Circle of the Moon

by Faith Hunter

  T. Laine’s lips puckered and her eyes went distant, still thinking. She said, “Rick seemed . . . odd this morning. Even for a moon-called beast, he seemed distracted, agitated, preoccupied, and even more distant than usual.”

  “It’s not new,” the unit empath said. “He’s been unvaryingly unpleasant inside his own skin for weeks, the way he is on the three days of the full moon. I’m glad he’s not here. He’s throwing off confusing emotions that make my skin itch, and he’s pacing like a cat in a cage. No offense, Occam.”

  “None taken, Tandy,” Occam said. “You’re a lightning rod who reads minds. I’m a cat. We all have issues.”

  Tandy gave a breathy laugh. He had been struck by lightning three times, which had ignited his empath gifts and left him with permanent Lichtenberg lines on his skin. Issues. True, I thought. Occam had surely done his share of pacing during twenty years in a cage, in cat form. T. Laine was a witch without a coven. JoJo was the Diamond Drill, the highest level of hacker known. I was turning into a plant.

  Right now, Occam was stretched out on the sofa, his jeans and T-shirt damp with the heat. He was stroking Cello’s head, the once-feral cat purring and stretching under the big-cat’s hand. “That’s why I called our meeting here. We needed a break from HQ and a chance to voice our thoughts.”

  “How far from the circle was Rick when he was called?” I asked. “If he was really called, that is, and it wasn’t coincidence.” We were all dancing around that possibility, that Rick was in danger personally and was also a liability to the unit. “Which side of the river?”

  Occam twisted and leaned over the coffee table, punched a key on his laptop, and whirled it around to show us the screen, before dropping back to his lazy position. On the laptop, a small map of Knoxville and the surrounding area appeared, marked with a circle and a dot. The center of the circle was near the river. The dot was tagged as Rick’s car. “I checked that. He was on the same side of the river, and within five miles of the circle as the crow flies.”

  “What was he doing?” Jo asked.

  “Driving home from dinner and drinks with a hungry feeb,” Occam said, referring to an FBI agent who was low on the food chain. “He pulled over, secured his weapon, and shifted. His cat grabbed an old, mostly empty gobag that contained an old flip phone and a blanket, and went overland.”

  I remembered Rick saying that part and added, “Pulling over, securing his weapon, and then his cat taking the gobag took critical-thinking skills and problem-solving ability.”

  “Right,” Occam said. “He felt something was coming and got ready for it. He was driving, and though he doesn’t remember it, he drove himself two miles closer to the circle, shifted in the car, ruining his clothes, and went on overland. We still haven’t found his new cell, his car key fob, or his right shoe, but his weapon was under the seat, which, while not locked in the gun safe in his trunk, was put away, not in plain sight on the car seat. His memory is spotty until he woke up at the circle site, still in cat form, bag and flip phone beside him.”

  “That preparation suggests he was in his right mind,” T. Laine said, in agreement with me, “though not remembering the drive suggests something else.”

  “At the scene he thought the cat had been dead about three hours,” I said. “When you discount our drive time, that leaves about two hours and twenty minutes from the time the spell was at its zenith to the time Rick was sane enough to call for help. It takes him something like twenty minutes each time he shifts shape. So that takes away another forty minutes, leaving an hour twenty or so. How long did it take him to get to the spell site?” I asked. “Did he smell vampires when he got there?”

  “He didn’t know, and he doesn’t remember anything about vamps,” JoJo said, her mismatched earrings swinging silvery in the light of her laptop screen as she tapped keys. “But he was alone each time he shifted. Good questions, probie.”

  I ducked my head in pleasure. “In that case I have another one,” I said. “If the purpose was to call Rick, then the spell succeeded. Why wasn’t the witch waiting for him? Why do the spell and leave? By not being there, that suggests coincidence, not causality.”

  T. Laine brightened and said, “Yeah. My gut feeling is that this blood-magic caster didn’t know Rick would come.” She pointed a finger at me approvingly. “Our blood-magic witch initiated the spell in the inner circle, slit the cat’s throat, closed the inner circle to let the spell run its course, and then stepped outside the outer circle and reclosed it too.” She took a long draw of her iced drink through the straw, trying to combat the heat of my house. The tiny window-unit air conditioner was straining. Come full dark, when the temps outside dropped lower than the temps inside, I’d open the windows and doors and let the winds sweep out the heat, but for now it was just miserable. “It’s a freaky working,” the unit’s witch continued. “I still don’t know what it’s supposed to do, but I think the spell was a fast one. She killed the cat and once it was dead, the spell ended and she left.”

  “And the maggoty feeling Nell got?” JoJo asked the witch.

  “I’m spitballing here, but I think the vamps showed up and left before Rick arrived. And no, I have no idea if vamps were there for the working, or were summoned, or if that’s an accident too.”

  JoJo adjusted the elastic waist of her sweat-damp skirt, plucking at the thin cotton fabric printed with big aqua blooms, smaller bright pink flowers, and small green leaves. “Dear God, I’m hot. Nell, this place reminds me of my great-grandmother’s place in Georgia.” Jo took off her turban, which was a one-piece thing like a toboggan, tossed it to the kitchen table like a Frisbee, and gusted a hearty sigh. “Great-Gramma had AC but never used it. Said her bones were cold all the time. Her place was a sauna too.”

  I almost said that I was sorry, but it wasn’t my idea for the unit to invade my home, so . . . no apology. It was nearly August. It was hot.

  “Yeah, I know,” JoJo said, reading my face the way Tandy could read emotions. “I have to deal.”

  “According to the calendar,” Tandy said, hiding a grin, “last night was a waning half-moon, days after full. It wasn’t a moon working, which would take place on the full moon. It didn’t look like an earth magic working or a water working. It wasn’t any recognizable or standared magical working. Which adds to the possibility that this was an accidental summoning. A deliberate summoning of a were-creature would most likely be on the full moon.”

  “What do we know about the circle?” JoJo asked T. Laine. “Anything expected and ordinary? Anything we can use as a jumping-off point?”

  “The circle was downright strange,” T. Laine said. “Nothing traditional about it except the starting point aligned to magnetic north. Most circles that big need multiple witches to invoke. This was a one-woman circle. Most are geared to the element the witch is called by. I’m a moon witch, so I’d only attempt a big circle on the full moon, using moonstones as focals. An air witch would use feathers and fallen leaves and even carved wood amulets from wind-downed trees. This circle had focals from all the elements and some of the focals were totally unfamiliar to me. There was a branch freshly broken from a black walnut tree, the leaves wilted, and is the only thing that might point to an earth witch. There was a lump of unformed clay, probably from the nearby riverbed, which might point to a water witch. A golf ball and golf tee, both new looking. I got nothing for them. There were two glass vials full of black liquid that stinks like old blood. A rotten scrap of gauze or cheesecloth stained with what might be blood. There was a small steel paring knife. A cheapie.”

  “I’ve sent everything off for analysis,” JoJo said, “but it’ll all go on the back burner since there’s no crime involved with the circles and I have no favors I’m willing to call in yet. It could take weeks.”

  “No witch would combine all the things she did and then add steel to it,” T. Laine said. “Steel is disruptive to magic. And no witch lea
ves behind focals. When the working is done, they end the circle and take all the goodies away.”

  “Steel. Black walnut,” I said, trying to make sense out of it. “That wood is somewhat toxic. Is it possible that she was going to go back later to gather the focals and make sure the working was really completed, but we got there first?” I asked.

  “That’s as good an idea as any,” T. Laine said, sounding grumpy. “Too bad I didn’t think to put up a freaking camera or two.”

  “Occam, what can you tell about the gauze?” JoJo asked. “Is it blood?”

  “Yes,” Occam said, “but what species I can’t tell. It’s years old.”

  “So why did she leave all her focals behind? This stuff has to be hard to gather. Was the witch a novice,” Jo asked, “untrained and trying to make it up out of nothing?”

  “Maybe she didn’t know she was calling a black leopard and Rick scared her off?” I suggested.

  “Hmmm. I don’t think so. The circle was powerful. All the power had been emptied out, used up, but the traces of the working were there, so strong they practically sizzled. For all I know, more powerful focals may have been taken when the witch left. But the strangest part of the circle is the runes.” T. Laine propped her tablet on its stand so we could see the rendering on the screen. The unit’s witch had re-created the circle but made it of dotted lines, so there was no way to accidently invoke it. “Every single rune was merkstave—reversed—and none of them are traditionally used together. There were twelves spokes on the circle and four runes, each used three times. There were merkstave versions of Uruz, Fehu, Thurisaz, and Wunjo, all of them calling for awful things to happen to the person being spelled. For instance, Fehu reversed means greed and slavery and bondage and failure.” T. Laine looked around at us, making sure she had our attention. “It was a curse circle. It was powerful. And Rick happened to be nearby. If the working had been intended for him, he’d never have called us because he’d have been dead. This is why I think Rick’s attraction to the circle was an accident of proximity.”

  Occam asked, “What happens when the local witch coven finds the caster?”

  “She’ll be put in a null room for a long time. This circle was very, very bad business,” T. Laine said.

  “Rick’s hair looked whiter this morning. Did this spell age him even more?” JoJo asked. Rick’s hair had been turning white for the last few months, and no one really knew why.

  “I don’t know,” T. Laine said. She scrubbed her head with both fists as if trying to knock something loose from inside her brain. “I don’t know about the witch or her focals. I don’t know much of anything. Rick’s been aging, but he’s only been emotionally weird off and on for the last few months. I can’t tell what’s causing the aging, or if the problems with his magics have resulted in the white hair and made him more likely to be called.”

  “Did you scan Rick for latent magic, something left over from the spell and not part of his own magics?” Jo asked.

  “First thing. His magics look the same in a . . . let’s call it an inspection working, one that lets me see overlays of magical energies. Nothing is clinging to him. Whatever the circle was, the curse working had dissipated before he got there.”

  “Occam,” Jo asked, “did you feel anything from the circle when you were there or anything like a calling last night? A need to go catty?”

  “Not a thing. It was a peaceful night.” His eyes traveled slowly to me, and when they met mine, he gave me a Mona Lisa smile, his expression reminding me what we had been doing when the call came in. “Very . . . peaceful.”

  “Stop it, Occam,” Tandy said, clearly embarrassed. “Please.”

  “Yeah. It’s hot enough in here already without you two starting up whatever you were doing last night when I texted you,” JoJo said.

  “Ummm. Details later, bestie,” T. Laine said to me.

  Blood fought to heat my cheeks. The women in the church never talked about the night before on the day after. It just wasn’t done. I didn’t know how to respond and so simply lowered my eyes, mortified.

  “So Rick was the only werecat called,” Jo went on, either oblivious to my embarrassment or ignoring it.

  I pushed away my discomfort and said, “We know that Paka bound him magically and that she used were-magic in her binding. I sorta bound him in some way to heal him. Twice. It’s possible”—almost certain, but I didn’t want to say that—“that I tied him to Soulwood. And maybe, through his own cat and the tattoos, and the were-magic Paka used, he’s more susceptible to spells that deal with cats?”

  “I like,” T. Laine said, her eyes going unfocused and distant.

  “And why don’t we just ask him?” I added.

  Both T. Laine and JoJo hooted with laughter. Jo said, “The boss doesn’t talk about his tats. Like not ever.”

  Occam was still giving me that faint smile and I couldn’t meet his eyes. My awkwardness about the previous night, added to my prevarication about tying the werecats to the land, was amusing to him. He could feel the pull on his magics; he knew I had tied him and Rick both to the land when I healed them. When I brought him back from the dead.

  “Back to your comment about him being susceptible to cat spells. Twisty, but possible,” Jo said, taking a slice of toast. “And in my opinion, tied to your land is better than being dead.”

  T. Laine said, “My personal worry is that his unfinished tats and blood magic, mixed with our old friend Paka’s spells, may have created a magical opening into Rick’s soul, an opening that’s still there.”

  Occam sat up, swinging his feet to the wood floor, sliding Cello to his lap. “You’re telling me Rick’s psyche might be open? That any witch worth her salt, or maybe any fanghead strong enough, can reach in and take him over?”

  “Yes,” JoJo said.

  “No,” T. Laine said at the same time. “Not exactly.” She swung her leg off the chair arm, to the floor, and sat up in the rocker, her motion mimicking Occam’s and making her dark bob swing. “Okay, it’s like this. And though none of this is a secret, it stays in this room until further notice. Verbal discussion only.”

  We all nodded.

  “You know how Rick has music he plays during the full moon. He got it to help keep him sane back when he couldn’t shift into his cat. And you know how it eases all the shifters who’ve tried it.”

  The music was a big part of the full moon protocol in HQ. Occam nodded slowly, his fingers sliding down the cat body. The cat started purring.

  “When Rick was turned, things happened fast. He was bitten by a black leopard and the taint got into his system, starting the change. Immediately he was kidnapped by werewolves and they chewed on his tattoos. Think about it. There was werewolf taint in his flesh while he was going through the change into a black wereleopard. That had to cause problems on a first moon-calling, and we all know he couldn’t shift into his cat for two or three years.” She leaned in. “Rick was still with Jane Yellowrock at that time and Jane is the one who got the music for him. Jane is friends with Molly Everhart Trueblood, of the Everhart witches, but Molly is not an air witch. I’m guessing that Molly found an air witch somewhere and got her to make the music spells that disrupted the magic in Rick’s unfinished black-magic tats.”

  The magical music also kept the were-taint from consuming his sanity, helping to interrupt the attraction of the moon keeping him from going crazy. The music also had a side effect on all were-creatures, keeping them calmer, more stable, and better able to resist the change, which was why we still played the music in the office on the full moon. Something about that tugged at my brain, but before I could take it apart and inspect it, T. Laine went on.

  “You have more control over your cat than Rick does, but even you are more peaceful when the music is playing, right?”

  Occam nodded, his eyes narrow as he thought back over the past year of his life. “Yea
h,” he breathed. “I am.”

  T. Laine said, “What I figured out a few months back, while you were putting down roots,” she added to me, “is that the music also has the ability to plug the hole in Rick’s magic. Plug isn’t a good word, but it’ll do. When the music is playing, it keeps out other workings and dark magics. It also has a cumulative effect, making him more resistant to outside influence. I thought the plug had made Rick totally safe, unresponsive to other workings. I was wrong, and I have to figure out how this curse got through his defenses.”

  “So how did Paka get in?” I asked, finishing off my toast and licking the jelly off my fingers. Occam’s eyes darted to my mouth as a finger popped out, too interested. I stopped. Wiped my fingers on a cloth napkin instead.

  “If Paka had come along six months later than she did, her magic might not have gotten in so deep,” T. Laine said. “He might have resisted her. Unfortunately she showed up in the first few months he was a werecat.”

  “You told Rick all this?” Occam said, more a statement than a question.

  “Long time ago, yes. Rick and Soul. I assume the new guy knows it too.”

  “I read what I could in the report about the werewolf attack and Rick’s rescue, but big parts were redacted,” I said. “The parts that tell who actually rescued him have been removed. If I didn’t work at PsyLED, I’d have no idea that Jane Yellowrock and Leo Pellissier’s people helped to get him free.”

  “Security clearances are so entertainin’,” Occam drawled.

  “The most important part wasn’t in there at all,” I said, “which was: did any of the wolves escape? Are there any still floating around who might hire a witch to target Rick? Or is there any other were-creature in Rick’s past who might hire a witch to target him? Anyone considered the possibility that Paka hired a witch, who is trying to get Rick to turn someone, so the grindy’ll kill him?”

  “Ohhh,” T. Laine said. “Never thought about that one.” She and JoJo exchanged glances I couldn’t interpret before bending over their tablets. Tandy and Occam were equally involved in file searches, fingers tapping.