The Isis Collar

11

It wasn’t quite as bad as I’d expected. But close. Rizzoli and three other agents arrived first and then more showed up as the minutes went by. I drank a couple of shakes and used the bathroom while they were with Dawna.

I was right, though; Rizzoli wasn’t at all happy that the witch wasn’t here anymore. “So let me get this straight. She was right there, as a chair, doing nothing aggressive? All you had to do was pretend to ignore her and wait for us, Graves, and we’d have had her in custody.”

True enough. I could have done that. Hell, I probably should have. “There were lots of people in the building, Rizzoli, and we had no way of knowing what she was planning. All I could tell was that she was doing some sort of casting. She could have been casting a curse, or worse. I have no idea why she was here to begin with, and I wasn’t happy about leaving her alone to do her own thing until you got here.”

“She’s right, sir,” said a woman in a gray suit—Rizzoli had introduced her as a forensic witch—who was kneeling on the carpeting near where the fake chair had been. She spoke with authority. “Ms. Graves probably did the best thing possible by putting her on the defensive and forcing her hand. There was something being worked in this room. If it was a booby trap, it would have taken out our team, or maybe the whole building when we walked through the door. I’m in the process of unwinding the spell to verify that. Plus, now we have her blood. It won’t be hard to analyze it and search for it in the database of magical beings. I can set up a tracking spell once I get back to my casting circle.”

I was right? Sweet. That’s a nice change. I didn’t like that a spell was being cast, though.

Rizzoli nodded appreciatively. “Okay, then. Good job, Celia. So let’s concentrate on how she got in to begin with and why she was here. You say you were outside when you heard her voice. Tell me about that. Where had you been and how long had you been gone?”

I sighed. I’d told the story three times already and it wasn’t getting any more interesting with repetition. The only thing I left out was the kiss because … well, it was none of their business and I didn’t need it on the record. “What I’m more concerned with is what she took with her.”

That made both Rizzoli and the witch stare at me. “You didn’t mention the first time that she took something,” Rizzoli said. “Any idea what?”

I shook my head. “I just remembered and I haven’t a clue. It was square, and about this big.” I measured with my hands an object about the size of one of the throw pillows on the couch. “But my office hasn’t been tampered with and there’s nothing really of value—at least magical value—down here on the first floor.”

Rizzoli pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. “Then I guess we’d better find out what else might have been of interest.”

He led Dawna and I through each of the rooms, staring at us as we looked through cabinets, closets, and desks. But we couldn’t find a thing she might have taken, unless it was in Ron’s room, and he was the only one who’d know that.

I was about to open my mouth to suggest Rizzoli talk to Ron when Dawna let out a little yelp. “I know what it is! There is something missing, Celia!”

I hurried to her desk, where she dropped to her knees. She checked under the desk and between the desk and half wall. “What?”

“The book. That special book you’d asked me to look at from Dr. Sloan. It was right here on my desk when we went to Levy’s and now it’s not.”

Holy hell. She was right. It wasn’t something I’d even thought about but had been dead center on her desk. I looked over at Rizzoli and he snapped his fingers. Two men appeared as if by magic.

“Dust this whole area for fingerprints and do a magic trace.” He wrote down Dr. Sloan’s name in a paper notebook from his hip pocket. “Let’s get out of their way and back to see what they’ve found in the other room.”

I looked again at the broken window. “I can’t imagine why she’d want to steal a book about the divine that’s probably available on Amazon.com. I’m a lot more freaked out she was able to get in here in the first place. That says that she knows who I am and can walk right into a building that’s spelled to keep her out.”

The witch drawing runes on the rug looked up. “You have a spell on this building specific to her? Why?” Rizzoli raised his brows and give me a questioning look.

“Well, no. The spell’s not that specific. But it is a strong magical barrier that’s intended to bar entry to those with evil intent.”

The woman went back to drawing symbols in chalk. I’d seen that kind of thing before; done right, it would lift the blood spots and any skin samples into the air where they could be collected in test tubes … and leave our rug nice and clean. Nifty spell, that. Rizzoli’s witch shook her head. “That sort of thing is completely useless against someone of this caliber. She could walk through it the way you walk through morning mist. I’m frankly surprised I don’t recognize the magic signature in her blood. I know most of the upper echelon of magic.”

“You can read someone’s magic signature just by encountering it?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. Like, John Creede made the binding spell in this charm ball … and it’s a nice piece of work. Pity you missed the suspect. It probably would have held her. What did work was the knife Bruno DeLuca made. Damn, is it impressive. Best item I’ve encountered outside of religious artifacts at the Vatican.” She paused for a moment and stared at the silver knife in my wrist sheath. “I have to admit I’m surprised you have items made by both of them. They’re not known to run in the same circles and they don’t hand out their craft like penny candy. But they were definitely gifts, offered by hand, not taken by force. So, they’re yours and I don’t have to ask ugly questions about how they came into your possession.”

Wow. All that and I didn’t remember her even touching the knife. She’d done a casting circle on it, but I’d placed it inside and took it out again. I’d been watching closely, to make certain the blade wouldn’t disappear with Rizzoli’s team when they left. I needed it handy since the witch was still at large. “So if you cast a spell here, they’d know you, too? What’s your name? John said he didn’t recognize this caster.”

She rocked back to sit on her heels and her fingers stopped fluttering over the chalk symbols. Her eyes, blazing with blue fire, were focused on me. “He said that? How did he come in contact with this magic before we arrived?” I noticed she didn’t answer my question about her name.

“Okay, my bad. He hasn’t touched this particular magic, but he did touch the magic affecting me from the bomb. I guess I’m assuming the witch who was just here was the same person who set off the bomb at the school. It felt like the same magic, here and at your office and the school.”

She pursed her lips and tapped one slender finger on her pant leg. “And John Creede actually said he didn’t recognize the caster? Because he knows a lot of people.”

Had he? I felt my brows furrowing as I thought back. “No, I guess not. I didn’t ask about the caster. I asked if he knew what the spell on me was. He said he didn’t know the spell, but it was really complex. He took several of my hairs to check it out further.”

She stood up in a single movement that was fluid and limber. I was betting she was either a martial artist or a yoga instructor. “Chief, I think I need samples of Ms. Graves’s hair as well. We might be able to match any residual magic in her hair with the first series of events.”

He nodded briefly, but I held up a hand to stop her. “Slow down. I really don’t like having bits of me floating around out there. I’m already locking my hairbrush and comb in a warded safe to keep them away from people who want to use my hair to make anti-siren charms and vampire death curses. I don’t mind John having them because I trust him. But I don’t know you from Adam. Not even your name.”

Rizzoli gave another small nod and made a motion at the witch. She pulled out a card and passed it to me as he spoke. “Abigail Wendy Jones. Goes by Gail. Graduate of Harvard College of Magic, cum laude, when she was sixteen. Been with the Bureau for five years now after teaching at the Academy for two. Level nine-plus talent. We only bring her in from Quantico for special cases that require a high level of expertise.” He raised his brows to make sure he had my attention. “I think you know her father.”

Gail Jones. I’d been suitably impressed until that last bit and then my jaw dropped. “And you want me to trust her after telling me who her father is?” Because I did know her father. John Jones is a talented mage. He’s also a member of an organization of mercenaries who kill supernatural beings who had committed crimes and couldn’t be successfully imprisoned. In short, he’s a magical hit man. He’d coerced me into working with him more than once.

Gail Jones’s jaw set and she looked uncomfortable. “Dad and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things—including his lack of respect for the law. We’re not a close family.”

That twinged my conscience because I had the same feelings about my mother … and I am a firm believer that a person shouldn’t be judged by their family tree. Heaven knows I wouldn’t want to be.

Still—I bent my head toward Rizzoli. “You take them and if you want to give them to her, I’ll hold you responsible for any problems.”

If my lack of trust bothered her, Gail didn’t let on. She didn’t flinch. Maybe she’d gotten used to it, like I had. She just pulled a pair of delicate tweezers from her kit and handed them to Rizzoli. “We’ll need three—and make sure you get the root. That’s the important part.”

She grabbed a plastic evidence bag and wrote my name on it with a squeaky marker before holding it open expectantly. Rizzoli stared at the top of my head for a long moment, tweezers poised. I wasn’t sure what was going through his mind. Then he reached forward and I felt pain too large for the act explode through my head. Stars twinkled in my vision and I sucked in a breath to keep from screaming. What the heck? It hadn’t hurt hardly at all when John had plucked some out … despite my kvetching at him.

And now my headache was back. Damn it. Every time I forgot about it for a moment it would reappear. It was getting annoying. I needed to get on with my day … what was left of it. I was going to call Bruno, and Creede, see what they knew about Ms. Jones. The Bureau trusted her. But I’d reserve judgment until I checked my own sources. I’m naturally a little paranoid, but this situation was pushing me over the top.

“Is there anything else you need me for, Rizzoli?”

“Why?”

“I’ve got a couple of calls to make.”

“Call away.” He waved in the general direction of the stairs. “Just don’t go anywhere without letting me know.”

I sighed. Unless I wanted all the nice agents listening in, I’d need to make the call in my office. On the third freaking floor. I so did not want to go up those stairs. I was tired. And hungry. Of course, I’d never gotten the chance to eat since the phð earlier. Now that the headache was back I was nauseous. The reception area might have the blood removed but there was glass embedded in everything, including the walls—which didn’t seem logical since the glass should have exploded outward. That meant I was going to have to deal with yet another insurance company.

Suckfreakintastik.

My first call was to Creede. No answer. Then again, he’d said he’d be out of touch. But he’d also said he’d leave a message. Hmpf. He was a big bad mage; he could definitely take care of himself. But still, it wasn’t like him not to call when he promised.

My second call was Bruno. He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey.” A simple greeting, but it held a world of warmth.

“Hey yourself.” I couldn’t quite manage to make my voice sound normal.

“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”

“Bad day. Really, really, bad day.”

He sighed, but forced a hint of humor into his voice. “Where does it rank on the epic scale of Celia Graves disasters?”

I laughed. Which was exactly what he’d intended. “Let’s see, if the rift was a ten…”

“Oh yeah, the rift was definitely a ten.”

I thought about it for a second. “Probably a six. Six point five.”

He sighed. “Do you need me to come? I’m meeting with Dr. Sloan, but we can reschedule.”

I thought about it for all of about ten seconds. “Actually, I kind of need to talk to him, too. I just figured he wouldn’t be in on a Friday afternoon.”

“He wanted us to have plenty of uninterrupted time for our first meeting about my dissertation.”

Time that I was now interrupting. Oops.

I could hear Dr. Sloan’s voice in the background. “Have her come on down.”

“You hear that?” Bruno asked.

“I heard. Tell him thanks. I’ll be there as quick as I can.” I grabbed my purse and started downstairs. I’d made it all the way to the reception desk before I remembered I didn’t have my car.

Rizzoli straightened up from something Jones was showing him. “Going somewhere?”

I nodded. “Actually, yeah. I need to meet with an expert about the incident this morning. He’s also been investigating the death curse on me and I want to ask whether that has anything to do with my reaction to the school event. Actually, it’s Dr. Sloan—the book that’s missing is his.”

Gail perked up. “You mean Aaron Sloan? Brilliant man. He guest lectured a few times when I was at Harvard. Frankly, I might have to call him myself if this spell turns out to be what I think it is. ”

That made both me and Rizzoli look at her sharply, but she just looked back at her runes, then closed her eyes. Her fingers moved, casting. But Rizzoli asked the obvious. “Should I send you with Celia to talk to him?”

She shook her head, her voice now slightly singsong. “No. I need to concentrate on this and still have to sample the people in the conference room for any coercion or memory reduction spells. Someone should have noticed a woman in the room before Ms. Graves arrived.” Well, yeah. That was a good point. Then she opened her eyes and looked at me. “But it would help if you could pave the way with him. Tell him it’s an E14 spell so far and might contain traces of D71 workings. That’ll get his interest up and he’ll probably call me.”

Rizzoli nodded sagely, but I got the impression he didn’t understand a word she’d just said. “E14 and D71. Got it. Let’s go, Celia. I’ll take you over.” I raised my brows in a silent question. Why did I need company? “Consider it protective custody until we know more about why you’re being targeted.”

He gave a gentlemanly bow and waved me toward the door. I sighed and preceded him out the door with only a minor limp. Dawna was chatting with a cute gray-suit near the door and I got the impression from her sultry smile that their conversation had nothing to do with the investigation. “Going to the college now. Be good.” I grabbed my purse from where it was hiding out of sight behind the computer monitor.

She smirked and winked. “I always am. Except when I’m … bad.”

That made the agent smirk, too, and Rizzoli let out a small growl. “Go assist Special Agent Jones, Davies. She’ll need someone to gather the evidence once she raises it from the floor, and you seem to have nothing better to do.”

Agent Davies’s gaze moved to the floor and he fidgeted nervously while Dawna blushed and scurried to her desk.

Ron noticed me and tried to catch my attention with eyes blazing, but I so didn’t want to talk to him right now. What was happening wasn’t precisely my fault, but this probably wasn’t helping his settlement conference any. I pretended not to see him and scurried out the front door. I only made it past the agent guarding the entrance because Rizzoli was right at my elbow. Ron wouldn’t be that lucky, if he tried at all.

I started to ask Rizzoli a question, but he held up his hand and put his cell phone to his ear. “Nancy?… Dom. Hey, find some reason to get Davies off this case. Pull him back to base.… Okay, yeah. Thanks.”

I waited until we were in the car before I commented. “A little harsh, don’t you think? It was just innocent flirting.”

“Not so innocent, Graves. What worried me wasn’t that he was flirting. It was that he didn’t notice you.”

That made me frown because I didn’t get what he was saying. “Try again. Maybe I’m just dense today, but I don’t understand.”

He looked almost amused. “You really don’t, do you? Okay, short version: You’re a siren. Every other male in the room except those who are shooting blanks like me or are not heterosexual noticed you. Couldn’t take their eyes off you. Except Davies, who couldn’t take his eyes off your friend. That level of interest in anyone could impact this investigation. I don’t care if they date—hell, that’s almost guaranteed from the way they were looking at each other. But not here and not now. Got it?”

“Oh. That’s a lot to get from a quick glance. What exactly is your specialty at the Bureau? I mean, most agents have some sort of special talent. Not many plain humans there, I’ll bet.”

He turned on the frontage road toward the university back entrance. “More than you’d think, actually. There are good and bad things about having people with specialized paranormal talents in the department. The good is you get people who can solve cases better. But only certain cases. They tend to rely on their strengths, and when you only have a hammer, you see every problem as a nail. I prefer people with full tool belts, and humans bring that to the table.”

His answer made me smirk at him. “One of your talents seems to be misdirection. Because you didn’t answer my question.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with good humor. “You’re right. It is.” He let that sink in with a prolonged moment of silence.

Finally I shook my head with amused weariness. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Intuition.”

I turned my head to stare at him. His smile didn’t fade. “Excuse me?”

“You asked my talent. That’s it. I’m a level-eight Intuitive.”

Intuition was a measurable talent? “Really? Is that a psychic or magical gift? What exactly does it mean?”

“It started out as a clairvoyant talent but was moved to the psychic talents when I was a kid. But now it’s considered partly magical, too, as science has learned more about the brain and meta-mitochondrial DNA. So now it’s its own subset, which bumped me up the chart by about four levels. I sucked on the clairvoyant and psychic scales. I wasn’t much better than a plain human.”

“So you’ve got really good intuition? That’s it?”

His reply was a laugh that was genuinely amused and not at all insulted. “It’s a lot more useful than you think. I’m always in the right place at the right time. I meet people I need to and ask the right questions exactly when I should. I pick the correct people to go with me on an assignment to get the results we need to solve a case. So far, I’ve got a ninety-three percent average of satisfactorily closing case files. That gets you noticed in my business.”

“Then you happening to be the person who showed up at my office the first time we met wasn’t coincidence?”

As his hand flipped the lever for the blinker he shook his head and turned in at the university’s back gate. The main entrance doesn’t have a security shack. But this one, close to the administration building, does. I dug my student ID out of my purse and held it up, but I think it was Rizzoli’s official badge that did the trick because wow, did the guard leap back inside the booth fast to raise the bar across the drive. “I decided to go to your office. I didn’t have any real idea why, but over the years, I’ve learned to go with my gut—more than most cops. Got in trouble more than once, too. The nice part is that once intuition became an official talent, about two years ago, my supervisors started taking off my bridle.” We reached the administration building. Rizzoli kept talking. “The Bureau is actually pretty good at nurturing talents. So they’re using me as a sort of guinea pig, to see whether intuition can be trained to respond on command. That gives me a lot of freedom.” He pulled into a parking space and turned off the car. “Like when I gave credentials to an untrained newbie siren.”

“And like playing chauffeur right now?”

He shrugged as he unbuckled his belt. “That decision was a combination of intuition and common sense. I’ve learned that you wander off if I don’t keep an eye on you, and I need you handy in case my team turns up anything new at your office. But there’s probably another reason I’m here and it’ll come when it comes. I’ve heard vampires have terrific intuition, which is why it’s so hard to catch and kill them. Maybe you have it, too. It’s a talent that can be honed, you know. I’m a lot better at following my gut now that I’ve started to analyze the whys.”

I wanted to be annoyed that he accused me of wandering off, but it was sort of true. And what he said about intuition was interesting. “I’ve always been told I’ve lived a charmed life, despite the things that have happened to me. I was kidnapped and survived. I had a death curse put on me and survived. A vampire bite … survived. I’ve been told it’s my siren blood and good training and equipment.”

“Possibly. But you also have a knack for stumbling into situations, and having the right person on hand at the right time to help you out. That’s intuition.”

He was making me really think about things from a different point of view. “I was tested for everything in school. Failed miserably. And the sirens told me why. Siren abilities don’t coexist with other strong talents. So, I’m guessing no empathy, no intuition. Or at least not much.”

We walked up the sidewalk to the science building, listening to the birds and catching the scent of rich, wet soil and sweet bedding flowers. “Hmpf. That’s a shame. The government put together some tests when they split it out into its own category.” Rizzoli held the door for me to enter ahead of him. “One test is pretty good because it’s physical—open pits with mattresses at the bottom, things that will catch your ankles and trip you into padded walls, doorknobs that give a mild electric shock. Lots of stuff like that. It provides your brain with the concept of danger but without significant consequences. It really makes your talent kick in.”

We walked down a dim hallway. Classes were over for the day. We really should have called to make sure Dr. Sloan was still there. “I would’ve sworn you had the talent. I’ve thought for a while we had something in common—something that made me seek you out.”

“Why does that worry me?” I said it with a smile, but I was serious. We turned a corner and he stayed right beside me. Interesting—he knew which way to turn. “Have you visited Dr. Sloan before?’

Rizzoli smiled. “Nope. I’ve never met him. Just thought that was the right way to turn.” The smile seemed to peel several years and about a half a ton of worry off his face.

I was going to respond with something mildly sarcastic when I heard voices at the end of the hall. Aaron Sloan has a very distinctive voice, probably from years of speaking in lecture halls.

I could also smell a distinctive cologne that had scented my clothing for two years, feel the press of magic that reached for me all the way down the hall.

Bruno DeLuca.

Part of me was anxious to see him and I found myself quickening my steps. The other part of me was terrified to see him in person again—because seeing his smile, his amazing body, would remind me of the woman who’d nearly stolen him away. Eirene, a royal siren, had been Bruno’s lover. She’d convinced him she was pregnant and … he chose her over me, without a second thought, without discussing it with me.

That doesn’t make for a good long-term relationship. Despite what I’d thought in Levy’s, and a few warm phone conversations, there was a big hurdle to get over before I could be happy with Bruno. With anyone, really.

Rizzoli matched me step for step until we neared the room. As I reached the doorway, the conversation inside the room stopped as if a switch had been thrown.

“Celia.” Bruno’s voice was warm and his eyes … wow. Those big brown eyes said so many things with just a glance. Hi. Miss you. Love you. Sorry. He was always really good at conveying entire sentences with a single look, so much so that we could carry on whole conversations across a college classroom without the teacher knowing.

He looked good. Better than good, actually. He’d dropped a few pounds and in the right places. And if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’d had a face-lift. So much tension had vanished from his face that he looked like a new man. Of course, the last time we’d seen each other, we’d just closed the demonic rift and we were both exhausted. “Bruno.”

Rizzoli shoved past me through the doorway just then, his hand out toward Bruno. “Bruno DeLuca. Good to finally meet you. Special Agent Dominic Rizzoli, FBI. I’ve heard a lot about you. Hey, could we talk?” Bruno had put out his hand automatically, as most men do when someone offers theirs, and found himself being propelled, with a second hand on his mid-back, through a second door before he could do much more than open his mouth.

I was speechless at Rizzoli’s lack of tact. Even Dr. Sloan was surprised. He stared after the two men for a moment before turning his attention to me. I raised an embarrassed hand. “Um, well. Hi, Dr. Sloan. Sorry about all that.”

The professor’s confusion made him frown, but he recovered in a second and his expression turned to one of excitement. “May I see your palm again? Anything new?”

Dr. Sloan is fascinated by the manifestation of my curse. He’s the one who first explained it to me. I sighed and held out my hand. He pulled his glasses down from his forehead and moved forward eagerly. Lifting my hand with near reverence, he peered at the mark. It was an angry red today, but there was no pain. He let out an appreciative, “Ooh! You’ve been a busy girl, Ms. Graves.”

It was so weird he could know that by looking at my palm. “I know you said the curse reacts when I come close to death. But why is it still happening? The person who cursed me is dead. Shouldn’t that have stopped it?”

His head cocked and he blinked repeatedly, as though processing the information. “Did the caster revoke or remove the spell?”

I shook my head.

“Did you kill the caster?”

Crap. I realized where he was going with this. “I was there when she died. But that doesn’t count, does it?” Magic is like that sometimes. It takes a specific, narrow event to change things.

Sloan’s face showed his uncertainty. “Yes. No. Maybe. The scar is still manifesting. Perhaps it’ll stop at some point. But the curse has been part of your psyche since you were a child. We can’t expect that it will suddenly just cease to be. You’ve incorporated it into your personality. You could no more not throw yourself in the way of danger as a bodyguard than you could not blink for the rest of your life. The threat of death may no longer have anything to do with the curse. Or it may.” His shoulder went up and down again.

Fair enough. “Have you developed any idea why it gets darker after I’ve been in danger?”

He nodded but didn’t look up. “I have a working theory on that, actually. I believe it’s not so much your eminent death so much as the rush of near-death adrenaline that causes the scar to manifest.”

I felt my brow furrow and I looked down at dark liver spots on his aging scalp through a drape of my tangled blonde hair. I really needed to find a mirror and a comb. Soon. “Is near-death adrenaline somehow different than … well, the normal kind?”

He looked up then, so suddenly he nearly smacked his head into my chin. “Oh my, yes! The adrenaline produced in a fight-or-flight situation is much more diluted than the concentrated sort produced when the subject has accepted the true possibility of death.”

“The possibility, not certainty?”

He smiled now, a brilliant flash of teeth that told me I’d gotten it. “Exactly! Near-death adrenaline is how mothers lift cars off their children or people pull victims out of rubble before the rest of a building collapses. It makes muscles supernatural for a few split seconds.” He looked at me for a moment with something approaching wonder, then smiled slightly and shook his index finger at me before leaning back against the counter with a knowing expression. “You see? You, Ms. Graves, grasp the non-obvious quickly. It’s no wonder you were Warren’s favorite student.”

That comment sliced at my heart more than a little, but I tried not to flinch. Some “favorite student.”

“You understand perspective, which is rare today … and especially in one so young.”

“A little bit.” I didn’t feel particularly young, especially not today. But I suppose I was to someone his age. He’d already been teaching in the sixties and I think in the fifties, too. He’d seen a lot, and sometimes you can lose perspective when you have forgotten more than some have learned. “But maybe you can help me with some perspective today. This morning, I saw an entity while I was watching an interrogation in the FBI field office. I need to find out what kind. A doctor thinks some physical problems I’m having might be demonic. Did you hear about the bomb that went off at the elementary school a couple of weeks ago? I’ve been having weird pains since then. Could something be following me? Maybe it’s why the scar is manifesting?”

He gave me that look every professor gives every student when they’re fishing for what should be a simple answer in the cobwebs of a frustrated mind. “Come now, Ms. Graves. You have a degree in the science, and I presume it was earned. Might be demonic? Weird pains? Be more specific. What evidence did it give of what sort of demon it was?”

I shrugged and leaned against the counter to take the weight off my leg. It was really starting to hurt again. I was overworking it. “That’s the thing, Doctor. I can’t be more specific because it doesn’t fit any of the parameters I’ve learned about. I can only tell you what we experienced and maybe you can come up with the specifics.”

That got him curious. I could see it, bird bright in his eyes. He ushered me across the room to a pair of chairs in one corner. A soda and a bottle of iced tea sat on the table between the seats. The chair I sat in smelled of Bruno’s cologne. Nice.

“So, tell me about this entity,” Sloan asked as he sat down opposite me.

I did. After minutes of explaining the situation I added, “And it could speak. Audible sound that everyone heard.”

He was listening with his whole body, soaking it in. One of his arms was bent at the elbow, the hand lightly resting against his lips. It was interesting to watch his lips doing push-ups on his thumb, making the whole hand move. “Are you certain it was audible? It could have been in all of your minds. Simultaneously. Are you positive there was sound?”

“She probably isn’t, but I am.” Rizzoli reentered the room with Bruno hot on his heels. “We always videotape interrogations. There’s actual sound, Doctor.”

Sloan’s brows rose and I nodded. I knew I’d heard it with my ears. I’ve heard voices in my head before. Demons who tried to trick me, even seduce me. But this … this wasn’t the same at all. “It called me by name, Doctor, and responded to thoughts I hadn’t spoken out loud.”

Rizzoli turned to me. “Is that what that meant? When the demon wrote: ‘Think again, Celia’ on the window in frost?”

“Yep,” I said while Bruno looked at me with undisguised interest. “I had just thought that the demon wasn’t very bright because all it could write was No.”

“And you’re calling this entity a demon because—?” Bruno asked.

“Metal table … on fire. With no flame source in the room,” I offered.

Rizzoli added, “Letters in black that promised the prisoner pain if he didn’t talk to us.”

“Of course,” Dr. Sloan interjected. “That’s part of the confusion, isn’t it? Threatening pain and destruction. But look at the secondary issues … pain if the prisoner didn’t reveal secrets of a crime and offering a warning that only the truth would set him free. Couldn’t it be angelic instead of demonic?”

Angelic? “You mean like … angels? They don’t normally intervene in the affairs of man, do they?” I mean, yeah, they exist. But what would they be doing there, at the FBI office? “Melting tables isn’t really their sort of thing, is it?”

The doctor shrugged. “Burning bush, Archangel Michael’s flaming sword. Fire cleanses as well as punishes. It’s old-school … or Old Testament to be sure, but maybe after the demonic rift, They are taking a greater interest in our city.”

He said the word to imply a capital letter. They. Purity personified. Um. Wow. I don’t know how I feel about the possibility I’d had a brush with the angelic. I think if I took any time to digest it, it would scare me worse than fighting the demonic. My gran always said I had a guardian angel watching over me, but it sort of freaks me out that it might actually be true. I’m not exactly a perfect person. “Is there any way to check to be sure?”

He nodded confidently. “You have the primary text on it in your possession. The book I gave you.”

I felt my face get warm. “Oh. Well, see…”

Rizzoli broke in. “I’m afraid that a dangerous witch broke into Ms. Graves’s office today and stole that book. Is there another one in the college library that we might look at to find out what the witch might have been looking for?”

Sloan’s face looked stricken. “Oh dear. No, I’m afraid not. It’s a very rare volume. The only other one I know of is in the Oxford University library.”

I winced. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Sloan.” And I was. I hate to lose gifts. “I didn’t realize. I should have kept it locked in my safe.”

He waved it off. “My fault entirely. I don’t think I ever mentioned it was rare, so how could you know? I can request the volume be scanned at Oxford and e-mailed to me, of course. And until then, I could certainly test for traces of one or the other in the flame residue. I’d love to look at the tape and examine the table if that’s possible.”

I looked at Rizzoli and he brightened. “Sure. I could make that happen. Where do you want the table delivered?”

That sort of startled Dr. Sloan. “Um, it would be better in situ.”

The agent raised his hands as though helpless. “Unfortunately, our Bureau clairvoyant told us we needed to get it off the premises or something bad was going to happen. It’s in a truck right now. I could have it here in a half hour. I can e-mail you the video.”

“Isn’t that confidential?” It seemed a logical question for me to ask. I wondered about interviews, aka debriefings, I’d had with him before on other cases.

“We didn’t learn anything from the suspect until after the entity left, so we can give up the rearview video that doesn’t reveal the suspect’s face but does show the entity.” He shrugged, like it was completely normal everyday stuff.

Hey, maybe it was. For him.

Dr. Sloan was looking both excited and terrified. “Yes, yes. We can bring it here. Well … not here. No, that wouldn’t do at all. Maybe the lab.” He stood up and rushed to the door, then stopped. “No. There are classes there tomorrow. I need a large enough location to seal the table in a circle in case it’s a connection portal. Bruno, I’ll need your help of course to plan the casting.” He pointed at my former fiancé with brows raised.

Bruno raised his hands, slightly confused. “Yes, certainly. Whatever you need.”

“Mr.… Rizzoli, is it? Let’s take a walk. I think there’s an empty room in the pharmaceutical college that has a loading bay. We’ll go call the dean. I’m sure we can work something out.” Sloan grabbed Rizzoli by the elbow and he must have been stronger than he looked, because the FBI agent was nearly pulled off his feet as the tiny professor raced out of the room with him in tow.

It was abruptly silent in the room, and awkward. I looked at Bruno, who was staring at me. “So. Um, hi.”

“Hi.” His voice was low and sultry and made me shiver. “You look good.”

I laughed because I couldn’t help it. “I look like crap. I’m white as a ghost … well, a bat anyhow. And my hair is stringy.” I self-consciously ran fingers through it and pulled apart tangles. “It needs to be cut.” In short, I was in no fit condition to be seeing him when he was looking like he walked out of an issue of GQ magazine. “No, you look good. Great, in fact. I look like the walking dead.”

He shrugged with one shoulder and crossed the room to where I was sitting. “So maybe I like the walking dead. At least one of them.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against my cheek. It felt nice. Safe and comfortable—vastly different from John but no less desirable. Just to prove a point to myself, I turned my face slightly and pressed my lips against his. Flames of magic rolled across my skin, more powerful than John’s but with a different … taste. I lingered there, remembering old times when a kiss was often the beginning of something much more intense. Bruno let me kiss him, not making it more than it was. I moved my jaw, opening his mouth, and touched his tongue with mine.

When I pulled back first, I noticed the surprised look in his eyes. Not upset, just surprised. I suppose it was natural for him to be confused, because I sure was. “I … I’m not sure why I did that.”

“Old habits die hard?”

My breath came out in a frustrated rush. “No. It’s not like that. It’s just that—” I had nothing. I had no idea why I’d kissed him, while I was still feeling the hurt he’d inflicted.

He sat down across from me and stared at me for a long moment. “It’s just that you kissed Creede earlier today and needed to prove to yourself, and maybe to me, that you’re being fair?”

My jaw dropped. Literally. I could feel air on my tongue. My mouth started moving, but no words came out until, “It’s … I mean … we—”

“Celia.” His voice was calm. “It’s okay. I’m not going to fly into some sort of jealous rage. I could taste his magic on you, could sense where he’d touched you.” He lifted one shoulder. “I know he has his sights set on you. It’s not like it’s a surprise.”

My stomach felt hollow, yet it threatened to heave up into my throat. “I’m not trying to hurt you.” The words were a whisper and my gaze was fixed on his neck. “I’d never do that.” Shades of John’s promise to me. Crap.

“Celia.” His voice was soft. He leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his knees. “I’m the one who hurt you. I know that and there aren’t enough words in the language to describe how sorry I am. I’m not even sure how to make it up to you. I think I need to get my head back together to figure it out. So I’m in the field instead of in the office. I’m getting back in shape and getting my doctorate.”

“And I’m so excited for you. You’ve talked about that since we graduated.”

He smiled and his expression was filled with pride and hope. “The land the Murphys own in Arkansas and the fee-simple magic attached to it was a doctoral thesis topic if I ever saw one, and they’ve been kind enough to grant me permission to visit whenever I need to. So I signed up for a year right here at USC-Bayview and I’m getting to work.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going to be in Santa Maria de Luna for the whole year.” I was really happy for him. He was never more him than when he was studying and learning new things. “God, that’s incredible. And you got accepted into the doctoral program already?”

He nodded. “I know it’s quick. But Warren sponsored me and the Board of Trustees agreed, provided Dr. Sloan would be my advisor. I wasn’t positive he’d do it because he’s so close to retirement.” He grinned and it looked good on him. “But he said yes.”

The grin was infectious and I found myself smiling right back at him. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you around town.”

“Yes, yes, you will. Just so you know, I turned down Duke to come back to our alma mater. In fact, several colleges started calling me once they learned about the Murphy tract and that I had exclusive permission. But I wanted to be here. Not New Jersey, not Arkansas or Maryland. Here.”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes did. They deepened somehow and the flames I remembered so well flickered and flared. They moved from mage to male and made parts of my body tighten with memories of his touch.

“Um. That’s—”

“DeLuca?!” Dr. Sloan’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Aren’t you coming? You didn’t follow me.”

Bruno chuckled when I did and sharing the laughter felt good. He stood, then reached out to help me to my feet, but I got up awkwardly and my right leg gave out. Bruno grabbed my arm and kept me standing.

“You okay?”

I shook my head. “My leg’s been bothering me since the bomb in the school.”

Crap. I shouldn’t have said that. I could tell from his reaction that he didn’t know what I was talking about. How could he? I doubt it had made the papers back east. His eyes went wide, then narrowed suspiciously. “Bomb? School? What the hell, Celia.” He looked at my leg and sucked in a sharp breath. “What attacked you? That looks bad. Have you had a healer look at it?”

I looked down but only saw the denim of my jeans. “Only a dozen or so. I’ve been to doctors, specialists, and witch doctors. None of them can figure it out. What are you seeing that they haven’t? The latest one thinks there’s a spell on me, but I don’t know if they’re connected.”

He knelt down next to my leg, moving one of the chairs out of the way in order to put both hands on my calf. Dr. Sloan walked in the door just then, followed by Rizzoli. His brows rose so high it looked like his bushy eyebrows were a toupee and I felt I had to explain. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Bruno didn’t even look up. “This is bad, Celie. I mean like killing you bad. What is this?”

“That’s a very good question, Mr. DeLuca,” Rizzoli interjected. “What do you think it is? None of our Bureau people have a clue.”

“Joh … Creede is working to unravel whatever’s attacking my aura around my head. Is the problem with the leg the same thing?”

Bruno shook his head. “I don’t know anything about auras. Not my specialty. But this is attacking your flesh. Medical magic is what I’m good at. It could well be the same. I’d have to compare notes with … John.”

“Hey, a witch with the Bureau, Gail Jones, said top mages like you can identify the caster. Any idea who to talk to about this mess?”

He looked at me, his eyes both surprised and suspicious. “This is a spell? Wow. I pegged it as some sort of magical virus. It doesn’t feel like a spell at all.”

“Magical virus?”

Dr. Sloan nodded. “Oh, yes. The Centers for Disease Control doesn’t talk about it much, especially not in public, but there is a magical branch of the organization for viruses that mutate and bacteria that can be magically transmitted, changing from a magical event to something that can affect more than the original target.”

“Wow. That’s seriously scary. But one’s physiology and the other is … well, magic.”

Bruno let out an odd chuckle. “Magic is part of my physiology, Celie. If I caught something that backfired from a spell, it’s possible I could pass it on to family members. Even human ones. After that … well, it could take off. Like this has.” He motioned to my leg. “I think we need to call in the Centers for Magical Disease Control to take a look at you. In fact, I’d like to look at your skin myself.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “I’ll just bet you would.”

He didn’t smile in return and that made my stomach hurt. “I’ve got an ugly suspicion. But first I need to put you in a quarantine circle.” He looked at Dr. Sloan. “Could we use the lab for this? We might need the restraints.”

Suddenly I was less than excited about this idea. “What exactly do you think I’m going to do, Bruno?”

He paused and his face was set in stone to keep from showing me what he was really feeling. When he finally spoke it chilled my blood.

“Scream, Celia, if I’m right, I think you’re going to scream.”