“We’re still working on it, but so far, we can’t locate them. It’s as though they’ve vanished off the face of the planet. Shame. My Troll disappeared the same night.” He sighed. “I miss her.”
Vlad hid his disgust for Constantine’s attachment to a female Troll. It was disgusting. Vlad forced his voice to sound sympathetic. “There will be other women. Regarding the female Wizards, keep searching.”
He could be patient. Patience and restraint were the Earth Wizard’s greatest strengths. That and burying anyone who stood in their way. He vowed the first to feel his wrath would be the female Wizards for their rebellion.
Chapter Twenty-Six
An eerie stillness settled over Stryker’s house on Bainbridge Island as Rowan entered. Hours had passed since he’d found his brother and left him in Morgan’s care…or was it days? It seemed like a lifetime. He’d remembered the mess in his brother’s house, but not the odd smell. Perhaps it had been there and, in the chaos of searching for his brother and Lyons’ daughter, he’d missed it.
Stryker’s furniture, computer equipment, and kitchen items were scattered around the rooms like neglected tombstones in an ancient cemetery, but it was the smell that drew his attention. How had he overlooked the veil-like haze that clung to the air inside Stryker’s home, or the rancid fumes? The odor smelled like rotting flesh in a plague-ridden city, making it difficult to breathe.
The vapor seemed to sweep up from the floor vents. His eyes watering, he rubbed them with the palm of his hand, but the pressure only made it worse. His eyes felt like something with razor-sharp claws was crawling into his eye sockets, ripping and tearing at the vulnerable soft tissue and blurring his vision. He reached up to rub them again and paused as a shudder rode his spine. Stryker’s eyes had been bloodshot and the area around them bruised, as though he’d rubbed them also.
Ignoring the impulse to touch his eyes, he threw open the windows and the double doors leading to the back deck. A gust of fresh air billowed the drapes aside and rustled the papers strewn over the floor.
Exposed to the fresh air, the toxic fumes lost most of their potency, but the shooting pain behind his eyes remained. Blinking to clear his vision, he rushed to the kitchen sink and ran cold water over them. Shuddering from the steady icy flow of water, he gripped the sink until the pain in his eyes eased.
Turning off the faucet, he slipped his dark glasses on, confirming his suspicions. The air was poisoned, but with what? And how? Scooping his wet hair off his forehead, he took another look around. If the vapor was coming up from the floor vents, it was reasonable to assume the source originated downstairs. The deduction was obvious, as well as the fact that he was no Sherlock Freaking Holmes. So why had he missed it the first time? Well, he was certainly aware of it now.
The door to the downstairs mother-in-law apartment that Stryker rented out was ajar and the place looked like whoever had been living there had made a hasty retreat. The smell was stronger and the odd sensation he’d experienced upstairs returned. He winched as the discomfort behind his eyes built again. He couldn’t stay here or he’d end up in the same condition as his brother. He made a quick assessment of the area.
Dirty dishes clogged the sink, clothes and towels were piled in a corner, and a fine coating of white powder blanketed the linoleum floors and carpet. Industrial-size containers of antifreeze, drain cleaners and duct tape, fuel cans and red-stained coffee filters were stuffed into oversize trash bags.
The hair on the nape of his neck bristled. In disbelief, he checked off the discarded items in his mind again and again, comparing it to his experiences working with Lyons. But no matter how he rearranged the contents of the apartment in his mind, the conclusion was always the same.
“Meth lab.” He said the words out loud, words that brought with them a life that held no happy endings. Stryker had tried to help struggling college students with a place to live—and they had betrayed him by building an illegal drug business.
But how had his brother missed the illegal activity? Stryker knew the exact number of paper clips he owned. The setup must be recent. His brother had told him he’d been away on an assignment and only recently returned. A meth lab explained thefumes, but not why his brother lay in a coma, fighting for his life. This was no accident. Nothing created by the human hand could kill a Wizard. Was the meth lab a cover for something more insidious?
Rowan found a plastic sack in the kitchen and scooped some of the powder into it with a knife, careful to avoid contact with his bare skin, then headed outside. Finding a garden hose, he flushed his eyes again until the pain dimmed to a manageable throb.
Gasping for breath, he sank back on his heels. “Frack the living hell. What is that shit?”
But even as he asked the question, he knew. What he’d found had to be the drug that was killing Wizards—Magic Carpet Ride.
He pushed to his feet and held the plastic sack to the porch light. The powder sparkled like crushed gemstones, the same as the sample Vlad had shown him on the island.
His symptoms, his brother’s condition, the deaths at Gas Works Park, the restaurant, and others, and the way the powder caught the light, all tugged at a dark memory. Both Vlad and Lyons had referred to the stuff as Magic Carpet Ride, claiming it described the acid trip the users felt when they took the drug. Interesting name, pulled from the lyrics of an old song. But there was more to it than a catchy name. The name fit, especially if his suspicions were correct.
He shook his head, dismissing the theory. Not possible. The Talons and the Grey Council had vowed the granite-like rocks were no longer a threat. He had to get back to Morgan. She would know what this was and tell him he was conjuring demons from snowflakes.
His cell phone rang as he prepared to leave. “Lyons, tell me you have good news. I could use some.”
Lyons’ voice sounded tired. “Just finished visiting AJ. She’s still asleep, so I didn’t want to wake her. It’s clear your brothersaved her life.” There was a long pause. “Our loved ones always seem to get caught in the crossfire, no matter what we do.”
“Your daughter is going to be all right.”
“Yeah, yeah, but it keeps me awake at night. The other reason for the call is business. I think you’re going to want to join me at a stake-out in West Seattle. My informant might have found a connection to the serial killings.”
“I’m on my way. One more thing. I found what looks like the makings of a meth lab in my brother’s basement apartment. Could you ask your people to check it out?”
“Sure thing. See you soon.”
****
It was a typical neighborhood in West Seattle. Homes facing Puget Sound looked as though they were leaning forward or standing on tiptoes to capture the best view of the water. They stood proud, hoping those passing by would look at them with envy. The less fortunate homes slumped on the opposite side of the street looking resigned and invisible in comparison.
It was by this aura of invisibility that Rowan knew the occupants of the house he was staking out with Lyons craved more than a prized water view. And it had worked for a while. But the educated people of Seattle were beginning to recognize the signs.
