“Ying-yang?” I asked. “Not yin-yang?”
JoJo did a little back-and-forth head-swivel thing that I could never duplicate in a million years, and said, “Two very different things. Yin-yang is that black-and-white circular thing in Chinese philosophy that meansmaleandfemaleandlightandshadowand all that.”
Tandy said, “Actually yin-yang is an Asian concept that describes how opposite or contrary forces can also be complementary and interconnected.”
“Now shut up, you human candy cane. I got the floor.”
Human candy cane?Tandy did have white skin and very red Lichtenberg lightning lines sketched across his body, but that term sounded awfully pejorative to me. Except that Tandy blushed. I looked from him to JoJo and back, and I suddenly realized that Tandy and JoJo had a... athing. They were involved...romantically.
My own blush went scarlet.Wow. That went against all the rules. If anyone figured it out. Except that there was Rick and Paka... and everyone knew aboutthat. Maybe Unit Eighteen—which was special among all the PsyLED units because we were composed almost entirely of paranormals—had different rules, rules no one had told me. I had started off without themandatory policy and guidelines meeting. I hadn’t even thought about that until now. Maybe rules for strictly human units didn’t apply to a unit made up mostly of paranormal creatures. I shook my head and listened to JoJo who was into a diatribe.
“—ying-yangis a hip-hop duo. And it’s also the street term for a vagina.”
I wished I had not tuned back in so quickly.
“So,up the ying-yangmake sense to you yet?” She was talking to me.
“Sadly yes,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at her. “Agreat dealmakes sense now.”
JoJo flinched the tiniest bit and I smiled in a way that mighta been a tad mean. I decided I needed to get this meeting back on track. I said, “I can see the energies of the working that’s affecting all the sites. I thought everyone could. But I guess it’s just me.”
Rick said, “I thought you were using hyperbolic, metaphorical terms in your reports.”
“No. I see the underground energies. I didn’t see the energies of T. Laine’s tabletop working, but I see the stuff underground. Even T. Laine’sBreakworking. Even the Old Ones. So I need to double-check the readings at one of the sites and then do a deep scan on the land on both companies’ sites. And even maybe look at the hospital patients to see what I can see there. Today.”
“Is that safe?” Occam asked.
I scowled at him. “You wouldn’t ask that of him.” I pointed to Tandy. “Or of them.” I pointed to JoJo and T. Laine. “No. It probably isn’t safe. But I need to do it anyway.”
“Fine. I’ll be with you, Nell, sugar, supporting you all the way.” But his tone said he was thinking about ways to make me change my mind.
Rick looked at Occam, then at me. His face softened in an emotion that I didn’t understand. “You two”—he pointed at Occam and me—“go. Read some land. And make nice while you’re gone. No arguing this close to the full moon. T. Laine, you go referee. And while you’re out there, see what magic is doing and try to figure out how toBreakthis working.”
“The leader of the Knoxville coven, Taryn Lee Faust, finally agreed to meet with me,” T. Laine said. “Me alone. I’ll be breaking off from the others for a while.”
“Be safe,” he ordered. “Keep your cells on. Carry a GPS backup and a stack of 3PE unis. They’re in the supply closetoutside my office. You two”—Rick pointed at JoJo and Tandy—“get the paperwork started on warrants for both businesses. I want this sitch solved by nightfall. Figure this out, people. Before more humans die.”
“And if it isn’t solved by nightfall?” JoJo asked, her tone steady and uninflected.
“And if it isn’t, you’re senior agent. You’re in charge, JoJo, just like always.”
They were talking about the full moon. It was nearly here.
***
Antimoon music playing on the fancy sound system, Occam drove his sporty little car. T. Laine, who had to break away at some point for her witchy meeting, followed. She called my cell when we were partway there and offered some advice about how to do a scan without attracting the attention of the things below the surface. It was good advice, and I cogitated on ways to implement her suggestions.
The day had warmed again, proving the old Southern saying,You don’t like the weather? Wait’ll tomorrow.Southern weather seldom lasted more than a few days before shifting into a totally different pattern. An ice storm, followed by clear skies and seventy-degree temps. An abnormally warm fall, followed by a freezing spell with an early snow.
As if reading my mind about the variability of the temperatures, or making small talk, Occam said, “I thought when I moved up here”—his long legs worked the pedals and the little car made good time, weaving in and out of traffic—“I’d get snow and sledding and skiing.”
I looked back and saw that T. Laine was a long way behind us. “You ski?” I asked, my mind occupied elsewhere, less than half on the conversation. I pulled out my tablet and opened a new topographical satellite map of the area.
“Not yet. I was hoping to learn. Can’t be harder than riding a horse. You ski?”
“Snow, like a horse, has a mind of its own. Churchwomen don’t ski, so I never learned. And I never saw the point after I left. You want to ski, you can head east, into the mountains.” On the tablet, I studied the rows of hills west of Knoxville, curving like a fishhook, row after row.
“You offering to show me the way, Nell, sugar?”
