Pain sank razor-sharp teeth into her hands. She gasped.
Her magic collapsed.
An impatient, ebony tendril of power, steeped in smoke and leather, commanded her magical eyes open. Murmur crowded into that tier of eyesight as well, as if he required her biology to sift the layers of reality stacked in the house like a cake frosted with death.
He snorted at the analogy.
A rainbow of energy signatures from the investigators crisscrossed the room. Frosty pink magic glittered in the air above the outer circle.
The Ink victim had cast the circle. Had the young man also drawn the symbols? To what purpose?
No. Look. Murmur tried to pull her eye muscles, to direct her gaze into tighter focus on the body.
Headache spiked, then subsided as his grip slid free of her visual control. She studied the dead man.
Go closer. He shoved her.
She stumbled closer to the line. The hair at the back of her neck stood on end. “No way. I can see the tattoo from here. It’s the Infernal.”
An Infernal.
Isa frowned.
He shoved again.
Growling at him as she tottered another two steps, Isa threw his grasp from her motor control. Her toes crossed the outer circle.
Jagged yellow and red power slammed into her like a tidal wave, punching through her sternum and setting burning hooks into her will. Breath hissed between her clenched teeth.
The attack knocked Murmur out of her head. He fell, sinking through her consciousness and out of any kind of sight.
Dimly, she heard shouts, and knew her back hit the door when the thud resounded through her rib cage.
Daniel’s magic sank into her flesh and soul, tightening here, prying apart there, separating the two. She recognized the attack. She’d fended off something similar the last time Zoog had been alive in her tattoo chair. Bait in Daniel’s trap.
This time, Murmur had fallen for Daniel’s lure.
Fury starched her spine. Golden magic seethed beneath the surface of her skin. The bubbles of liquid amber broke black.
Her magic. Tainted by Murmur.
She couldn’t care.
“Take cover!” she ordered aloud. With physical eyes, she saw cops sprint out of the room as if Sheetrock could stop magic. It couldn’t.
That was her duty.
Insulated from pain by the potent chemicals anger had unleashed within her system, she whispered a command. A shield coalesced around her as Murmur climbed, talon over talon, up the pillar of her rage.
She smelled leather scorching.
Couldn’t happen to a nicer demon.
Gathering a roiling mass of energy, Isa slammed Daniel’s fishing hook out of her body and shattered it.
“Return from whence you came,” she said. “And I hope the backlash lights up that son of a bitch like a Christmas tree dipped in gasoline.”
Murmur narrowed her eyes as if he studied her and realized that what he saw surprised him.
“And you,” Isa said to the tattoo.
He’s intent upon opening a portal between your world and mine. You and I are to be the key.
That pulled the plug on her temper. Power drained through the soles of her feet, taking her strength with it. The shield winked out.
“Key?”
Your magic, blood, and life force to open the door.
“Where do you come in?”
I take command of the legions of Infernals and other creatures that would pour unchecked into this plane.
“To what end? Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven?”
He imagines a world ruled by magic. The Infernals are meant to hunt those without it.
Isa gaped. “People without magic far outnumber those of us with it. That’s genocide!”
Murmur leaked a twinge of discomfort. It registered as a cold lump behind her solar plexus. The moment she noticed it, he ripped it down, leaving her with the impression of her innards scraped and bloody.
Her knees buckled.
Steve caught her and tried to bundle her out the door.
“No,” she said. “I’m okay. I stumbled into a booby trap. It’s gone, now.” Now that Murmur had triggered Daniel’s trap and she’d burned it into oblivion. Heartening to know she still could.
She waded in to study the circles, the symbols, and the corpse.
“Daniel did the Ink,” she said, studying the dead man’s tattoo. “It’s recent. It hasn’t healed. Looks like it tried to come off. See where the edges are torn?”
Steve had photos taken as she pointed out the information.
“Know anything about these circles and symbols?” Steve asked.
“I don’t. If I can have copies of the photos, I’ll see what I can find with my resources.”
Isa waited until they got back in Steve’s car to tell him about the frosty pink magic. She told him what had happened, and what Murmur had said.
He shook his head. “Just what we need. I have a pile of Ink deaths, Ice. Not the least of which is Anne’s marshal.”
“Why didn’t you tell—”
“Because sometimes, you’re more important than the job you do,” he snapped. “Sorry. Running on too little sleep.”
She’d hit capacity on handling feelings. Hers. His. Murmur’s. At least work made sense.
“How many Ink deaths?”
The tattoo listened intently.
“This one makes nine.”
“What the hell is going on? Until you sent Kelli Solvang to me, I’d never seen a single Ink death.”
“I know. I checked. US wide, verifiable Ink deaths per year number in the few hundred. Seattle had plenty in the early days, but since the Acts of Magic laws went into effect thirty years ago, our death rates plummeted. We still get a call once in a while from a Live Ink hack because someone codes on his or her table, but this . . .” He shook his head. “We don’t even see Ink going bad all that often. Maybe once a quarter, and most of those come from out of state. Even assuming our records aren’t complete and that the occasional John or Jane Doe dead body that turns up is an Ink death, we’ve never seen anything like this.”
Murmur shifted inside her skin.
She thought she heard the leathery rustle of wings. The sour slime of uneasiness crawled up her throat.
Was it safe to assume they both suspected Daniel was connected to the sudden rash of Ink related deaths?
Murmur nodded her head.
“We’ve got to find Daniel,” she breathed.
Steve’s brows lowered and his lips thinned as rage suffused his face.
“The bastard is gone,” he said, his voice pressed into iron. “His offices are cold and dark, the records of his phone and Internet usage wiped clean for the past two months. Official records show him leaving the country shortly after the snowstorm in January. He’s not in the city.”
Isa scowled and, without thinking, cast her senses out into the etheric city. Sharp pain stabbed both hands, and she had to force the tension out of suddenly rigid muscles.
Murmur uttered a malicious chuckle, but he accompanied her out into the cool, blue-gray symphony of Seattle’s aura. Splashes of counterpoint melodies in a rainbow of colors rose and fell against the backdrop of the city’s magic.
Out of the melody, a discordant jangle of yellow and red magic lodged in her soul, snapping her concentration and dumping her back into the confines of her overcrowded, shuddering physical body.
Both she and the tattoo hissed at the pain.
“He’s still here,” they said in unison through her single voice.
Steve shied closer to the driver’s-side door before conquering the impulse.
“All right,” he said. “Whatever happened to make you both sound so certain, I doubt I can use it to secure another search war
rant.”
“Even if you could, I couldn’t tell you where to look. Not yet.”
“Meaning you might be able to provide a location given time?”
“It’s not that easy,” she countered. “It’d be directions based on my impressions of the magical aura of the city. Turn left at the purple that sounds like a melancholy choral mass might not be any use to you.”
The skin between Steve’s brows crinkled when he glanced at her. “I—no. Is there a way to correlate that with physical landmarks?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried to find a connection between my perception and the actual physical streets, buildings, and people.”
Could she?
When they pulled up in front of Isa’s apartment building, Patty lounged against the bricks outside the door. Dressed in a plunging pink satin bodice, a dark purple lace skirt gathered over strategically torn silver petticoats, pink and purple striped leggings, and a pair of mile-high pink pumps, she opened the car door and leaned down to offer Steve a nod.
Murmur twitched, claws scraping across the chalkboard of Isa’s awareness. He crowded into her eyesight and hearing, then backed up what felt like a step, even though he was bound by her skin and bones. Odd sensation.
What the hell?
“You coming up?” Patty asked Steve.
“Not if you’ll walk her up.”
“Best offer I’ve had all day,” Patty replied, grinning.
Steve retrieved a laptop case from the backseat. “Reports on the other eight are there.”
“Is Zoog one of them?” Isa’s voice shook.
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll take a look,” she promised. That sounded better.
Patty took the case when Steve passed it across.
“I’m out of options, Isa,” Steve said when she got out of the car. “We’ve searched for where you were held. Rain messed up the physical trail, and my magic trackers insist you left no trail of power to follow when you escaped. If we’re going to find it, I need your help.”
A wave of numbness assailed her. She stumbled.
The damn tattoo all but rubbed her hands together in glee.
Patty hooked a huge hand beneath her elbow. “Deal with it tomorrow, Ice. Come on upstairs.”
Of course. What had made her think that Steve’s trackers would have been able to follow her magical back trail? That they’d already turned Daniel’s prison inside out?
Patty took the keys Steve handed over and ushered Isa to the apartment.
“Don’t blame his trackers,” Patty said as if she’d read Isa’s mind. “They don’t have the power to do the job.”
Isa glanced at her. She knew that how?
Patty hesitated on the threshold, shifting her weight back and forth on those nosebleed heels. She pinched her bubblegum pink lips tight in her pale face. Her rouge stood out in stark relief against her wan complexion.
“Patty, are you . . . ?”
“I need a word, Ice,” she muttered.
“Come in, please. Have a seat.”
She minced into the apartment and closed the door gently. Her heels clacked on the stone entry.
Isa peeked into the bedroom. Nathalie and Gus laid curled up, sound asleep in the middle of the bed. Isa caught the edge of the door and pulled it to, relishing the lack of pain. The hand still didn’t work properly, but it wasn’t dead useless anymore.
“I saw the excitement last night,” Patty said as she slipped off her shoes, set Steve’s laptop on the dining table, and then parked herself on the edge of the worn sage and rose sofa. “Police everywhere and a stink I will never forget. Couldn’t help overhearing that Nat took sick from whatever happened up here. Don’t suppose you want to tell me about it?”
“No.”
Patty chuckled. “Nice of you to let Nathalie crash here while she recovers.”
“Nice? She and Troy have me under round-the-clock guard,” Isa said. “If either of them stays much longer, I’m going to start charging rent.”
Patty had relaxed, Isa noted. Ikylla had joined her.
“Ikylla, tabby fur clashes with purple,” Isa said.
The cat twitched her whiskers and closed her eyes in smug, feline satisfaction.
Patty grated a laugh as Isa rounded the couch to sit down facing her. “I’m flattered.”
The drag queen blew out a long breath and left off petting Ikylla. Tension gathered in her shoulders and in the flexing of her jaw muscles.
Isa sat down facing her. “Patty, what’s up?”
“What you did today—with your power,” Patty said. Her eyes reddened. “Never do it again.”
Murmur and Isa started. “What?”
“Damn it,” Patty muttered. She pressed her thick fingertips to her cheekbones as if that could stop the quiver of her breath or the tears gathering on her false eyelashes. “I looked all over this city for you. I should have found you sooner than I did.”
Isa sucked in a breath. “I don’t understand.”
“I know. This is harder than I thought,” Patty said. “You know I wasn’t the only one searching for you, right?”
“Nathalie said she had dreams about me,” Isa said.
“And Ria had his boys beating the streets,” Patty said, an ironic and grim note in her tone leading Isa to believe that wasn’t just a figure of speech. “About three weeks after you vanished, he got some intel that led us to south Seattle.”
Isa’s eyebrows rose. “Patty.”
Whatever Patty heard in Isa’s voice made her pale and go dead still. She looked like a marble statue adorned in pink and purple.
“That night . . .” Neither one of them had to specify which night. How would Isa identify it? The night Zoog died? The night she was kidnapped? “You said something that got me thinking,” Isa said.
“You’re bad about that,” Patty noted, her tone muted.
“You know what police clean teams do.”
“And now I’ve said the word intel?” she finished. Her strained smile looked both pained and amused. “Not something you’d expect a whore to say?”
Isa flushed because Patty had hit on her exact thought and it sounded so judgmental said out loud. “Patty . . .”
Patty waved her silent.
Isa licked suddenly dry lips, wondering if she was destroying a relationship she didn’t know she’d valued. Even if she couldn’t define it. Maybe because she couldn’t.
“Look,” Patty said. “I’m a coward. It took me two weeks to work up the guts to even try looking for you.”
“You’re not afraid of anything,” Isa protested, frowning at the quaver in her voice.
Patty barked a gravelly laugh. “’Cause I stand on a street corner in this getup, screwing any guy who’ll have me? That’s not courage.”
It’s prison.
“It’s a cage,” Patty echoed the grim-sounding tattoo. She sounded grave. Sober in a way that made Isa’s heart curl in trepidation.
Where had a demon garnered so much insight? And what the hell had happened to Patty? Who and what had she been?
“I see the questions in your eyes, girl,” Patty said. “What I’m trying to work up to tell you is that whatever happened today to make you throw a freaking huge curse back at Daniel, I saw it. I won’t have been the only one. You know that’s dangerous. You think Daniel is your biggest problem. But you’re wrong.”
Patty had been miles away. How had she known that Isa’d done anything with magic at all? Isa stared, trying to see through the cake makeup to what might lie underneath, desperate to comprehend the sudden change in the prostitute she’d assumed she knew—that she’d taken for granted.
Murmur stared, too. Neither one of them took a breath for several seconds.
How many of the people in her life had she taken at face va
lue? How foolish had she been?
Nothing is ever what it seems.
“Thanks,” Isa muttered.
Patty eyed her. “The Ink?”
Isa grimaced.
Patty nodded. “I can smell him. Sulfur. Leather. Male. Sexy. Too bad he’s attached to your package. I’d be all over both of you.”
That surprised a wan smile from Isa. She’d expected Murmur to recoil. He didn’t. He took greater possession of her eyesight and assessed Patty.
“Back off, lover boy,” Patty said. “Even if Isa were my type, I wouldn’t do that to her no matter how hard you hit on me.”
Murmur scowled.
“You said you looked for me,” Isa said, wresting back control of her mouth.
“And I should have done it from the second you were snatched,” Patty said, focusing on Ikylla in her lap. “I didn’t have the courage because the last time I used magic to look for someone, I choked. A little kid paid the price for it. My sister’s kid. A perfect little blond-haired, brown-eyed guy. He thought I walked on water.”
Isa closed her eyes at the throb of fresh pain underlying Patty’s pressed-so-flat voice.
“I figured I didn’t have any business messing around with trying to find you,” Patty went on. “Seattle PD had its best people on the case. But after three days, your trail went cold.”
Isa opened her eyes.
“I couldn’t stand to hear Nat talk about her dreams. I could see you too clearly. So I pulled my head out of my ass and gave looking for you a shot,” Patty said.
“I don’t understand. Look for me how?”
“Magic, Isa.”
Isa leaned in, intrigued. She’d never have pegged Patty as magic. Because she hadn’t bothered to look past the surface. Self-disgust rumbled through her. She shifted, discomforted by her sudden awareness of herself as willfully obtuse.
Delicious. You’re making destroying you so easy.
Patty grinned and wagged a finger under her nose. “I’ve spent a long, hard time making damned sure you weren’t the only one to underestimate me.”
Nightmare Ink Page 18
