“You’re going to let it slide?” The other guard, the one who’d initially looked away from the body, spoke up. “What about whatever the Hells those sorcerers were doing in there? You going to let that slide, too?”
“Let us do our job, and we’ll let you get back to yours.” I pulled the door shut, but with the damaged latch, it began to swing open once more.
“And what, exactly,” a new voice interrupted, “is your job?” Vandie Cedrow had appeared in the hallway, along with a few more security personnel. This was going from bad to worse. She peered at my face, her eyes tracing the streaks of blood I’d missed when cleaning up. “Because from what I see, you don’t have any idea what’s going on in here.”
Cedrow’s appearance was a reminder that the entire security crew answered to her. Big events would frequently have a few off-duty cops working security. But the selling point of the festival had been providing employment for furloughed roughnecks. And the fact that the Titanshade PD didn’t have jurisdictional authority was a plus for festivalgoers who wanted to consume substances without being hassled. In short, we were on our own.
The door opened and Harris slipped through to stand at my side, one hand on the knob, holding the door closed. But even that brief opening had given Vandie a glimpse of Bobby’s transformed body. She turned away, blinking rapidly as the color drained from her face.
“Divination isn’t pretty,” said Harris. “It’s not sweet and sentimental like it is on the TV cop shows. It’s difficult and painful, and it’s a private experience for the victims.”
I had to hand it to Harris, he was really selling the idea. Even the guards who’d been inside the room looked like they were having second thoughts. Of course, I knew that he was exaggerating. What happened to Bobby Kearn was a long way from normal. The closest I’d ever seen had been a man named Dale Turner I’d found dying in an alley. When I tried to come to his aid, his body had warped beneath my hands. But those changes were a faint shadow of the monstrous transformation we’d just witnessed.
Cedrow straightened her shoulders, drew a breath, and turned back to face us. When she did, I felt a pair of fragile threads brush my shoulder, stretching from her to the door, and the murdered drummer beyond. I didn’t know what had happened to poor Bobby Kearn, or what had transformed and mutilated his corpse. But it sure as Hells looked like Vandie Cedrow was involved.
“We’ll need you to help cordon off this hallway,” I told her, and indicated the guards who’d arrived with her. “Station someone at either end of the hall.”
The set of her jaw said she was ready to argue further, but I was saved when one of Dinah McIntire’s assistants jogged up to her. “Miss Cedrow? Can you come to the stage, please?”
With a half-concealed snarl, Vandie waved the security guards into place, then turned and followed the assistant back into the maze of tented corridors.
I looked at the two guards who’d come into the room. “We’re going to need to get statements.” Their faces dropped, and I added, “Don’t worry, it’ll be painless.”
The newly arrived security guards had followed Vandie’s command and moved to the far end of the hall. That was good.
“You,” I said, pointing at Worthington. “Find an empty room. If there isn’t an empty room, then claim one and empty the people out of it.”
The patrol officer nodded, and set off with the two witnesses in tow.
That left me alone with Harris. I eyed the sorcerer. Some life had returned to his face, and he seemed steadier on his feet than he had in the aftermath of the transformation.
“I should debrief them,” he said. “We need to know if they saw something that might be useful,” he glanced over his shoulder, “for figuring out whatever the Hells that was.”
I opened the door to the crime scene and asked Jax to accompany Harris.
“Yeah, sure,” said Jax. “I could use a minute out of here, anyway.”
As Jax passed me, I entered the crime scene with my eyes on the floor, bracing myself to view the carnage once more. I swung the door shut, but it didn’t quite catch on the broken latch. I half stepped toward it, meaning to shut it and protect the scene from any more prying eyes.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I turned, task forgotten.
Guyer stood over the body, her face still speckled with blood. She jabbed a finger at the transfigured remains. “Was that you?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Was that you?”
“No!”
“You don’t have to hide it,” she said. “We’ll figure it out. But it’s dangerous. Look at what just happened.”
“If you’re looking for someone to blame for batshit magic, why don’t you start with the two sorcerers in the room?”
“The last time I saw a dead body transform, it was one of your cases.” She stepped forward. “That man changed while you were tending his wounds.”
“Dale Turner.” I’d gone to his aid before I understood my effect on magical bonds. “And I remember that you spent a lot of time convincing me that I didn’t have anything to do with it. That it was all a coincidence.”
Guyer crossed her arms, slender wrists disappearing beneath the soft fabric of her robes. “A good cop knows when to admit she was wrong.”
I grimaced, and looked at our reflections in the mirror. Just like Kearn would have done as a killer slipped toward his back. A few weeks ago, I’d have welcomed her acceptance. I practically begged for it. But since then I’d learned more about what I was experiencing, and I knew that I had to keep it secret, at least until I knew I was safe from
