I needed something to knock my boss free. Like a hosepipe attached to an icy water source, turned on full blast. A rolled-up newspaper to the snout. But both of those might just make him mad. I went back down the ladder and found the potted tree, which I carried up. I shook some of the tree’s surface soil out on the floor, in a trail back toward the ladder. Then I walked to my boss, who was still transfixed by the wax, and carefully dumped a bit of the soil onto his snout.
FireWind jumped as if I’d hit him with that rolled-up paper, spun, and snarled at me again. Firmly, I said, “No.You. Come with me.” I backed steadily to the ladder. FireWind looked back to the wax. “No!” I commanded. “Come!” The big dog dropped his head and padded to me. “There’s something wrong with your brain. Shift. Right now. As soon as you start, I’ll go find clothes. You need to be in human form.”
I started down the ladder and paused with my head above the opening. FireWind padded the rest of the way to me and leaned in until we were nose to nose. He breathed in my scent. I breathed in his. “If you snort right now? I’ll be ticked.”
FireWind’s eyes sparkled with mischievous delight, but he didn’t snort, and he was clearly back under control. He lay down atop the trail of Soulwood soil and breathed out slowly. The now-familiar silver mist rose from his fur and I went down to the barn proper. Luckily, his clothes were again in my car, in his gobag. I carried the bag and his shoes back to the barn and up the ladder. I could feel the magic tingling on my skin as I reached a hand up over my head and deposited the shoes, and then the bag, before going back down.
In the office, Pacillo was still passed out half under the table. I really,reallyneeded a cup of coffee. Which I was not going to get from the contaminated coffeemaker.
***
FireWind was fully clothed and his hair rebraided when he climbed down the ladder and entered the office. He looked at me, at the camera parts, which I had placed into evidence bags,the used gloves, the laptop, my paper chart, my gobag, a half-completed chain of custody, and the potted tree. “Why are you carrying the plant?”
“To eat bad guys.”
FireWind shoved Pacillo all the way over and made sure he was on his side in case the man threw up. With a breath that sounded like a tired sigh, he sat across from me and dug through his gobag for his snacks. I figured that meant he was done with the plant Q and A.
I pulled the last of my homemade protein bars out of my bag and placed them on the table between us. I wasn’t sure why, but FireWind smiled when he accepted the last fish-flake bar and the last salmon jerky strip. In return he handed me the null pens that T. Laine had woven into his dog fur. I took them all into my hands and the pain of my fingers eased a little. He glanced at the coffeemaker, reading the sign. “Contaminated?”
“The coffeemaker, a few other things in here, the camera that was mounted directly below the dark wax that sucked you in, and the hay and water in that stall.” I pointed to the stud stall. “It’s closest to the bench upstairs.”
“Someone put thedeath and decayinto his feed?” FireWind asked, too softly.
“I think so.”
He looked away, though I had a feeling he wasn’t really seeing anything. When he looked back to me he said, “Your hands look bad.”
“My handsarebad. Sitting in the null room with you helped, but I need time sitting with my hands and feet in Soulwood soil.”
“Will you heal?”
“Probably.” If I don’t become a tree first, but I didn’t say that. Half of becoming an adult, for me, had been learning when to keep my mouth shut. The other half had been learning how to shoot a gun, defend against my attackers, and say what was on my mind. I was aware of the contradictions. “The null room should be available again at dawn. I don’t really want to go in with a dead woman and a decomposing horse.”
FireWind smiled again, leaned over, and lightly pinched my thumb, lifting my hand from the table with his index and thumb,as if inspecting something dead. “I think we can’t wait.” He dropped my hand. “Come.”
I said, “Are you ordering me around like a dog because I ordered you around like a dog?” FireWind’s rare laughter echoed through the barn. He stood, picked up Pacillo and tossed him over a shoulder as if the man weighed nothing, and walked away. It was... impressive. I gathered up my things and followed. “Hey, FireWind. Do you have the scent of the creator of thedeath and decay?”
“I’m not certain,” he said over Pacillo’s rump. “I have the scent of the person who placed all thedeath and decay–contaminated things in the barn loft. I have the scent of the person whoisdeath and decay. I am not convinced the creator and the delivery person are one and the same.”
I caught up with FireWind and handed him my laptop to carry. “So we have a conspiracy? Or adeath and decaycoven?”
“Either one would be very bad.”
***
The stench was not to be believed, so bad I coughed or gagged with every other breath. And that was after Ing’s body had been zipped into a cadaver pouch for quick transport to UTMC for a para postmortem, and Adrian’s Hell’s chopped-up body, which had been rolled onto a heavy-duty tarp in the pasture, was pulled out of the trailer. The decomping bodies were gone, but the air was still poisonously rank. For an hour, I sat in the enclosed space with the big boss, the bench from the loft, the puddles of dark red wax, and an unconscious Pacillo, who had a snore that rattled the null room. And the stench.
FireWind occupied the chair beside me, his face serene, not coughing, not reacting to the stench in any way, looking through the downloaded photos on my laptop. I didn’t know how he did it, but it was annoying. And he expected me to keep working while I asphyxiated on the stench. Protective tears gathered in my eyes. My nose filled with mucus.
“What is the time stamp on this one?” He pointed to a photo. “And who is it?”
“Today, make that yesterday, at three a.m. Nearly twenty-four hours ago. His name is Cale Nowell, and he’s one of theband members who was also in the commune. He spent several years in jail for an accident that I believe was Stella’s fault.” I stopped and breathed through a mentholated handkerchief. It didn’t help. I checked the timeline and said, “He was present the day Stella died, but he hasn’t been seen or heard from since except here. Due to the jail time he likely spent for Stella, Occam marked him as a person of interest and sent the local deputies by his place. JoJo pinged his cell, but they can’t find him or it. No one admits to seeing or hearing from him.”
“Cale Nowell, Donald Murray Hampstead, and Racine Alcock are the last remaining members of the original poly marriage. I’d like you and Jones to concentrate on Hampstead and Alcock. They didn’t just fall through a hole into a pocket universe. They have to be somewhere. And based on the appearance of Cale’s fingertips in these photographs”—he expanded a photo from the day of the murders—“he didn’t spend enough time in a null room. He has been affected by thedeath and decay.” FireWind pulled his cell and dialed HQ. To whomever answered, he said, “Issue an all-points bulletin for Cale Nowell. He is to be brought to the local law enforcement center in whatever county or city he is found, and held for questioning until I arrive.”
A knock echoed from the door, concluding our null time. FireWind ended his call, I grabbed my gear, and the moment the big door opened, I raced outside, fell on the ground, and nearly lost the long-ago remains of my sandwich.
FireWind walked down the ramp to the ground looking like a fashion model, his clothes unwrinkled, his hair glinting in the security lights. It was beyond unfair for a man to be so composed and unruffled. As he passed me by, he said, “You did a good job in the loft, Ingram. Thank you for not swatting me on the nose.” He disappeared into the night like something from a fantasy movie, all magic wands and smoke and mirrors.
