We had zigzagged around the entire farm, but I couldn’t figure out how thedeath and decayenergies had gotten close to the barn or how they had reached the house. FireWind was going to be disappointed.Death and decayhad seemingly popped into existence, infected a pasture, and reappeared inside the house.
It was also clear that unlike the energies inside the house, the ones in the pasture were decreasing.
Had the potted vampire tree, in its form of the Green Knight, zapped thedeath and decayout of existence in the land where I had been attacked? Was that what the lance had done when it passed me and hit the frozen glass flames behind?
Our three-person team was fast and efficient, and if Pacillo thought I was reading the land with my cell phone, which I carried each time, well, I wasn’t about to disabuse him of that notion. By three a.m. we were back at the barn. I was yawning and too sleepy to continue, so we said our good nights, and Pacillo turned on the security lights.
Occam and I walked back toward the car, stopping on the way when he touched my arm. “Lemme see.” When I didn’t understand, he said, “Your finger. Your hand. Lemme see.”
“Oh.” I curled my fingers protectively into a loose fist. I didn’t want to look.
“Does it still hurt?”
I nodded.
He held out his hand and I placed my hand into his. Uncurled my fingers. Occam turned on a small penlight and directed the narrow beam at my fingers. The index finger was white as bone, the skin dead. It was covered with pinholes, as if I’d stabbed it with needles. With his burn-scarred hand, Occam lifted the finger to his lips and kissed it. My heart melted. Before I could think it through, I pulled his hand to my own lips and placed a kiss on his knuckles. I felt him start in surprise, and saw a flash of his teeth in the shadows. He released my hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I relaxed against him, feeling... cherished? Loved. Yes, that was it. Feeling loved. My entire heart melted, resting against my cat-man.
We were almost at the car when a light came on inside the house. Occam came to a stop and swiveled so I could see what he saw. “That’s a mite strange, don’t you think, Nell, sugar?” he said. “No cars in the yard. Officer Stanhope, you still on duty?” he asked without raising his voice.
“I’m here. The witches and the crime scene folks left while you were off working. No one has approached the house within my sight since you came through. Don’t mean someone didn’t get through another entrance, what with the lights off and the security system off-line for the witches and the techs. I’ll check it out.” Keys jangled and Stanhope appeared out of the dark. He was a tall man, wearing the uniform of Stella’s security company, a gun at his belt. Stanhope was fit and carried himself like former military.
“Want backup?” Occam asked.
“Never turn down backup, my man. Never turn it down.”
Stanhope opened the door and Occam followed him inside. I went on to the car and placed the potted tree in the milk carton in the passenger seat. Its roots were exposed and in need of fresh soil, but I didn’t travel with a bag of Soulwood soil. That was something I might need to remedy.
While I leaned against the car, I sent JoJo a text.Security system not show suspect entering house carrying trigger?
She texted back,System autostores and eventually rewrites itself. I’m trying to reconstruct old data from a saved version.
Good thing you’re our Diamond, I texted.
She didn’t reply. Jo had once been known as Diamond Drill, one of the top hackers in the world. She worked for us now.
Stanhope jogged from the house. “Kid got inside. He had a key, knew how to work the security system,” he called to me, irritation in his voice, “and didn’t mind crossing crime scene tape. Your partner says to go on in.”
Leaving the pot and the blanket, I entered the house empty-handed, to find Occam and a young man sitting at the big kitchen island. The “kid” was drinking coffee, in the middle of the night, and eating a sandwich that he had clearly just assembled from the contents of the fridge. Packages of lettuce, cheese, an open loaf of bread, condiments, and sliced turkey were on the island top.
He was older than he looked at first, a shaggy-headed blond with sad eyes, maybe midtwenties. Occam’s eyes were trying to tell me something as he said, “Special Agent Ingram, this is one of Stella’s roadies, Theron Workham, tech and support roadie for the band. He came in for the meeting today and apparently slept over in one of the RVs. He woke up hungry and avoided all the security guards to make a sandwich.” He put a faint emphasis on “avoided all the security guards.” Which should not have been so easy.
Not meeting our eyes, Theron shoved a good three inches of sandwich into his mouth and chewed. Keeping his mouth full so he couldn’t talk? I tilted my head to show I understood Occam’s concern.
“And he’s not the only one on scene. According to him, upstairs are two of the part-time riders”—Occam referred to his notes—“Bevie Rhoden and Elisa Yhall.” He spelled both names. “They’re all three part of Stella’s inner circle and they sleep in the bunk room upstairs, when they aren’t in school. They didn’t see a problem with crossing over crime scene tape either.”
So, we had three people with the ability to make use of the property without getting caught. There were probably more. “Cameras?” I asked, about the security system.
Occam said, irritation in his tone, “There’s a light on the door panel that shows red if the system is armed. And he knows the code.”
Anyone who knew about this could get in, turn off thecameras, and come and go without being filmed. I swiveled my hand, thumb slightly up, to show I understood.
“Theron has agreed to clarify for me the names of the band members, backup singers, roadies, assorted personnel, and groupies following the band.”
I gave him a half smile. Theron didn’t seem the least bit willing to do that. He looked as if he’d been caught and knew it and didn’t know how to get out of the breaking-and-entering mess he was in. He finished the sandwich. Put his plate in the sink. Blew a resigned breath.
Having left my tablet in the car, I just listened as Theron reluctantly went down a list of names, some of which were on my own list, some I hadn’t heard until now. So many names, including Stella’s band manager, Regenia Apple, her accountant, Genneille Booker, and her attorney in Nashville, Augustina Mattson. All women.
I was exhausted and half-asleep on my feet. Theron was wide awake. He poured another cup of coffee, added ice to it, and began to drink. Barely able to keep my eyes open, I heard footsteps on the hidden kitchen stairs.
