Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

Tandy might have flushed just a bit, though it was hard to tell in the darkened room.

“We’re too kind,” I murmured, indulging in unfamiliar sarcasm. I shook my head and went to wake Rick, who was sleeping better as dawn approached. With a thick, darker-than-once-before fingernail, I tapped on the cage, the tone both woody and metallic. Rick rolled over, the motion all cat, lithe and languid, in contrast to his wrinkled clothing and scruffy, unshaven human face. “Nell,” he said. He seemed in control.

I unlatched the cage and said, “You have a visitor. Loriann Ethier is in Coffee’s On.”

Thoughts and reactions crossed Rick’s face. He rolled to his feet and stretched. “She didn’t wait to be invited.” He raised an arm, sniffed, and made an awful face.

“Shall I go let her in?”

He reached around his cage, grabbing his four-day gobag from the corner. “I need to shower.”

“What if you get called to your cat while we make her wait?”

He grimaced. “If I meet her looking like this, the initial interview shifts in her favor. Remember your Reid method. I’ll lock myself in and I’ll be fast.”

The Reid interrogation technique was a method that got subjects to talk, and included a behavior analysis interview. Rick needed to be dominant to use Reid against a potential danger.

Back in the conference room, I made a pot of coffee and opened the box of Krispy Kremes that an early arrival had left on the table. The box contained eleven donuts and appeared to be half lemon-filled and half raspberry-filled. I left a five and two ones, because I’d have more than one, chose a lemon, and bit in. It was scrumptious.

Occam came in behind me, walked to the tinted windows, and stared out at the sky. His eyes were hollow and dark with visions of the crime scene. He didn’t speak, but stood so still he might have been a vampire. Something about him suggested restrained violence, a need to break something … or kill someone. I started to reach out to him, but Tandy shook his head, eyes wide, telling me to leave Occam alone. I dropped my hand and walked from the conference room.

I stayed in my cubicle, finishing up my EOB—end-of-business—report and snipping dead leaves out of my hairline, listening to the soft murmur of voices as Tandy guided Occam to talk and they caught up on the night’s events. I heard enough to know that Occam was talking about the crime scene, and though I wanted to know everything, there was pathos in his tone. Occam needed this time with the empath. When he had talked himself out, I went back to the conference room, passing Rick in the hallway. He was dressed in clean black slacks, starched white shirt, cuffs folded up, and black shoes. Fancier than the usual casual black he normally wore. He was freshly shaved, his hair wet and slicked back. His badge and ID were clipped at his waist and he was wearing a shoulder harness with his Glock GDP-20 in its Kydex holster. I had expected him to look tired or upset, but he looked steady and oddly excited.

“Call her,” he said to Tandy as he strode into the conference room. “Tell her to come on up.”

“Call who?” JoJo asked. She was standing in the middle of the hallway, vibrant in orange and purple, hues that looked perfect on her.

“Loriann Ethier,” Rick said. “She’s in Coffee’s On, having a croissant and a cup of coffee.” He tilted his head at the screen.

“Well. That’s ballsy,” she said, skirts swirling as she whirled into the conference room.

Tandy dialed and held out the office phone to Rick. The boss shook his head and Tandy shrugged, saying into the phone, his tone emotionless, “Someone will meet you at the door.”

Rick made a slashing motion across his own throat and Tandy ended the call. Quickly, Rick gave us instructions.

“I’ll let T. Laine know.” Tandy rose from his chair and went to the door, down the steps, his fingers texting as he moved. JoJo took his place and shifted the overhead screens until we could watch as Loriann exited the coffee shop and entered the door Tandy held open. Rick sat, taking his usual chair at the head of the room. He was a silhouette in the brightening windows, the overhead lights still in nighttime mode. Occam placed a cup of coffee in front of him and put the box of donuts aside, clearing the expanse of table. “Sit,” Rick ordered. “Face the entrance.”

Occam, JoJo, and I sat, spinning our chairs to face the doorway, our cells where we could see them but no one else could. T. Laine appeared from the locker room, glanced at the overhead screens, cursed succinctly, and took her seat, aligning her chair like ours, to face the door. She placed three pens on the table. Working for the cops, Loriann would surely know what they were. A threat.

We were going for impact. For first impressions.

The mamas talked about starting out as you intend to go forward. That discussion had been about marriage and the heady, frightening, upsetting, exciting days of a new marriage. Loriann was like a new wife entering an established home. Margot’s presence had done the same thing but without the bleakness I sensed in the room today. I guessed that the FBI agent was still at the crime scene, but that thought was for later.

Together Loriann and Tandy climbed the steps, Loriann talking about her flight. About the weather, which was “as hot as New Orleans, though not as humid.” I might have expected her to sound nervous, but she didn’t. She sounded … not exactly arrogant. She sounded what the mamas in the church referred to as disagreeable, which was a combination of pushy, opinionated, and thoughtless. The kind of person who would say things just to cause trouble. Which was a really terrible thing for me to think of a woman I hadn’t met yet.

And then Loriann was inside, walking down the brightly lit hallway, Tandy leading her. He entered the unlit room and took his seat, his chair facing the doorway, and held his cell in his lap where it couldn’t be seen. Loriann stopped, standing in the doorway, facing the unlit room. She looked from silhouette to silhouette, though it was clear she couldn’t really see us. No one spoke. Loriann’s eyes adjusted and she focused on Rick, the silver of his hair shining bright in the stark light of the screens, his eyes glowing cat-green.

There was no reason for it, but I did not like Loriann Ethier.

Rick watched her, letting the silence swell, an uncomfortable stillness that built and intensified, growing so thick it had weight and mass and density. Finally, his voice a low purr, he said, “Loriann. It’s been a long time. You look well.”

It was so quiet I could hear her breath when Loriann drew it in to speak. “You look old.” She blinked, as if surprised to hear her words.

Following Rick’s fast orders, Tandy tapped one finger on his cell. True, appeared on my cell phone screen and on all the others in the room.

A twisted smile settled itself on Rick’s face. “Yeah. My father went silver in his thirties. Why are you here?”

“I think if I go to the sites, I might be able to ID the witch by magical signature.”

On my cell screen appeared a one-word text. True.

“But I need to read the actual sites of the black magic to be sure.”

Lie.

Rick said, “Your liaison position hasn’t been approved.”

“No. It hasn’t. But it will be.”

A single word appeared on my screen. Uncertain. That meant either that she was uncertain of the truth, or Tandy was uncertain. Rick hadn’t had time to finesse the communications with our resident lie detector.

A quote from Shakespeare rose in my brain. ’Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems. There was nothing about Loriann that looked dangerous, but Loriann had multiple motives and lots of secrets. I looked at the faces around the table. The unit knew that.

“Tell me what you know about the witch circle,” Rick said.

“Black witches commonly use Circle of the Moon workings three days of the full moon. The workings are a curse. From the photos, it’s one of the most complicated circles I’ve ever seen. It’s not only a curse, it’s a summons. It has properties of binding to it. And even though I don’t know all it does, I’m pretty sure if it’s invoked on the dark of the moon, all hell will break loose.”

True. Beneath it appeared the word Uncertain. Mixed messages from Tandy, resulting from mixed messages from Loriann. She was still standing in the doorway like a supplicant. This didn’t feel like the Reid interrogation technique. It felt like something else.

“Summons?” Rick asked. “For what?”

“I don’t know.”

Lie. Uncertain.

“T. Laine?” Rick asked. “Evaluate.”

“Nonspecific,” T. Laine said in her best cop voice. “Ambiguous. And comprising little we don’t already know. Who will be cursed? Who will be summoned? Who will be bound? And what part of hell will break loose?”

“I don’t know.” Loriann’s fists bunched.

Lie.

Loriann knew a lot more than she was telling us.

“We don’t need you here for this,” T. Laine said, her tone insolent, a shade from insulting.