Death Magic

THIRTY

CULLEN was in the kitchen when they got home—or as close to home as they could manage on this coast. He sat at the kitchen table scowling at a bunch of complicated glowing lines that hung in the air in front of him. On the table in front of him was a battered leather journal—probably the one he’d rescued from Fagin’s library.

“The rest of your resources aren’t here yet, it seems,” Rule said. “Coffee?”

“Sure. I’ll start with Cullen.” She took out her spiral and sat beside him. “Hey. Have you noticed you aren’t alone in the room?”

“It is noisier here than it was a moment ago.” He still didn’t look at her. He reached up and used two fingers to drag one glowing glyph slightly to the left. “I’m busy.”

“Rule says you’re one of my resources, so stop doodling and pay attention.”

“This is important.”

“Whoever firebombed Fagin’s library wasn’t going after him or his books. They wanted to kill you.”

Now she had his attention. Bright blue eyes narrowed at her. “You sound pretty sure of that.”

“We’ve got two minds behind what’s happened lately. One’s subtle and devious and likes things convoluted. The other’s direct. Guess which one’s likely to opt for a bomb?”

“I’ll buy that, but why does it tell you what the target was?”

“Fagin’s been in D.C. for months. Him and his library. A lot of people knew about that grimoire he’s been translating—the Harvard press, for one. Some of his colleagues.” She had names. They should probably be checked, just to be sure. But that was a job for someone who could call the local cops and ask for a favor. “The one new element here is you. You show up in D.C. and a day later you nearly get crispy-fried.”

He shook his head. “Why would anyone who knows anything about me use fire to take me out?”

“Friar knows you’re good with fire. I’m betting he’s the convoluted thinker in this deal. I think the direct guy is working with him, not for him. An ally.” She glanced at Rule. “Like the dragons are our allies. God knows they don’t tell us everything. I doubt Friar tells his allies much.”

“I’m not sure Sam would care for the parallel, but you’re right.” Rule set the filled kettle on the stovetop. “What Friar does tell his hypothetical allies is probably a mix of lies and misdirection with just enough truth to get what he wants from them.”

“So let’s assume Direct Guy knows Cullen’s a sorcerer. He finds out that Cullen’s here. He could be having the place watched, or he may have been keeping track of flights to D.C. If he—”

“Wait a minute,” Cullen said. “You think one of our villains could get the airlines to watch for flights booked in my name?”

“The Bureau can do that sort of thing, and there’s a traitor in the Bureau. So yeah, I do.”

Rule moved up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Drummond?”

“He’s top of my list, but it could be Mullins. Or Sjorensen, though she’s unlikely. At her level, she shouldn’t be able to add someone to the watch list.” She paused, then got it said. “The one who could do it the easiest is Croft.”

Silence.

She kept going. “He knows Cullen’s a sorcerer. That’s something people might figure out from reading some of my reports, so it’s only suggestive, not conclusive. But we need to keep it in mind.” She twisted her head to look up at Rule. “I need to know if Croft is part of the Shadow Unit. One of the ghosts.”

Rule shook his head. His lips were tight. “Ruben had a feeling Croft shouldn’t be told anything. He doesn’t know about the ghosts or Ruben’s visions. Ruben emphasized that he does not have a hunch that Croft is less than trustworthy, or he’d take steps to remove him. Foreknowledge can alter the way someone responds. Ruben believes that’s the case with Croft.”

“He believes that, or he had a hunch about it?”

“I’ve given you his words.”

“I don’t want it to be Croft. I like him. But we have to keep it in mind.”

Rule gave a single nod. The kettle started whistling. He turned to deal with it.

“I wish I knew who was working the bombing.” She opened her spiral, frowning at the notes she’d made. “There’s a lot of strings to tug on there, but they’re the sort that need a lot of manpower. A badge helps, too.”

Rule poured the steaming water into the French press. “That I can’t provide. Not directly. But I believe one of your resources has arrived.”

The doorbell rang.

She shoved her chair back. “How do you do that? We’re all the way at the back of the house. You couldn’t hear anyone walking up to the door from back here.”

“José told me.”

“You aren’t wearing your earbud.”

“He spoke from the backyard.”

She shook her head and headed for the door.

The man standing on her front stoop wore a wrinkled shirt, a mud-brown suit, and a bright orange tie. His hairline was receding, his waistline increasing, and she was really glad to see him. Also surprised. “Uh . . . are you my resource?”

“That’s not how you do it,” Abel Karonski told her disapprovingly. He dug one hand into his pocket and pulled out a small black rock. It glowed for two seconds, then quit.

“Am I supposed to show you mine?” She stood aside so he could come in.

“Nah. Rule told me. Well, technically it was Mika, but the message came from Rule. Took you long enough to make up your mind.”

So he’d known Ruben had asked her to join the ghosts. And that she hadn’t agreed ... not until her career was toast. “You found it an easy decision?”

He snorted. “Not easy, maybe, but simple. If the country’s survival hangs in the balance, it makes things pretty damn simple.”

“I didn’t find it either easy or simple.”

“I guess you’re at that in-between age. Too old to jump off just any old cliff. Not old enough to spot the one cliff in a hundred that’s worth the leap.”

Jumping off cliffs was not a reassuring metaphor for joining the ghosts. Accurate, maybe, but not reassuring. So why did she feel better? “With your people skills, you should have been a therapist.”

“That’s me, Mr. Sensitive. Want to tell me all about your feelings?”

“Now there’s a cliff you want to steer clear of.”

Karonski stopped when they were halfway through the dining room. He sighed. “Lily.”

She stopped, too. The parlor, dining room, and kitchen of the row house were shot-gunned, so there were no windows in this dim, interior room. But she could see Karonski’s expression well enough. Her stomach went tight. “Yes?”

“I’m here for two reasons. Two units, two different duties. I need to deal with the official duties first. You have to turn in your badge and service weapon, pending the results of the administrative hearing. Croft thought it would be easier this way—me picking them up instead of you coming to HQ to do it.”

She swallowed. Swallowed again. Her mouth tasted foul. “My service-issue weapon’s back in San Diego. I never carry it. It’s too big for my hand. I . . .” Her voice wobbled. She forced it steady. “I can get someone to bring it to the Bureau’s office there.”

“That should work. Have them do it pretty quick, though.”

She nodded jerkily. “My badge. That’s in my purse. It’s in the kitchen.” She turned, moving on automatic. She wouldn’t think about this. She’d do it and wouldn’t think.

When Karonski’s hand fell on her shoulder, she jolted.

His voice was low and rough. “You got Ruben out. Even before you decided to join us, you got Ruben out. You did the right thing, and it cost you a helluva lot.”

She swallowed again. Dammit, she was not going to be sick. “I warned him. Rule got him out.”

“And I’d sure like to know how he did that.”

“I’m not sure I can tell you.”

“I can,” Rule said from the doorway to the kitchen. He had her purse in one hand. “And will, but it’s need-to-know, Abel, and I get to pick who needs to know. Not you.” He looked at her. “I can do this. You don’t have to.”

“No.” It was hers to do. Hers to get through. She took the purse from him. Her badge was in a leather folder in the outside pocket. Her fingers were so thick and clumsy it took two tries to pull it out. She held it out to Karonski without speaking.

He sighed heavily. And took it.

Rule moved behind her. She was afraid he’d hug her, try to comfort her. She’d come apart if he did. Maybe he knew that, or maybe he saw her stiff shoulders. He rested one hand there lightly and spoke to Karonski. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Lily’s heart continued to beat too hard as she and the two men went into the kitchen. Something seemed lodged in her throat. But she’d be okay. This would pass and she’d be okay . . . for some value of okay. At some time in the future that she couldn’t see at the moment.

Cullen had gone back to messing with his glowing glyphs or runes or whatever they were. The battered journal was open in front of him. Freshly made coffee perfumed the air.

Lily poured herself a cup. Her hands were steady enough for that. Rule handed a mug to Karonski and gestured at the table. They sat. Cullen ignored them.

“So?” Karonski said to Rule. “About that explanation.”

“A brief preface for Lily first.” Rule looked at her. “The communications staff”—his lips twitched—“sent out word that everyone is to report to me rather than Ruben. I didn’t explain. Most will assume it’s because he’s in hiding. I haven’t yet decided who and how much to tell the real reason.” He looked at Karonski. “But you need to know, Abel. Ruben is now lupus and the Rho of Wythe clan.”

Karonski didn’t fall out of his chair. Quite. He wanted explanations. Rule didn’t offer them, save to say that Ruben was well, but as a new wolf he wouldn’t be able to function as a man for some time—impossible to say how long. There had never been a new wolf who came to First Change as an adult. That might make a difference . . . or it might be years before Ruben could rejoin human society.

Assuming he could rejoin that society outside of prison, that is.

Karonski didn’t like it, not one bit. “What the hell were you thinking? If this is supposed to be some kind of improvement, it’s a damn sight—”

“It wasn’t my idea. Abel, think. Do you honestly believe I have the power to turn someone into one of my people?”

He subsided, still glowering. “Who, then?”

“The Lady.” Rule sipped from his mug. “You’ve been briefed. That’s all you’re getting. Now it’s Lily’s turn. Lily, Abel and Cullen will be working under you.”

She frowned. “Abel should be in charge. He’s got twice the experience.”

“Nope.” Karonski gave her a steady look. “I have the experience, but not the time. I’ve got three open official investigations I’m supposed to stay on top of.”

And she had nothing but time—interrupted now and then by things like her arraignment. “That makes sense.”

Karonski gave her a nod. “Plus you can contact Rule a helluva lot easier than I can, and you can do the mindspeech thing with Mika. I can’t.”

“Not predictably or consistently,” she said, “so don’t count on me to—”

Cullen sat bolt upright. “Hot damn. That’s it.”

“What?” Lily said.

He waved a hand at her. “Not now. I’ve got the trigger, but I still need to see how the . . .” His voice fell to a low mutter involving phrases like “nine signa” and “west quadrant” and “Mephistophelian dilemma, dammit” as he squinted at his midair squiggles.

She regarded him wryly. “Does Cullen know he’s working under me?”

“Technically,” Rule said, “yes. You’ll have two other resources to draw on. Arjenie will handle research. Ruben set her up with virtually unrestricted access, so that includes pretty much anything in the Bureau’s databases. Your other resource comes from one of our allies. The brownies.”

“Brownies.”

He smiled. “They’ll be more helpful than you think. You may recall that I told you Parrott had ties to Humans First. I knew that because the brownies have been watching him. He’s met with Paul Chittenden three times in the last two months.”

“Chittenden.” Friar’s East Coast lieutenant. She drummed her fingers on the table. “Parrott’s tied in at the top, then, which damn sure changes the picture. You couldn’t tell me this before?”

“Unfortunately, no. Brownies are, as you said, timid. Part of their agreement with the Shadow Unit bans us from revealing specific information they’ve gathered unless that information is obtainable elsewhere. They don’t want anyone who hasn’t pinkie-sworn to not reveal their secrets to find any link back to them.”

Abel grinned. “He means ‘pinkie-sworn’ literally. That’s what they do, all very solemn. I imagine Harry will show up at some point to take your vow.”

“Harry. Like my cat?”

“Exactly like your cat.” Rule’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “He’s the leader of the troop who are spying for us. He took that use-name to deal with us in honor of Dirty Harry, whom they consider a great warrior. When that demon showed up here last year—”

“They know about that?”

“Apparently they find you and me too interesting to ignore in spite of the clear drawbacks to being in our company. They’ve been keeping an eye on us whenever we come to D.C. When the demon approached last year, Dirty Harry yowled—giving warning—then took off.”

“That’s their idea of a great warrior?”

“He warned the others and made an excellent escape. Brownies are escape artists. They don’t consider courage a virtue. A grim necessity, perhaps. When I first met Harry, he compared courage to taking a laxative. If you must then you must, but you don’t want people patting you on the back for it, and you’d be crazy to swallow a whole bottle of cod liver oil if a little sip will do the job.”

She had to grin. “So Dirty Harry took the necessary sip, then split, which makes him a hero.”

“That’s about right, from what I can tell. You’ll have to get Harry—the brownie Harry, not the cat—to tell you the story sometime.”

Lily had never visited a brownie reservation. There weren’t any on the West Coast. “Are they as cute as they look in their pictures?”

Karonski snorted. “They’re freaking adorable.”

She nodded. She was kind of looking forward to meeting the brownie leader. “Okay. I need to lay out what I need from you two. Cullen, stop playing with your shiny lines and pay attention.”

“What?” He scowled. “I need to—”

“At the moment,” Rule said, “you need to do what Lily says.”

Cullen grimaced, but waved at his air-drawings. They vanished. “I’m listening.”

“You said the dagger might be elven made.”

“Not the dagger. The spell on it. And I don’t know for sure because I need to see the grimoire to confirm, but the spell is a mix of Vodun—that’s the part I’ve been working on in spite of all these interruptions—and what looks almost like Celtic runes. Almost, but not quite. The Vodun segment’s the trigger, which makes sense. Vodun specializes in charms and curses that can be used by nulls. Though there’s a weird bit to it—but I’ll tell you about that in a minute. The thing is, the Celtic-looking runes are not Celtic. I think they’re elven, because Celtic runes were derived in part from elven. But I need the damn grimoire—”

“To confirm your guess. Right. I’ve got the number for Fagin’s safety-deposit box. His thumb drive’s there, with a copy of his translation. He’s supposed to contact his attorney about getting the thumb drive. Here’s the safe deposit number and his lawyer’s contact info.” She handed him a sheet of paper with the information. “Talk to her.”

He grinned. “Guess it was worth listening to you, after all.” He pushed his chair back.

“Sit. I’m not finished with you.” She looked at the others. “One of the problems with the Bixton case has been the level of magical expertise required to make the dagger. If it’s elven work, that solves the problem. Rethna could’ve made it for Friar long before we came on the scene and spoiled his plans. He could have made other things for Friar, too. Things we haven’t run up against yet.”

Karonski’s eyebrows shot up. “Rethna’s the elf lord you two killed last month.”

It had been Arjenie’s sister who actually killed him, but Lily nodded.

“And you like the idea that he might have made all kinds of heavy-duty magical shit for Friar?”

“I like the idea of knowing what we’re up against. I like the idea that the guy who enspelled that dagger isn’t around to make more. If I’m right, whatever Friar’s planning, his best magical tools and assets are limited to stuff he’s already got. And I was thinking . . . maybe Rethna made a disguise charm for whoever impersonated Ruben. Elves and illusion go together, right?”

But Cullen was shaking his head. “I can’t rule that out a hundred percent, but I really doubt Rethna was good enough at illusion to transfer a solid one to a charm.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Partly because of how his magic looked—which is a damned unsatisfactory answer, I know.” He looked frustrated, as if he didn’t like it much, either. “But in addition to that, Rethna’s specialty was body magic. Ah . . . something you need to know about elves. The nobility, anyway. They all have a bit of glamour, which is a type of illusion magic. Some of them go on to develop that enough to cast full illusions. And they’ve all got a bit of body magic, enough to heal themselves and change their own bodies to some extent. All those pretty hair colors? They aren’t born with baby blue hair.”

“Like that spell that elf lady gave Cynna to turn her permanently blond. That’s body magic?”

“That’s right. Some elves go on to develop their body magic enough to affect the bodies of others. But body magic and illusion are two very different types of magic. The more you develop one, the harder it is to work the other. It may be different with the High Sidhe,” Cullen admitted. “Probably is, but we aren’t talking about High Sidhe. We’re talking about Rethna. He was aces at body magic, so it’s unlikely he could do much with illusion. It would be like a Water Gifted trying to work Fire spells. With a lot of work he might learn a few of the simple ones, but he’d never be that good at them. He’d sure as hell never call Fire.” Cullen waved his hand. For a few seconds tiny flames danced there, then puffed out.

Lily nodded. “Then if Rethna was really good at body magic, could he have changed someone to look like Ruben?”

“Probably. I very much doubt he could’ve made someone smell like Ruben, though.”

“The maid didn’t say anything about Bixton’s visitor smelling like Ruben,” she said dryly.

Rule answered instead of Cullen. “Matt did.”

She swung to face him, frowning. “I don’t know Matt. Who—no, wait, I remember. You were going to send someone to check out the trail I followed into that park across from Bixton’s house. That was Matt?”

“He’s Cynyr, one of those who’ve been guarding Ruben. He knows Ruben’s scent and he has an unusually good nose, even when two-footed. I heard from him this morning. He found Ruben’s scent on that bench in the park.”

“But that’s crazy.”

“Actually,” Cullen said, “it’s not. Though I just finished putting together ... can’t call it proof, but supportive evidence for my theory. Which I’m warning you is pretty wild, but the trigger on that dagger wasn’t just meant to be used by a null. It was made to be used by a magical construct.”

She blinked. “And that helps you how?”

“I think Friar used a doppelgänger of Ruben.”

A dopplegänger? “Uh . . . isn’t that some kind of ghostly double, a harbinger of death? You see your doppelgänger and you die. Something like that.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “I’m talking about real doppelgängers, not fairy tales. Not that real ones are supposed to be real.”

“Is there a point you can back up to where you start making sense?”

“Son of a bitch,” Karonski breathed. “Son of a bitch. You’re talking about a double? An actual, physical double?”

Cullen’s eyebrows lifted. “Basically, yes.”

Karonski leaned forward. “I need to tell you about one of my open investigations. The one into the attack on Ruben.” He patted a closed folder. “It’s all in here, but I can sum it up. We know how the potion was administered. According to what Sherry’s group found, it was added to a pot of coffee. The problem is, Ruben says Ida brewed that pot. Ida says she didn’t. She washed out the pot like usual, then went back to her desk and didn’t go back in Ruben’s office until he had the heart attack. Whoever made the pot, it was brewed between five and five fifteen. Ruben had the heart attack at five forty. Three people had access to the pot between five and five forty—Ruben, Ida, and the director.”

Lily jerked back. “Ida? No. That’s not . . .” Ida Rheinhart had been Ruben’s secretary forever. Sure, she was kind of scary, but scary like Lily’s third-grade teacher. Lily, like the rest of her class, had been convinced Mrs. Brown was an alien. She had to be, since she was either telepathic or really did have eyes in the back of her head. Unlike some of the kids, however, Lily hadn’t thought Mrs. Brown was a kid-eating alien. No one had gone missing, after all.

Ida didn’t eat children, either. Or FBI agents who failed to file a report properly, however much it might seem that way at times. And if you pulled out her fingernails one at a time, she’d give you the Gorgon gaze, but she would not betray Ruben or the Bureau. “But it can’t be the director, either. Can it?”

“None of the above, if Seabourne here’s right.” Karonski’s eyes gleamed. “We’ve been looking for some kind of compulsion charm, which is several shades of unlikely, especially since Ida claims she doesn’t have any blank places in her memory. But compulsion is all we could make fit—until now.”

“Oh, yeah.” Cullen was almost purring. “I don’t feel quite so crazy now. I don’t suppose you found any puddles or wet places near Ruben’s office?”

Karonski frowned. “Nothing like that in the reports. I didn’t arrive on-scene until long after puddles would have dried up.”

“A wet spot.” Lily frowned. “Water, or something else? The carpet was damp near Bixton’s body.”

“Hot damn.” Cullen’s eyes glowed almost as brightly as his wiggly lines had—and a lot more blue. “Hot damn, it fits. It all fits.”

“Explain,” Rule said.

“Okay.” He brooded a moment, probably translating his jargon into something resembling English. “A doppelgänger is supposed to be a temporary magical construct that exactly duplicates a living person. Or a cat or a canary, for that matter, but most people are not interested in going to that much trouble to get a spare Tweety Bird. Problem is, doppelgängers are like the lead-into-gold bit early alchemists wore themselves out on. Or like cold fusion is for physicists these days. It seems like it ought to work, but no one can get it to. Every century or two there’ll be a flurry of rumors that someone’s cracked the problem, but those stories are like Elvis sightings—the true believers get excited, and everyone else rolls their eyes.

“So ‘doppelgänger’ crossed my mind when I heard about Ruben’s apparent double, but only in the way ‘alien abduction’ might pop into your head if you hear about mysterious lights in the sky on the same night someone disappeared on a lonely road. It fits the plot, but the plot’s screwy. Then I saw the runes on that dagger, and it didn’t seem quite so ridiculous.”

Lily drummed her fingers. “Are doppelgängers an elf thing?”

“Maybe. I should probably tell you about the guy who wrote the grimoire. Eberhardus Czypsser chased doppelgängers back in his day—it’s one reason he was discredited for a century or two and most copies of his book disappeared. But never mind that for now. He claimed to have successfully made a doppelgänger of a bumblebee.”

Rule’s eyebrows lifted. “A bumblebee?”

“You start small, especially if a spell takes an ungodly amount of power and you aren’t willing to use death magic.”

“Death magic.”

“Yeah, which is another way doppelgänger fits. If you could make one at all, it would take mega-oomphs of power. Magic had thinned out by Czypsser’s time, so he made something small. A bumblebee. Or so he claimed, but he refused to demonstrate or prove his claim in any way, saying he didn’t give a damn if anyone believed him. And sure enough, people mostly didn’t.

“But there’re two reasons he might not have been just passing gas. Number one is that in his youth he was apprenticed to an honest-to-God adept. His master was said to have spent time in one of the sidhe realms and returned knowing a lot about sidhe spellcasting—including their runes. Czypsser’s grimoire has a list of runes passed to him by his master. It may or may not have details about his purported creation of a bumblebee doppelgänger, but there will be something about it, even if he didn’t put it all down.”

“What’s reason number two?” Lily asked.

“Ah.” Cullen leaned back in his chair, smiling like the proverbial cat with feathers stuck to his mouth. “Reason number two, children, is the type of magic I think it would take to create a doppelgänger. You’d need someone who was naturally Gifted in some form of body magic and had spent a few centuries getting better. An elf lord, in fact. Someone like our dear departed friend, Rethna.”

“That’s it. It fits. Why didn’t you say something earlier?” she demanded. “We spent hours at Fagin’s place and you didn’t say one word about this.”

“I didn’t tell you the aliens ate my homework, either. You don’t get how outlandish this would sound to anyone who knows anything.”

Rule chuckled. “He didn’t say anything because he hadn’t put it all together until just now.”

“I just figured out the Vodun trigger,” Cullen said, “in spite of constant interruptions.”

Rule grinned at his friend. “You also just realized—because Lily said it—that Rethna could have made the necessary charm or whatever it is before he was killed.”

Cullen scowled. “An amulet. It’s probably an amulet.”

“Whatever you say. You were thinking we had a second elf hanging out with Friar, weren’t you?”

“Sure, it sounds obvious now, but I had to swallow two impossible ideas to get there. Number one being that dopplegängers are even possible. Number two was that Rethna was not just good enough to make a dopplegänger, but so ungodly good he could make a dopplegänger amulet that others could invoke a month after he died. One that outlasted the limit on charms. You don’t have any idea how crazy that sounds. He’d have to have been a goddamned adept.”

Lily tilted her head. “Isn’t that exactly what he was? You’ve got that gem he wore. The bullet-stopping one. You called it an artifact. It takes an adept to make an artifact, so—”

“So we don’t know that Rethna made it himself.” Cullen grimaced and ran a hand over his head, making his hair stand up. “But yeah, okay, maybe he did. Only it gives me retroactive creeps, thinking we went up against an adept. We shouldn’t have won. He was away from his realm, his land, so he didn’t have the power to draw on that he would have back home, but still.” He shook his head. “We shouldn’t have won.”

“We wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for Dya. So is the dagger an artifact? It lasted more than one moon cycle, but the spell on it isn’t hidden. You said you couldn’t see the spells on artifacts.”

Cullen grimaced. “That’s another thing that kept me from fingering Rethna at first. All the artifacts I’ve seen have the spellwork hidden, but I was extrapolating from too small a sample. Maybe Rethna didn’t know how to do the hiding trick. Maybe he just didn’t bother, since almost no one here can see magic.”

“I imagine it’s a lot of work to—hey!” Movement glimpsed out of the corner of her eye had Lily spinning around.

He stood in the doorway to the dining room grinning at her. He was brown all over—shaggy brown hair, skin midway between caramel and chocolate, brown cargo pants with oversize pockets, brown sweater, brown loafers. And green eyes. Grass green, leaf green eyes with crow’s feet tucked in the corners. Eyes round and large like a cat’s set low in his face, giving him the look of an oddly aged child. He had a little dab of a nose and a wide, merry smile. He was about eighteen inches tall.

He was freaking adorable. Lily smiled back. She couldn’t help it. “Harry, I presume?”

Rule’s eyebrows shot up. Karonksi looked baffled. Cullen rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. The runt’s here.”