“No. You did right. Update me.”
“I’ve found ten witch circles reported to the sheriff’s department that werenotrouted to us, plus the two we already know about. Three had dead black cats, two had white rats, one with a raccoon, four with no sacrifices on-site, all of them located on the bank of a creek or river.”
“Needless to say,” T. Laine said, “there might have been more circles that weren’t discovered or reported. And near running water is not an ideal location because of the possible disruptive action on workings—unless we have a water witch involved.”
“Was Rick in town on the other black cat ceremonies?” Tandy asked.
“No,” I said.
“I’m doing a prelim comparison on the photos of all the circles,” our witch said, her words slow and her tone thoughtful. “So far, they all bear the same magical signature.” She punched buttons on her keyboard and photos of the circles I had gathered appeared overhead. “The runes are confusing. The focals are mismatched. Nothing about any of the workings or circles makes sense under the accepted rules of magic. Most importantly, according to the lunar calendar, none of the circles appear to have been worked at the full moon, which I would expect to be the case for any working calculated to hit a were-creature. Rick being called, showing increased signs of aging, but not being killed when he shows up at the circles, still only makes sense as coincidence. In which case the curse is for someone else and that someone is in danger.”
“But none of us believe in coincidence.” Tandy pushed back away from the table and turned up the lights. “Let’s finish our workups. Send out the reports. In-house only. We’ll backtrack the local reports and see who sent them out.”
“Already done,” I said.
Reading my reports, T. Laine said, “And it isn’t just one officer. Multiple reports, five officers, and that doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if they send them all to one up-line officer who is supposed to liaise with us,” I said. “Tracking that requires more access than I have. Or an internal search.”
“Ah. That sucks donkey—” T. Laine stopped. “Oops. Sorry.”
An internal search meant someone in KPD looking through the records for us. Or a certain hacker going in for a look. Tandy and I stared across the table at one another, neither of us willing to take that step. Knowing I was being wimpy by passing the buck up the chain of command, I said, “I think we should send it to Rick and let him handle that info through proper or improper channels, as he sees fit.”
“Proper channels means we’ll never know who was suppressing reports to us, because KPD will never share that.”
“Copy that,” I said. I started typing my summation report to Rick. “The sacrifices appear to be evolving, accelerating and decelerating in terms of the focals used and the animals sacrificed.” I stopped typing and looked out the window into the night. “She’s good at killing things.” I put my fingers back on the keyboard and took up where I left off. “The runes in the circles suggest preparation and planning toward a greater black-magic spell. Future human sacrifice cannot be ruled out as an ultimate intent.” That part hadn’t occurred to me until I typed it out, and a chill went through me.
T. Laine said, “I just pulled up Rick’s schedule. He was hundreds of miles away on some of the older black cat circles. Either he felt a calling from way off and didn’t tell us or the summoning spell has a limited footprint. I’m going with a limited footprint. But we need to talk to him.”
Haltingly, Tandy said, “But—well—I have to tell you both, privately.” We both turned to the empath. “I’ve noticed an increase in anxiety, irritation, and temper from Rick on the waning moon for the last two or three moon cycles.”
“That’s not good,” T. Laine said. “Is it getting worse?”
“No.” Tandy looked puzzled at that. “And it goes away. Coincidence again?”
“Or he’s lonely and that’s the time of the cycle where he feels it most?” I suggested.
“Were-creatures are sensitive to lots of things,” Tandy said, “and I may be the only empath to ever work closely with werecats, so I don’t know what’s normal.”
“Occam acting jumpy?” T. Laine asked.
“Not at all. Rick is... different.” The empath stood, went to the coffeepot, and refilled his mug. Black this time.
I held a hand over my own cup. Tandy started pacing and sipping his coffee, his body movements beginning to take on a human version of Rick’s lithe motions. I realized he was drinking coffee the way Rick drank his and I was fascinated at the transformation. T. Laine sat up in her chair, watching the change, her eyebrows up in surprise.
“You felt maggots at one site,” he said. “I think we need to know if Mithrans had been called there. Maybe before Rick got there?”
“Could be. And if so, then the fact that we got to tonight’s circle so fast could mean the vamps arrived but were able to stop approaching the circle before we saw them.” I stopped and drew out the site of that circle on a legal pad, including nearby roads and parking areas. “Yes, there could have been vamps present. I never read with the psy-meter here”—I pointed to a warehouse—“here”—I pointed back to Walmart—“or here”—I pointed to the roads near the creek where a vamp might have parked. “I haven’t been to all the circles, so I don’t know if there were vamps there or not. Why?”
“What if there’s a para hate group with a single witch attached, calling on the undead, trying to capture or kill a vamp, and Rick just got caught up in one of the spells with a black cat,” Tandy said.
“It’s been tried before,” I said, recalling a few cases I had studied at school. Under a different file, I added to the list of possibilities as we worked through them, and said, “Someone in the CIA leaked info on paranormals to the Human Speakers of Truth. The Speakers are all dead or in jail, but we never discovered who in the Central Intelligence Agency leaked the info.”
“Brainstorming, here. Maybe targeting vamps with the objective of delivering true-death?” he asked, his syntax remarkably Rick-like. “Or blood theft? Or using the vamp in the circle, sacrificing the undead as part of the casting.”
“Or since Rick was called, maybe all the para species in the area are being targeted, one at a time.”
“Maybe with an emphasis on law enforcement paras? Which means a spotted cat might be sacrificed next and callto Occam,” I said, a strange feeling settling in my chest. I was good at research, but I didn’t like where this was going.
