“I did. That was part of the reason I spent so long in the null room. I didn’t get much from the read.” I described the awful, burning cold sensation when I touched Erica’s bare flesh. “I’m wondering what I’d get on a deep read on Erica’s body. And now I’m wondering what I’d get on a deep read on a dead body.”
“No. You will not do that, girl. You get me?No. People aredying,” she added, as if I hadn’t noticed.
“I’m not planning on trying it. But what if Icouldread who the culprit is. I’ve never read that deeply into a magical working on a human body, but I’ve followed magic through the land. What if I could track a magical working back to the originator? What if I could do it through the air, so I didn’t grow roots? What would that do to law enforcement? To a case?”
JoJo had never been able to resist a puzzle. She pulled on her left earrings, five gold hoops that dangled up the curve of the ear. “Under current law it couldn’t be used in court, and it’s possible that it could be ruled as a form of magical attack. It might also be contested as a loss of civil rights if you did that to asuspect. There would be no way to use illegally obtained evidence as part of a case.”
“But people are dying. Isn’t stopping that magical attack more important than gathering evidence for a case? If it’s a witch, the local witches would take the death witch into custody under witch law anyway, and we’d never hear from her again. Nothing we do in a death-witch case would be used for the courts. And if it isn’t a death witch, the person responsible will still never see a courtroom. Not with that kind of power at their fingertips. The person who did this will be destroyed by other means long before that can happen.”
We both fell silent. The air conditioner came on, a soft, nearly noiseless whir. Into the hush a mechanical voice said, “CLMT2207. Please provide appropriate file heading for the previous discussion.”
JoJo cursed and said, “Clementine, Jones. Preserve previous conversation under heading ‘Death Magics, Ingram, Temp File.’ Then go off-line.”
The voice-recognition program repeated the orders and went off-line.
We stared at each other. “Sometimes I hate computers,” JoJo said.
Which was a terrible lie. Even with Clementine listening in, she loved that the program had the ability to do all the cool stuff.
Jo said, “Seriously. Do not read a person until you have this convo with FireWind. I’m sending you back to the Ragel horse farm. You need to reread the land around the house to see if it’s less contaminated. FireWind left for Cookeville while you were in the null room, and we’ll have people and equipment and probably body parts in and out of here all day and night now that the null room has proven so necessary to the survival of the victims.”
“FireWind wanted two people here in HQ at all times.” I frowned at her. “You’re trying to keep me from reading the hospital patients.”
“You can thank me later.”
I frowned harder and pulled off a twisted leaf trying to open at my hairline. I stole a gesture from Mud and gave a teenager’swhatevershrug, gathered up my gobags, my vampire tree, and extra magazines, and left. On the way, I alerted my mama whereI’d be, possibly overnight, and arranged with Sam to drive my sisters wherever they needed to go. I also added teaching Esther to drive to my mental Esther To-Do list, along with opening a bank account and discussions of getting a job. My list was getting quite long.
***
I left for Cookeville in the very late afternoon, fighting traffic, listening to my onboard computer reading the other unit members’ case notes. I learned nothing new and gained no new insights. Having learned the probie’s lessons about showing up at a crime scene without bearing gifts, I stopped at a sandwich shop and bought a half dozen varieties. I didn’t stop at the hotel to drop off my gear. Occam was at the farm, and that was where I wanted to be.
Clouds were moving in and it got dark before the sun set. I switched on my lights as the farm’s fencing came into view. Dusk pooled in deep shadows, murky darkness, lightless gloom, profound enough to hide the monsters and demons used by church folk to scare their children into obedience. Today there were very few cars blocking the road. I took the turn past the wilted flowers and showed my ID to the bored guard before continuing up to the house.
As I took the first turn, I spotted something in the tall, fall pasture grass and hit the brakes. The thing scuttled away. No. Not something. Someone, crouched, skulking. A white head dropped below the tops of the grasses and then darted off. Soul and Rick had white hair. No. They were nowhere near here; Soul was off doing director-ish things and Rick LaFleur was on a case in Chattanooga.
Pulling over, I gathered up my flashlight and my weapon, wishing for a null pen, but I had none. I sent out a group text giving my exact location and saying that I was checking out something. I slipped from the car and maneuvered between the boards of the fence, into the grass, my torso higher than the grass near the road. I moved slowly through the pasture, the leavesshushingagainst my pants.
The acreage had been planted at some point in a perennial natural mix of tall fescue, Kentucky bluegrass, big bluestem, and a dozen other native grasses for natural grazing. As I moveddeeper into the pasture, the grass grew higher, the shadows deeper around me. For the grass to be so high, few horses had grazed it, maybe since early summer. The night breeze blew, the grass whispering. Owls called in the distance. Bats darted overhead. I had left the driveway behind.
I found an open place where a deer herd had slept at some point, the grass pressed down in circular areas as big as their bodies, like dimples of safety. I stepped around and over old horse droppings and fresh deer pellets. I startled a bird off her nest. But nothing unexpected was there. No white-headed person. There were no footprints in the soil, no hairs caught in the grass, no indication that a human had raced through here. Had the white thing I saw been the rump of a white-tailed deer? Feeling foolish, I moved in a semicircle around and back toward my car, a sudden gust at my back.
Just ahead, I spotted a sleeping horse. Not wanting to get trampled, I stamped on the ground. But the horse didn’t leap or climb to its feet. It didn’t move at all. I edged closer, parting the grass, scanning with my flashlight. The beam fell on the horse. It was dead and decomposing. Melting like wax. Its coat looked reddish brown beneath the green froth. I shined my flash all across the horse and settled the beam on its face. Beneath the green goo, the lightning blaze shone white. It was Adrian’s Hell, Stella’s stallion. I whispered an anguished, “Nooo. Oh no.”
My flash fell on its lips and tongue. They were green.
The horse wasn’t female, but it was decomposing like one.
I stood there for too long, uncertain, grieving, before I marked my location and turned away, tracing my way back to the car. I debated calling Occam, who, according to the group text reply, was interrogating riders in the barn with T. Laine. Calling him felt like a girl asking her boyfriend for help. If I wasn’t dating him, I would call my boss, so I sent a group text that I was okay, then called FireWind.
“FireWind. Ingram, is there a problem?” he answered. I realized how softly, how quietly he spoke. Much like Jane Yellowrock spoke. Maybe a Cherokee thing?
“Dead horse near my twenty,” I said, meaning near my current location. “Same symptoms as the humans. And I saw something or someone moving in the grasses, but it’s gone. Who do youwant me to notify for a search?” I could almost feel him assessing my request.
“Stay put. I’m on my way.”
FireWind was coming. I remembered the sight of him standing, arms out at his sides, as Adrian’s Hell pranced and danced and challenged. And then slowly accepted the man. His arms around the horse’s neck as they embraced. I needed to tell him first. Not let him recognize the stallion, dead.
Moments later, FireWind appeared at my side and placed his gobag on my car hood. I holstered my weapon and stood in the dark, silent.
