Circle of the Moon

by Faith Hunter

  “Isleen . . . had killed Loriann’s grandmother while the family watched. Had taken Loriann’s . . . sibling. As hostage. Was forcibly drinking from . . .” Rick stopped. Cleared his throat. The grounds poured with a nearly silent shush. “Loriann had no choice. But she managed to . . . to get help.” He folded the coffee bag up again and put it to the side. “Leo Pellissier . . . killed Isleen. The binding was never finished. It wasn’t a problem for years, until I was bitten by a black wereleopard and then the werewolves . . . chewed on them.”

  He lifted the coffeemaker reservoir, turned on the tap, the water scudding into the bottom. We all waited. Silent. He replaced it and slid the coffeepot on the coffeemaker. Placed both hands on the counter, steady but paler than normal. He bent forward and his hair swung over his jaws, hiding more of his face.

  JoJo said softly, “I’m guessing that the unfinished binding merged with werewolf saliva, fighting the black leopard were-taint.”

  Rick nodded once. “The combination damaged my were-magic. Kept me from shifting. Then Paka came, supposedly to help me.”

  He punched a button on the coffeemaker and turned to face us. His voice sounded stronger. “My tattoos were tested by a witch in Spook School. There was no breach, magical or otherwise, in them. Soul keeps an eye on them. No breach.”

  “That they noticed,” T. Laine said. “Once there’s a fissure, there’s always a weak spot. And Soul isn’t here now.”

  Rick nodded. “I’ve been feeling . . . odd. Restless. For the last few months, during the waning moon.” He reached up and touched the scarred tats, his fingers uncertain. Then he smiled, his lips quirked up on one side, and he looked younger, less harried, and wry. “We’ll assume for now that I’m a security risk.” Rick’s job, his career, was on the line. “Meanwhile”—he turned his dark gaze to me—“were the local vamps attacked by this spell?”

  My mouth opened in an O and I punched my cell on again. There was nothing from the vampires on e-mail or text so I dialed Yummy.

  “Maggot,” she said by way of greeting. She was trying to be mean and I’d had just about enough of it.

  “Yeah, Fanghead,” I said.

  Yummy laughed, a human kind of laugh, the kind that meant they were not thinking as blood-suckers but as the people they had once been.

  “Did you guys get spell-called today?” I asked.

  “No.” Her tone sharpened and took on that faint Louisiana accent I heard from time to time. “Why? Did you all?”

  “One of our cats, yes.” I dragged the paper map to me and traced my finger across it. “And the spell was likely cast within two miles of your lair.”

  “Nothing. Not a thing. But if it was in daytime, we wouldn’t have felt it once we were asleep.”

  “Okay. We’ll talk later.” I ended the call and reached for T. Laine’s map. “The spell site was closer to the vamps than the night they were called. So either proximity wasn’t a factor or daylight changed it. I think this is still a spell in the planning and designing stage.”

  “I agree. It feels different each time, but planning for what?” Rick asked. He drummed his fingers on the table and then said, “I’m not taking any chances. I’ll be sleeping in HQ for the duration of the case.”

  “Good.” JoJo pointed at a view from an outside camera and T. Laine power-walked to the door at the top of the stairs. “Margot’s here and needs an update on Ming of Glass, the fact that we’ve made a report to the governor’s office, Rick’s new amulets, and his likelihood of being a security risk. All of which I can handle.”

  T. Laine called back to us, “I’ll get her security codes and an ID for the doors.”

  “Great,” JoJo yelled. Margot followed our witch inside, T. Laine giving her what she called a down-and-dirty debrief. She finished with, “If you’re taking the night shift, we need someone to visit the scene of the spell casting and see if there are common areas, overlapping places where the witch might be staying.”

  Margot, dressed in business pants and jacket, settled into an empty chair at the conference table and when JoJo finished the recap, Margot said to the group, “Okay. I’m up to speed. I have additional info that falls under the umbrella of PsyLED, if it’s true. The FBI just heard rumors that a small group of rogue vampires have established a hidden lair here in the Knoxville vicinity. They want me with your unit until we determine what the vamps want and if the local witches and the vampires are working together.”

  “Local?” Rick asked softly. “The FBI thinks the local coven is involved? Vamps and witches generally hate each other and we have evidence of only one witch at the circles. And rogue vamps do not lair together. Ever. What evidence?”

  Margot lifted her left hand and inspected her nails. They were painted green with sparkles in the polish. “Evidence? Not a damn thing.”

  “So why suggest that there might be a collusion of para activity against Knoxville citizens and PsyLED itself?” T. Laine asked, censure in her voice.

  “Not me. The acting head drew all the conclusions and made the decision. I’m just passing along supposed CI info that might or might not be true.”

  The table went silent and still as we all processed her words. CI meant confidential informant. But it sounded as if Margot didn’t believe it was true information so much as a big ol’ lie.

  Margot showed teeth in a smile worthy of any were-creature. “New vamps in town? That part’s confirmed. My bosses are determined to make this a witch hunt. They don’t know I come from witches. I am the perfect person to liaise because my agenda won’t match theirs.”

  “Ohhh . . . ,” I said, my disappointment easing away. “You’re protecting the witches. And us too. That’s why you were so insistent on being part of this team.”

  Margot flashed me a smile, brilliant in her dark-skinned face. “Witch hunts piss me off and I’ve been watching this one brewing for quite a while.”

  T. Laine said slowly, “You sneaky thing you. Humans are paranoid and nutso. And human law enforcement are even worse.”

  “Hey, human FBI agent here,” Margot said.

  Well, sort of human, I thought. My cell dinged and I answered, puzzled. “Yummy? What can I—”

  “We need help! We’re under attack!”

  I hit the speaker button and the sound of gunfire was amplified into the room. “We’ve called 911!” Yummy shouted into the cell, her voice high-pitched and panicked. “The police say we aren’t in their jurisdiction. They refuse to send SWAT! The governor’s not answering our calls!”

  “Copy,” I said. “You’re on speaker. SAC LaFleur is here.”

  Rick pointed at Margot and she left the room for the hallway, where she started making calls, her voice toneless, steady, too low to hear.

  Rick said to Yummy, “We need info. For starters, how many enemy attackers? Are they vamps or human? What weapons?”

  More gunfire came over my cell. The sounds of shouting and screaming. Yummy didn’t answer, but the background noise changed as if she was moving.

  Rick said to Jo, “Get FireWind on the line, I don’t care if he’s neck deep in vampire guts at a crime scene. The rest of you grab your gear and get back here to gear up.”

  I raced to my cubicle, grabbed my two gobags, my weapon, and sped back. I dumped everything on the table and started checking my weapon. The others slammed their gear down too.

  Rick said. “The vampire isn’t responding. We don’t have the training or the equipment to take on an armed attack without the backup of SWAT.”

  Over my cell, I could pick out semiautomatic weapon fire in three-burst patterns. The boom of what sounded like a shotgun. Or maybe even a small-bore cannon. More screams, human and the high-pitched screams of vampires, echoed.

  The ambient noise of the cell changed again and we heard, “I can see maybe ten humans and pick out three Naturaleza by the scent patterns.” Yummy’s voic
e had steadied. She was breathing in a slow, regular rhythm, like a human who had taken control of herself. Yummy hadn’t been a vampire for long. Under stress, she sometimes fell back into human reactions. Clicks and metallic sounds came over the speaker. She, or someone close by, was reloading. “There may be more coming in from downwind.”

  “Any magic like the summoning attack?” Rick asked.

  The sound of a single shot overwhelmed the cell’s mic and Yummy came back on in midsentence. “—that two. One down. Trying to avoid hitting the attacking humans. No magic.” She cursed, hard, succinct. “They’ve put their own humans in front of them. They’re using their cattle as shields.” She cursed again, inventive and sexually explicit.

  JoJo whispered, “Locals are calling 911. Multiple calls reporting gunfire.”

  To Yummy, Rick said, “Blood-servants are still counted as human in the current political climate. Using them as shields guarantees armed response, but it might be slow.”

  “We don’t have time for slow! Our people are dying!” Two more shots followed.

  I remembered the other vamps Ming had discussed. “How far out are Lincoln Shaddock and his crew?” I asked Yummy when I thought she could hear me.

  “They’re not answering our calls.” Yummy fired again. Again. The cell went silent, as if I’d lost the signal. I strapped my vest in place, the Velcro loud in the tense silence. The vest was dark with the word PsyLED on the front and back in stark white, marking me as law enforcement, either someone to listen to or a target, depending on their intent.

  “We’re all geared up. Why aren’t we on the way?” I demanded.

  “When Ming became Master of the City and created a council chambers,” Rick said, “she effectively created an ambassadorial residence under the auspices of the new European emperor and the Mithran Dark Queen. According to the current arrangements with the secretary of state, the diplomatic corps, and other agencies within the federal government, only federal agencies can respond to calls for assistance on the grounds, not local police unless there’s a direct danger to the local populace.” His voice was toneless, shut down, void of emotional entonations, yet his eyes were glowing green. He’d had a bad night and exhaustion had brought his cat close. “Access to vamp grounds is limited except by invitation of the MOC. Law enforcement response and presence, therefore, has to come from us or the FBI and I don’t have the people to order armed response onto the grounds in the face of multiple armed attackers. We need SWAT.”

  JoJo added, “Only if a vamp is attacking humans away from council chambers can local law provide armed response.”

  “That’s stupid,” I said. And if I cussed, I’d be saying awful things right now.

  When the mic began to work again, Yummy was screaming, the piercing ululation of the dying vampire. “I’m hit,” she said. “Oh shit. I’m . . . hit . . .” The cell call ended.

  Rick answered his cell, saying crisply, “Soul. We got problems.”

  I tuned him out and dialed Jane Yellowrock. The Dark Queen of the vampires had to have some authority over what was happening here. It went to voice mail. I dialed her business partners in New Orleans. Voice mail. I called the personal cell of Alex Younger. Voice mail. It was almost as if they were avoiding me. I dialed the Mithran Council Chambers of New Orleans. Voice mail. I left the same message on every line: “The MOC of Knoxville is under attack by unknown vampires. Please advise.” But I was getting madder and madder, and I could feel leaves tickling at my neck as my anger made them grow and unfurl. I lugged the agency landline phone to me and dialed the NOLA number. When it went to voice mail, I knew that it wasn’t just me who was currently persona non grata, it was PsyLED. Or they were under attack too. That seemed a stretch, but it wasn’t impossible. Jane pretty much lived at war.

  “Margot,” Rick called out. “Soul gave us the go-ahead. Tell me you got armed response.”

  Margot stuck her head in the door. “I’ve got SWAT on the way,” she said, “along with a small group of FBI under the command of the Knoxville acting SAC. Local cops will set up perimeters half a mile on either end of the road. Medic is on the way to their locations. But I gotta tell you, SWAT isn’t overly motivated. There was chatter about letting them kill each other off.”

  “There always is,” Rick snarled. “Vests and headsets, silver and standard ammo, flashbangs and smoke grenades. Occam, assault rifle. Let’s go, people.”

  “On it, boss,” Occam shouted from the weapons locker. Unit Eighteen had only one assault rifle and Occam was the only one qualified.

  Not having a modern assault weapon suited me just fine. I had a shotgun in the truck and I had never been afraid to use it. I was shaky at the thought of a vampire fight and having trouble getting my breath, my Kevlar vest too tight. Adding new weapons would have made me shakier still.

  Rick’s cell rang and he glanced at the screen. To Jo, he said, “Call Soul. Update her.” He took the call, and, from the tone, I guessed he was updating FireWind.

  Jo touched her earpiece. T. Laine ran back to her desk for more amulets. I patted my vest and made sure I had extra magazines, the silver-lead composite rounds on one side, regular ammo on the other. Ran back to my cubicle for my field boots. And water. My mouth had gone dry as desert dirt. I could hear T. Laine muttering under her breath, yanking out null charms and attack amulets and healing amulets. Occam was inspecting the assault rifle, his scarred face tight, yellow-glowing eyes intent. Margot was reading a sat map.

  My heart was slamming in my chest, an almost painful, hollow sensation. Humans have hearts, plants don’t. A frenzied titter of laughter tickled in my chest.

  Margot said, “Picking out a staging area from satellite maps.”

  “Comms on the para freq,” JoJo said, “and on our own dedicated freq.”

  Rick snarled again, “Move!”

  We piled into the hallway, moving fast.

  “Not you, boss!” JoJo shouted.

  We all stopped. Rick whirled on her, his black eyes glowing the green of his cat.

  “Not you. What happens if you get spelled while your team is in the middle of a firefight?” JoJo asked.

  I said, “I saw the magic in your tats. Jo is right. You can’t go with us.”

  Rick cursed. Strapped on his vest. “I’m going.”

  A new voice came over the speaker system and flooded through HQ so we could hear as we geared up. “LaFleur, I’ve been kept apprised of your situation.”

  I looked up at the speaker over my cubicle, knowing this male voice had to belong to Ayatas FireWind, the new man over the eastern states. Rick cursed again and his eyes glowed greener.

  “Jones has the right of it. You are to remain in HQ and assist her,” FireWind said, “until such time as you are urgently needed on scene. For the rest of you, SWAT has suddenly developed a keen interest. They are lead until the site is secured. If a breach is required or SWAT engages with the enemy, let them do their jobs and stay out of the way unless null magic is required. PsyLED will assume command only when the situation moves from potential armed combat to diplomatic exercises. This will occur once SWAT has secured and cleared the premises and the grounds.”

  Intense relief washed through me like a flood. Tears gathered in my eyes and I blinked them away. Suddenly I could breathe. We weren’t going into a firefight alone. I didn’t know who had forced a “keen interest” into SWAT, but I was grateful.

  Rick started to argue. “This is my unit.”

  “Yes. It is,” FireWind said, “and I understand your frustration. But this course of action and organizational command structure was agreed upon in joint meetings this week, with acting FBI SAC of Knoxville, Shultz, and the team leader of SWAT, Gonzales. Despite our differences, LaFleur, this is not a personal attack. Should the witch targeting you begin a working during a firefight, you might present a danger to yourself and others. You will stand down.”
>
  We had stopped dead in the hallway, halted by FireWind, his voice bare of regional accent, his words precise. “Cameras and headgear on everyone. Jones and LaFleur, I want access to all comms. Dyson, you are to stay in the unit’s van unless accompanied by another agent until the site is secure.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tandy said. Rick snarled again.

  I threw my gobags over my shoulder and made sure I had my headset, vest camera, cell, and tablet. The address of the Master of the City of Knoxville backed up to the Tennessee River, within two miles of the general location of the witch circle T. Laine had scried for. It was smart to keep Rick here at HQ.

  I headed out and Occam raced up behind me, fast. “My car,” he said. “It’s faster than your POS.” I knew what a POS was and Occam had just insulted my truck. In other circumstances I’d have called him on it, but now I got out my shogun and two boxes of shells. I broke the shotgun open, securing it in Occam’s car for safe travel, but put the gobags up front with me.

  Occam slapped the emergency lights to the dash, locked the AR-15 into place behind the seats, and we slid in. The sports car roared to life and we shot out of the lot, headlights bouncing on the rough asphalt, while I was still buckling up. The siren was piercing. We were the first vehicle out, going from zero to eighty in seconds. Cars followed us out of the parking area but fell quickly behind.

  “Comms check,” JoJo said into my earbud.

  “Occam. Check.” He whipped the wheel and I let the seat belt catch me.

  “Ingram. Check,” I said, making sure I was on PsyLED’s dedicated frequency. The rest of the team chimed in, voices strained and tense. We were all here, all on the proper freq.

  Margot said, “I have the satellite photos of the local area up. I’ve marked two likely staging areas on either side of the MOC’s property, with GPS coordinates and topography.” We were going to plan an op on the fly. This was how people got killed. That thought settled me as Occam flew around nighttime traffic.