crashed.
“It’s all in the timing. Look in the duffel. Uh . . . carefully. Just in case something else is there.”
She moved to the dead guy’s feet, where the duffel sat, unzipped. Sure enough, it held four metal stakes and a mallet. She rooted around, checking. No knife. “Why hadn’t they used these?”
“Most rites have three stages,” Cullen said. “First stage is traditionally called the invocation, though I prefer the term ‘definition.’ That’s when you invoke or define the powers you’ll work with and your intent. Second one gathers power. In this case, that meant tying in to the node, which would have happened at the very end of that stage. Third stage shapes and directs that power. They didn’t get that far, but it says nasty things about the kind of shaping they had in mind that it called for a form of crucifixion and murder.”
She chewed on that a moment. “You think they were planning to use the knife the way they did on Debrett.”
“Looks like, yeah.”
“But they were interrupted at the end of the second stage, when they’d tied in to the node. That’s why it went unstable?”
“Basically. I’ll spare you the long explanation of why this rite would do that when others wouldn’t. Short version: nodes are not safe.”
“I’m wondering if the shooter knew that would happen. Picked that moment on purpose. If the node went boom it would get rid of the bodies, wouldn’t it? And any other evidence the shooter might find inconvenient. Would he or she need to be familiar with the rite to know when they reached the end of the second stage? Or would they have to be able to see magic the way you do?”
“Huh.” Cullen’s eyebrows lifted. He looked over his shoulder at T.J., who was crouched on the near side of the brushy thicket, shining his flashlight over the ground. Rule was sniffing nearby. “From that distance . . . maybe not. It depends on a lot of variables, but it’s certainly possible he could feel it when the node was brought in. Likely, even, if the shooter was an experienced spellcaster himself.”
“Or herself.”
“You have someone in mind?”
“No, just keeping mine open.” Lily stood. “Would this hypothetical spellcaster know how long it would take for the node to go boom?”
“Without the Sight? No, and even with the Sight you’re just guessing. There are spells that would tell him it was unstable, but not how long it would take to hit the threshold. Well, there’s one that might, but it takes a couple hours to cast. He’d have to be remarkably stupid to hang around an unstable node that long.”
“Not to mention a body or two.” She nodded, satisfied. “Our perp didn’t hang around. He or she got the knife and got the hell out. Either he didn’t bother to make sure both victims were dead or he didn’t care. When the node went, it would take out anyone nearby. He wasn’t counting on the rangers hearing the shots. Or on you being able to do whatever you did.”
“I am a wonder and a half,” he agreed.
“Rule thinks he’s found something,” T.J. called, “but damned if I know what.”
Lily turned to see Rule loping up the slope toward them. The young patrol officer squeaked like a mouse, but she didn’t reach for her weapon, and the sergeant was made of sterner stuff. His eyes widened, but that was all. Rule stopped at the edge of the hexagon, his head lifting in surprise. His nostrils flared. He walked up to the body and lowered his head.
“He isn’t going to, ah . . .” The sergeant looked worried.
Lily pretended he wasn’t wondering if her fiance was likely to eat the victim. “Wolves’ sense of smell is better than just about any other mammal’s, except for bears. His nose can be very useful.”
After giving the body a thorough sniff, Rule moved outside the hexagon—this time to the side near the drop-off. He sniffed that thoroughly, too, then peered over the edge. The drop-off was steep there. A cliff, really, with a rocky bit of beach below.
He Changed again. The patrol officer squeaked a second time, probably because Rule was now very naked. “Lily,” he said, “the dead man is Armand Jones.”
“Friar’s lieutenant?” She turned to look at the body. It was the right height and build. She’d hoped it might be Friar, been disappointed that it wasn’t, but Jones . . . that fit, too. “You’re sure.”
“Oh, yes. I made a point of learning his scent.”
“A falling-out among thieves, then. Not the way I first thought. Jones must have taken the knife. Sam did say it’s persuasive. Maybe it called to him or something, or maybe this was a power grab, pure and simple. Friar wanted the knife back. He would have known exactly when to fire to make the node unstable—”
But Rule was shaking his head. “Friar was here, yes. I found some of his blood outside the hexagon. I suspect he spilled quite a bit more inside it. He was among those shot, not the shooter.”
“But—is there a trail? Did he—”
“I think he went over the edge. I don’t see a body.”
She chewed on that in silence a moment. “Friar’s dead or badly hurt. Jones is dead. And whoever shot them must have the knife.” It didn’t make sense. Had the Great Bitch decided to ditch Friar and sent a new henchman to get the knife?
“T.J. and I found bullet casings by those bushes. That’s where the shooter was. That’s what I came to tell you. The scent I found there belongs to Miriam Faircastle.”
THIRTY-FIVE
“WHAT do you mean, you aren’t going to pick her up for questioning?” Lily wanted to reach through the phone and shake Karonski.
“Pipe down, Lily. You heard what Sam said about this knife. If she’s got it—and it sure as hell sounds like she does, or maybe it’s got her—we do not want to get close enough for it to start with the compelling and corrupting. We want Miriam Faircastle and that knife contained. Once she is, I can question her over the phone.”
Okay. Okay, that made sense. She was maybe a little excitable. “How do you plan to contain her?”
“Ruben has to sign off on this, but if he does, I want guards, armed guards, outside her home. We’ll evacuate her neighbors. We can’t let her leave and we can’t let anyone in there with her until Sam gets back.”
“Wait. He’s already left?”
“Right after you did. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. Well, he said it would be at least two weeks for him, but from our perspective he might return anytime between now and a couple weeks from now. Something to do with the way he’ll travel through those dissynchronous realms.”
“Can Ruben authorize holding someone under . . . I guess it’s an extreme form of house arrest . . . for a week?”
“Looks like we’ll find out.”
Lily disconnected and frowned at the activity around her. The SOC crew had arrived and were having a meticulously grand time. Two were on their hands and knees, sifting the scrubby grass near the lookout point. One was carefully scooping bits of blood-soaked soil from just outside the hexagon into baggies. Friar’s blood, according to Rule’s nose, which Lily trusted at least as much as any DNA analysis. Rule and T.J. stood near the edge of the drop-off gripping one end of the rope Barnaby dangled from, sniffing at places a falling body might have hit on the way down.
Barnaby had an unusually good nose, even two-legged, but they didn’t expect him to find much. When Friar got supercharged by his goddess a few months before, he’d acquired several useful skills, including a trick like the demonic ability to go out-of-phase.
There was no shot-up, smashed-up body at the foot of the drop-off; therefore, Friar had probably gone
