She swung her head to and fro, sniffing at the air surreptitiously, looking for the source of the odor of wrongness that clung to the atmosphere, causing the people around her to stir into restless agitation. Toward the front of the room, one burly man stood up and started yelling obscenities at the speaker, and Liam pushed off the wall he’d been holding up to move decisively in that direction.
Baba let her eyes unfocus as she scanned the hall, lighting finally on a figure in the front row that blurred and sparkled with that aura that indicated someone or something wearing a glamour. Glamours meant magic. And someone with something to hide. Which in turn meant a whole host of other things, none of them good, since there shouldn’t have been anyone using magic with such a distinctly Otherworld feel to it.
She cursed quietly under her breath in Russian, the sound blending in unnoticed amid the rising murmur of tense voices, as the woman swiveled her head and caught Baba’s eyes with a steely-eyed gaze. Something malignant stirred behind those gray orbs, sending a shiver up Baba’s spine.
“Who is that woman?” she asked Belinda, using one sharp elbow to get the deputy’s attention. “The one down there with the platinum blond hair in a chignon, wearing a yellow dress?”
Belinda looked surprised, although whether it was because she hadn’t expected the question or because she was amazed Baba knew the term chignon, it was impossible to say.
“That’s Peter Callahan’s assistant,” Belinda said, peering across the room to be sure they were talking about the same person. “Maya something or other. Although, if you ask me, she might actually be a bodyguard. Apparently he started getting death threats about six months ago; she showed up not long after that, and since then, I haven’t seen him without her by his side.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why the company didn’t hire some big muscle-bound guy. Maybe they didn’t want to be obvious about it.”
Baba pressed her lips together, not wanting to let what popped into her mind slip out of her mouth. Not to Belinda anyway. Six months ago. Right before children started disappearing. A coincidence? Possibly. Or . . . possibly not. But something in that glance said she was trouble. It just remained to be seen what kind.
The prickliness under her skin intensified almost to the point of pain, and Baba straightened, giving Belinda a shove in the direction of her parents. “Get your parents out of this room. Now.” Belinda gave her a startled look out of wide eyes but didn’t argue, setting off toward where the old couple sat. Around the space, arguments were erupting into raised voices, like a hornet’s nest disturbed by a thrown rock. Baba headed toward Liam, whose attention was divided between the profanity-spouting farmer and two of the men at the front table who were screaming at each other, dueling charts in upraised hands.
He spared her a frustrated glance as she appeared at his shoulder; the two-inch heels on her boots made them almost the same height, but the irate citizen he was confronting dwarfed them both.
“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with these people tonight,” Liam said, shaking his head. “It’s like they’ve all lost their minds.” He glared at the large fat man in overalls, who finally slumped back into his seat. Baba could sense the anger and frustration coming off him in waves.
“I think they had some help,” Baba said, stomping on one particularly loud argument with her heavy boots. The people involved stopped yelling at each other and clutched their feet instead. “This isn’t normal.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the increased volume surrounding them; clearly things were heading rapidly from Not Good to Worse Than Not Good.
Liam separated a couple who were shoving at each other in the middle of the aisle and said, only a little disbelief in his voice, “You mean you think someone put something in the coffee?” He glanced around at the spreading mayhem. “Or the ventilation system? But why would anyone do such a thing? What would they have to gain?”
Sure. Or cast a spell that ramped up everyone’s preexisting anger. Baba decided it would be better to just nod. “Maybe someone doesn’t want rational discussion about the issue,” she said. And then added, “Duck.”
He ducked, and a chair came whistling through the air where his head had been. Baba vaulted over his crouched form and threw a roundhouse punch into the face of the man who had thrown it, dropping him like a stone. She grinned. This was more like it.