Death Magic (19 page)

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Authors: Eileen Wilks

BOOK: Death Magic
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“But it would be somewhere between unlikely and impossible for her to teach him an illusion spell in a dream, right?”
“In my opinion, yes. But I’m not an Old One.” Cullen refilled his mug and leaned against the counter to sip from it. “Still, what little I know about illusion spells suggests that they’re mage-level, if not adept. Friar’s got a gazillion oomphs of power now, but even if
she
managed to convey the details of such a spell in a dream, he lacks the training and experience to execute it.”
“You’re sure.”
“Spellwork isn’t just saying some fancy words while you stir together eyes of newt and toes of frog. You have to know what you’re doing in blood, body, and brain, and the only way to get that kind of knowledge is through practice and lots of it. It’s like the difference between watching football and playing it. Armchair quarterbacks might be able to analyze the hell out of a play, but they couldn’t execute it.”
“The Great Bitch is an Old One. Couldn’t she just inject that kind of knowledge into Friar when she gave him his Gift?”
“Not according to my sources—whose names wouldn’t mean much to you, so you’ll have to take my word for it.” He sipped again. “But that’s why she gave Friar a Gift, not a lot of fancy spells. He won’t be able to use any but very basic spells for a good, long time.”
“Bring that pot over here, would you? I wonder why mindspeech doesn’t work across realms.” She made a note to ask Mika about that.
“You’re sure that it doesn’t?” Rule asked.
“Based on the fact that
she
hasn’t been doing it all along, yeah, that seems a good bet.” She frowned at her notebook. “If illusion is out, what does that leave us?”
Cullen carried the pot back to the table with him. “I didn’t say illusion was out. I said an illusion spell was extremely unlikely. There’s still the possibility of an illusion Gift.” He set the pot by her elbow and sat down. “That Gift has never appeared in a human, but elven lords often develop it. I suspect illusion is the mature form of their innate ability to cast a glamour.”
Lily drummed her fingers. She truly and deeply did not want to be dealing with another sidhe lord. The one they’d encountered last month had been more than enough. Still, she noted the possibility . . . and caught a glimpse of her watch. “Shit. I’m going to have to rush through the rest of the questions, or leave some for later. You’ll be here later?”
“I’ll be around.” For some reason, that amused him. “You have a time clock to punch?”
“Drummond wants me at Headquarters at eight. I’m supposed to vet every agent on the team—make sure none of them are tainted by death magic. Which takes me to my next question. How long would the taint linger in someone who took part in a death magic ritual?”
“There’s an easy one to answer. I don’t know.”
“If you could give me some idea—”
“Anything I tell you is likely to be wrong. Your Gift is going to find traces that non-sensitives can’t, but I don’t know how long those traces linger—too damn little to go on and too many variables. Some people are more”—he gestured vaguely—“more porous than others. They’d soak up more. Plus it would depend on how many participants were at the ritual, whether the sacrifice was animal or human, and how many were sacrificed.”
“How many? You mean there could be more than one victim at a single ritual?”
“Sure. Theoretically, the only limit comes from how much power the chief celebrant can absorb or channel. The old Aztecs managed to do at least a thousand people a day when they consecrated their temple.”
“A thousand a day.”
“Some experts put it much higher. I suspect they wasted most of the power, but you’ve got to give them points for enthusiasm.”
“No,” she said, “I don’t. You think it could have been animal sacrifice?”
“Could be. The Azá used animal sacrifice.”
“That’s not what they had in mind when they grabbed me.”
“Human sacrifice is needed for a major working, sure, if you’re powering that working through death magic. But the real question is why they used death magic at all.”
Lily frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Spells that kill don’t need mega-oomphs of power. How much depends on the precision of the spell and the skill of the caster, but anyone with a strong Gift should have enough power on his own to enspell a knife to kill. So why involve at least four more people? Why use death magic?”
“Could it be someone with a weak Gift? Or someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing? Maybe he or she thought they had to use death magic to kill.”
“That’s . . .” Cullen stopped. Scowled. “Never underestimate the power of ignorance. Yeah, that’s possible. There is so much hogwash out there masquerading as fact.”
Progress. Lily jotted a few things down. “For whatever reason, the perp used a lot of power. That’s why I assumed human sacrifice. The dagger was still loaded with the nasty stuff over an hour after doing its job.”
“If you’ve got an ignorant asshole in charge, that would make sense. Overloading the power, I mean. I need to see that knife.”
“I’ll try to arrange it, but so far Drummond isn’t cooperating.”
“Yeah, Rule told me I’m not getting paid.”
“Speaking of ignorant assholes, Drummond may yet approve the consult, which would let me get this on the record. So do you think we’re talking about Friar as the perp? He lacks experience.”
He shook his head, looking frustrated. “I don’t know. It doesn’t fit for me. If
she
passed a killing spell to him in a dream, she did a pisspoor job.”
“Maybe he had to find one on his own. Maybe he used some flunky. It’s a place to start, anyway. Next question. Why would someone suddenly leak death magic?”
He frowned. “You’d better explain.”
She told him about the trail she’d found and followed to a bench in the park.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s what I said.”
“I don’t . . . wait.” He sat up straighter. “If your perp didn’t do the deed himself—if he gave the knife to a null—”
“A null? Someone unGifted could use the spell on the knife?”
“Sure. Remember those sleep charms I made? A death spell on a dagger is a charm, basically. More difficult to shape than a sleep charm, and it takes more power, which is why I assumed . . . but they’ve got the power. That would explain why they used death magic. Blades will take a killing spell readily, but they don’t store magic well. It can be done, but then it would take magic to trigger the spell. A null couldn’t do it.”
“And this makes you think a null used the knife? Because he couldn’t?”
Cullen rolled his eyes. “Let me take you by the hand and lead you step by step. We’ll call the guy who did the actual killing Perp Number One. He’s null. Perp Number Two, who probably was part of the death magic ritual, is Gifted. Perp Number Two meets Perp Number One at that bench. Number Two activates the spell on the dagger and hands it to Number One. It doesn’t start leaking until it’s activated.”
It fit. It fit really well, and yet it bothered Lily. She couldn’t put her finger on why. Maybe it was the sheer complication. “Why have a null do the killing? What’s the advantage? You’re talking about a pretty elaborate conspiracy.”
Rule spoke. “We’ve been talking about a conspiracy all along.”
She looked at him. His mouth was grim. His eyes were dark and clear. “Yeah, I guess we have been. But I—shit.” She’d caught a glimpse of the clock on the stove. She shoved her chair back. “I have to go.”
Cullen shoved his chair back, too. “Okay.”
Suspicion dawned. “Why are you agreeing with me?”
“I’m going with you.”
“Drummond isn’t going to let you—”
“Lily.” Rule stood. “You can’t drive, so Cullen will. You passed out last night. It could happen again at any time.”
Her lips thinned.
“You could take one of the guards instead, but there are advantages to having someone with you who can see and work magic. And answer questions about it.”
“I hate it when you’re right.” She looked at Cullen. “You’ll have to wait in the car, maybe for hours. You’re going to be bored.” Cullen hated being bored.
He snagged his phone from the table. “Got a new app. I’ll play while I wait.”
THIRTEEN
 
 
LILY
did ask her driver a few questions on the way to Headquarters. No pain gods sent lightning bolts through her skull as he parked in the underground garage. She thought about Aunt Mequi as she rode up in the elevator.
Her aunt had migraines. Serious migraines. A couple times she’d ended up at the ER with one, though no one was supposed to mention that. Aunt Mequi’s dignity was much affronted that she’d been unable to endure the pain without help. Of course, Mequi’s migraines lasted for hours, not the few moments Lily’s bolts-from-the-blue had occupied so far. But there were bound to be different types of migraines, right?
Rule feared that Lily’s malady was rooted in some terrible malfunction, either physical or magical, but Rule was lupus. He’d never had a headache without a concussion. Lily could see plenty of other possibilities.
There was a small crowd in the hall near the designated conference room. Lily recognized two of them: Doug Mullins and Sherry O’Shaunessy. Everyone glanced her way. Mullins frowned. Sherry smiled.
Sherry O’Shaunessy looked like a young, upscale grandmother, except for her hair. That was gray and reached past her hips when down; today she wore it in a braid coiled on top of her head. Her cheeks were chubby, her smile contagious, and her Gift was Water. She was one of the most powerful witches in the country, and the High Priestess of the Wiccan coven the Unit kept under contract.
This morning, she looked tired. Lily went to her. “Good to see you. You didn’t pull an all-nighter, did you?”
“I’m afraid so. That’s not as easy as it once was. Did you—”
Mullins interrupted. “He wants you inside, Yu.”
In Mullins’s world, “he” had to mean Drummond. Lily nodded at him and said to Sherry, “I’ll see you inside, I guess.”
Sherry took Lily’s hand and gave a little squeeze. Water magic felt like the element it drew upon, but there were variations. Sherry’s magic evoked the ocean for Lily rather than rain or brooks or deep pools. She could almost smell the salty spray. “I’m glad you’re working on this one, dear.”
“Inside,” Mullins repeated, scowling.
Sherry smiled at him. “Your name is Doug, I think?”
Mullins blinked and looked conflicted, no doubt trying to resist the urge to smile back. Satan himself would find it hard to resist Sherry’s smile. “Doug Mullins, yes, ma’ am.”
She patted his arm. “Not everyone is able to offer the proverbial spoonful of sugar, but we can at least avoid pouring vinegar over everything.” She looked at Lily. “Doug is guarding the door. I’m afraid he’s been a bit abrasive, but he does have orders.”
“I guess I do, too.” Lily gave her a nod and headed for the closed door.
The conference room was large enough for a table that could seat up to thirty people. At the moment it held four: Drummond, a senior MCD agent named Mike Brassard whom Lily knew slightly, and two others who were strangers to her. There was a whiteboard with crime scene pics tacked up and a console table with a coffeepot, cups, and fixings.
Lily headed for the coffee.
Drummond stopped talking to the woman beside him—brown and blue, pale skin, glasses, five-five, one sixty, wrinkled gray suit. She looked to be on the far side of forty. “You’re late,” he told Lily.
“It’s 8:01, so yes, I am.” She poured herself a cup. It smelled fresh.
“I want you to check everyone in this room in your own special way. Do it now.”
Lily sighed, put down her coffee, and walked up to the dumpy woman beside Drummond. A quick handshake confirmed her lack of a Gift or any trace of death magic. She did the same with a bright-eyed Asian man of around thirty and with Brassard, the MCD agent.

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