“He didn’t say, but Desmond thinks so,” she said, and from the backseat the barghest chuffed, as if agreeing.
If the client was fae, that put a bit of a different light on things. It explained why he would have walked into our firm looking specifically for me and insisted the firm take the case, not Rianna. There were rules in Faerie about involving mortals, but Tongues for the Dead was technically a fae-owned firm. It would also mean he couldn’t lie, so if he said the bottle had been stolen, it was. It might also explain why he’d had an illustration instead of a picture. Photography, being only about two centuries old, was still relatively new and mystifying technology to some of the older residents of Faerie.
Of course, all of that was assuming the client really was fae, which at this point was just that, an assumption.
“Are you supposed to locate the bottle or recover it?”
“Just locate. Do you really think Desmond would let me take a case that might be dangerous?” She laughed as she said it, and the barghest gave another chuff from the backseat.
We drove in silence for a few minutes, and even though I couldn’t see the city pass outside the window, I knew as soon as we crossed the river and into the Magic Quarter. The magic in the air was distinct, almost welcoming.
“So if the tracking spell isn’t working, will you contact the client and release the case?” I asked as the feel of ambient magic grew around the car.
“Have I ever given up that easy?” she asked, and though I couldn’t see her, I could hear her determination. Rianna could be the epitome of a fiery, stubborn redhead. “I thought I’d try some scrying, even though I hate it. And keep monitoring the tracking charm, of course. If the bottle isn’t already in a vault somewhere, it might move from behind the ward guarding it at some point.”
“Good luck.”
“I need it,” she said, but she sounded less discouraged than when I first entered the car. Maybe talking over the stumbling blocks in her case had helped, though I didn’t see how. “How about you. Is it the necromancy thing you’re working on with the MCIB investigator?”
Now it was my turn to give a sour sigh. I filled her in on what our interviews of the shades had revealed. Going back over it, we actually had a lot of leads. It was just that most of them were thin. Our necromancer had been covering his trail using false names and disappearing conversations. It was no wonder a link between victims hadn’t been found before.
The car pulled to a stop. In the distance I could feel the wards protecting Tongues for the Dead, so we were parking, not just at another stoplight. The engine cut off, and I climbed from the car, glad to be released from the cage of iron. Orienting myself by the feel of the wards and the now-familiar magics of the shops surrounding our office, I turned toward the alley where our little firm was located. There was no room to park directly in front of our building, so we always used the street parking a block or so away.
Rianna walked up beside me and locked arms with mine. The position was friendly and companionable, and hopefully didn’t look like she was leading a blind woman down the street. It was something we’d used before, mostly because of my pride. Rianna’s eyes recovered considerably faster than mine, plus she had Desmond. He was like the ultimate guide dog, though he’d probably take offense at me saying as much.
“Well, maybe the raid on the funeral home will turn up something vital and case-breaking,” I said as we walked. “Or maybe the cops can run a sting for this Dr. Hadisty-Vogel-Basselet-Moyer or whatever he goes by next. But if not, I’m technically under contract with the MCIB until this case concludes. If any clients call, can you cover them until the end of this case?”
“Of course,” she said as she pushed open the Tongues for the Dead door to the familiar sound of chimes. “In the meantime, think you can help me with this missing-artifact case this afternoon?”
“Sure, if there’s anything I can do while blind.”
? ? ?
I met Briar at Central Precinct again the next morning. I’d had a text waiting for me when I woke telling me to meet her at eight. At least she hadn’t shown up at the house this time. Considering I needed to pick up my car anyway, I’d already arranged to ride with Holly, so it worked out fine.
“Did you bring the tracking charm?” Briar asked as soon as I stepped into the conference room she was using as her remote office while on the case.
“Yeah, I take it the leads from yesterday didn’t pan out?”
She lifted a hand and tilted it in a so-so kind of motion. “We managed to track down one of the flyers calling for volunteers. Contact was established and a questionnaire filled out, but now we are waiting for it to be reviewed.”
“All the shades except Rosie said that the process took several days.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “So that’s out there. I don’t really want this to drag out several days, though. Plus we have no idea what kind of criteria he has for accepting ‘subjects.’ There is always the chance our application will get bounced.”
“What about the two ritual sites?”
The way Briar’s lips curled into a repulsed sneer was answer enough. She picked up a tablet off the table and opened a digital photo album. “I don’t think he’ll use either again. Both sites were bleached and salted.”
Bleach to erase DNA evidence and salt to erase magical evidence.
I scrolled through the photo album she’d handed me. There wasn’t so much as a stray rune left on the floor. Aside from the fact that everything looked immaculately clean, I wouldn’t have guessed anyone had been in either location in years.
The guy was thorough.
I handed the tablet back to her. “I’m guessing by the fact you know the place was salted, you’ve already had a sensitive walk the scene?”
She nodded. “The local ABMU has several on payroll. Nothing is left at either scene.”
It made sense that the Anti–Black Magic Unit would employ their share of sensitives. The talent was uncommon but not truly rare. I was good but certainly not the best in the city. If none of the sensitives from the ABMU had picked up any residual magic, I was highly unlikely to find something they missed.
Briar walked over to a map of Nekros that had been tacked to a bulletin board. Over a dozen pins dotted the city. On the outskirts of the map were explanations for the pins and printed pictures of the known victims. The pins marked everything from the coffee shop where Annabelle saw the flyer to the museum where Rodger and I’d had our unfortunate encounter.