“Night, day, morning, whenever it struck him. Sometimes he’d work all day, sleep for two hours, and go back to work, and sometimes he’d do nothing for two days.”
Aha. “When was the last time he was seen?”
Muscles played along the master sergeant’s jaw. “Three hours past midnight.”
I closed the notebook. “If I had an erratic subject who wandered to and fro between the workshop and the house whenever the inspiration struck him, I’d have my guys checking on him every hour. Just to make sure he didn’t break perimeter and blunder off into Sibley in a creative daze. And I don’t even have two stripes on my sleeve.”
Henderson hit me with a hard stare. It was a heavy stare, but it had nothing on looking into Curran’s golden irises when he was pissed off.
I held his gaze. “My job isn’t to pass judgment. My job is to find Adam Kamen and his device. That’s all. Whatever happened here is between you and your chain of command, but I need to know what it was so I can move on. If you make it hard for me, I’ll go through you.”
He leaned forward an inch. “Think you can?”
“Try me.”
Henderson was a large man, and he was used to people backing down when he pushed. He was a guard and a soldier, but he wasn’t a killer. Oh, he would shoot back if someone shot at him first, and he might stab you if it came to it, because it was his job, but he wouldn’t slice a man’s throat and step over his twitching body while the hot blood spurted on the ground. I would. And it wouldn’t bother me much.
In fact, I’d been out of action for over two months now. I missed it, missed the edge and the fight.
We stared at each other.
I would kill you in an instant with no hesitation.
A slow recognition rolled over Henderson’s face. “So it’s like that,” he said.
That’s right.
Henderson narrowed his eyes. “Why would Rene bring your kind in?”
“What kind is that?”
“You’re not a soldier, and you’re not a PI.”
“I used to be an agent of the Order.” I nodded at the workshop. “And she is a retired master-at-arms knight. Rene brought us in because it’s not our first rodeo. What happened to your shift, Master Sergeant? This is the last time I’m asking.”
Henderson drew himself upright. He wanted to send me packing. I saw it in his face. He thought about it, but he must’ve glimpsed something he didn’t like in my eyes, because he unhinged his jaw. “The graveyard shift fell asleep.”
“All four guards?”
Henderson nodded. “Except de Harven.”
“At their posts?”
Henderson nodded again.
Crap. “How long?”
“Approximately from zero four until the shift change.”
Two hours. More than enough time to kidnap a man. Or to slice his throat, bury him in the forest, and steal his magic project. How the hell did de Harven fit into it? Did he surprise the thieves? Of course, Adam Kamen could’ve killed his über-bodyguard and bolted with the goods. Because he was secretly a ninja, adept at mortal combat and vanishing into thin air. Yes, that was it. Case solved.
Trained Red Guardsmen didn’t just fall asleep on their own for two hours in the middle of their shift.
Magic or drugs had to be involved. Even so, three of the guards passed out while de Harven went into the workshop. And why wasn’t he impersonating Sleeping Beauty? “Where are the guards now?”
“Both graveyard and day shifts are waiting by the house. I figured you’d want to talk to them.”
Henderson paused. “There is more. We’ve searched the area.”
“Found something?”
“We found something, alright.” Henderson rose and strode farther behind the house. I followed. A large Humvee waited, parked under an oak. The canvas top was pulled back, exposing the rear bed containing two rucksacks and a plastic bin. Henderson set the bin on the ground and opened it with careful precision, as if he expected a pissed-off copperhead inside.
A simple rectangle of pale cotton lay inside the bin, displaying an assortment of herbs. Green poppy heads, hops cones, silver stems of lavender with purple petals, catnip, valerian, and a thick pale root, curved almost like a man in a fetal position, his legs bent at the knees. Mandragora. Rare, expensive, and powerful.
Traces of fine brown powder dusted the fabric. I touched it, licked my fingertip, and the familiar peppery taste nipped at my tongue. Kava kava root, ground to dust. There was enough herbal power here to put a small army to sleep.
I’d seen this before. The herbs had been combined with several pounds of dried kava kava powder, bound in cloth, treated with some heavy-duty magic, and then sealed. At the right moment the owner of this magic bundle tossed it on the ground, breaking the seal, and the pressurized magic exploded, spreading kava kava dust through the air. Instant knockout for anyone with lungs in a quarter-mile radius. They called it a sleep bomb.
The sleep bombs were invented shortly after the very first magic wave as a means of crowd control to peacefully subdue the panicked population during the Three-Month Riots. Back then magic was a new and untried force, and there was some question as to whether the sleep bombs would work.
Unfortunately it was soon discovered that when the cops dropped the sleep bombs into the crowd, they worked so well that some of the rioters never woke up. The bombs were outlawed now.
Making a sleep bomb required a crapload of magic power, expertise, and some serious money. The best mandragora came from Europe, and kava kava had to be imported from Hawaii, Fiji, or Samoa. That cost a solid chunk of change. Adam had investors with deep pockets. Perhaps one of them had decided not to share the candy with the rest of the class. Sleep-bomb the guards, kidnap Adam, grab the device, keep all profits for yourself. Good plan.
I needed to get a list of those investors.
I glanced at the guts of the sleep bomb spread out on the cloth. All those herbs packed a magic wallop even when sealed. “Rene said this place was warded.”
Henderson nodded. “Twice. The inner ward starts at the top of the driveway and protects the house and the workshop. The outer starts at the bottom of the driveway and circles the property.”
“Are we inside the inner ward right now?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the threshold?” The defensive spells varied by intensity. Some let nothing through; some let specific magic through.
“If you’re magic and not keyed to it, you can’t pass,” Henderson said. “It’s a level-four ward.”
The level-IV ward would keep out pretty much anything. “So a shapeshifter wouldn’t be able to pass through it, correct?”
“Correct,” Henderson confirmed.
“We just watched Andrea walk to the car and back. The magic is up. Where is the ward?”
We stared at the driveway.
Henderson pulled a chain from around his neck. A small piece of quartz hung from the metal next to his dog tags. He marched to the driveway and held out his hand. The stone dangled from the chain.
Henderson stared at it for a long moment, swore, and turned down the driveway. I followed. At the foot of the gravel road Henderson waved the crystal again. It remained dull.