Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

Normally even in this upscale part of town a brick through a window would net a complainant one patrol car and a uniformed cop who stayed just long enough to ask a few questions, write up some quick notes, and take photos.

When the caller was the well-known defense attorney representing a man accused of a headline-grabbing murder, however, that meant a street full of blue and red lights, a crime scene tech van in the driveway, and a pair of grim detectives I recognized immediately after a quick peek through a curtained window. Diaz and Ferguson must have jumped in their car two minutes after the report came in.

I hadn't known Philippa Grayson long, but I had complete faith Oliver and I wouldn't be disturbed until Malcolm and I finished checking him for trace. I had a feeling a charging rhino wouldn't get past her Louboutins if she didn't want it to, so Diaz and Ferguson didn't have a prayer.

We took Oliver upstairs to the Hensleys' primary bathroom because I needed to draw on the floor with chalk. Tile wasn't my favorite medium for a circle or spellwork and I preferred to work at ground level rather than on a second floor, but we really had no other choice. At least the bathroom was big enough to accommodate the size of circle required.

Gracie blocked the bathroom doorway like a last line of defense between the police downstairs and her husband. Now that she'd cried herself out for the time being, I saw her quiet strength. Philippa's iron will was easier to spot, but maybe Gracie was no more of a pushover than their attorney.

"Is that witchcraft?" she asked as I crouched and drew the required spellwork from memory. She had a cardigan wrapped tightly around herself like some kind of purple cashmere armor.

"Nope. Totally different form of magic." I turned to finish the last section of spellwork that would contain any magic or trace we found and hopefully keep it from dissipating before I could contain it. "If you're uncomfortable around magic because you don't know much about it, I can recommend good websites to do some reading."

"Yes, please send me the links. I'd like to learn." She took a deep breath and let it out. "I want to understand what's going on."

"That's a good plan." I gave her a quick smile. "Knowledge is a weapon."

Nice to have someone be honestly curious about my kind of magic for a change. I'd had some clients recently who'd only hired a mage PI out of necessity and that made for spiky interactions. As if mage PI work wasn't difficult enough.

I rinsed chalk dust off my hands in the sink. "Okay, Oliver, take off your socks and shoes and step into the circle. Be careful not to touch any of the spellwork."

He'd stood quietly near the window the whole time I'd worked, keeping an eye on the comings and goings in their yard. With an injured hand it took him longer to remove his socks and shoes, but he moved much slower than I thought was necessary. I got the feeling he was stalling.

In my experience, the best way to handle a nervous client was honesty and compassion. "It's totally normal to be a little afraid and weirded out by this," I told Oliver as he set his footwear aside. " Nothing I do is likely to hurt or harm you in any way, but it's going to feel strange. You'll sense waves of cold pass through you. Just stay calm, breathe normally, and try not to move. And don't go near the circle or smudge my writing."

"Got it." He moved carefully to the center of my spellwork. "How long will it take?"

"Five to ten minutes. I need to be very thorough because if you do still have any trace, there won't be much."

After one last check of the spellwork, I glanced at Malcolm to make sure he was ready too. While I checked for trace from the outside, he planned to search within Oliver's body—hence my warning about feeling cold. Malcolm gave me a thumbs up.

We joined Oliver in the circle. I took a moment to clear my mind and then nicked the tip of my right index finger on a tiny hidden edge on one of the charms on the bracelet I wore on my left wrist. With the blood, I closed the circle and used air magic to raise the wards that would contain any magic or trace we found.

Power and air swirled in the circle, stirred by the magic. Oliver twitched at the prickly sensation but didn't move.

Checking for trace didn't require me to close my eyes, but I did so out of habit so I saw and sensed only with my second sight. Malcolm sometimes made fun of me and said it was like turning down the radio to see better, but I'd caught him doing it too before.

I lowered my shields, opened myself to sensing trace, and raised my hands so my fingertips were near the top of Oliver's head.

Carefully, moving an inch at a time, I searched for even the tiniest wisp of trace lingering on Oliver's body. A quiet surge of cool blue-green magic nearby and Oliver's stifled gasp told me Malcolm had begun his search as well. His ability to search physically within a person because he could pass his hands through them was yet another reason we worked well together.

Since natural magic like mine was not capable of controlling or "possessing" anyone, or even compelling someone to act against their will, I knew what I wasn't looking for. Unfortunately, that left an almost endless list of other possibilities, including witchcraft or esoteric occult forms of magic from sorcery to wizardry and even archaic practices.

In my experience, most trace clung to a person's head, torso, or hands, especially if the magic had been used to control that person's actions and thoughts. I came up empty, however, even after two slow passes over Oliver's upper body. That didn't mean I'd have nothing to go on. Malcolm wasn't done and we still had to retrace Oliver's steps from the day of the murder. Even so, I was definitely feeling less optimistic by the second.

Until I got to Oliver's feet, that was.

Maybe our adversary hadn't been very thorough when they dispersed their magic trace, or maybe Oliver had walked through spellwork that snagged him. Whatever the cause, I found a wisp of black magic on the heel of his left foot. The threads were so thin and fragile that I doubted they would have still been there four of five hours from now.

Malcolm touched my shoulder. He's been dragging that around like magical toilet paper.

Now there was a mental image. I covered my chuckle with a little cough. You find anything else?

Tiny bit of trace in his heart. It looks the same as what you've got on his foot. I waited to try to get it out until you're ready with the crystal. It's not much, so I'll probably only get one shot at grabbing it. Plus it's the dude's heart, so I only want to stick my hand in there once. Can't imagine we'll get paid if our client has a heart attack before we even get a contract signed.

Not to mention that would be an awkward conversation with Diaz and Ferguson , I told him.

If I were you, I'd be more worried about explaining it to Darth Chanel.

He had a point there. I unhooked an empty crystal from my bracelet and twirled it gently in the wisp of trace. " Contain ," I commanded aloud .

The spelled crystal sucked in the trace. I let out a breath. "Got something," I told Oliver as I got to my feet. "You doing okay?"

"Can't say I'm enjoying this." He sighed and rubbed his arms. "But it's worth it if you find evidence that'll help me. Are you done?"

"Almost. We've got one more thing." I softened my tone and added, "There's a tiny bit of trace on your heart that I want to get."

Despite my attempt to reassure him, Oliver blanched.

"Oh my God," Gracie said, making a choked sound. "Is it hurting him?"

I shook my head. "It's like the sticky residue left behind when you take a price tag off something. I need to get it quickly, though, before it dissipates completely." I turned back to Oliver. "Put your hand on my shoulder."

Clearly puzzled, he did as I asked.

We didn't give him time to tense up. Quickly, Malcolm passed his ghostly hand through Oliver's chest, scooped out the trace, and brought it to my hand where I held the crystal. " Contain ," he said. The tiny bit of residual magic disappeared into the crystal.

At the same time, Oliver let out a short, garbled cough and staggered, bracing himself on my shoulder to keep from falling. I stuck the crystal in my pocket and steadied him with both hands. Gracie left her post in the doorway to stand outside the circle.

"It's over," I said as Oliver wheezed. "You'll be okay in a second. Just breathe."

"Why did this happen to us?" Gracie seemed to have graduated from grief to anger. Seeing someone they loved hurting had that effect on most people, myself included. "What did Ollie ever do to deserve this?"

"It's possible he's never done anything to deserve it," I said. "Bad shit happens to good people sometimes. It's not right and it's not fair, but that's how it is. Sometimes the best you can do is try to set it right." And didn't I know that from experience.

"Is that why you do this?" Gracie asked. "Be a mage PI, I mean? "

"Pretty much." I dropped my containment wards and broke the circle. "We're done," I told Oliver. "You can step out now."

"Thank you." He walked straight into Gracie's arms and held her close with her head against his chest.

While they took a moment to themselves and Malcolm floated downstairs to check on Philippa, I cleaned up the chalk circle with a wet towel. I didn't tell them, but its trace would linger. Like a crossroads, once created, a circle was forever, even when every visible aspect of it had vanished.

I left the towel draped over the shower door and took a peek out the window. To my relief, only one patrol car remained and the crime scene van had already left. The detectives' car was still out front, though. Dang it.

Finally, Oliver kissed the top of his wife's head and turned his attention back to me. "What did you find?"

"I got some traces," I told them, letting the curtain fall back into place. "It wasn't much and I don't know what kind of magic it is yet, but it's a start."

"Can you tell the detectives?" Gracie asked, hope shining in her eyes.

"Not yet," I said gently. "Right now it's just a wisp of magic. It's not enough to help your case unless I can connect it to the source. I need to find some definitive proof of how they were able to control you without you being aware of what was happening. Or they may have wiped your memory of it after. I need more evidence."

She looked crestfallen, but Oliver squared his shoulders. "It's a start, though, you said. It's something ."

"It's something," I agreed. "And where there's something, there's a good chance of finding more."

"A few minutes ago we had nothing," Oliver told Gracie, who wiped her eyes and managed a little smile. "Now we've got hope."

Hope was a precious thing. Sometimes it was the only thing someone in their position could hang onto .

Raised voices drifted up from downstairs. One of them I recognized as Ernie Diaz.

Malcolm appeared at my side. "Better go talk to the detectives," he said. "Tweedledee is about done getting stonewalled. And FYI, he said something not very nice under his breath when he heard your name."

Hooray. "I'm going downstairs," I told Oliver. "You should both stay up here until the coast is clear or Philippa calls you down. We'll talk more before I leave. In the meantime, you should probably contact someone about getting the window fixed, or at least boarded up."

"Good idea." Oliver took out his phone.

I wasn't the sort to care all that much about looking pretty, especially for unfriendly detectives, but I took a moment to fix my long braided hair, which had gotten windblown by the magic and power swirling in my circle, so I didn't look like a total disaster. Then I marched downstairs with all the enthusiasm of going to the dentist.

Diaz and Ferguson had squared off with Philippa in the Hensleys' foyer. Ernesto "Ernie" Diaz stood a little shorter than his partner and was stockier in build with dark hair and eyes. I guessed him to be in his late thirties. Joel Ferguson was blond and wiry and appeared to be about the same age, though Diaz was the more seasoned investigator and senior partner.

The moment I got within view, both detectives nailed me with almost identical glares.

"This is going to be so much fun," Malcolm muttered from behind me.

"Alice Worth." Hands on his hips, Diaz watched me come down the last few steps. "Glad to see you're alive. Last I heard, your car turned up stolen and burned. The Vampire Court said you were on a case for them and confiscated all the evidence. Ferguson here bet me ten bucks they'd offed you."

Even that rather colorful statement didn't elicit a reaction from Philippa. I needed to take poker face lessons from her .

I raised my hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Sorry about the ten bucks, Detective Ferguson. For future reference, when the vamps decide to get rid of someone, they don't leave evidence behind—not even a burned car. Or so I've heard."

"So you've heard." Ferguson's eyes narrowed. "Why you would want to associate with vampires at all, I have no idea."

"For the record, I don't work for the Court anymore. And not all vamps are bad. Just most." I turned back to Diaz. "Anyway, I'm sure Ms. Grayson already gave you the info about the car. I didn't really get a good look at either the driver or the guy who threw the brick, other than the woman was blonde and the guy had a shaved head. Not enough to pick them out of a lineup, but with the make, model, and license plate, you should be able to get them." Especially if they have ties to Madison Fernell , I thought, but I didn't say that. Far be it for me to tell them how to do their jobs.

"Pretty good to be able to get a full plate number," Diaz observed.

"Thanks. It's almost like I do this sort of thing for a living."

"Almost," Ferguson said.

I gave them my best smile just to let them know I wasn't intimidated, and to make Ferguson scowl.

Diaz eyed me. "What brings you to this house?"

"I was already here when the vandalism occurred," I said mildly. " Why I'm here isn't really relevant to my witness statement."

"We decide whether it's relevant," Ferguson snapped. "And we wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

They knew damn well why I was here. I could refuse to answer their questions, but I figured it would serve me better not to antagonize them any more than necessary. If I did find evidence that proved Oliver hadn't acted by choice, I'd want them to listen—or at least I'd want Diaz to listen. He'd considered my perspective on previous cases. I'd put Ferguson in the "lost cause" category long ago.

"I'm here at Ms. Grayson's invitation, as a consultant," I said.

"Consulting about what?" Ferguson demanded.

"I'm a mage private investigator, as you know," I told them. "So I'm here to talk about magic and how it might or might not be used. I hadn't done much more than introduce myself before someone broke the window."

As I'd expected, they didn't comment on their investigation, especially with Philippa standing three feet away. But judging by the wry twist in the corner of Diaz's mouth and Ferguson's flat stare, they thought Oliver's story was one hundred percent bullshit.

Nothing unusual about a PI and the police working parallel or even different angles on a case; that was the nature of our businesses. One would think, however, that Diaz might give me the benefit of the doubt since I'd been right every time we'd crossed paths.

They probably figured at best I'd just end up agreeing that Oliver had committed cold-blooded murder. At worst, I'd muddy up their case. They couldn't tell me to back off, but they probably wanted to.

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Not at the moment," Diaz said. "If anything comes up, we have your contact information."

"And my lawyer's too, I assume? It's Aaron Riddell, in case you don't have that in your notes."

"Thank you. I'm aware." Diaz flipped his notebook closed. "See you around, Worth. Watch your back."

"You too."

Ferguson gave me one last glare and headed for the front door. Diaz studied me for an extra beat, his expression a mixture of irritation and something else—maybe curiosity about what I knew, or what I thought of Oliver's claims. I raised my eyebrows, daring him to ask. Instead, he shook his head and followed his partner outside.

Once the front door shut behind them, Philippa said, "You handled the detectives well."

"Not my first rodeo. Thanks, though." I took the crystal from my pocket and held it up. "I did find some very thin magic trace on Oliver. I don't know what kind it is yet or whether it's in any way connected to the murder, but I'll do my best to find out."

She clicked her pen to open it. "Then let's do the paperwork and get you on your way."