Falin continued to frown and Lusa sauntered back to us.
She pursed her lips. She hadn’t heard what we’d said, but our body language probably told her al she needed to know about our conversation.
“Detective Andrews,” she said, studying him, “I heard you were jettisoned from the force for going MIA during the Coleman case.”
Falin didn’t answer, but pul ed his jacket aside to reveal the FIB shield at his waist.
“My mistake, Agent,” she said before turning back to me.
“Are we stil on for a little tit for tat?”
“Yeah. I’l be right there.” I shot her a smile and then focused on Falin again. “It’s a good idea,” I told him.
“Weren’t you going to get a warrant?”
“I’m more concerned with getting you out of here.”
And I was more concerned with my friends not spending a moment longer than necessary carrying some shadowy, crystal ized spel that was just waiting to overwhelm them at an unknown moment.
“I’l keep my head down,” I promised.
He huffed out a breath and rol ed his eyes. “Because He huffed out a breath and rol ed his eyes. “Because you’re so good at that.”
As if to accent his point, Lusa chose that moment to turn and cal out, “Miss Craft.”
Falin and I both cringed. Okay, so keeping my head down wasn’t one of my strong suits.
“I have to go,” I said, and then jogged to catch up with Lusa. Falin didn’t stop me this time.
Lusa headed away from the news vans and cop cars to where the fence ended at the steel supports of the Lenore Street Bridge. The traffic on Lenore had died down.
Everyone who was interested in seeing the commotion had apparently already arrived, so the bridge was stil , quiet, and rather dark. Safety lights dotted the span at evenly spaced intervals, but I could have wished for a little more light, especial y as Lusa trudged deeper and the bridge towered over us.
I had to say one thing for her—I’d told her I wanted this off the books, and she’d found a place where no one was likely to overhear or disturb us. And she wasn’t done yet. Once we stopped, she fished a silver necklace from the top of her blouse, pul ing the chain until a half dozen charms spil ed over her col ar. The air around us hummed as she tapped into the raw magic in her earrings and channeled it into one of her waiting charms. A spel buzzed to life around us.
“You’re a sensitive, right?” she asked and I nodded.
“Good, then you know that I activated a privacy bubble.
No one but us can hear what we say. Now, why are you real y here?”
I’d rather have heard how she found the hole in reality first, but I wasn’t in a position to demand she show me hers before I showed her mine. Opening my purse, I dug out the page of runes I’d copied. Then I unfolded the paper and passed it to Lusa.
“Those are sketches of runes from a magical construct.
As you can probably tel , they aren’t exactly common. When I watched your broadcast, I noticed similar runes cut into the I watched your broadcast, I noticed similar runes cut into the ground around the tear. My theory is that whoever sent the construct also cast the ritual that opened that tear. I’m here to prove that theory, and to find out anything I can about the witch who is responsible.”
“Nice. This might actual y be newsworthy.”
She’d threatened and goaded me but hadn’t actual y thought I could provide her with a story? Figures.
“So do you know what the runes do?” she asked, and I shook my head.
“I did a little cursory research, but so far I haven’t turned up anything definitive.” I paused, letting her study the runes for a moment before I asked, “You’ve used Aaron Corrie as a source before, right?”
Lusa furrowed her brow, which I’d never seen her do on TV—probably because the thought lines that crawled across her forehead weren’t terribly attractive. “Dr. Corrie?
Yes. He wasn’t able to identify the runes either?”
I made a rude sound and Lusa looked up, surprise on her face.