“Thank you.” Mel angled the chair so she could watch her laptop. “I heard the clerk say your name. I know you were a friend of Cinda’s.”
Miss Hettie nodded. “I figured I’d meet you this week. Just not like this.” She let out a heavy sigh and shook her head.
“I was looking forward to it.” Mel’s nerves felt as tight as piano wire. “Considering Cinda lived here more than six months, I’d hoped to be here sooner. I wish I had been.”
“I’m sure you do. Just like I wish I’d bought her a damned gun and insisted she learn to use it.”
A gun? Advocated by this woman who looked like an aging peace-and-love hippie? Only years of practice questioning witnesses kept Mel’s expression bland.
The dog butted against Mel’s hip. Absently, she stroked his thick, soft coat.
“Cinda didn’t like guns,” Mel said quietly. “And she could be stubborn.”
She’d wanted Mel to be more stubborn, to pursue the music she loved, but she’d understood and accepted Mel’s choice of law enforcement. Only to have Mel delay coming when Cinda needed the skills that came with that career. Hell.
Miss Hettie shot her a bitter glance. “I don’t have a particular fondness for guns, either, outside of hunting, but they’re almighty useful sometimes. Peace and love and sunshine don’t rule the world yet.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“I don’t suppose you would, Special Agent.” Miss Hettie’s lips tightened, and she glared out at the street. Her chest rose and fell in a long, deep breath. “I expect you’ve seen your share of the world’s darkness.”
With an extra dose of it night before last. Mel pushed away the image of Cinda’s dead face. “Why did you want her to have a firearm?”
“She heard things. Thought she saw things out of the corner of her eye, but she’d look and find nothing there.”
“She mentioned that. But she also said she might be overly imaginative.”
Miss Hettie snorted. “Typical Southern woman of the old school. We downplay it when we ask anybody for anything. No right to impose, you know.”
“I do know.” Mel let her fingers slide into the big dog’s ruff, the warm fur soft but not comforting. “I should’ve seen through that.”
“Woulda, shoulda, coulda.” Miss Hettie shook her head. “She tell you she felt like she was being watched when she was out in the yard some nights? Or that one time she thought, just for a second, she saw somebody with purple eyes lookin’ in her window?”
“No,” Mel said, feeling sick. “No, she didn’t.”
If she had, Mel would’ve been more worried, more afraid of a definite menace. Or a deterioration in Cinda’s faculties. Either way, she would’ve been down here sooner. Maybe in time.
“As I told Sheriff Burton, there’s Cinda’s shoulda,” Miss Hettie said. “She should’ve reported what she saw.” Studying Mel, she added, “So now you blame yourself. Think you ought to’ve been here sooner, taken it more seriously.”
“Yes.” The word echoed with the bitter pain gouging Mel’s soul.
“There’s a lot of that goin’ around. Strange things happen around that swamp. Have for centuries, and not all of ’em are harmless.”
A chill rippled over Mel’s arms. Defying the eerie sensation, she lifted her chin. She couldn’t let this town’s fondness for the supernatural, or a resident’s belief in it, derail an investigation. “The sheriff’s deputy mentioned Wiccans. Maybe that’s who Cinda thought she saw.”
Hettie shook her head. “They wouldn’t hurt anybody. Not our local ones, anyway. The Oracle says you’re giving our local officers a hand?” When Mel nodded, the older woman added, “You ask questions out around the swamp, you’ll hear a lot of strange stories.”
The other woman’s soft tones made Mel’s skin prickle. Crap, what was wrong with her? “Most strange stories have a logical, if occasionally sick, explanation. Cinda’s murder will, too.”
Miss Hettie pursed her lips. After a moment, she said, “I hope you’re right.”
“I’m confident.” Mel smiled. But a tremor of uneasiness ran down her spine.
Chapter 6
Stefan leaned back from the microscope and rubbed his gritty eyes. He’d been staring into the viewer too long.
Standing, he rolled his shoulders to work out the knots from leaning over the counter. Late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the lab’s high windows above him. He took a couple of backward steps to stand in the light and boost his power.
Gleaming workstations lined the long room’s walls. An island in the middle held stations for Bunsen burners, a centrifuge, spectrometers, and several instruments for analysis of DNA, plus some specialized equipment that Stefan had designed to measure venom levels in both mage and human blood. The door to his left led into a cold room. The Collegium had state-of-the-art equipment, but none of it had done him any good.
Maybe that was because he wasn’t at top efficiency. Mel’s face kept drifting across his mind.
Now she was heartsick with grief, in need of some friendly support, and she didn’t want anything to do with him.
Stefan blew out a hard breath. He needed to stop rehashing things that were long past.
Maybe a change of scene would help get him back on track. He’d planned to check on Javy, anyway.
The lab’s automatic doors shushed apart as he strolled toward them and closed behind him with the same sound.
He was alone in the hall. The quarantine suite at the end of the floor was currently empty, for which he was grateful. The lab director was off for the day, and no one else had offices up here.
Still mulling the problem, he took the elevator down to the second floor and the infirmary.
The door to Javy’s room stood ajar. He was about to tap on it when his cell rang. Tugging it out of his pocket, he glanced at it. Will. That might mean news. Stefan swiped his finger over the screen. “Hey.”
“I’m in the medical lab. You better get up here fast. One of your experiments is going apeshit.”
“Apeshit, how? I just left there.” Stefan ran for the stairs. Shoving open the door, rushing into the red glare of sunset coming through the landing window, he said, “Describe it.”
“A glass beaker by the microscopes is vibrating. The liquid in it’s churning. There’s a broken slide on the floor with more of that crap spilling off it.”
Stefan’s long legs took the stairs three at a time. He passed the third floor landing. “Don’t touch it.”
“What am I, stupid? I put a shield around it.”
“Good. I’m coming up. What’re you doing there, anyway?”
“I was looking for you. Now it’s pushing against my barrier. Hell, Stefan, what is that shit?”
“Extremely strong venom.” He hit the fourth-floor door and shoved through at a run. Seconds later, he squeezed between the parting lab doors before they were fully open.
Will stood six feet from the far corner, watching the shield glowing silver around that area. He glanced at Stefan. “That stuff look purple to you?”
Stefan stopped at Will’s side. He tilted his head at the same angle as his friend’s and looked through the glow. “Yes.”
He and Will traded an oh, fuck glance. Normal ghoul venom was brown, as this sample had been when Stefan left the lab a few minutes ago. Purple eyes, and possibly purple-tinted venom, implied the presence of Void demons. If they were somehow mixing their blood with ghouls’, the world was in serious trouble.
“Since there aren’t supposed to be any Void demons on Earth, I guess your buddy Jonas will be all over this,” Stefan said.
“He loves a mystery.” Will frowned. “You know, the beaker started moving around sunset. It eased up as the sun dropped farther below the horizon.”
“And ghouls are stronger at night. That could be it, a response to the sunset.”
The last hint of sunlight dimmed and vanished on the ceiling above them. The fluid stopped churning. The beaker stilled.
“Any progress today?” Will asked.
“No, damn it. Despite all this equipment, I couldn’t pin down the way the venom in this latest victim differs from the usual. The cells are bigger, sure, but that doesn’t account for the difference in the smell and toxicity. Or explain the bizarre pattern of these ghoul-inflicted wounds over the nerve junctions.”
Liquid chromatography and mass spectrometry, the usual methods for studying acids in bile and its cousin, venom, had let him down this time. “If the ghouls are going for livers,” Stefan added, “the most obvious reason is something to do with the bile.”
“You’d think so.” Frowning, Will said, “Maybe it’s something magical, something to do with the purple eyes. Before you ask, I e-mailed Jonas, but I got nothin’ so far.”
“Join the club.” Stefan peered through the shield’s glow. The beaker looked different. “What the hell? Let me through.”
Will dropped the shield. When Stefan grabbed the beaker, the glass felt warm. “There’s more of this than I started with. If it’s doing this in a beaker, I’d better find out what it’s doing in Wiley Boone’s bloodstream.”
* * *
When Stefan reached Boone’s room, a little over an hour later, the thin, gray-haired man shifted restlessly in the bed. His eyes were closed, his skin flushed as though from fever. He looked much the same as he had when Stefan scried him to check his condition before leaving the Collegium.
As a consulting physician brought in by his regular doctor, Stefan had every right to be there. Working magic on him was a different matter, and it unfortunately appeared to be necessary. Again.
Stefan had retrieved Boone’s chart from the nurses’ station. He laid it on the bed table and dropped the messenger bag that held his magical supplies on the floor by the bed. The best way to treat Boone secretly was to put him to sleep and hold him there, but it crossed an important line. Stefan had done it before and would do it again if he needed to.
He laid a hand over Boone’s eyes and whispered, “Dormi,” feeding power into the word.
The command to sleep took effect immediately. Cleansing Boone’s blood required concentration Stefan couldn’t spare to hide himself. He’d just have to hope no one came in while he was working. Doctors could get away with a lot, but burning candles and applying herbal poultices were not part of Mundane treatment protocols.
He made a quick chart note about checking Boone’s bandages and taking his pulse, then peeled back the gown to bare the dressing on the right shoulder. Mel’s timely arrival at Boone’s house had spared him a wound over the liver, but the sets of five punctures around the right shoulder and at the base of the spine had bled freely. Odd that the ghoul hadn’t taken blood, as Lucinda Baldwin’s killer had, but maybe Mel’s intervention had also prevented that.
The shoulder dressing looked fresh, but the faint ammonia tang of venom hovered in the air. Stefan set the bandages, tape, herbal poultices, and lavender candle he’d brought on the bed table. Then he lit the candle, triggering the healing magic in its scent.
Only after Boone had inhaled the fragrant smoke for a full minute did Stefan gently remove the tape and gauze over his shoulder wounds. “You’re going to be okay, Wiley,” he said softly. “I won’t let you down.”
Thick, brown venom stained the bandages and bubbled from the four punctures. The one on the back was probably the same.
Weaving magic into an herbal plaster, Stefan laid it over the wound. It would draw the venom to the surface. Too bad he couldn’t play music without someone hearing. He’d grown adept at using it to speed healing.
He worked quickly, replacing the stained bandages with poultices over the single puncture on the back of the shoulder and the five at the base of the spine. The pungent reek of ammonia grew ever stronger as venom saturated the bandages. So damned much of it, soaking through the herbs and into the gauze backing.
Three times, Stefan changed the poultices, murmuring reassurances to the sleeping man. The third time, the stain was smaller, the scent weaker.
Progress. At last.
He stared at the plastic bag full of discarded, bloody poultices. Drawing the venom out without also removing at least a little blood wasn’t possible, and a wounded patient could spare only so much. The dirty bandages probably contained about a pint, with more venom still in Boone’s system. Only traces of the vile stuff were coming out now, but would sundown tomorrow spur it to lethal levels again?
Stefan studied the man’s thin, lined face. He looked pale but less jaundiced. He was resting easily, not twitching or shifting in the magically imposed slumber. A quick magical scan showed vitals within normal limits.
So far, so good, but Stefan’s gut said taking much more blood would be dangerous. He’d learned to listen to his instincts.
With ordinary venom, Boone would be able to recover at this point. Trusting that, in the circumstances, felt dicey.
Stefan stretched his cramped neck. He’d bent over the bed too long, with more yet to do.
After a moment’s thought, he changed the herbal plasters for fresh bandages identical to those he’d removed on arrival. Mage power could destroy trace venom in minute amounts. It was also safer than drawing more blood.
Stefan snuffed the lavender candle. It had countered the venom stench as well as easing Boone’s sleep, but he needed to have the magical tools put away and be ready to go when he finished. Purging Boone’s blood would leave Stefan too low on power to hide his tools behind a magical screen if anyone came in.
“Okay, Wiley,” he said softly, “Let’s hope this works.”
Laying one hand over the front punctures and sliding the other under Boone’s body to the edge of the wounds on the man’s lower back, Stefan murmured, “sanere,” the command to be healed, and streamed healing magic into his fingers. From there, he fed it into Boone’s body, empowering the man’s antibodies, visualizing venom cells shriveling, polluted blood coming clean.
Minutes dragged by. The venom diminished so slowly, he felt as though it were vanishing molecule by molecule. Cramps knotted Stefan’s shoulders. Gritting his teeth, he poured in more power. Unfortunately, his reserves were already low from drawing out the massive amounts of venom.
Maybe this would’ve worked better in the morning, when all things ghoul were weaker. Unfortunately, the hospital was a lot busier in the mornings.
Next time he tried something this draining, he’d bring someone along to share power. Drawing from his surroundings to recharge was a delicate process in a hospital, with sick and weak people all around.
Sweat formed on his upper lip. He scrubbed his mouth against his sleeve. No way was he quitting now, not when he could feel the tide turning.
At last, his magical senses caught no trace of venom in the man’s blood. Stefan sniffed at Boone’s shoulder. No trace there, either. Maybe this really had worked. Just a couple of seconds more to be sure.
Someone tapped on the door. Stefan sealed the opening he’d created in Wiley’s energy field and jerked his hands clear as Mel walked into the room.
For one stupid instant, his heart lifted. Then he realized…Busted.
Oh, hell.
“Stefan?” Her eyes widened in a surprised, almost pleased expression, but it vanished in an instant. Frowning, she asked, “What are you doing?”
Chapter 7
I came by to check on Mr. Boone.” Stefan tried for a brisk tone to hide his weariness. “And what brings you here?”
“I came to see if he remembered anything about his assailant.” Mel walked to the bed, still frowning, looking around as though she’d sensed something.
Surely she wouldn’t, but…a fragment of faint memory, something about creativity and magic, flitted through Stefan’s brain. He shrugged it off. He could worry about that when his ass was clear of her suspicions.
“As you see, he’s sleeping,” Stefan
said.
Her frown deepened. She’d probably smelled the lavender candle and wondered at the scent. Still, the best defense was a good offense. “You’re not supposed to be working today. Or driving. How did you get here, Mel?”
“I rode with Detective Forrest. He heard Mr. Boone was doing worse and wanted to see if he could tell us anything else. In case he continues to deteriorate.”
“He’s resting comfortably now. As you can see.” Stefan stalked around the bed to confront her. Bad move. Proximity let him catch a whiff of her fresh, apple scent and reminded him of how sex intensified it. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Boone probably obeys medical restrictions. No matter how you came here, you’re supposed to be off today.”
“Forrest is dropping me at the motel after.” Her frown gave way to cool appraisal. “He’ll be the one doing the questioning.”
“So where is Detective Forrest? This is late for a witness interview, isn’t it?”
“It’s only seven thirty.” Mel cocked her head, directing a considering look at Stefan. “Forrest stopped at the men’s room. I came ahead to see if Mr. Boone was awake.”
“You should wait to question him. He needs his rest.” The purging Stefan had done would tire the man. He’d sleep for a few hours yet and awaken on his own.
Mel glanced from Boone to Stefan, and that curious, distracted expression crossed her face again. “Two hours ago, Dr. Howe said he was getting worse.”
Before she could pose another question, he asked, “Have you remembered anything about the other night?”
“Not yet.” She raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the third degree?”
“Routine follow-up.” Damn, he was sick of lying to her.
Stefan shouldered his messenger bag, picked up Boone’s chart, and hoped he didn’t look as tired as he felt. “How has your day been?”
“Boring. I need to get back to work.”
He kept his tone mild. “Looks to me like you already have.”
When she lifted her chin, he raised a hand to halt her protest. She’d regained her color and looked reasonably well rested. Also far too suspicious.
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