The Isis Collar

22

I picked up the frame, half-expecting it to burn my hand. But the silver frame was cool to the touch and the figure in the picture didn’t move or reach out to grab my throat. I retrieved the passport from the floor and carried both items down to my office.

I threw the frame down on John’s lap hard enough to make him wince. “How in the hell do you know Linda Jamisyn?”

He picked up the frame and stared at the woman’s face. Then he looked up at me with confusion and a healthy dose of wariness. “Who? And why do you care if I know Glinda?”

I stood there with my mouth suddenly open because it occurred to me that he thought I was flying into a jealous rage. Bruno’s expression was … odd and it made me blush furiously. “No! That’s not what I … oh for the love of heaven.” I took two steps and poked my finger at the picture. “This is her. This is the witch who’s been trying to kill me and bombed those schools. Wait. Why did you call her Glinda?”

The expressions of both men suddenly changed. Bruno leapt to his feet to come closer to the couch and John handed the photo to him with a weary sigh. “Because that’s her name. Glinda Miller. She’s George’s daughter and she isn’t a bomber. Far from it. But I stand by what I said on the phone. She’s a scapegoat. There’s no other explanation.” He met my eyes, trying to convince me of her innocence by sheer force of will.

What he said on the phone to who? He never mentioned that name. I interrupted before he could go any further. George Miller’s daughter? Great. The whole family was evil. “Look, John. I saw her yesterday—she attacked me with powerful magic in a bar. Tried to kill me with billiard balls and wooden pool cues through the heart. I got a good look at her from five feet away.”

He shook his head “Not possible. Glinda lives on the East Coast. If she was in town, she’d have called me. She’s like family, Celia. I’ve known her for more than ten years. Besides, she’s only a level four. She wouldn’t have the oomph to pull off an attack with multiple objects.”

“I’m not the one who’s confused, John. She’s freaking powerful, and she’s nuts. She slammed me with a spell that had everything in the bar trying to kill me. I also didn’t imagine the blast of power that picked me up off a pool table and threw me into the wall a dozen feet away. No, this is her.”

He hadn’t liked my tone, or the fact I’d called her crazy. His eyes were narrowed down to slits. His voice was low, and carefully controlled when he warned me, “Be very careful what you say, Celia. Remember, she’s George’s daughter.”

Fine. If we were going to escalate, let’s remind him of some facts. “Let’s also remember that George was trafficking with demons, John. Siren influence or no, who knows what bargains he … or his family made with them. Have you seen her since his funeral?”

Bruno interrupted before Creede and I could go any further with our argument. He was shaking his head. “I don’t recognize her, Celia, and I know most of the upper-level witches.”

John raised his hand, slowly, carefully, and stared from me to Bruno. “Exactly. She’s a four. She works as a secretary for a boring company in a boring town, and not even in a magical capacity. She doesn’t have alias names or hang out in bars. Maybe you saw someone who looks like her. I know this woman. Trust me. And while there were traces of her magical signature in the spell used to attack your memories, I’d swear there were traces from me and at least twelve others who couldn’t possibly have been involved.”

He seemed so confident that it made me wonder if he was right. Could it be a different woman? I mean, they always say everyone has a double somewhere in the world, and there are plenty of lesser demons—who can shape-shift—that were trapped on earth after the rift closed. I let out a slow breath. “I really think it’s her. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You. Not her.”

Creede dipped his head, acknowledging my effort. “I was trying to reach her before I was attacked. When she calls back I’ll find out if she’s been visiting here. But I doubt it. Since George died, she hasn’t had much to do with me or the company. She wanted to work for one of our companies a few years ago, but George and I both knew she couldn’t command the loyalty of the employees, so he said no. She took it gracefully, took the money he gave her, and went back home. Of course, when he died, she inherited his money, but he left the company to me. She said she was fine with that and I believe her. It’s a demanding business and she doesn’t like working long hours.”

Would losing the company make her bitter? I could see the possibility, but for most people, money heals a lot of wounds. “You’ve talked to her recently?”

He nodded. “A month or so ago. She was fine. Happy and living it up on George’s money.”

Bruno shrugged. “I have to agree. A level four isn’t a powerhouse of talent. And unless she made a demonic pact, I just don’t see it. Plus, from everything I’ve read, most pacts were severed when the rift closed. I’m not saying it’s not possible, but it’s very unlikely. I think we’re dealing with a look-alike, or maybe a spawn. They’re half human, so closing the rift didn’t get rid of them, and some of them can look like anything.”

I still believed it was her, but there was no point in arguing with both of them. So I changed the subject. “How’s the leg feeling? Ready to go to the hospital?”

John let out an exasperated sound. “We already discussed this. I’m not going to the hospital. There’s no need.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and stood as tall as I could. “You haven’t moved more than a few millimeters since we’ve been talking and your breathing is wheezy and shallow. Remember, I’ve got sensitive hearing. At the very least, you cracked some ribs. At worst, you’ve punctured a lung. I’m betting if I took off your shirt, I’d find bruises and mysterious lumps over some of your major organs.” I stared at him and he stared back defiantly. “Care to prove me wrong? Take a good deep breath. Or just stand up and walk across the room. If you can without throwing up blood like you did outside, that is.”

The staring match continued until his eyes shifted. Uh-huh.

Bruno let out a little chuckle that was three parts amused and one part worried. “You won’t win this one, Creede. You can’t imagine how stubborn she is on stuff that matters to her. If you want, I’ll drive you and we can go through one of the back entrances. I’ll even introduce you to Dr. Gaetano. He’ll keep it quiet. Plus, you really do want to get tested for the disease. This is a mutated variety. Won’t hurt to get a bump on your vaccine.” He shrugged, then added the thing that sealed the deal. “If they ask, we can say we ran into a group of vampires and took them out. No witnesses, no proof, and no stigma in the press.”

Stuff that matters to her. I didn’t focus on much past that part. He was right. I’d done the same thing to Bruno more than once. Because it mattered … he mattered. Crap.

“I’ve been inoculated.” He gestured to the passport. “And bodyguards don’t get the shit kicked out of them.” It was a lame excuse from John and wasn’t even true.

I let out a rude noise that was close to a raspberry. “Bullcrap. We most certainly do. It’s part of the job. Maybe you lofty mages don’t, but the rest of us regularly get punched and kicked around. We just tend to give as good as we get. This time you didn’t get to.” I smiled and there was a dark edge to it. “But there’s always next time and you can bring friends to the party.”

Bruno likewise smiled dangerously, at my expression and probably at memories of when we’d done just that in the past. Was I willing to kick some tail in retribution for a friend? Sure.

“I suppose it won’t hurt to have the leg X-rayed. There’s still a little stinging going on. Could be a faulty charm.”

I forced myself not to roll my eyes. Stinging was normal until after an hour, which it hadn’t been. But fine. Whatever justification he needed. “Great. You guys take off and I’ll meet you there. I want to change out of these clothes and get some food in me.”

Bruno helped John up and I watched carefully to see if the leg would hold his weight. It did, but I could tell it would be slow going down the stairs. John took a few tentative steps, testing his mobility. I looked at Bruno. “Make sure he hangs on to the rail going down. And go slow.”

He gave me one of his inscrutable looks and then sighed before moving his chair out of John’s way. “We’ll be fine.” He stepped into the hallway with John close on his heels. “C’mon. I’m parked out front.”

That’s when I noticed the small blue book still in my hand. “Wait! Passport.” John took it, but not before giving my fingers a light squeeze.

“Thanks.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes did and I knew that the sentiment was for more than just the papers. “See you soon.”

“Yep.”

I listened to their slow descent while I got out of my bloody clothing in the bathroom. I was going to have to burn the clothes. Nobody’d told me to, but it just made sense, and they were ruined anyway. It hadn’t escaped my notice that Bruno was wearing borrowed scrubs. My braid was still hanging in there with the exception of a few strands. Still, it felt weird, so I took out the band and bobby pins and brushed it out. Soft waves framed my face and actually looked pretty good. Different, but good.

I stripped down, showered, and shampooed. I didn’t take long, but I was thorough—very thorough. Just thinking about the zombie made me shudder. I had to scrub every inch of me down twice before I really felt clean. It wasn’t until I climbed out and shut off the water that I heard a familiar female voice talking to John and Bruno downstairs. I hastily yanked on my clothes and hurried to the railing over the stairs to confirm what I heard. “Dottie? Is that you? What are you doing here on a Sunday?”

“I saw myself giving a reading today and it seems the others in the vision are here as well. Please come down, dear. You’ll want to see this.”

I grabbed my hairbrush, using it to comb through my wet hair as I went to join them in the non-damaged portion of the reception area. John was already in a chair, looking a little too pale for my taste. It made him look older than Dottie. Dottie is a little ball of fire, despite her age. With her bright eyes, warm smile, and vivid blue warm-up suit, she looked ready for anything. Dottie’s walker, complete with carry basket and the requisite chopped tennis balls on the front feet, was next to the couch and her silver and crystal viewing bowl was on the table, along with a bottle of holy water. Bruno was pulling two more chairs around for us to sit on the other side of the table.

She looked at John. “Have you ever had a reading of a past event, young man?”

He shook his head. I got the feeling he wasn’t trusting himself to talk for fear he’d start coughing. He looked at me with penetrating eyes and spoke directly into my mind. You’re too perceptive some days.

I keep forgetting he’s a telepath and while I try to believe he’s ethical about it, I wondered just how much of what had been flitting around in my mind upstairs had been “overheard.” He didn’t say a word, just quirked one corner of his mouth in a smile and returned his attention to Dottie.

Damn it.

“Are you really sure this is the best time, Dottie? John really needs to get to the hospital.” Where they would hopefully poke and prod him until he screamed.

Yeah, he heard that all right and turned his eyes to me with an amused expression.

She nodded, her eyes bird bright, already in “seer” mode. “Yes, dear. Now is the perfect time.” She poured holy water until the bowl was half full and then looked at John with one hand extended. “I’ll need something you were wearing during the event. Metal works best.”

He shook his head, finally trusting himself to talk. But there was a hoarse edge to his voice that worried me. “I don’t have anything like that.”

It made me frown. “What about your watch? That’s metal.”

He shot me a horrified look. “It’s a Rolex! You don’t put quality watches underwater.”

I sighed and shook my head wearily. Looking at Bruno didn’t help. He had unconsciously put a hand over his own quality watch and wouldn’t look at me. “It’s metal, John, and I’m sure that a Rolex is water resistant. She has to have something you had on at the time.” Which made me wonder why he still had his watch. I mean, it was a Rolex. A gold one, and they’d left it. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd you still have that watch?”

That did it. He looked at the timepiece suspiciously and undid the clasp. Dottie closed her eyes and put her hands on either side of the bowl. Her chant was a common meditative exercise that I occasionally used when I was doing yoga.

With a sad sigh, John let the Rolex slide into the bowl. For a long moment it lay there quietly. Then a bubble rose to the surface, causing him to wince.

“Sheesh. Boys and their toys.”

Bruno snorted. “Says the woman who screamed when I had to cut off her designer pant leg.” Hey, that wasn’t the same at all! I glared at him until he smiled. Okay, fine. Point to the men.

Concentric circles of water abruptly raced from the bubble toward the edge of the bowl, pulling our attention back to the reading. When the waves hit the glass, flames erupted, racing around the silver rim. Both Bruno and John were taken aback. But then, they’d never seen it before. It was pretty cool. Smoke gathered above the water’s surface to form a black-and-white image.

John was getting into his Ferrari when a blast of power hit him in the back. He slumped forward, unconscious. Two men grabbed his arms while a third tied on a blindfold and gag and tied something around his neck that I couldn’t make out. Whatever it was made him bow his back and let out a scream before collapsing again. Then they pulled him backward toward the black sedan I’d seen return him here.

“Wait,” John said quietly. “How can this be showing things I couldn’t see?”

I whispered the answer. “The object is tied to the event, not your memories. It’ll show things you couldn’t see and hear as long as they happened in the watch’s presence.”

He let out a pained sound as one of the goons stroked a hand down the paint job of the Ferrari and then got behind the wheel to follow the black sedan.

Bummer. That was probably the last John would ever see of that car.

One of Dottie’s best abilities was the way she could skip passages of time that had no meaning, like the car trip. Soon John was being dragged into a building and down a flight of stairs. I couldn’t swear it, but the stairwell looked familiar. No matter how hard I tried to pinpoint the memory, it eluded me. John was looking at me expectantly, yet all I could do was shake my head. “Sorry, it’s not coming to me where I’ve seen this place. I’ll think about it while we watch.”

He nodded and Bruno just looked confused. I shrugged. “Telepath, remember? I thought I remembered seeing this place somewhere and he picked up on it.”

Bruno swore under his breath, apparently also just now remembering John’s mental abilities. It’s easy to forget because we all like to believe we’re alone inside our own minds.

“Where do you want him?” The taller of the goons was speaking to a person not yet revealed.

When I heard Glinda Miller-Thompson-Jamisyn’s voice (or whoever the hell she was) I turned to see John’s reaction. He’d paled further, and was giving little shakes of his head no, like he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing and hearing. He looked so … pained. I didn’t even want to say I told you so.

A flicker of motion over Dottie’s bowl drew my attention back to the seeing. “Put him over there, in the spelled cuffs. They’re strong enough to secure him. And please do be rough.”

John swore under his breath as he watched—his eyes fixed firmly on the vision of a woman staring at him with hate in her eyes. “Glinda. I … what the hell are you doing?”

The men chuckled and I winced at the image in the bowl as John’s unconscious form was chained to the wall to hang by his arms and then used as a punching bag by three men until the blonde finally held up her hand. “Okay, that’s enough. We don’t want to kill him.” Her smile sent the same chills down my spine as it had in the bar. “Yet.”

The shortest of the three guys moved back and rubbed his knuckles, which were already swollen and red. “So what’d he do to ya?”

She shrugged and walked toward him, swaying her hips with angry sexuality that the three men couldn’t help but notice and lick their lips at. “He was born more powerful than me. He seemed to think that made me less than him and his handpicked cadre of professionals. But who’s more powerful now, John Creede?” She reached up and removed the item around his neck. It was some sort of jewelry—gold with gemstones—and it glowed with energy. She put it around her own neck and likewise arched her back. But it wasn’t pain that made her spine bow. It was ecstasy. “Oh, my. That’s nice. I like this sort of power. In fact, I think I’ll keep it. All of it.” Her arm shot forward in a powerful, magically enhanced punch to John’s face that was the cause of the cut over his eye. His head snapped sideways and hit the wall, giving him the black eye he still bore. “A few more times and he’ll be less than I ever was and I’ll be more than he could dream of being. Then we’ll see who the employees respect.”

Ouch. I looked at John. His eyes were glittering with anger, his hands clenched into fists.

But it was Bruno who grabbed my attention when he whispered, “Dear God. That’s supposed to only be a legend. Where the hell did she get it?”

“Get what? Do you recognize that necklace?”

“It’s the Isis Collar,” John said coldly. “George had always hinted he’d found something ancient and dangerous in a private collection and was guarding it to keep it from getting into the hands of someone with evil intent. But I had no idea Glinda had found it … or would actually use it.”

“The Isis Collar?” Okay, color me clueless. Apparently this was a big deal, though.

Bruno whispered to me while staring at the image in the bowl. “It was supposedly a gift from the goddess Isis to the fifth Egyptian pharaoh. Most of the pharaohs were mages, but they didn’t start to get powerful until later in the First Dynasty. There’s a little-known legend that the Isis Collar could steal magic from any mage or witch so the pharaoh was always the most powerful one in the room. Isis is supposed to protect anyone wearing her collar.” I was happy to turn to listen to Bruno, to turn away from watching the three goons punch, kick, and slam John’s body with everything from crowbars to lead shot–filled saps. Damn. Yeah, he was going to the hospital. I was amazed he was still upright. Even he was paling at the image. But I think worst for him was watching the smile on the face of a woman he’d considered family as he was beaten.

“The thing is, magic is part of the user; it’s … tuned to the individual.”

“But mages can share magic. I saw you guys do it with the others at the rift.”

“Yes,” John agreed. “But that was willingly, and it was a real effort to make it work. Taking it by force, raw and unfiltered…”

“Could drive someone insane?” I suggested.

His eyes were haunted. “Oh, yes.”

Dottie wasn’t listening; her whole attention was focused on the images playing out in the bowl. She was in control, but it was taking everything she had. I’d seen her do this before. She could do it, but she’d be tired for days after.

The image skipped then until what was apparently the next morning … this morning. Glinda was removing the collar from John’s neck one more time as he moaned in pain. “That should be enough. Kill him.”

The three guards, who were having coffee and donuts at a table in the corner, raised their brows. “You didn’t pay us to kill him. That’s fifty grand extra. You got that kinda money?”

Glinda shrugged and put the collar back around her neck with a small smile and wiggle of her hips. “Not at the moment. The amount I had to put out to get rid of the half siren bitch was simply ridiculous!” She pouted. “Fine, I’ll wait to kill him. I have to get ready to ship the rest of the antibiotic out of the country so nobody can say I was hoarding it. And the group who bought the rest of the bombs will be at the docks tonight to collect them. Then I’ll have all the money I need and the best part is that it’ll be loony religious zealots who take the blame for the whole mess. Then I’ll just buy Miller and Creede at auction after he’s been dead for a few years.”

Fuck a duck. The prisoner at the FBI had been right. There would be more bombs. Worse, she was shipping the drugs away. Who knows how many would die?

The small goon in the image got a worried look on his face. “But we get the shots now, right? Before they’re gone?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Of course. Of course. Go to the lab. Tell them I sent you. There’s still a few hundred doses I haven’t moved to the warehouse. But be careful not to get spotted by anyone on the first floor. One woman’s unusually nosy. Maybe she needs to be the first person with a full-blown case.” She smiled again. “In fact, why don’t you collect her? I think she needs to be late tomorrow. And then I’ll need to start looking for a replacement.”

Wow. Wasn’t she a sweetheart?

“That’ll cost you extra,” said the big guy.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve only got a few thousand left and I’ve got to live on that until the wire hits the Swiss account.” She looked at John’s limp form and sighed. “Fine. Take him back, but not to his house. Dump him at that crappy office he leased here in the city. I’ll give you the address. He won’t remember anything anyway, so we can always pick him off later. And if the siren is still hanging around there, see if you can put her in the hospital.”

As they moved through the swinging doors, I got another chill to my blood. “Oh, and once I get the money, there’s another mage I want to you find.…”

Dottie came to with a start. She shook her head and took a deep breath. “My. That was draining. I believe some tea is in order. Celia, would you mind?”

She’s really good at breaking the tension in a room with grace and poise. And I had to admit I was happy to escape.

By the time I got back with the tea, John and Bruno had gone. I was surprised I didn’t hear them go, but I was sort of preoccupied. “Did they go to the hospital?”

“I believe so, dear.” She patted the couch next to her. “Come sit down so we can talk.”

I set down a cup of tea in front of her but really had no time to talk. I had a ton of things to do, the first of which was to call Rizzoli. He needed to find some way to locate the remaining bombs and find and arrest Glinda. Glinda the wicked witch. “No time, I’m afraid. But thanks for this. And for the call yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” She blinked, her eyes still a little glazed. “Did I call you?”

Yeah, I wondered if that might be the case. “You called me during a trance to give me information I needed. It helped and everybody got out safe.”

“Oh my goodness! That must be when I found myself in the kitchen holding the phone. But there was a dial tone, so I’d presumed I hadn’t made a call. I’m so glad it helped. It’s important to be a good prophet if I’m going to be one at all.”

Prophet? I looked at her warily. One of the things the siren queen, Lopaka, told me was that true sirens have spirits who attend them and prophets to guide their future, that ghosts and seers seek them out to offer their aid. I’d always considered it coincidence that Vicki was a clairvoyant and Ivy haunted me. And Dottie was just a nice old lady who needed a job. “Why do you say that?”

She tipped her head. “Because I am, of course. Before she died, the queen’s prophet, Pili, called me and explained how it worked.” She smiled at me and I frowned in return. “Don’t be so fearful, dear. It doesn’t change anything. I merely allow myself to be … receptive to your life. Just like I used to with dear Karl. It helped him do his job and made me feel useful. I do like to feel useful.”

Karl Gibson had been the cop who’d introduced me to her. He’d died in the line of fire when a demon attacked at the World Series. “I don’t want to be a burden to you.” I was serious and it probably showed on my face. “I don’t need a prophet, or a clairvoyant. I do okay on my own.”

She nodded patiently but gave the mark from the death curse on my palm a pointed look. “If you say so.”