Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

“Why can’t what be easy?” I asked, not understanding, frustrated.

“We were hoping that there would be overlapping areas of the spells that might lead to a narrow part of the city where the witch might be staying,” Occam said. “No such luck.”

“I have a thought,” T. Laine said, her hair swinging forward to cover her face. She took a breath and pushed back her hair, holding up the titanium tracking necklace she had made. “We have the option of belling the cat with the tracker.” She slid her eyes to Rick. “Next time, you could let go, let the spell take you, and we could follow.”

Rick looked from T. Laine to each of us in turn.He drained his coffee cup and held the empty in his fingertips, tilting it. “What does Soul say about that possibility?”

“She finally called us back. She says it’s stupid. Though she used more diplomatic wording.”

“And FireWind?” he asked, an edge to his voice.

Occam sat, facing the window, his back to Rick, which I figured was a cat thing. “We thought it best not to contact him. He’s still dealing with that black-magic case in Maine.”

Rick made a hmmming sound that was close to a purr. He reached out and took T. Laine’s necklace. “What’s it do?”

“It’s a black tourmaline. It’s aligned to this one.” She dug in a pocket and lifted up a similar stone. “It puts out a signal I can follow.”

Rubbing his finger over the black amulet, Rick said, “Okay.” Fingers moving quickly, he combined the two necklaces and settled both stones under his T-shirt. “If I get forced into the cat, you can track me.”

The cat. Not my cat. Interesting. “Your shift was faster than from before I was a tree,” I said.

Rick’s face split in a grin at my tree comment and a breathy laugh followed. “Yeah. I haven’t been a cat for long, but I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Occam has a fluid shift from human to cat and back again,” I said, “as if he shares the body of the cat, even with his scars. You’re more binary—human or cat, with little of the cat in the human and little of the human in the cat, and both fighting for domination.”

Rick narrowed his gaze on me, listening.

I let the magics I had sensed during his shift slide through my mind. “I’ve always thought that the mangled tattoo spell might be keeping the parts of you more separate than other weres and … I might be able to ease your pain during a shift and speed it up a bit. I’ll watch next time you’re on Soulwood and see if I can help. And you can also try to make friends with your cat-self.” I took a breath. “And you can tell us about your tattoos. More than is in the official reports.”

“You been reading my official reports, Ingram?” There was a soft menace in his tone.

“Yes,” I said, calm in my own. “We all have. You were missing and in danger. You should expect a complete lack of privacy.”

Suddenly the rest of the team was busy with chores or their tablets or laptops. Rick looked like he was about to get mad, so I said, “The unit wants to believe you aren’t being personally targeted. But there’s strange new magic in your tattoos. You’re being called to sites of black magic. There’s secrets and then there’s stupid secrets.”

Rick rubbed his shoulder, seemed to realize what he was doing, and stopped. He cursed once, hard and crude. “Early in my career undercover …” He stopped. Turned. Went to the coffeemaker and dumped used grounds and their filter into the garbage.

His back to us, his hands busy, he continued. “I was chatting up a vampire, Isleen, for information.” He stopped, as if telling the story was painful. His hands started shaking, a delicate tremor. “She … She drugged me. I woke up chained to a black marble slab, in the center of an old witch circle, in a decrepit barn. She brought in a witch.”

He hesitated, his voice sounding hoarse when he said, “Her name was Loriann.” His head ducked forward at the name, like a twitch of pain. Rubbed his shoulder. “Before you ask, the circles are not Lori’s handiwork.”

Lori, I thought. And I wasn’t the only one to notice the sweetness in the name.

“Isleen forced Loriann to ink me in a blood-magic tattoo of binding. The tattoo was intended to make me into a blood-slave, something Isleen hadn’t been able to accomplish with her own blood. I don’t know why. The tattoo inks were mixed with vampire blood. Cat blood. Gold foil. There was a blood-magic spell involved.”

I noted the two names in my cell, spelling them phonetically.

Tandy asked softly, “A vamp forced the witch to ink you?”

I realized that this was the first time Rick had talked publicly with his unit about the event. He found a bag of his favorite dark roast Community Coffee in a drawer, opened it, and scooped out grounds. His movements weresluggish, as if he was moving in his sleep, the rich scent filling the room. When he spoke again, his voice sounded strangled, the words little more than a whisper, halting and slow.

“Isleen … had killed Loriann’s grandmother while the family watched. Had taken Loriann’s … sibling. As hostage. Was forcibly drinking from …” Rick stopped. Cleared his throat. The grounds poured with a nearly silent shush. “Loriann had no choice. But she managed to … to get help.” He folded the coffee bag up again and put it to the side. “Leo Pellissier … killed Isleen. The binding was never finished. It wasn’t a problem for years, until I was bitten by a black wereleopard and then the werewolves … chewed on them.”

He lifted the coffeemaker reservoir, turned on the tap, the water scudding into the bottom. We all waited. Silent. He replaced it and slid the coffeepot on the coffeemaker. Placed both hands on the counter, steady but paler than normal. He bent forward and his hair swung over his jaws, hiding more of his face.

JoJo said softly, “I’m guessing that the unfinished binding merged with werewolf saliva, fighting the black leopard were-taint.”

Rick nodded once. “The combination damaged my were-magic. Kept me from shifting. Then Paka came, supposedly to help me.”

He punched a button on the coffeemaker and turned to face us. His voice sounded stronger. “My tattoos were tested by a witch in Spook School. There was no breach, magical or otherwise, in them. Soul keeps an eye on them. No breach.”

“That they noticed,” T. Laine said. “Once there’s a fissure, there’s always a weak spot. And Soul isn’t here now.”

Rick nodded. “I’ve been feeling … odd. Restless. For the last few months, during the waning moon.” He reached up and touched the scarred tats, his fingers uncertain. Then he smiled, his lips quirked up on one side, and he looked younger, less harried, and wry. “We’ll assume for now that I’m a security risk.” Rick’s job, his career, was on the line. “Meanwhile”—he turned his dark gaze to me—“were the local vamps attacked by this spell?”

My mouth opened in an O and I punched my cell on again. There was nothing from the vampires on e-mail or text so I dialed Yummy.

“Maggot,” she said by way of greeting. She was trying to be mean and I’d had just about enough of it.

“Yeah, Fanghead,” I said.

Yummy laughed, a human kind of laugh, the kind that meant they were not thinking as blood-suckers but as the people they had once been.

“Did you guys get spell-called today?” I asked.

“No.” Her tone sharpened and took on that faint Louisiana accent I heard from time to time. “Why? Did you all?”

“One of our cats, yes.” I dragged the paper map to me and traced my finger across it. “And the spell was likely cast within two miles of your lair.”

“Nothing. Not a thing. But if it was in daytime, we wouldn’t have felt it once we were sleep.”

“Okay. We’ll talk later.” I ended the call and reached for T. Laine’s map. “The spell site was closer to the vamps than the night they were called. So either proximity wasn’t a factor or daylight changed it. I think this is still a spell in the planning and designing stage.”

“I agree. It feels different each time, but planning for what?” Rick asked. He drummed his fingers on the table and then said, “I’m not taking any chances. I’ll be sleeping in HQ for the duration of the case.”

“Good.” JoJo pointed at a view from an outside camera and T. Laine power-walked to the door at the top of the stairs. “Margot’s here and needs an update on Ming of Glass, the fact that we’ve made a report to the governor’s office, Rick’s new amulets, and his likelihood of being a security risk. All of whichI can handle.”

T. Laine called back to us, “I’ll get her security codes and an ID for the doors.”