Blood Song

easily manipulated. For that matter, so is some of the newer and flashier technology—which was why

Gibson was using a tape rather than a digital recorder. Somewhere along the way he’d turned off the

camera as wel . I could tel because there were no lights flashing on it at al .

“Ms. Graves.” Gibson took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index

finger. “There are things we don’t tel the press. Mainly because if the public knew, they’d panic and

make things worse for everyone.”

I nodded. It made sense. I didn’t like it, but I’d seen a mob mentality in action once before. It had

scared the shit out of me, and I didn’t have to try to stop them. The cops were the ones who got to face

that sort of thing head-on and get crucified afterward, no matter how they handled the situation. I could

accept the need for … discretion.

“I need your help, so I’m going to tel you something—but you didn’t hear it, and you sure as hell didn’t

get it from me.”

“I can keep my mouth shut,” I assured him.

“Good. Because we don’t need this getting out, especial y not right now. But you need to know why

we’re taking this so very seriously, and why I’m wil ing to bend a little to get the job done.”

“Tel me.”

Gibson leaned in and spoke even more softly. “There was a spel used on that al ey to eliminate every

trace of living or formerly living matter down to the pre-cel ular level. Not even bacteria survived. The

spel that was used is anathema. Do you know what that means?”

I forced my mind back to my history of magic classes in col ege and recited from memory, “‘The early

Catholic church declared anathema al magic that was based on demonic power, magic that can be

worked only by a demon or a half-human/half-demon spawn. Any human party to that type of magic is

immediately excommunicated.’”

“Yep,” he agreed. “And al spel s that are anathema have been incorporated into the Nuremberg

Accords. Their use is considered a crime against humanity and cause to be brought before the

international tribunal. Demonic spel s are war crimes … even when there’s no war.”

Demonic. Something must have shown in my expression, because he said, “What? You’ve thought of

something.”

It was so frustrating, I almost remembered something … a whistling sound, flashing lights … but out

of context it didn’t make sense.

Gibson gave me some space. We sat and sipped coffee and stared at nothing for a few minutes.

When I had a little better grip on my emotions I broke the silence. “So we’re dealing with at least the

semi-demonic.”

He let out a little growl and lowered his voice. “Don’t say that too loud, and never in public. We’ve got

the World Series coming up just a few short miles away in Anaheim.”

Wel , that certainly explained both why the police had decided to act dumb to Emma and why Alex had

been careful about what she said to me. Assuming, of course, she actual y knew anything. She might

not.

Gibson slid his glasses back on and scooted back in his seat. He pul ed a smal notebook from his

pocket and began reading from it. “‘The first officers on the scene were Conner and Watson. They

arrived within fifteen minutes of Ms. Landingham’s cal . The place was deserted, but they could see

what looked like the remains of two adult males on the ground near the foot of a back staircase next to

a Dumpster and a rather large pile of smoldering ash that they believed might be the burned remains of

multiple vampires. They radioed for backup and proceeded toward the al ey. Watson was in the lead.

As he reached his left arm into the al ey to shine his flashlight on the remains he felt …’” Gibson

hesitated for a second before continuing with the same clinical detachment coroners use to stay sane.

“‘… a burning, tingling sensation in his arm. He told his partner to stay back and cal for magical

backup.’”

Gibson’s jaw clenched, and I watched a slow flush creep up his neck. He kept it under control, but I

could feel the rage beating off of him like heat from a furnace. “In less than two minutes, the bodies in

the al ey began to disintegrate, along with every other thing that had ever, at one time, been a living

thing, up to and including the cotton of Watson’s shirt and the arm beneath it.”

Gibson’s eyes locked with mine and I couldn’t look away. His gaze compel ed me to face him, face

what he said next head-on. No hiding. No flinching. “It started at his fingertips and worked its way up,

his arm disintegrating into powder-fine dust while he watched. It would have kept going if Conner

hadn’t thought to run back to the car for the vampire kit and the axe—” His jaw clenched, and the words

cut off, choked off by his rage. He worked to steady his harsh breathing. It took a couple of minutes,

but I waited silently. There was nothing to say. Just the thought of it was horrifying. I felt my stomach rol

with revulsion that had nothing to do with the smel of his il ness. “The Internal Affairs officer threw up

watching the dashboard cam video. They brought in a priest to bless him and doused the tape with holy

water—in case watching it activated another spel .” Gibson paused again. “Watson and Conner are

stil alive. The doctors think they can magical y alter their memories enough to let them out of the psych

ward in a few weeks and send them home.”

Gibson’s eyes bored into me like lasers. “I want the bastards who did this. The priests can deal with

the demons, but somebody human had to summon them—has to be working with them. I won’t do

anything that wil risk a slick lawyer getting them off. But I want them.”

I agreed wholeheartedly. The best part was, I must have been gone by then. Even if I recovered the

rest of my memories, I wouldn’t have to remember seeing one cop cut off another’s arm with an axe. I

even had an idea of how to get started on the right track. “Detective Gibson, my best friend is a levelnine clairvoyant. What say we pay her a visit?”

He shook his head. Alex must have suggested the same thing. “No dice. Vicki Cooper is an inpatient

at a mental facility. Anything she got would be dismissed out of hand as being tainted.”

Shit. He was right. Which sucked, because she was the best and I trusted her implicitly.

“So what do you suggest?”

“Not what, Ms. Graves. Who. ”

7

Dorothy simmons was a sweet-looking little old lady with fluffy white hair and a round face. She met