Grave Dance (21 page)

“Nice. This might actual y be newsworthy.”

She’d threatened and goaded me but hadn’t actual y thought I could provide her with a story?
Figures.

“So do you know what the runes do?” she asked, and I shook my head.

“I did a little cursory research, but so far I haven’t turned up anything definitive.” I paused, letting her study the runes for a moment before I asked, “You’ve used Aaron Corrie as a source before, right?”

Lusa furrowed her brow, which I’d never seen her do on TV—probably because the thought lines that crawled across her forehead weren’t terribly attractive. “Dr. Corrie?

Yes. He wasn’t able to identify the runes either?”

I made a rude sound and Lusa looked up, surprise on her face.

“He’d
like
to identify them. Unfortunately he doesn’t care for the company I keep,” I said, and her lips formed a perfect O, but she didn’t look surprised. Since she knew the man, she surely knew his stance on the fae. I didn’t ask whether she thought Corrie had disapproved of my company due to the fact that I lived in a fae’s house or because I’d partnered with an FIB agent—the fae-phobic geezer had plenty of reasons not to trust me—but as long as she didn’t guess
my
heritage, I didn’t care. “Since
you’ve
worked with Corrie before . . .” I trailed off, and Lusa’s glossed lips stretched in a slow smile.

“I like the way you think, Craft. I suppose you’l want to know what Dr. Corrie and I turn up on the runes?” she asked, but obviously she anticipated that I’d agree because she didn’t wait for me to answer before saying, “So, we’ve got a tear into the Aetheric surrounded by odd runes, and a magical construct built from the same runes, that, when magical construct built from the same runes, that, when dispel ed, opened a hole into the Aetheric.”

Oh, I liked her theory—I didn’t think it was right, as none of the ravens Caleb, Falin, and the col ectors destroyed had torn reality, but I wasn’t going to correct her. After al , if she ran with that theory for her story, the attention for the holes would shift off me.

Lusa squinted, pul ing the paper closer to her face.

“These are incomplete, right?”

“I left the upper left-hand corner unconnected.”

“Perfect.” She folded the page in half. “Can I keep this?”

I nodded. I could always draw another copy. “You were going to tel me how you found the tear.”

“Yeah.” She tucked away the page of runes. “Fol ow me,”

she said, and careful y picked her footing as she and her designer shoes led me closer to the bridge.

We slid around the support pil ar that the fence butted up against, and then Lusa ducked under the bridge, her ankles wobbling as stones skipped down the steep incline.

Somewhere in the shadows under the bridge the river rushed by with an endless murmur. She grabbed one of the diagonal support beams to steady herself and then pointed beyond the beam.

“What do you see?”

I squinted, searching for what she was pointing at, but al I saw was inky darkness. “Nothing. Grave-sight has burned out my night vision.”

“Oh. I’d heard wyrd witches had trouble with their abilities burning out their senses, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. Wel , what you aren’t seeing is a tent city established by the homeless. I was looking into possible victims for the Sionan floodplain foot murders. That many people couldn’t have gone missing without anyone noticing, but there hasn’t been an abnormal rise in missing-persons reports. It didn’t add up.”

I nodded. I knew al this from what John had told me. She smiled and ran a hand through her brown hair, brushing it smiled and ran a hand through her brown hair, brushing it back from her face. “I went looking for people who wouldn’t be missed, and one of my searches turned up the fact that a homeless man who spent the night in jail for public intoxication seven days ago found al of his buddies missing when he was released the next morning. He reported it to the cops, but transient people disappear a lot.

No one looked into it. “

No one but a reporter on the trail of a story.

“When I interviewed Eddie, the homeless man, he swore everyone had to be dead. That they couldn’t have just relocated because they’d left everything behind: clothes, shoes, possessions—when you don’t have anything you can’t afford to abandon anything. I came out here to fol ow up. Stumbling over the tear was a very happy accident, though if you quote me on that I’l deny saying it.”

As she spoke, a car drove across the bridge and I jumped as a nearly deafening roar rumbled under the structure. The sound echoed against the supports, the bank, the columns, the water, and back again, like rol ing thunder.

Thunder.

Thundering.

My head snapped up. From underneath a bridge, a bridge didn’t look like a structure that joined two landmasses. It looked like a portal that the river passed through. A gate. The kelpie’s “thundering gate” wasn’t a gate at al . It was a bridge.

Maybe this bridge, if Lusa is onto anything with her
missinghomeless angle.

I cracked my shields, slightly, ever so slightly, so just bits of my psyche crossed the planes of reality. The chil of the grave, of the dead, hung in the air, the grave essence reaching for me. Grave essence that emanated from something very close. And fresh.

I opened my shields a little wider. The shadows in my vision rol ed back to reveal the skeletal carcass of the vision rol ed back to reveal the skeletal carcass of the rusted and col apsed Lenore Street Bridge. Beyond the bent and sagging support beams—which I was careful not to touch, as I did
not
want to be responsible for a bridge col apse—I could see the remains of dilapidated lean-tos and weathered tents huddled on the bank. Grave essence leaked from amid the abandoned tents. Not a lot, just the smal est string that whispered across my skin like a northern wind. But essence meant a body—or at least part of one. And this one was human.

“Your eyes are doing that creepy glowing thing,” Lusa said, staring.

I slammed my shields shut. “Lusa, I suggest you find your cameraman. This place is about to be deemed a crime scene.”

Chapter 19

I
hung back at the edge of the crowd as I waited for the site to be declared a crime scene. I’d told Tamara what I found before I cal ed John. The revelation that there was a body—or real y, part of one—on the scene garnered a low groan from her, but she rol ed her shoulders back and went to talk to the officer in charge.

John had been at home when I cal ed him, but by the time I finished tel ing him where I was, what I’d sensed, and what Lusa had uncovered, he’d already been on a second line, waking up a judge for his warrant. He, the warrant, and cadaver dogs were on their way. Now al that was left was to wait.

A scream rang through the darkness and the crowd around me went silent as dozens of heads turned toward the sound. I couldn’t see the screamer, but the voice was masculine, though pained, and distant.
One of the
skimmers?
I squinted even though I knew I had no chance of spotting him—after my brush with the land of the dead under the bridge, the shadows were even darker.

“What happened?” someone beside me asked.

“Not sure,” another said.

“Can we get closer?” asked a third.

That question seemed to reflect the sentiment of the entire crowd. Shoulders brushed against mine and a hot hand pressed into my back as people shoved forward. The crowd surged toward the fence, carrying me along with it as everyone jockeyed for a better view.

Somewhere ahead of me the scream mutated into a ful throated howl of pain, and suddenly I could see. Not from ful throated howl of pain, and suddenly I could see. Not from a spontaneous reversal of years of damage, though until that moment I would have said that possibility was only slightly less likely than spontaneous combustion from magical overload. No, I could see because one of the skimmers ignited, the blaze casting the scene in grim light.

The flame engulfed the man in a single heartbeat, the raw Aetheric energy he’d gathered acting as fuel for the unnatural fire. It il uminated the group of skimmers surrounding the tear, splashing them in color as the fire spit out sparks of green, purple, and red.

I’d heard that drawing too much Aetheric energy could burn up a witch from the inside out, but the few cases of overload I knew of had resulted in madness or the inability to access the Aetheric after overexposure. I’d never heard of anyone actual y combusting.

The skimmer’s scream broke, his voice hoarse from his howls. He flailed, but the other skimmers never looked away from the rift. They didn’t even appear to notice their burning companion.

“Let me through,” a woman wearing an official OMIH tag yel ed as she charged the gate. A second official flanked her. “We can help.”

A contingent of Bel ’s guards blocked the entrance, but the redheaded lawyer threw out his arms, motioning the guards to move.

“Get that gate open. Let them through,” he yel ed at the guards, and then to the OMIH officials he cal ed, “Hurry.”

The two officials and the lawyer ran for the burning skimmer. Forming a semicircle around the man, they pul ed the raw magic brimming under his skin, drawing it out and dispersing it harmlessly into the air. I cracked my shields.

Different planes of existence snapped into focus before my eyes, making the night around me both crystal clear despite the darkness and almost too chaotic to perceive.

The skimmers glowed with mottled light. Most witches resonated with only one or two colors of Aetheric energy, resonated with only one or two colors of Aetheric energy, but the skimmers had been drawing down every wisp of raw magic that had escaped the rift. They swel ed with a noxious mix of magic, each quite possibly in danger of being the next to ignite.

The skimmer who
had
ignited dimmed as the witches drew the magic from him. The Aetheric flames died as his broken scream faded to wracking cries. But it looked like he’d be okay.

Until the soul col ector appeared behind him.

“Too late,” I whispered.

The witches didn’t know that yet, though. They continued drawing and dissipating the magic, their faces cut with hard lines of concentration and their shoulders stiff. Then the col ector I’d first seen in Lusa’s footage reached forward, his hand passing through the skimmer.

The skimmer’s knees locked, his face freezing in a silent scream as sound failed him. His body col apsed facefirst, the empty husk crumpling to the ground. His soul remained standing upright, caught in the col ector’s fist. Anytime I’d seen Death or the other col ectors take a soul, they pul ed it free and then flicked their wrist and the soul went wherever it was souls went. This col ector didn’t.

He turned, his coat flaring around him with the movement and his hand stil clenching the soul. The witches rushed forward, checking on the dead man. The col ector stepped around them, dragging the soul with him. A soul that was staring at his own dead body.

I’d met several ghosts over the years, witnessed Death col ect a handful of souls, and was even present once when a soul resisted col ection, but I’d never before witnessed the very moment when someone was forced to confront the fact that his life had ended. The shock and confusion lasted only an instant and then the skimmer’s mouth fel open, his features twisting in a mix of agony and rage. He thrashed in the col ector’s grasp and screamed. But there were no human lungs or living vocal cords involved in this scream. It human lungs or living vocal cords involved in this scream. It was the scream of a soul and it made me want to reel back and clutch my ears. Several of the people in the press of bodies around me flinched—they might not have been able to hear the scream with their ears, but I think everyone present felt it.

The col ector ignored the soul’s pitiable distress.

“Why doesn’t he send him on?” I muttered the question to no one in particular.

The man in front of me must have heard because he turned, and then he startled.

“Holy Mother—” He backed up and into the person beside him. “Your eyes,” he whispered. Then he pushed people aside as he retreated farther from me.

I barely noticed him, but his passage disturbed several other people, who turned. More exclamations sounded, more movement, and soon a ring of empty space opened around me. I was too intent on the events unfolding on the other side of the fence to care.

The col ector had moved to the next skimmer. She held her arms above her head as if reaching for the Aetheric energy helped her draw more of the excess magic that was poisoning her body. Despite the fact that she’d exceeded her overload point, the only expression on her face was pure and unadulterated ecstasy. I don’t think she even noticed when the col ector thrust his hand through her sternum and jerked her soul free.

No, she isn’t dying
. Not yet anyway. I marched forward—

my bubble of empty space had opened a path al the way to the fence—without ever looking away from the col ector, who now gripped a soul in each fist.
Who is he?
I’d never seen a col ector strike before the cause of death guaranteed an end to life.

A hand wrapped around my arm, jerking me back. “This is what you consider keeping your head down?” Falin asked in a voice that had turned gravel y with anger. “Do you want to be dragged off to Faerie? Because if that’s you want to be dragged off to Faerie? Because if that’s your goal, I can take you there myself.”

I blinked at him and then my gaze snapped back to the scene beyond the fence. “She wasn’t supposed to die.” Or at least it hadn’t looked like she was supposed to die.

“What? What are you talking about? Jeez, Alex, your eyes are glowing like lanterns.” Falin lifted his hand as if blocking a glare and green light reflected off his pale skin.

Light from
my
eyes.

I didn’t have time to worry about that.

“He took her and she wasn’t dead yet.” I pointed at the knot of skimmers, but no one except me realized the woman was dead—apparently not even her own body noticed it was now unoccupied.

The col ector—or reaper, as Roy had cal ed him and maybe that was a more appropriate name—looked down at the souls he clutched. He stil hadn’t vanished the man, whose screams had given way to begging. The woman’s soul just looked confused, as if she stil didn’t understand.

Then the reaper vanished, taking the souls with him.

The woman’s body final y col apsed, hitting the ground without her ever making a sound.

A frenzy had already stirred the crowd outside the gate, but now it lifted to a new pitch, bordering on chaos. With two bodies on the ground, the police didn’t have to wait for warrants. They stormed the lot, pul ing the skimmers away from the rift by force, dragging them when they wouldn’t cooperate.

The skimmers might have been blissed out of their minds from contact with the Aetheric, but they noticed being dragged from the source. They struggled, screaming, fighting, and cursing. Fil ed with raw magic, their curses and their very anger, took shape. As an officer attempted to restrain one woman, a black and red cloud of unfocused rage lifted out of her and engulfed him. The officer jumped back, beating at his arms and chest as if swatting dozens of stinging insects. Another officer fel to his knees, of stinging insects. Another officer fel to his knees, grasping his throat as a sludgelike bubble of magic encased his head.

The anti��black magic unit officers were better prepared. Their personal wards and charms helped them shrug off the unfocused spel s, and now that the skimmers were using magic against them, they retaliated in kind. The first skimmer went down, unconscious under a spel . Then another. A third one got caught in a circle.

The remaining skimmers glanced at each other, and then scattered, Bel among them. Three officers went after the large man, and he turned. Magic pooled in his palms. A lot of magic.

“Look out,” I yel ed a moment before Bel flung the raw magic at the closest officer. Not that anyone besides Falin heard me.

The officer might have been warded against a lot of different spel s, but nothing can ward you against an assault of raw Aetheric energy. It slammed into his chest, knocking him off his feet, and the smel of burned flesh spread over the lot. Bel ran for the river and threw himself into the current. The officers chasing him stopped at the edge of the rushing water, the beams of their flashlights skittering over the choppy surface.

“He’s gone,” Falin said, shaking his head.

I scanned the water, waiting for Bel to surface for air. He didn’t. “Think he survived?”

“The current isn’t too dangerous here.”

True, and Bel had gone into the water absolutely bristling with magic. With that much raw Aetheric energy at his disposal, who knew what he was capable of? Unless the overload had completely addled his brain, which was possible. One way or another, he was gone and the skimmers’ claim on the crime scene was broken.

Four people left the vacant lot in body bags, nine more in Four people left the vacant lot in body bags, nine more in ambulances, and five in handcuffs. The rest of the skimmers escaped.

“It’s a little higher,” I said from where I stood outside one of the ambulances. “Like a cloud around his head and torso.”

The man in question groaned as another pus-fil ed blister burst open in an angry welt on his forehead. The healer leaning over him lifted his hands a couple of inches and glanced at me. I nodded to let him know he was now in the center of the cloud.

“Can you sense what color strands of Aetheric were used?” he asked.

I didn’t have to sense it. I hadn’t closed my shields, so I could actual y see the mottled miasmic cloud of magic, though that wasn’t a fact I was sharing. “Red, but it’s dark, so more than one color. Primarily red, though.”

The healer nodded and turned toward his patient again.

His fingers trembled, and he clenched his hands. His Adam’s apple wobbled as he swal owed, but then he forced his fingers straight again and nodded as if he’d come to some conclusion. His eyelids drooped as his gaze focused inward, and a thin string of energy appeared between his hands.

The string grew slowly, snaking almost unobtrusively through the cloud of magic. I watched, monitoring the curse.

The healer’s gently glowing spel wove through the mist, building a spiderweb of green channels. The curse final y noticed and a tendril of magic shot out the side.

“The cloud is dividing. The new section is pooling over his thighs.”

The healer spread his arms, making the thread of magic stretch. Muscles twitched in his face with the strain, but he kept the flow of magic even until his slowly building tapestry of magic disrupted the structure of the curse. The destructive mist shattered.

“You got it,” I said as the spent Aetheric energy

“You got it,” I said as the spent Aetheric energy dissipated.

The healer’s hands dropped, and he sagged where he sat. “Thank goodness,” he said, even his voice raw from the effort of dispel ing the il -formed curse. “You ever think of going into curse-breaking? You’re definitely sensitive enough to do the diagnostic work.”

“Not real y my thing,” I said as I stepped back, out of the open ambulance door. The healer remained behind. I didn’t blame him; he was spent. Besides, I could see Tamara helping another healer with the last officer hurt during the skimmer bust, so there were no more patients to tend.

I gave a wave to the paramedic when he jumped out to shut the ambulance doors. Then I turned away and headed back for the fence and the crime scene beyond. The police had secured the area and once again access beyond the fence was limited. Which meant I stil hadn’t gotten to study the ritual space I’d come to see.

“Miss Craft, I’d like to say I’m surprised to see you here,”

a familiar voice said, and I cringed. Agent Nori. I turned toward the voice, but when I saw her through my grave-sight, I realized I wouldn’t have recognized her if she hadn’t spoken first.

Nori’s typical glamour resembled her fae mien only in that they shared the same basic shape. Under that glamour her skin was tinged deep blue and her features had a razor edge, her chin and nose ending in sharp points. As she strol ed toward me, her wisp-thin body moved as though her hips were shaped differently from those of a human or as if walking wasn’t her most comfortable way to travel. She watched me with large, multifaceted eyes, like a fly’s, and I looked away before she realized I was staring.