how I was able to help with our last case.” I closed my eyes as another wave of pain rolled from one temple to the other. “I won’t be doing that again for awhile.”

  “And Renee did it,” Liam said grimly.

  “I don’t know about that,” Stafford said slowly. “I’ve seen my fair share of psychic attacks. Renee’s expression went blank a split second before she struck you, Ms. Renard. I’m not entirely sure she was all there.”

  “You think someone possessed her?” I asked.

  Stafford shrugged. “I’m not sure I’d say possessed. But just because she’s a hatif doesn’t mean she can’t be anything else. Humans aren’t the only race that can develop psychic abilities. And psychic power can be unpredictable, even to the user.”

  “She seemed to know what she was doing,” Peasblossom objected, poking her head out from under my hair.

  Stafford jumped. “You have a pixie?”

  “I have a witch,” Peasblossom corrected him.

  “Right,” he said slowly.

  “I think it’s more likely that someone used her,” I said, massaging my temples. “But it’ll be hard to know for sure until we can talk to her without the lawyer.”

  “Nikolaos said she’s from Foundations too,” Liam said thoughtfully. “Maybe we can catch her there after she’s finished with work?”

  “With any luck, we’ll find someone else at Foundations who will talk to us now.” My head throbbed and I put my hand on Liam’s truck, waiting for the wave of dizziness to pass.

  “You’re injured,” Stafford said. “Why don’t I go to this Foundations place and the detective sergeant here can take you home? I’ll see if I can find out how Jamila got here, talk to some of the other people at this special employment agency and let you know what I find out.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Scath said evenly.

  I opened my eyes, surprised at the venom in Scath’s voice. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said she was offended on my behalf. “She’s right, I’ll be fine. We should go there now.”

  “Suit yourself,” Stafford drawled, heading back to his own vehicle.

  Liam waited until we were enclosed safely in his truck before turning to me. “Are you really all right?”

  I leaned my head back against the seat. “She put out my third eye. It should heal in a few days, but until then, I’m blind to astral signatures. I can only see this plane. I’ll be useless for detecting magic, and that includes Vincent’s forensic spell.”

  “I already have a Vincent, and we’ll call him if we need him. And I care less about what you can do, and more about whether you’re going to be all right.”

  “Eventually,” Peasblossom said, wringing out her little pink hands. “But it’s hard to say when.”

  Liam jerked out the card Nikolaos had given him from Foundations and checked the address. He shoved it back into his pocket and started the truck. “You said you can’t see beyond the physical plane. And you said Jamila’s attacker was someone with the ability to pull her to the astral plane. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “It’s not,” Scath spoke up.

  I twisted in my seat, surprised Scath had opted to join the conversation. “How do you know?”

  Scath leaned forward and held out her hand. “Give me a piece of paper and something to write with.”

  Liam lifted the arm rest in the center console and pulled out a scrap of paper and pen, handing it back to Scath as he pulled out of the driveway.

  “Renee had a tattoo,” she said, her eyes on the paper. “On the back of her right shoulder. It looked like this.”

  She finished the drawing and handed me the paper. It was a human eye, surrounded by seven concentric circles, the largest of which was the size of my palm.

  “I’ve seen something similar to this before. Seen how one of the rings is thicker than the rest? The rings represent planes of existence. Based on the most commonly accepted model, this thicker one would be the astral plane.”

  “There are seven planes?” Liam asked.

  Scath snorted. “Depends on who you ask. Magic users don’t agree on much.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. “She’s not wrong.” I tapped the paper. “The eye in the center of the concentric circles could mean he’s watching them. A more permanent arcane all-seeing eye spell. I can’t be certain, but based on what we know, there’s a good chance that this is how the man controlling Jamila knew she’d spoken with Arianne.”

  Scath leaned back against the seat. She’d left the pouch with the sleeping Majesty in the truck when we entered Nikolaos’ home, but now she reached inside to pet the furry beast. “That could be why the werewolf ate part of Jamila’s shoulder. Maybe she had the same tattoo.”

  I settled back in my seat. “We need to see if anyone else at Foundations has the tattoo.”

  “Someone who doesn’t have a lawyer standing by,” Peasblossom added.

  I tried a healing spell on the way, even though I knew it wouldn’t work. Healing spells were meant for physical healing. My third eye wasn’t physical, and there was nothing I could do to heal it faster. But at least the bumps and bruises from hitting the ground felt better. Small favors.

  My head fell to the side, and the energy of Liam’s aura hummed against my forehead. The gentle vibration touched my third eye, and even though it couldn’t do anything to heal it, the energy felt good. Like a vibrating massage chair against a sore back. And Liam smelled good, as usual, so that was nice. I took a deep slow breath, giving myself over to that warm buzzing sensation, letting my consciousness bob on the undulating waves of his aura.

  “Is this like a concussion where I should try to keep you awake?”

  Liam’s voice was soft and deep, as if he didn’t want to wake me, but was worried not to. I shook my head, realizing I’d pressed my forehead to his shoulder. “I’m not falling asleep.”

  He waited, but I didn’t really have more to add. Liam knew his aura felt good to me. It was what had made our working relationship so awkward in the beginning. But we’d apparently come far enough that me leaning on him was no longer a source of concern, so I didn’t pull away. I would have smiled if I’d had the energy to move my face.

  I may have drifted off to sleep. A sudden banging to my right made me jerk away from Liam, sending a spike of agony straight through the center of my skull. I hissed and shot a glare toward the window, recognizing the sound as someone banging on it to get my attention.

  Detective Stafford stood by the truck, leering at me. “If you’re done cuddling, maybe you want to join me in another death notification?”

  I wasn’t embarrassed. I had to care about someone’s opinion of me to be embarrassed, and Detective Stafford had skipped over that category like a wild Skee-ball.

  “I didn’t know you two were that kind of partners,” Stafford joked as Liam and I got out of the truck.

  The door to the front of the boarding house opened, saving me from having to respond politely to the jab. We all turned to watch as a woman
appeared on the front step, closing the door behind her. Her black hair curled just beneath her ears, and she was dressed in a charcoal pencil skirt and matching jacket, along with a white shirt. There was a nervous energy around her, the sort you get when you’re late for an appointment.

  “Hello,” Liam called out.

  The woman startled back a step, wide brown eyes fixing on Liam. “May I help you?”

  “Do you work here?” Liam asked.

  “I do.” Her gaze flicked briefly to me. “Did we have an appointment?”

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Osbourne, and this is my consultant Ms. Renard and her partner Ms. Scath. This is Detective Stafford. And you are?”

  “Dr. Aubrey Fakhoury. How can I help you?”

  “Do you know a woman called Jamila Samaha?” I asked.

  Aubrey’s face creased with concern and she took a step away from the ivy-covered wall of the building to move closer to me. “I know Jamila. Why, has something happened?”

  “If we could talk inside?” Liam suggested.

  The doctor shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze darting from us to the building and back. “I suppose so. Yes, come in.”

  “Seems a bit nervous,” Peasblossom whispered.

  I agreed, but didn’t say anything as I followed Dr. Fakhoury inside. The interior of the colonial style home was clean and open, with pale blue walls and lots of comfortable furniture in the sitting room to encourage social gatherings. Aubrey sat in a burgundy armchair and gestured to a dark blue sectional for the rest of us to have a seat. Liam and I sat down, but Stafford opted to stand to the side, between the couch and the front door. Scath stood beside me, close enough to Aubrey that she could intervene if there was a repeat of the Renee fiasco.

  “You said you had news about Jamila?” she asked, smoothing her hands down her skirt.

  “I’m sorry,” Liam said gently. “But Jamila Samaha was killed two nights ago.”

  “Killed?” Dr. Fakhoury leaned back in her seat, as if to physically distance herself from the news. “How?”

  “I can’t talk about the details at this time,” Liam said apologetically. “But I was hoping you might be able to tell me more about Jamila. I understand she lived here?”

  The doctor nodded, clasping her hands in her lap. “Yes. She’s been here longer than most. Everyone liked her, I can’t believe…”

  “Can you tell us more about what you do here?” I gestured around. “I understand this is a sort of temporary employment service?”

  “Sort of. It’s more like a trade school. Women apply to come here and receive training in a variety of fields. We help them sample different positions, and when they find one they like and are well-suited for, we help them find a master. To train them,” she added quickly.

  “So it’s for women only?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How many women do you have here right now?” Liam asked.

  “Four.”

  “That seems like a small number for a school.”

  “It’s very selective.” Aubrey glanced toward the door, then unfolded her hands and folded them again.

  “You seem nervous,” I observed, trying to keep my voice empty of any tone that might be interpreted as an accusation.

  “I’m late for an appointment. But of course I understand this is important. Is there any way I can help?”

  “Do you run the school?” I asked.

  “Oh, no. It’s run by an anonymous trust. They have a partnership with a charity in Syria that helps people apply for US citizenship.”

  “So people in Syria apply to this charity, and the charity chooses people to send here?” Liam asked.

  Dr. Fakhoury shifted in her seat. “I’m not sure exactly how it works. I don’t have anything to do with that end of the business. I was hired to serve as a physician to the women who come here, in exchange for room and board. There’s a chore schedule that the women follow so they take turns cleaning and cooking for one another. The trust pays the bills. That’s really all I know.”

  “You don’t know who you work for?” Liam asked.

  “It’s an anonymous trust,” she repeated. “A law firm handles the paperwork. Rittgers, Martindale, and Haynes.”

  “Did Jamila have any family that you know of?” I asked.

  “She had a sister in Syria. I can try to contact her if you’d like?”

  “If you have her information, we’ll take care of that,” Liam assured her. “But it would be helpful if you could tell us more about how Foundations works. Do you have the contact information for the charity in Syria? Who’s in charge of transporting the women here?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have that information. As I said, my duties are to the women after they arrive. I don’t know how they get here.”

  Scath shifted her weight, her green eyes flicking toward the front door. Liam looked toward the entrance as well, and a second later, the front door opened.

  Three women came into the house, talking amongst themselves in Arabic. Dr. Fakhoury stood quickly, and the movement drew the attention of the small group. The women froze as soon as they spotted us, and all chatter ceased.

  “Rima, Mariam, Kaila, this is Detective Stafford, Detective Sergeant Liam Osbourne, Ms. Scath, and Ms. Renard. I’ll be speaking with them for awhile, so why don’t you go to the kitchen? Whose turn is it to make dinner?”

  “Mariam’s,” one of the women said. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and the light of the overhead chandelier caught blonde highlights that had clearly come from a bottle. She smiled nervously at our group, and I realized she was wearing colored contacts to make her eyes blue.

  “Well, you’d best get started.”

  “Excuse me,” I said, standing. My head throbbed and I gritted my teeth for a second as I waited for it to pass. “I’d like to speak with all of you, if I may?”

  “Ms. Renard, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be the one to speak with them about… You know.” She took a few steps closer to the group, putting herself between us and them.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Fakhoury, but this is a murder investigation,” Liam said, keeping his voice calm. “We need to speak with everyone who knew her.”

  “Murder?” Rima gasped.

  They all looked to Dr. Fakhoury, but the doctor had her back to me so I couldn’t see her facial expression.

  “It’s Jamila,” she said. “She was killed two nights ago.”

  Like a switch had been flipped, the emotion drained from their faces. All except one. Rima’s face crumpled, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Do any of you know if Jamila was upset about anything recently?” Liam asked.

  “Jamila kept to herself,” one of the other women said. Kaila, I guessed, since Mariam had gone to the kitchen. “But anyone could tell she was often sad. Just look at her room.”

  “Actually, that might be helpful,” I said.

  “I’ll show you,” Rima said.

  “I’ll come too.” Dr. Fakhoury looked at Liam. “I’m responsible for these women, and I’ll be present for any questioning.”

  “They’re all adults,” Detective Stafford scoffed. “You have no legal standing to demand to be present.”

  “You’d prefer to wait while I call a lawyer?” Dr. Fakhoury said coldly.

  Stafford scowled.

  Part of me was curious about what lawyer Dr. Fakhoury would call. It would be quite a coincidence if it was Moghadam. I looked at Liam. “What company does Moghadam work for?” I asked.

  He took the card out of his pocket. “Kirkland, Katz, and Cromwell.”

  Not the same company then. I let Liam go ahead of me up the stairs, with Scath behind me, forming a glowering barrier between me and Detective Stafford.

  “Her room isn’t big enough for all of us,” Dr. Fakhoury said, pausing outside the door. “Ladies, why don’t you wait in the kitchen?”

  “I’ll come down with you,” Liam said. “I have some questions about the applic
ation process you all went through.”

  “I can’t let you talk to them without me,” Dr. Fakhoury said again.

  “You’re free to come. Ms. Renard and Ms. Scath are perfectly capable of looking at Jamila’s room. I trust you don’t feel you need to be present for that?”

  The doctor pressed her lips together, but nodded. “Fine. Let’s go, ladies.”

  I waited for everyone else to go downstairs before turning back to the room. The floor looked to be the house’s original pine planks, and the walls were unfinished brick. This was the third floor, and both sides of the ceiling slanted in a triangle to reach a peak of around fourteen feet. The room held a single bed, a small loveseat, and a pot-bellied wood-burning fireplace. Despite the cozy feel, there was nothing personal in the room to make it feel like a home. I poked around for awhile, looking under the bed, searching through the closet.

  “No pictures, no mementos.” I shook my head. “It looks like it’s been cleared out for the next occupant.”

  “No, it was always like this,” a voice said behind me.

  I spun to find Rima leaning against the doorway, eyes bright with tears as they looked around the room that had belonged to her friend.

  “Jamila didn’t bring anything personal. Dr. Fakhoury thought it was her dedication to Allah, a simple life without material pleasures. But I think she was hiding.”

  “Hiding from who?” I asked.

  “Herself. I think she was trying to forget everything about her life before she came here. I guess you have to do that if you’re going to become someone else.”

  “Shade,” Peasblossom said. “Come look at this.”

  Something in the pixie’s voice made my stomach tighten, and I walked across the room to the window. The blinds were down, but open, and Peasblossom peered out through the slit. She pointed.

  “Doesn’t that courtyard look familiar?” she asked grimly.

  I stared after her, and my heart plummeted. It was the courtyard where Jamila had been murdered. I turned back to Rima. She still stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked like she’d shatter if I touched her.

  Peasblossom flew closer, but not so close as to startle her. “Are you a student?”