Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

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Rick came into the office before daybreak. He was walking more slowly than usual and dropped by his office before joining us in the conference room, where he filled his own mug. It was painted with a black leopard on the shiny finish, with the letters SAC—special agent in charge. As he poured coffee he said, “I read your report on the lack of interagency communication between a certain sheriff’s office detective working up possible paranormal crime, and Unit Eighteen. Good summation, Ingram. I sent it up-line, but Soul and FireWind were called to Maine, working a crime scene involving the Master of the City of New York. I doubt either of them will address the issues anytime soon, as it might require a face-to-face with KPD and the sheriff’s office.”

Tandy was watching Rick’s careful movements. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Even I could tell Rick was lying, but Tandy didn’t call him on it, saying instead, “Do you think we can wait until they get back to address the issue of the local LEOs not alerting us to the presence of a black-magic user in the area?”

“No. I don’t. I’d like Ingram to call her friend at the FBI and prime the pump.”

“I don’t have a friend at the FBI.”

“Sure you do. In your report you described her as a ‘Coffee addict going on a four-hour withdrawal. Dark-skinned, African-American female FBI agent, jacket and pants, hair cropped close. History of familial witches.’ She called you her telepathic new best friend. Ring any bells?”

“Oh. Special Agent Margot Racer.” Margot had a strong truth-sensing ability, which I had left out of my report, though I had told Rick privately. It seemed important that my boss know when he was talking to a walking, talking lie detector. Like Tandy. “But she isn’t my friend.”

“Racer called—how many times was it, Dyson, while Ingram was out on disability?” Rick paced along in front of the window, sipping, just as Tandy had done during the long night.

“Five times,” Tandy said. “The last time was a month ago.”

I squinted up at Rick, a silhouette against the graying skyline. Margot Racer calling me was strange. Unless … unless she had more than a strong truth-sense. I had wondered if she was a budding, true empath. But what if she was a budding precog instead? Or something even more arcane. “Why did she call?”

“Your disability was a secret only from your family. Racer called to see if you were getting better. Why not call her back. See what she knows.”

I frowned, thinking. I wasn’t sure how to do that—call up someone and question them.

“Ingram?”

“I can do that.” But even I could hear the uncertainty in my tone.

Rick smiled, not unkindly. “Give her a call and go for coffee. Offer to share what’s happening in return for any info she might dig up on the local LEO who isn’t passing along information. It’s called quid pro quo, Ingram. You don’t have to do a spa day or become BFFs or anything.”

“Okay. I can do that,” I repeated, but more certainly this time.

Rick took his seat and rubbed his head. Tandy looked from Rick’s hand, massaging his temples, to me. Rick was in pain. “Are you okay?” I asked the boss.

“Headache.” Rick dropped his hand and said, “Kent’s having no luck tracking the witch via arcane means. We somehow got lucky last night and found a second black-magic circle. I don’t believe in luck. Is it possible that we were lured to the most recent circle? I want you to contact your friend with the Mithrans in addition to talking to Racer. See what they know.”

He wanted me to call the vampires. I had expected him to contact Ming of Glass.

I studied Rick. There were dark circles under his eyes, his skin was sagging, and the fine wrinkles that used to be laugh lines had become deeper, downward frown lines. “How long have you been having headaches?” I asked. “Now that we know there have been circles for a while, do we need to posit that the circles are giving you headaches?” And making you act fidgety, I thought.

Rick’s tone was sharp. “I don’t know.” He shrugged slightly and amended, “A couple three months.”

I considered the timelines of the witch circles. “The same time as the circles. Okay. Take some Tylenol. I’ll make the calls, then I’m heading home. While I’m gone, the team needs to ask our boss some pointed questions about witch circles.” I glared at them and left the men sitting in the conference room, Tandy watching Rick, Rick looking ornery. At my desk I made calls. Yummy was on the security team of the new Master of the City of Knoxville. I got a voice mail, but as it was after sunrise, I didn’t expect to hear back until after dusk. The voice mail left on the service of FBI Special Agent Margot Racer was more tentative. “Hi. Um. This is Nell Ingram. I thought we might have coffee tomorrow. If you want. If you have time. If you’re in town. And not working a case. And, um. Yeah. Okay. ‘Bye.” I gave my number and hung up. “And that didn’t sound like a twelve-year-old desperately trying to make a new friend at all.”

Being a PsyLED special agent sounded all exciting, but most of the job was combing through boring databases, talking to people, and brainstorming, trying to make sense of disparate and mismatching puzzle pieces. And working long, tiring hours through the night and into the morning. I grabbed my gear and clattered down the stairs into the dawn, looking for Occam’s car in his parking spot, just in case he was getting to work early. Empty. I had hoped to see him, even if only just briefly. And wasn’t that like that twelve-year-old being lovesick. Sometimes it was as if I’d never grown up at all. I was halfway to my truck when I heard a scrape behind me.

And the world exploded into brilliant white sparks on a black sky.

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I woke blind, cramped, my arm under me, twisted and dead-feeling. My head was throbbing and white sparks were going off behind my eyes. Bumping. Moving. I rammed into the thing behind me. More sparks. I dry-heaved, and the smell of vomit let me know it wasn’t the first time. Something wet and cold trickled from my scalp along my face. I had a head injury. Concussion. Arms and ankles bound. Hands numb and tingling painfully. Not gagged. In a trunk of a car. The car bumped over something. I heard voices and I managed to kick the side of the trunk and shout, but the car cruised on.

At Spook School I’d taken a course on how to escape from various places including the trunk of a car, but the course instructors hadn’t included having bound and useless arms and legs. The main thing they shared was to get away before the kidnappers reached their destination, their own home ground. I tried to position to kick out the taillight but just managed to bang my booted ankle bones on the sidewall. I gagged again and groaned. My only hope was that Tandy had seen my abduction on the parking lot cameras.

The car slowed. I heard a rooster crow. I knew that rooster. It had once belonged to Daddy and Mama and I had sorta managed to free him.

I was on the grounds of God’s Cloud of Glory Church. Fear and fury slammed through me in equal measure. My head exploded with pain in reaction. The blinding stars behind my eyes grew and fell like snow. I retched again.

The car stopped. The engine died. Everything happened fast.

The trunk opened. Daylight seared my eyes and skull. I tried to scream.

Larry Aden snarled at me. Reached in, grabbed my hair in one hand, and stretched around me to grab my bound hands. He yanked me up from the trunk.

I bit him. I caught his wrist in my jaws, biting down with all my might. I tasted blood. He shook me like a dog shakes prey. I bit harder. Ripping skin. Sucking his blood into my mouth. Bloodlust rose in me like desire, like addiction, a need so strong I whimpered and shuddered. I wanted him. Wanted his death. Wanted his body and blood for the land. I spat his blood to the ground. He was mine.

I could take him, right now.

Kill him. Feed him to the earth.

Devour him body and soul. Neeeeed slithered through me.

Instead, I whipped my body, bucking. My scalp tore. His flesh ripped. He cursed and dropped me.

I called on Soulwood.

The vampire tree’s root system answered faster.

Vines erupted through the ground and wrapped around Larry’s booted ankles. Slithered up his legs. Constricting. Thorns rammed into him. Pierced through his clothing, into his legs and thighs, securing him in place. He screamed.

Need quivered through me.

Thick dark leaves unfurled beneath me. The vines lifted me and, rustling, carried me several feet away before the tender shoots whipped up over me. Creating a mattress below me and a cage of thorns over me, a bower and a prison. Protecting me, ensnaring me.

Near me, Larry screamed and thrashed. His voice was abruptly cut off. He gurgled. Joy shot through me. My enemy was now my prey. Mine. I reached for his body and blood.