“Cam didn’t actually try to blackmail you, did he?” Riga asked.
“He didn’t come right out and say it. But when I asked him point blank for the pictures, he acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about. What else could that have meant?”
“Can you tell me what you saw at the party before Madison collapsed?”
“Why?”
“Because I think Cam, not Madison, was the target.”
He paced in front of her. “The police have the photos, don’t they?”
“They have Cam,” Riga said carefully. “What did you see before Madison collapsed?”
He laughed roughly. “I forgot, you’re a P.I., aren’t you?”
“I am in California.”
He went to the window. Stared out. “Cam was taking pictures. Terry was there. She looked upset. I think she and Cam might be having problems.”
Yeah. And the problem was Cam was dead. Terry was going to have to know the truth soon. “Go on,” she said.
“I didn’t really see anything. I was watching Annabelle. She was telling this stupid joke…” He smiled. “After that, like everyone else I was watching the toast.”
“Did you see Madison take the glass from Cam?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Did you see anyone put something into Cam’s pocket? During the fight with Briian or at any other time?”
“No.”
Riga picked up her bag and stood. “All right. I’d like to ask Annabelle the same questions.”
“You might want to wait a bit. I’ve seen her in these moods, and they take time to blow over.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Sounds like good advice. Thanks.” Riga walked into the foyer, heady with the scent of cut flowers, paused, and turned back. “Why didn’t you tell Annabelle about the photos?”
“Because I didn’t want to hurt her.”
She frowned, thinking of Donovan, wondering when they’d learn where the boundaries lay, when they could stop acting alone.
“You must think our marriage is pretty messed up,” Jordan said.
“What?” Her eyes widened. “No.”
“I love my wife. We made a commitment. Sometimes it hurts like hell. Sometimes we break each other’s hearts. But I do my damndest to honor my promise to her. We got a good marriage. Don’t think otherwise.”
“I don’t. Think otherwise, I mean. Thanks, Jordan.” She escaped out the door, waited for the elevator.
What had she learned? Annabelle had professed ignorance of the photos. The singer hadn’t looked like she had been lying – she’d looked pissed. But she could be a good actress. And Jordan thought he was being blackmailed by Cam. They both had motives and the opportunity to slip the nicotine into Cam’s drink. But what about Cam’s murder, back at her house? She’d been so focused on the mystery of how a dead man had left the building that the original murder had fallen by the wayside.
The door slid open and she stepped inside, before noticing she wasn’t alone.
Mr. Smith nodded to her, his reflection wavering in the polished wood paneling. “Why, Miss Hayworth. Going down?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she decided he wasn’t the sort for sexual innuendo. “Yes.” She turned her back on him and watched the numbers above the door descend.
“I must say, I’m surprised by your behavior.”
“Taking the elevator?”
“Going down.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Meaning?”
“Mr. Mosse is up.” He pointed toward the ceiling with one narrow finger. “I just came from there. Your delightful aunts have been there all day. But you haven’t been. Strange behavior for a bride-to-be.”
“Have you spent much time with brides to be?”
“I’ve arrested a few.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be protecting him?”
“No. That’s what my other agents are for.”
“So he warrants multiple agents. Whatever Donovan’s doing for you must be important.”
“Who said he’s doing anything for me?”
Riga smiled, turned back to the elevator door.
“And what do you think he’s doing for me?” he asked.
“The answer depends on whether you actually work for the Treasury Department.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “You doubt my employer?”
“Oh, you work for the US government.”
“But?”
“I think you have to work very hard, and be very good, to blend into the woodwork as well as you do.”
“Would you like to know what I think, Miss Hayworth?”
The door slid open, an escape hatch. Riga schooled herself not to lunge for it. “You’re going to tell me anyway.”
“I think you’re hiding something. And I would very much like to know what it is.”
Riga stepped out of the elevator. “Then we have something in common after all.”
Chapter 25
Riga sat at the desk in her private room. A candle burned atop a stack of books, despite the nearby desk lamp. After a moment’s thought, she picked up a pen and began to write in a leather-bound journal.
She didn’t trust her aunts, couldn’t trust that Livinia would return in time. And they didn’t trust her. If they had, they’d have suggested she make the third in their magical triangle. No, if she wanted Donovan back, it was on her to repair the broken magic. But first she’d need to repair her own.
The magic she’d done in the clearing had been new. Though the spell itself had been nothing special, she’d pulled power from a source she’d never before tapped. Her pen hesitated, scratched to a halt. Cold wasn’t the right word for the energy, though it certainly hadn’t been hot. It had seemed to fill and empty her at the same time.
She made a disgusted noise, and threw down the pen. The above and below were easy to understand, but this energy hadn’t come from either of those places. She hadn’t reached outward; she’d gone inward. But the force that had animated her spell hadn’t been her own. It was something outside her, something apart.
Perhaps her aunts were wrong, and she wasn’t a necromancer after all.
But she was something.
She was lucky.
She’d been lucky the necromancer controlling those things in the forest hadn’t been nearby to finish her after she’d knocked herself senseless. Lucky Afreen had followed her, gone against her hunter’s training and kept Riga warm, called for aid. Lucky the spell she had chosen had fit with whatever power she’d drawn from. And luck, Riga knew, was not something to be counted on.
She needed to experiment, to train, to figure out this source.
Something glinted on the bookshelf, drawing her gaze. Reflected candlelight danced across Pen’s gaming book, glossy and garish. She rolled her chair to it and picked up the book, ran her palm across the slick cover. It hummed.
Riga gasped, and dropped it in surprise. Hesitantly, she bent, one hand hovering above the book and felt… nothing. She picked it up, closing her eyes, extending her senses and felt...
Book.
Nothing more.
Had she imagined it?
She picked up the book, balancing it in her lap, and let it fall open. Thumbing past colorful drawings of things she knew – hoped – didn’t exist, she found the section on spells.
Incorporeal empowerment… Who would want to turn ghosts corporeal? They were irritating enough as thoughts and ectoplasm.
Necrotic pus... Ugh. She couldn’t imagine making her enemies erupt into pustules… except, possibly, Vasily.
Summoning… She did that all the time.
Cast darkness… Okay, that sounded pretty cool.
And veil – her cloaking spell had been a disaster lately – maybe she needed to try a variation?
But there was no description of how to cast any of these spells – just lists of points and character classes, whatever those were. She put the book down, still open, and leaned her elbows on the d
esk, head in her hands. Christ, it was a gaming book. What was she thinking?
She stared at the book between her elbows, continued scanning the page.
Dread, protection against dark magic, a restoration spell after spiritual or necromantic drain, restoration of the undead… She frowned. That sounded like what her aunts were trying to do for Donovan.
A break the bonds spell... Riga straightened in her chair. The book described an electricity-based spell to break the bond between the necromancer and the undead he controlled. It was what she’d done in the clearing.
That… was interesting.
The candle sputtered, the flame lengthening.
It was just a gaming book.
A crease appeared between her eyebrows. But if she could create these spells, make them her own, as Brigitte had insisted… If she could tap that new energy, find it again.
She’d try something small. The book described a spell that created a greenish glowing ball of light… which could erupt into a much larger ball and burn the house down if she lost control. She shook her head. No.
The darkness spell, that sounded safe. And she might need a banishing spell to end the darkness after she’d finished, just in case.
Riga picked up the pen and drafted the spells, crossing out a word here, substituting a phrase there, until she was satisfied. She’d been practicing her recall exercises, and quickly memorized the simple rhymes.
Dropping her pen to the desk, Riga arched her back in a stretch, then stood. She fortified the protective circle she’d chalked on the wood floor with a ring of salt, and sat inside it, closed her eyes. Breathed. Focused on her third eye.
The power wasn’t there.
She grimaced. So where was it?
Okay, another magical exercise – word association. She relaxed her mind, and thought lightly on her experience, letting words and images rise, then fall. Cold blue energy, sparking along an electric wire. The clearing. Barbara Yaganovich, lips moving, but no sound coming out. Herbs hanging from the rafters. A knife. Hecate, goddess of magic, goddess of the crossroads, goddess of the underworld. Her aunts. The Necronomicon, vibrating in her hands. Pen’s book. They were all connected, all part of a twisted chain.
Eyes still closed, Riga blew out her breath in exasperation. Her lower back ached, and so did other body parts. Physically, she’d punished herself this week, and she was no longer a teenager, couldn’t just shake it off after a good night’s sleep. Not that she’d had a good night’s sleep in…
Dammit. She was off track, had lost the mental thread. Her head jerked left. Back to meditating on the mysterious energy source. To find it, she’d gone inside. Inside what? Herself, yes, but she’d sensed that although it had run through her, she wasn’t its origin. Inside, inside, inside.
An hour later, her legs had fallen asleep and she was no closer to an answer. She got up and hobbled to the desk, blew out the guttering candle. The answer was there, and she’d find it. She had to.
*****
It was past midnight, and Riga stood before the living room fire, warming the backs of her legs. The front door opened and slammed, her aunts chattering in the foyer. Their voices trailed off when they saw Riga, dressed in black before the stone fireplace.
“It’s rather late for a meeting,” Peregrine said. “I hope this is important.”
“Now don’t worry, Riga,” Dot said. The folds of her loose black dress swayed and bounced as she walked down the two steps to the living room. “Mr. Mosse’s man found Livinia and put her on a plane this morning. She should be here in a few hours.”
“That’s great news,” Riga said. She motioned toward the leather couches, with their brightly-patterned geometric cushions. “But I’ve been working on another magical problem, and I need your help.”
Peregrine strode down the steps to the living room and promptly sat upon the couch. “Of course. Least we can do.”
Dot sat beside her, and toed off her shoes, kicking them under a coffee table. She dug her toes into the oriental carpet and sighed. “Besides, we’re blood. Just name it.”
“Don’t be so quick to agree,” Riga said. “You may not like it.”
Peregrine’s eyes glittered. “Are you planning a heist?”
Dot laughed. “You do look like a cat burglar, dear.”
“That’s exactly what I’m planning.”
The older women looked at each other, then at Riga.
“Why?” Peregrine asked.
“That mobster who’s been harassing Donovan and me, Vasily Gregorovich – he may be a member of the black lodge that’s been interfering with our work.”
Dot smiled. “And so the circle closes. Nicely done, Riga. How did you discover him?”
“Someone from the hunting lodge told me.”
Peregrine leapt to her feet. “You went back to the hunters? You know what they do to our kind! You didn’t tell them about us, did you?”
“Of course not,” Riga said. “But they had information I needed.”
Dot clucked. “It’s a dangerous game, Riga. If you knew the risks going in, that’s one thing. But I’m afraid you don’t really understand the stakes.”
“I know that Vasily is a killer. I know that he has the resources to take out either Donovan or myself whenever he wants. He hasn’t done it yet, because he’s got some weird idea that I’m his magical destiny. But that won’t protect Donovan. I’ve got a restraining order against Vasily, but he doesn’t need to get near me to hurt me. He’s got men to do it for him. The police can’t prevent an attack. If I don’t take Vasily out of the picture, we’ll never be safe.”
Dot cocked her head, eyebrows raised. “Are you proposing a magical duel?”
“No, I’m proposing breaking into his lawyer’s office to get some dirt on him.”
“You’ll have to explain your rationale,” Peregrine said.
“Barbara Yaganovich is close to Vasily, and she doesn’t like it. She told me he keeps his most personal documents in a safe at his lawyer’s office. The office is here, in Tahoe.”
Peregrine stared sightlessly at a horse sculpture on the table. “Barbara Yaganovich? She went round the bend, didn’t she, Dot?”
Dot nodded. “Batty as a hedgehog.”
“What makes you think this isn’t a trap?” Peregrine asked.
“It may well be,” Riga admitted. “That’s why I want you for backup. My magic’s still not…” Riga waggled her hand.
“Really? But you smell like…” Dot looked at Peregrine, her face registering confusion.
“Like what?” Riga asked.
“Like magic,” Dot said. “You’re practically humming with it, dear. You worked magic, big magic, and not that long ago. What happened?”
Riga sat on the couch across from them, her hands dangling between her knees. “I was attacked.”
“By what?”
“I’m not sure. They moved like shadows, with long claws and teeth.” Abruptly she stood, went to the bar. “I need a drink. You?” She poured a glass of Zinfandel.
“Whatever you’re having, dear,” Dot said.
“Same for me,” Peregrine said.
Riga poured the wine, cradling the stems of the glasses between her fingers, bringing them to her aunts.
Peregrine took a sip. “Your Donovan certainly knows how to stock a wine cellar.”
Riga ignored that, and returned to her seat.
“They frightened you, didn’t they?” Dot asked.
“Of course.”
“I mean more than the normal sort of fear. They confused you, made you feel a terrible dread?”
Riga nodded.
“Wraiths,” Peregrine said. “How did you get away from them?”
“I used a spell to disrupt electrical charges.”
Dot leaned forward, beady eyes gleaming. “Electrical! That was clever. You disrupted the energies between the wraiths and the person controlling them.”
“But I don’t know how I pulled it off,” Riga said. “It�
��s not a tough spell. At least, it wouldn’t have been for me in the past. But I couldn’t draw the energies from the above and below. I was losing control, falling. And then… The spell just worked. I pulled energy from somewhere I’ve never gone before, and it knocked me flat.”
Dot laughed. “The first time I tasted death energy I overloaded, too.”
Peregrine frowned, looking down her long nose. “You wouldn’t get that sort of power from drawing your own blood. What did you kill?”
“I didn’t kill anything. The energy came from somewhere else.”
“How many wraiths did you say there were?” Peregrine put her glass down beside the stone horse.
“Eight, maybe nine.”
Dot’s eyes widened. “Nine wraiths!”
“Well, it wouldn’t matter how many there were,” Riga said. “Disrupting the energetic connection between one or a dozen makes no… What?”
Peregrine was shaking her head. “That must have been a massive electrical charge. And you say you didn’t draw power from your usual source?”
“Maybe something died recently in the area?” Dot suggested. “Or perhaps the wraiths killed someone?”
“No,” Riga said. “The only thing dead in that clearing was a squirrel, and it was months gone.” Barbara – her cabin hadn’t been far. She could have been attacked first, killed.
She lives.
The words were like a bell in her head.
“Are you paying attention, dear?” Dot asked.
Riga rubbed her forehead. “Um, what?”
“I said it’s an interesting puzzle.” Peregrine plucked at the tips of her newly shorn locks. “But I think we were talking about your proposed attack on this lawyer’s office. Do you have a plan?”
“Yes.” Riga lifted the glass, and took a sip. “I plan that two of us break into the office while the other keeps watch and provides any needed diversion. We get the goods on Vasily, and then run.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a plan,” Dot said.
“But she’s got her mother’s determination,” Peregrine said. “You’ve got to give her that.”
“Oh, yes,” Dot said. “Remember when her mother took in that young pregnant girl?” She turned to Riga. “It was such a scandal back them, but your mother knew what was right. What was the name of that girl?”
4 The Infernal Detective Page 19
