by Faith Hunter
I didn’t understand what was going on. Her wound wasn’t that bad.
I swiveled and saw the grindylows, curled up together like neon green kittens against the wall. Grindylows. Something stirred in the back of my brain. Grindys were the judges and executioners of the were world, and though there had been no grindylows in the Western Hemisphere until the last few years, it was thought that a litter had been born in the United States. The fuzzy little green killers were now changing the way were-creatures passed along the taint. When a were shared the were-taint, the grindys appeared and executed the offender. Not always and not always right away. There had been tales of times when the grindys hadn’t shown up at all.
Two grindys had attacked Jason. Two. One would have been enough. Why two?
I looked back at Rick’s office. Rick was shot. Margot was . . . The evidence settled in my mind, blooming, unfolding, revealing itself to me. Jason had fired at Rick. The round had passed through him, in cat form, picking up his blood, and wounded Margot. Margot stood a chance of going furry at the next full moon. Rick had infected her. And Jason had intentionally infected himself with Rick’s blood. Two evils. Jason was a witch; he might be able to hide himself from grindylows hunting him to pass judgment and kill him. But Rick was a dead cat walking if the grindys decided to pass judgment on him.
Quietly, I told Ayatas, Rick, and Margot what Jason had done. How Rick’s blood had been used to try to give himself the were-taint. This was why Rick had been targeted. So that Jason might infect himself. I went to the sleeping room, passing the null room on the way. It had been jimmied open, Loriann having used brute force and intellect where magic wouldn’t work.
I tapped on the sleeping room door. “Mud? It’s over.”
The door wrenched open and Mud threw herself at me, grabbed me. Cherry was barking like a maniac, jumping all over me, racing up the hallway and back. Mud held me away. Her eyes searching me. “Are you’un all right? Are you shot? Turn around.” She shoved me around and back. And yanked me into a hug. “I was scared as a deer chased by coyotes.” She shoved me back and said, “Cherry, come. Stay.” The dog ignored her and I caught the small springer by the collar. Mud demanded, “I want me a gun.”
I was befuddled. And amazed at the young woman who, only last week, it seemed, had been my baby sister. “No gun. But staying with me put you in danger. I don’t care how sick the Nicholsons are, you’re going back.”
Nell narrowed her eyes at me. “Ain’t no way, sister mine. I ain’t going.”
“Why not?” I demanded. “Give me one good reason.”
My little sister showed teeth at me in fury. I realized I was going to have to pay for braces, but that thought shredded and vanished like a wisp of candle smoke on the wind. “Larry Aden is out on bail and he’s back home on church property. That there is the real reason Sam brung me to you’un.”
SEVENTEEN
“What were the bracelets?” Margot asked. Her dark-skinned face was slightly gray with shock.
The team was in the conference room, eating pizza provided by Soul, who just happened to drop by. Lucky that. Or not. Maybe something else, as if she had been notified. Or as if she knew things.
The Assistant Director of PsyLED was curled up like a cat, with her long skirts wrapped around her bare feet on the chair seat in the corner of the conference room, her shoes on the floor. She was all in silvers and grays today: platinum hair and dark eyes, silver earrings, and a shalwar chemise type dress, pants, and shawl in a gauzy fabric that looked cool and comfy. And not at all regulation. I sent a glance to JoJo, with her turban and shimmery skirts. Jo was more dance club than Indian, but there was a definite correlation.
Soul, like the rest of us, was working on her laptop and analyzing the video footage, trying to deal with the facts and the trauma of the attack, chatting with PsyLED DC and the National Guard and probably someone in the Department of Defense, trying to get us backup. Her gaze kept shifting to Rick, evaluating, worried. She had said her reason for being here was to keep an eye on her only mostly para unit. She had explained that she was here solely as an observer, but she warned us that how we handled this situation would impact future para units.
No stress there. No. Not at all.
It was a few hours before dawn and things had settled down some after the paramedics and city cops left. The emergency team—who had entered wearing double pairs of gloves and white Tyvek biohazard unis in the presence of werecat blood—had bandaged Margot’s arm and worked to stabilize Loriann before carting her to UTMC, running lights and sirens. Evidence had been collected by our team and by the FBI evidence collection team jointly, something FireWind worked out. No one had mentioned to any of them that Margot might go furry.
Soul had sent a request to the Dark Queen, Jane Yellowrock, requesting that one of her Mercy Blades come and try to keep the taint from taking. Rick claimed that Mercy Blades had the ability to keep a human from getting the were-taint. It hadn’t worked on him, however. Jane hadn’t responded. I had sent a similar request with identical results. Nothing. I wondered if Jane was suddenly out of range, in some arcane Cherokee ceremony, or on a ship at sea. No one knew and Alex wasn’t answering his cell either. Sudden radio silence wasn’t like Jane.
“The cuffs are similar to these,” T. Laine said, tapping a key on her laptop. Overhead, a series of photos of bracelets appeared, looking like something a museum might put together. “I contacted the leader of the NOLA coven, Lachish Dutillet. She’s in a null room prison for some reason, but her keepers let me talk to her. I had to tell her things that might be classified, and the witches were surely monitoring her calls, so feel free to write me up and bring charges.” Soul and FireWind both shook their heads and T. Laine went on. “She suggested it was possible to charm an amulet with a spell calculated to control a demon, once it was captured. She said there were old tales of amulets created for that purpose.”
I stuck a hand into my pocket and the evidence bags there. I hadn’t turned them in or admitted to having them. I had Loriann’s blood. I had shot Jason. I had a handful of tissues still damp with his blood. There had been enough for the crime scene techs, but I had collected my own too. For some reason I hadn’t told my team I had any of it. What could I do to a blood witch when I had his blood?
Could I feed him to Soulwood long-distance? Death was a judgment and sentence that belonged to the witch council of the United States. They governed all witches accused of capital crimes. If I drained him for the land, it would be murder. But . . . My land hungered. I could feel the desire like an ache in my belly, crushed down but painful and demanding.
“Loriann was still keeping secrets,” Rick said. “But at last, finally, she knows her brother has taken up with evil.” He had dressed and helped with the aftermath, but he couldn’t look at Margot. Hadn’t looked at her even once. Guilt was a nasty emotion. It changed relationships and made things that used to work no longer work.
My cell dinged with a text from Yummy, or someone using her cell, and I tapped it open. It said, Our people’s amulets have taken us to a bend of the Tennessee River. We know where Godfrey lairs. I read the text aloud and though it was nothing to go on, the entire team turned to their laptops and tablets and started tapping away. The cell dinged again. Our team will go in at half an hour before dusk to rescue our people. We will behead the daywalker who wishes to rule Ming’s lands, and stake his scions. I’ll text you the address ten minutes before we penetrate. Be ready with ambulances to come where we request.
“Ming is giving us the minimum legally required heads-up,” JoJo said. “At least we can put EMS and the local LEOs on alert. You really gotta get that chick’s real name.”
“Last time I asked, Yummy told me no. I ain’t magic.”
“That was an order,” JoJo said, her tone laughing.
“No. I kinda like ‘Yummy,’” I joked, sending my vampire friend back a K.
Too softly, the words breathy and sere, FireWind said, “You tell your superiors no with regularity, don’t you? That’s insubordination and grounds for censure or dismissal.” The team went silent and still. The words carried enough of an edge and threat to make me put down the cell and focus on the special agent in charge of the eastern seaboard. FireWind was an unknown. An unknown with power over us all, and power over our jobs. That made him scary. And . . . his inscrutable expression was no longer in place. It was . . . maybe cracked wasn’t the right word, but it was different. The banter between JoJo and me was just that. Banter. FireWind had to know that, so something else was going on here.
I considered all that had happened in the last hours. FireWind had made the decision to let the blood witch inside his unit’s headquarters. He had promised he’d fight off Jason and had failed. His team had then been attacked. The FBI liaison was possibly turned into a black wereleopard. His probie was the only team member to get off a defensive shot. The grindys had killed no one so far as we knew. Yet. But Rick might be in their sights. Ayatas and Rick had some sort of conflict going on so he probably felt guilty about maybe getting his SAC grindy-killed. Also, FireWind was going to take some heat for a failure in protocol and building security. Worse, his upline boss, Soul, was here, watching. He was visibly upset.
I looked to Soul but her chair was empty. I hadn’t seen the boss-lady leave. But that was a problem for later.
The mamas had always said to start out like you intend to proceed. I needed to address this.
JoJo started, “I was just—”
I held up a hand to stop her and said, “Would you folks give me a minute with the boss man?” The cats reacted and I thought they were about to disagree, or worse, try to protect me. I shook my head at both of them and stood, pointing to the null room. FireWind followed me in. The door shut behind us. The cold that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with antimagic instantly started seeping into my bones. Into Ayatas too, if his face was anything to go by.
“You have my undivided attention,” FireWind said, the words pointed and stiff, like a stick to the eye.
I sat on the edge of the table, laced my fingers in my lap so I’d present the most nonthreatening image possible. I looked up at him and turned on church-speak because it was disarming. And a disarmed enemy was the best kind. “See, Ayatas FireWind, it’s like this. I like being a cop. I like solving crimes and helping people. I like my job. I like this team and they are dang good at what they do. I consider them friends.” I leaned in to make sure he was listening to what I was saying. “You’un come in here and take over because you’un consider yourself the peacock with the biggest tail. The best of the best. And things didn’t go like you’un planned and now you’un’re scrambling in the aftermath of unexpected disaster. And you’un, right now, are trying to take it out on me because you need a release valve and I’m handy.”
FireWind’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Please continue,” he said, “and address why a probationary employee should not be released for insubordination.”
“Last part first, then. This team’s got no one who can read the land. No one.” I let a little more church into my voice. “‘Acause whatever I am, I’m whatchu call a one-off. A one-of-a-kind.”
“Your sister scents of yinehi,” Ayatas said, eyes shrewd.
“My sister don’t grow leaves. She can’t read the land. She can’t do what what I do.” All true. Sorta. I mentally promised myself to keep my other siblings away from Ayatas’ yinehi sniffer and continued on my attack. “In fact, PsyLED can’t do its job thoroughly without me. PsyLED needs me more than I need it. Also”—I dropped a fraction of my church-speak and let my tone go hard—“I was the only special agent to get off a shot at Jason Ethier when you let him inside and he attacked HQ. So you don’t scare me when you huff and puff and blow the walls down by threatening my job. I got a job offer outside of law enforcement anytime I want, so I wouldn’t suffer financially if we parted ways. I ain’t insubordinate. None of this unit is. Jo and me was making a joke.”
“Job offer?” he asked.
The angst had begun to clear from his eyes as I talked. Start as you intend to go forward. Challenging him seemed to be effective. I said, “With Clan Yellowrock.”
There was no way to miss the shock that jolted through him.
“Yeah. Your sister’s . . . court, I guess you call it. As part of the Dark Queen’s retinue. I know my value. I ain’t got the big head, but I know who I am and what I got to offer. So don’t threaten me. You can ask nicely or you can fire me. Until such firing, PsyLED has my total, undivided loyalty. We’uns clear?”
“Perfectly. As clear as when you kicked Rick LaFleur in the crotch.”
“He had it coming,” I said, unrepentant. That had been early in our acquaintance, before I joined PsyLED.
“Hmmm.”
That hmmm was pretty good, but I’d been hmmmed by churchmen. FireWind was an amateur compared to that kind of censure. I leaned in even farther and smiled my sweetest churchwoman smile. “I done been threatened by burning at the stake since I was five years old. Being fired from a job ain’t nothing.” A small expression of surprise flashed across FireWind’s face. He hadn’t known that part of my history, which meant he hadn’t spent much time looking over my personnel papers. That was interesting. I eased back, resettling my weight on the table. “Now. You got a plan of action or you gonna waste our time testing us to see what we’re all made of, ’cause frankly I think you’d do better to wait till all this is settled.”
With a bite to his words, FireWind said, “PSY CSI is delayed. Before you stop for the morning, I’d like you and Kent to go back to the stockyard and see what you can find out by daylight. Wear Tyvek uniforms.”
“Good by me. I gotta drop my sister and her dog off at home first.” I stood and walked to the door. Put my hand on the handle and stopped. “I ain’t hard to work with. I’ll support you and your decisions to my last breath, even when you get your butt kicked. But”—I looked over my shoulder at him—“you and me got off on the wrong foot. In fact, you and the rest of the unit got off on the wrong foot. I’m betting you’re used to working with white male human teams. Unit Eighteen is composed predominantly of paras, not humans, a mixed male-female team, too. You can’t treat this team the way you treat others and still have a fully functioning unit. This team has a lateral organizational structure, not an old-timey vertical one. Going forward, I’d like to be polite and respectful. I’d like the same from you.” I started to open the door.
“Jane offered you a job?”
I stopped. Jane Yellowrock. “Yeah.” I opened the door and left the icy room that tried to melt my own magic in my bones. But . . . I noticed that the hunger, the bloodlust, was completely gone. Breathing was easier.
In the conference room, I told T. Laine our orders. “We’ll have to take your car because my truck is too small for the three of us and the dog.”
As we were walking down the hallway, I heard FireWind say to Rick, “You were a willing sacrifice when you were tattooed. Loriann used you, then also made you a slave to protect her brother and to track him. Would you be insulted if I asked you to stay near your cage for the duration of this case?”
“I’ve already addressed that,” Rick said. “And I’ve been bunking here.”
“I see. I think that was a wise move.”
I made a soft humph. Seemed FireWind could learn new tricks after all. I woke my sister and gathered her things and the dog, thinking about Rick and everything he had gone through. As we headed down the stairs, FireWind shouted to us, “Be back at four p.m. Full crew. We’re going to breach and contain the house where Jason and Godfrey and the vampires are lairing before the local Mithrans even wake up for the night.”
“Ten-four,” T. Laine said.
* * *
• • •
We lef
t Mud at Sam’s house, outside, playing with her dog and trying to stay out of the way of the new baby and the mamas and away from the virus that had gripped the church. She was alone, but in line of sight of my brother, as safe as she could be with Larry Aden free from jail and a danger. It wasn’t safe on church grounds, but it was safer than with me for now, despite the future possibility of her growing leaves and being burned at the stake. And that was a distinctly uncomfortable thought for me, who wanted to get custody and take her away from the church. Mud was in danger no matter where she lived.
T. Laine was driving and I was resting. I was way more tired than I admitted, and when I was tired, I went quiet. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation seemed to have the opposite effect on the unit’s witch, and Lainie was running on thirty-six hours with little or no sleep. She finished off a thirty-three-ounce coffee on the way to the stockyard and talked my head off, asking questions about me and what I’d said to FireWind off the record, none of which I answered. That didn’t stop her chatter.
She looked wide awake when she braked the car in front of the crime scene tape and got out to speak to the deputy guarding the site. I followed more slowly, my feet kicking up puffs of dust. I could hear the flies and, in the heat, the stench of rotting meat and blood was already strong. My bloodlust was awake and eager, but more like a curious puppy than a slavering starving hellhound. So far.
T. Laine chatted with the lone deputy as we both dressed out in Tyvek uniforms, the onesies worn by evidence collecting teams. The two were gossiping, agreeing that guard duty was boring and we really needed rain and it was hotter than the opening to hades. Lainie had thought to bring cold Cokes and some ice, and that made them best friends. I showed my ID, signed in to the official record, and moved into the heated, reeking stockyard, my paper uniform stifling.
It was still and silent in a locale that was probably usually loud with animals and machinery and the occasional worker. A hot breeze blew through, sweeping up dust devils. Flies buzzed like a chorus of buzz saws. Turkey buzzards were everywhere. A kettle of them soared overhead. I had no idea why a flock was called that, but all the names of buzzard groupings were bizarre. A committee, a venue, or a volt, they were perched on the rooftop, with the braver members of the scavenger pack sitting on the outer pen walls of the covered areas. A flock of feeding buzzards was called a wake, and three of the most brave, or the most dominant, were having a wake at the carcasses. It wouldn’t be long before the stench drew multiple species of predators and scavengers from everywhere if the cleanup crew wasn’t allowed onto the site.
