On the heels of those words, Soul stepped into the tent and let the unfastened doorway fall closed behind her. She stood in the entrance and studied me, her fingers laced together, draped in front of her hips, white booties the only thing that suggested she was on a magical contamination site. I stared back at her, my face giving nothing away, one hand on the sleeping baby. Beyond the cloth walls, I heard gurneys being rolled away, two by two, into the PsyCSI tents. They had begun to carry the dead from the shore.
Finally Soul smiled, her full lips stretching open and a look of real humor on her face. “When I came to PsyLED, they had no idea what to do with me. I was a singularity at the time, the very firstknownparanormal being in federal law enforcement, a singularity as you are now. A species that humans had no idea existed.”
“What are you?”
“That information is above your security clearance,” she said easily.
I gave a tiny nod to show that I was listening and, as I alwaysdid in the face of authority, took refuge in quotes. I said, “About singularities, ‘nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.’ And ‘nothing can come of nothing.’ So you were not, and are not, a singularity, not any more than I am.”
Beneath my hand, the baby’s leg jerked in her sleep and she made a little popping sound with her lips as she exhaled. Absently I patted her and adjusted the baby blanket. I had spent the first twelve years of my life surrounded by and taking care of young’uns, and I could soothe one in my sleep.
Soul watched and cocked her head to the side. “If you and your sisters are genetic, familial singularities?”
I shrugged as if that wouldn’t bother me.
Soul said, “I was nearly fired my first week on the job for not following the rules and regs set down by the people in charge of my unit. I ended up saving a family of four who were being attacked by a werewolf, and this was before the weres were out of the paranormal closet.” She smoothed her silver hair from her nape to her waist, curling the tail under. It looked like a self-comforting gesture. “It’s an old story, and it proved nothing then or now, except that I have always put doing the right thing before the job.”
Which meant that I had done the right thing in Soul’s eyes. That was reassuring, not that I would share that either, saying instead, “To thine self be true.”
She laughed, and it sounded like wind chimes. Mesmerizing. Like magic. I narrowed my eyes at her and she laughed again. “Shakespeare. They told me you liked to quote things instead of giving a direct answer.”
“I always give a direct answer.”
“You never give a direct answer.” When I didn’t reply, she said, “Then tell me what happened here.”
“I don’t know. But the thing or things under the ground? The shadow-and-light dancer? It likes you. It’s been following you since you stepped onto the ground. Which you did without benefit of a car. How did you get here?”
“And you know this how?”
“I bled into the ground and now I know it. Don’t ask me how. I don’t know how I do what I do, or know what I know. Did you fly?”
“Of course not. This is a no-fly zone.” Which sounded utterly irrelevant to the problem beneath our feet, the problem that wasmoving slowly in a circle, around and around beneath the tent, between us. I could feel the dancer, watching or sensing or whatever the blue blazes it was doing. Soul leaned toward me, and when she spoke there was something in her tone, a magical demand, an influence that burrowed into my skin and pricked my spirit. “How. Did. You. Know. When I stepped onto the land?”
I let a small smile onto my face, speaking with the church accent I had grown up with. “You ain’t human, lady, and that ain’t a secret anymore. Some secrets are like the wind, blowing where they will, for good or ill.”
“More Shakespeare?”
“No. Just me.” Before she could question further, I changed the subject. “What are you going to do with the baby?”
“Her name is Lisa Langston-Smith. Her mother and father are at the gate.”
My eyes filled with unexpected tears at the sound of the name, and the fact that the baby wasn’t an orphan. Another part of me unclenched and eased, a part I hadn’t known was tight with worry. I had to wonder how many parts of me there were and how many were still clamped tight.
Soul clasped her hands. “Her aunt brought her here for a party whilebabysitting.” Her tone said she wasn’t impressed with the aunt’s version of babysitting. “Social services has been called. Don’t look at me like that. They’ll work with the parents and I’m certain that her parents will get her back. Possibly, especially, now that the irresponsible aunt is no longer among the living.”
Which was a coldhearted assessment. I crossed my arms over my chest. “When?”
“When will the parents get her back? As soon as social services protocols allow it.”
I frowned hard, staring Soul down. In my best, formal, talk-like-a-special-agent voice, I said, “There have always been rumors that PsyLED wants magical beings for their research. Now they have a baby who survived what might prove to be a magical MED event. They’ll take her to the labs and do tests first.”
“Labs?” She looked amused.
“Government labs. Like all the ones in the Knoxville area. Like one of the ones that possibly contributed to this MED.”
“Magic from a laboratory?” Her fingers made a little don’t-be-an-idiot gesture. “Conspiracy theories. Foolishness shared by the uninformed and the uneducated.”
“‘Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.’ That was a roundabout way of saying that the government needs to prove itself if it wants to be considered among the angels.”
