“A what?” Talia knew that a necromancer was a sorcerer that summoned the dead. It just wasn’t what she’d expected to hear.
“Lore told me about the crime scene. There was a Latin word and a symbol drawn in blood. It suggested a spell.”
A vague dizziness came over Talia, and she leaned back in the overstuffed armchair, grateful for its big- boned, manly man support. “A spell? You mean someone killed Michelle to work magic? That makes no sense.”
Perry nodded. “It actually does. Once I knew what I was looking for, references to such spells weren’t hard to find. They bind the power of death to the spell they want to work. It’s considered by those in the craft to be a forbidden practice, but since when have rules stopped anybody from doing evil?”
“But why?” Talia shook her head. “If the murder was for something like that, why Michelle of all people? She wasn’t involved in the supernatural.” Except for me. I was her one link.
Lore took a deep breath. “I met someone last night who had a theory that her death was connected to the arson at the clinic.”
Talia listened to his deep voice, her mind scrambling to make sense as he described first the fire, and then his encounter with three rogue vampires in the Empire bar.
“I remember them,” Joe said. “A pitcher of draft brown ale, three glasses. Paid cash. They didn’t cause any trouble, but they sure looked like it.”
“This Darak guy talked to Michelle’s spirit?” Talia said incredulously.
“A few vampires have such power,” Joe replied. “It’s rare, but sometimes the old ones can see the dead.”
The thought horrified her. “Then Michelle’s spirit . . .”
“The spirits don’t stay earthbound once the spell has consumed the energy released in their death,” Perry said in a comforting voice. “She’s gone. You don’t have to worry about her.”
Talia nodded gratefully, forcing down another wave of grief. She couldn’t fold now. Not in public. Not when she was getting solid information. Justice comes first, grief later.
“Is it possible that you have a personal connection with the attacker?” Lore asked, looking at her closely.
Talia answered honestly. “I know of a few vampires who did some sorcery, including my sire, but I don’t know of anyone who does necromancy.”
“Few would admit to it,” said Perry. “Forbidden spells, remember?”
Talia bit her thumbnail. “Do necromancers ever kill vampires? I keep thinking it was me who was meant to die. But wouldn’t most people be able to tell the difference between a human and a vampire? Michelle looked like me, but a sorcerer should know she was alive, right?”
Perry looked at her curiously. “I doubt you were the target. By all accounts, humans work best for a death spell. What I want to know is why someone burned the clinic and constituency office—and why use such a labor- intensive method? What’s the point? It’s not going to stop the election.”
“But think of the effect it has,” said Joe. “It’s showy and scary. It’s going to bring the queen running to find out who the hell is on her turf.”
“I asked Caravelli to tell Queen Omara to delay her trip.” Lore shifted irritably in his chair. “It didn’t work. He called tonight. She’s coming as soon as she can. The only saving grace is the snow. The airport is closed.”
“But that means Caravelli can’t come home, either,” Joe added.
Lore rubbed his eyes, as if tired. “We’re on our own, and we have until the weather breaks to solve this.”
Errata had sat silently through most of the exchange, but now she stirred. “If what we’ve guessed is true, the necromancer is one of Queen Omara’s enemies. Unfortunately, that’s a rather long list.”
Joe turned to Lore. “I’m coming in late to this party. Is that why you asked us here? To play were- detective?”
“Yes,” Lore said simply. “I asked you because you’ve been around the longest. You’ve seen more than any of the rest of us.”
Joe shrugged. “Glad to know I’m good for something besides mixing appletinis, but aren’t there human police working the murder case?”
“And what good are they going to be against a necromancer?” Lore replied.
“Good point.” Joe fell silent, musing for a moment. “I was a soldier. Cutting off a head isn’t easy. Whoever did it had to be strong.”
Perry got to his feet, pacing over to the window. Talia could see him in front of his classroom, pointer in hand. “With this kind of a spell, the necromancer him- or herself has to do the killing. Because of the enormous amount of time it takes to build the right skills for this kind of magic, I don’t think we’re looking for a human.” He turned to face them. “Sorcerers are usually immortals, or at least long-lived.”
“You’re not immortal,” Errata returned.
“Yeah, but I’m a genius. Not a fair comparison.”
Lore shook his head. “A vampire would traditionally use a sword for a beheading. It didn’t look like a sword wound. That’s the one detail that doesn’t make sense.”
Talia clamped her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to keep the image of Michelle’s corpse out of her mind. At the same time, the logical part of her brain scrambled to put the facts together. “What about an immortal who for some reason couldn’t use a sword properly?”
Lore gave her a sharp glance. “What are you thinking?”
She got to her feet, her stomach roiling with tension. She’d figured it out, but she needed a few minutes to decide what telling the truth would mean. “I think I need some air.”
“It’s freezing cold outside,” said Errata. “Take my coat.”
Talia headed for the door.
Lore jumped up. “What if someone sees you? We know you’re innocent. The police don’t.”
“I’ll take the back stairs and stay out of sight.”
She heard Errata’s voice, low and urgent. “Let her go.”
Talia hesitated before grabbing the Burberry. If she took it, she’d be obligated to bring it back, and every instinct screamed to run. She grabbed an old, ratty jacket instead. It hung to her knees and looked like Lore had worn it while rebuilding a diesel engine.
She banged out the door and into the airless twilight of the sixth-floor hallway.
I am in so much trouble.
Chapter 17
Outside the fire door at the building’s back entrance, the parking lot was a glittering snowscape. Talia stood in the tiny clearing someone had shoveled so the door could swing open. Beyond was a knee-high drift that stretched across the lot to the street. Rows of snowcovered cars made the landscape look like an inverted egg carton.
She knew it had been snowing, but this was way more than she’d expected. Back in her hometown, winters had been worse than this, but they’d worked up to it. A body had time to brace itself. This had come on freakishly fast.
She flashed back to the big hill behind her childhood home. Kids knew how to play even when adults were mired in life-and-death problems. She and her brother, Max, had found a big refrigerator box and used it for a toboggan, sliding down the hill over and over until every last bit of their clothes was soaked. There had been a snowball fight after that, one bunch of neighborhood kids against another. They’d known everyone in the area. They were all pretty much related, anyway. Cousins of cousins.
Her mom had been the odd one out. Whatever had made her marry Dad? Why had he, the ultimate Hunter, picked a wife outside the tribe?
Opposites attract?
