Fair Game (18 page)

Goldstein had been called away to discuss the case with someone in the Boston Police Department, so Heuter’s addition made them five. Had there been any more of them, they’d have had to leave the door to the small room open.

Dr. Fuller pulled back the sheet. “Jacob Mott, age eight. Water in his lungs tells us that he drowned. Joggers found him washed up on Castle Island early in the morning. His parents tell us that he did not have pierced ears, so the killer must have pierced both—though only the left ear was tagged. The tag is in evidence.”

Anna let the words run in one ear and out the other. They were unimportant next to the small body laid out before them. Besides, Charles would remember every word—and she didn’t want to.

Jacob had been in the water and the fishes had nibbled, though he wouldn’t have cared at that point. Compared to what had been done to this boy, the fish were only a footnote. Death had nothing much to teach Anna, but dying…dying could be so hard. Jacob’s dying had been very hard.

The witch reached out and touched the body with a lust Anna could smell even with her human nose.

“Ooh,” she crooned, and the doctor’s clinical recitation stumbled to a halt. “Didn’t you make someone a lovely meal, child?” She put her face down on the boy’s chest, and Anna wanted to grab her and rip her off. Anna folded her arms across her chest instead. No use ticking the witch off before they got what they needed from her. Jacob was past caring what the witch did.

“Someone’s been a naughty girl,” the witch said to herself as her
fingers traced a series of symbols incised into the boy’s thigh. She pulled her face away and began humming “It’s a Small World” as her fingers continued to trace the marks on the body. “There’s surely more on the back,” she said, looking at the doctor.

Mutely he nodded, and she picked up the body and rolled Jacob on his face. She was strong, for all that she looked lumpy and dumpy, because she didn’t have to struggle particularly. Dead bodies were, mostly, harder to move than live ones.

More on the back, the witch had said, and there were. More symbols and more marks of abuse. Anna swallowed hard.

“Before death,” said the witch happily. “All of it was done before death. Someone harvested your pain and your ending, didn’t they, little one? But they were sloppy, sloppy with it. Not professional, not at all.” Her hands caressed the dead boy. “I recognize this. Bad Sally Reilly. She wasn’t a very talented witch, was she? But she wrote a book and went on TV and wrote more books and became famous. Pretty, pretty Sally sold her services and then—poof, she went. Just like a witch who was bad and broke all the rules should.”

“Sally Reilly carved these symbols?” asked Agent Fisher, her voice only a little sharp.

“Sally Reilly is dead. Twenty years or more dead, because she gave mundane people a way to do this.” Caitlin bent down and licked the dead boy’s skin, and Heuter drew in a harsh breath. “But they did it wrong and they didn’t get it all, did they? They left all this lovely magic behind instead of eating it.”

“Precious,” murmured Anna.

The witch tilted her head. “What did you say?”

“You forgot the ‘my precious,’” Anna said dryly. “If you want to act like a freaking nutcase, you have to do it right.”

The witch lowered her eyelashes, flicked her hands at Anna, and said something that sounded almost like a sneeze. Brother Wolf
bumped Anna aside, flexed a little as if he were absorbing a hit, and then hopped over the table, pushing the witch away from Jacob Mott’s body and onto the floor. Neat and precise as a cat, he did it without touching Jacob at all, though he knocked Heuter and the doctor back a few paces.

Anna ran around the table so she could see what was going on, and so she saw Brother Wolf bare his ivory fangs at the witch—who immediately quit struggling.

“Charles has a grandmother who was a witch and a grandfather who was a shaman—on opposite sides of his lineage,” Anna said calmly into the silence. “You’re outmatched. Now, why don’t you tell us everything you know about the markings?”

A low growl worked its way out of Brother Wolf’s chest and she added, “Before he thinks too hard about whatever it was you tried to do to me.” Anna wasn’t sure if Brother Wolf was really playing along with her or if he truly wanted to kill the witch, but she’d use what she had. Though space was tight in the room, the other people present managed to crowd together with the table between them and Brother Wolf. It
might
have been the witch they were trying to get away from.

“The symbols inscribed are meant to increase the power of whoever is named in the ceremony,” the witch Caitlin said, her voice somewhat higher and tighter than it had been. Sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes and she blinked it away.

“You know,” Anna told her. “If you quit staring him in the eye, he won’t be so likely to eat you.” The witch turned to stare at Anna instead, and Brother Wolf increased the span of teeth he was showing and the threatening noise he was making. “Probably.”

“So the symbols will increase a witch’s power?” Leslie asked unexpectedly.

“Yes.”

Brother Wolf snapped his teeth just short of Caitlin’s nose and the
witch shrieked, jumped, and struggled involuntarily before forcing herself limp.

“Werewolves,” Anna said blandly, “can smell lies and half-truths, witch. I’d be very careful of what you say next. Now, answer Agent Fisher’s question, please. Will the symbols increase a witch’s power?”

Caitlin swallowed, her breathing rapid. “Yes—anyone’s magic abilities. Fae, witch, sorcerer, wizard, mage. Anything. You can store it. For use later. To power a spell or some magic.”

“What could you store it in?” Anna asked.

“Something dense. Metal or crystal. Most of us use something that can be worn or carried easily.” She hesitated, looked at Brother Wolf’s big teeth, and said, “But that’s not what happened with this spell, specifically. This is designed to feed the magic of a fae.”

“So this boy was marked by a witch,” Heuter said.

Caitlin snorted despite her terror of Brother Wolf and answered Heuter as if he’d asked a question instead of making a statement. “She only
wishes
she were a witch.”

“What do you mean?” Leslie’s voice was cool, as if she questioned witches who were flat on their backs being threatened by werewolves every day.

“Some of the symbols are done wrong, and a couple of them are complete nonsense.” The witch’s voice was laced with contempt. “Sally’s been gone since the late eighties. Maybe someone copied them wrong. A real witch would have been able to feel that they were off, and could have fine-tuned them on the spot. So someone’s playing make-believe witch.” Caitlin spoke as if the boy’s life were less than nothing, that the worst thing the person carving on Jacob Mott had done was to get the symbols wrong.

“Tell us about Sally Reilly,” Anna suggested. “If she’s dead, what does she have to do with this?”

The witch set her jaw. “We don’t talk to outsiders about her.”

Brother Wolf gave her a little more fang to look at.

She swallowed.

“If it makes you feel better,” Anna murmured, “we do know some witches who will tell us what we want to know.”

“Fine,” said Caitlin. “Sally Reilly figured out a way to let mundane people use our spells. If someone paid her enough, she’d teach them how to write the symbols. She’d give them a charm that, if they wore it while they worked the magic—usually only one specific spell—behaved for them as if they were a real witch. Like playing a tape recorder instead of a violin, she liked to say. It’s been a long time since she was killed, and mostly people have lost either the symbols or the charms that allowed them to use the spell. This one was done wrong. It might have been drawn that way on purpose, though Sally had the reputation for delivering what she said she would. Probably they thought they had it memorized.”

Caitlin smiled maliciously. “Spells don’t like the wrong people using them; they tend to fight back when they can. Maybe in a couple of decades it will be wrong enough that they’ll be cutting into someone and it will kill them all.” Then she looked at Charles and stiffened. “I’m telling the truth,” she said, sounding a little hysterical. “I’m telling the truth.”

Muscles flexed in Brother Wolf’s back and Anna thought it might be a good idea to get him off the witch before Caitlin really ticked him off—though part of her was happy to see that he was involved in the hunt again.

“She’s cooperating, Charles,” Anna told him. “Let’s let her up before you scare her to death.”

The werewolf snarled at Anna.

“Really,” she told him, tapping him on the nose. “It’s enough already. You aren’t a cat. No playing with something you aren’t going to eat.” It wasn’t
the words she hoped to persuade him with; it was the calming touch.

Brother Wolf stepped almost delicately off the witch and watched with yellow eyes as the woman scrambled untidily to her feet.

“Better?” Anna asked, and then, without waiting for her to respond, continued with another question. “How do you know it’s a she? The one who is trying to be a witch?”

Caitlin straightened her hair with shaky hands. “Witches strong enough to do this are women.”

“You just said that whoever put these symbols on the boy wasn’t a witch.”

“Did I?”

Brother Wolf growled.

“I really wouldn’t push him much more,” Anna advised. “He’s not very happy with you right now.” Brother Wolf gave Anna an amused look and then went back to being scary.

The witch snorted archly. She reached out to touch Jacob’s body again and stopped when Brother Wolf took a step closer, his eyes on her hand. She pulled it back and answered Anna’s question. “Anyone could have drawn this and made it work. There’s no reason but habit to assume it was a woman. I suppose that the rape means it was probably a man, doesn’t it?”

“And it did work, even though some of the symbols are wrong?” It was Heuter who asked. Anna had been so focused on the witch and Brother Wolf that she had almost forgotten the others in the room.

“I can feel that it did,” Caitlin said. “Not as well as if the symbols had been inscribed correctly, but yes.”

“Which symbols are wrong? How would you have done this better?” Heuter’s voice was a little too eager.

Caitlin gave him a cool gaze. She did psycho suburban housewife
about as well as Anna had ever seen it done. “I am not here to instruct the FBI in witchcraft.”

Leslie cleared her throat. “I’m Special Agent Fisher of the FBI. He’s Agent Heuter of Cantrip.”

“Cantrip,” Caitlin snorted contemptuously. She took a card out of her purse and handed it to him. “If you have questions, you can call me at this number. But I’m not Sally Reilly, Agent Heuter. I don’t intend to disappear, so I probably won’t help you at all. And I’ll charge you a lot for not doing so.”

Brother Wolf sneezed, but Anna wasn’t about to laugh because the witch was stepping toward the boy’s body again.

“Is there anything else we should know about this?” asked Anna.

Caitlin looked at the table. “The sex isn’t part of the ritual.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t know if that’s useful.”

“The killer keeps the victims alive for a while,” Leslie said. “Seven days, usually. Sometimes a few more or less. Is that important?”

Caitlin frowned. “That’s probably why the magic functioned, even though he screwed up. He cut the symbols in and left them to work—like a Crock-Pot, you know? Can’t cook very fast at a low temperature, but give it enough time and it gets the job done.” She huffed. “Maybe the sex is because he got bored waiting. If we’re done here, I’d like to go. I have an appointment in half an hour.”

Leslie handed her a card. “If you think of anything more, please call me.”

“Sure,” Caitlin said. Then she turned to Anna. “I’m going to tell Isaac what your wolf did to me.” She smiled archly. “He’s not going to be pleased with you.”

“Tell him I’ll buy him dinner at The Irish Wolfhound to make up for the offense,” Anna suggested, holding the door open.

Caitlin looked disappointed at Anna’s lack of reaction. “He’s the Alpha of the Olde Towne Pack, and he owes me. You’ll be sorry.”

“You’re
going to be late for your appointment if you don’t hurry,” Anna told her.

The witch scowled, turned on her heel, and marched out the door. Before she was out of sight, Dr. Fuller had the boy’s body back flat on the table and covered protectively. “That…” He sputtered a little, trying to keep his voice down.

“There are reasons we don’t like witches much,” Anna told him, when she was sure Caitlin was well out of earshot. “I know it’s upsetting. But Jacob’s killer has another victim right now. She’s probably alive. And something the witch told us might help us find Lizzie Beauclaire.”

She thinks the witches killed Sally Reilly.

Anna looked at Brother Wolf. Their mate bond was still as frozen as a Popsicle in Antarctica, but it was his voice in her head.

“You think differently,” she said.

Shaman’s eyes looked at her, Charles’s eyes, then he closed them and shook himself, as if trying to shake off water after a dip in a lake.
I think that she gave a spell to a killer who didn’t want her to talk. The witches wouldn’t have been the only ones to want her dead.

“Anna?” asked Leslie. “What’s he saying to you?”

“Nothing we can prove just yet,” Anna told her. “Though it might be interesting to see if Sally Reilly disappeared in one of the years that all of the bodies weren’t found.”

“We don’t know anything about Sally Reilly,” Leslie reminded her. “Let alone that she disappeared.”

“Witchcraft and fae in the same case,” said Heuter, sounding fascinated and a little excited.

In the small examination room with a dead little boy on the table, Anna found his excitement distasteful
.