“Not me. I’m all about the ladies,” Occam said, laughing.
T. Laine shook her head and breathed a single jaded word.“Men.”
I had no idea what they were talking about, and opened my cell to a compass to orient myself. The golden glow hadn’t appeared to be that far away. I marked it onCSM-Nell, beginning step two of a PI—paranormal investigation—and drew on my map a grid of the grounds. At my side, T. Laine began to take P 2.0 readings—which were virtually zero. Nada. Kamines Future Products was not involved in the magic working beneath the ground. Overhead, the sun came out and warmed us, making me wish I had brought my sunglasses and a hat. More things to add to my daily gobag.
Tomato Head was fabulous. The beef Cheddar Head had enough meat to fulfill a werecat’s protein needs. The lamb sausage and sun-dried tomato pizza we shared satisfied T. Laine’s pizza addiction and had me writing out a recipe for a homemade version on a private laptop file. It was totally worth the hour away from the case.
***
It was after one when we left for LuseCo, and by then JoJo had updated our info on all the companies and what she had foundwas crucial. I scanned the report, reading the pertinent parts aloud to Occam in a staccato rhythm I had learned in Spook School. “Privately owned business. Government contract. Primary focus is propulsion research. Secondary is energy, doing theoretical and practical experiments on a particle of magic that resulted from an unrelated test in the Hadron Collider in Cern. The lead physicist states: ‘The particle was discovered tangentially to particle theory experiments, as the field of study relates to proton-on-proton collisions.’ This mean anything to you?”
“Not a lot. Maybe that they were working on atomic particles and found magic,” Occam said, “something other than psysitopes, and now they’re researching the magic particle they discovered to make it more magical. Or more powerful.”
Which sounded dangerous and fit in with some of Rick’s theories: for the energies of a magical working to touch and mutate a creature that then evolves a way to use or perpetuate its own magical energy, or more likely, for a working witch circle to knowingly and deliberately or accidentally send psysitopic energies into the earth, and make a working become stable—a working that then begins to do things its creators didn’t plan on. At this point both seemed possible. Either one might involve the atomic magic particle and result in an accidental magical release that would look and act like an MED. I wasn’t sure which one would be worse.
I continued scanning the summary. “It was later found to be reproduced by a full coven of evenly balanced magic users raising ahedge of thornsworking. End of summary.”
“You know the Collider people had to be pissed,” Occam said, “when a group of twelve witches, probably housewives and farmers and artists by trade, with little or no higher education, created the same particle that theoretical and experimental physicists did, without all the fancy equipment.”
I laughed softly and checked my cell, sat maps, the GPS, and the compass, and determined that we were headed in the correct direction. The cell rang, and I answered. “Ingram.”
“Nell,” Rick said. “Just so you know. One of the patients at the UTMC died. Adam Sayegh.”
“But he was doing better,” I said. “He was likely one of the people in the second story, away from the stronger psysitopes.”
“There was an incident overnight. He fell and hit his head, started bleeding, and they couldn’t stop it, but the blood wasblack, not red. After death, his body began redlining psysitopes. PsyCSI took the body for autopsy at the main HQ in Richmond and they said the other remains we sent, some of which had gone through autopsies and necropsies, were beginning to sludge into black goo. The deputy director over at PsyLED and Soul made the decision to cremate all the dead—geese, deer, and now humans, once studies are complete. The medical types don’t want to keep them around.”
Usually in cases like this, bodies were kept for study and dissection, often for years. The death followed by the decay of the bodies must have been very bad to result in cremation and loss of study subjects.
“We’re also getting an additional PsyCSI team on-site later today. The Arizona CSI team will be taking over the third floor of our building, but they have their own entrance, so we may never see them. I’ve arranged a hotel for them. Tell the others,” Rick said. “Are you on the way to LuseCo?”
“Yes. ETA maybe ten minutes,” I said.
“Wear your uni. Orders.”
The call ended before I could ask what kind of incident caused Adam Sayegh to fall and bleed, redline, and die. And which occurred first, the psysitopes or the dying. Whatever this was, it was evolving fast. I remembered Dougie asking me to save her girls. So far, I was doing a mighty poor job of that. I called T. Laine and gave her, and Occam at the same time, Rick’s message.
By the time we got to LuseCo, I had unis for Occam and me out of the space behind the two seats. He sighed but accepted his.
ELEVEN
“There is simply no way that our research or our facility is responsible for the problems you are describing.”
I heard the words as I entered the front door after the fastest earth read in my personal history. “Occam. This is it,” I said.
“This is what?” the woman demanded.
“This is the site where the...” Not having a proper term, I settled on “...the contamination originated,” I said. “I’ve notified PsyLED and KEMA. Per Rick, no one in or out.”
“This is ridiculous!” the woman said. She was tall and built like a woman weight lifter, all shoulders and almost no waist. She was African-American and something else, maybe Asian or Pacific Islander, and if ever fire steamed from a woman’s eyes, this was what it would look like. “You can’t come in here and interfere with our research. This is a privately held company. We have rights,” she said. “I’m calling legal.”
“Makayla, is there a problem?” The voice was melodious and charismatic, and though I was about to head back out, I stopped and listened, standing in the doorway. The speaker was a slender man, about my height, maybe of Swedish extraction. He was blond, that white blond that looks like angel wings, and his skin was the color of fine cream. He took the concept ofgorgeousto undisputed and dangerous heights, standing with a dancer’s grace and a military man’s spine, blue eyes flashing. He held a hand out to Occam. “I’m Kurt Daluege, the principal owner and CEO of LuseCo.” He took Occam’s hand, and both men stopped, still as watching cats, assessing each other. “I will handle this, Makayla,” Kurt said.
“Nell?” Occam said, without turning my way.
“KEMA is on the way to seal off the building,” I said, “as per standard paranormal quarantine procedures.”
Occam nodded and stepped back. “Let’s chat,” he said to Daluege. I stepped outside, my uni swishing with each step. I had a job to do, and as probie, that meant traffic control. Literally. I’d miss out on all the good stuff.
