The Isis Collar

with my hands an object about the size of one of the throw pillows on the couch. “But my office hasn’t been tampered with and there’s nothing really of value—at least magical value—down here on the first floor.”

Rizzoli pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. “Then I guess we’d better find out what else might have been of interest.”

He led Dawna and I through each of the rooms, staring at us as we looked through cabinets, closets, and desks. But we couldn’t find a thing she might have taken, unless it was in Ron’s room, and he was the only one who’d know that.

I was about to open my mouth to suggest Rizzoli talk to Ron when Dawna let out a little yelp. “I know what it is! There is something missing, Celia!”

I hurried to her desk, where she dropped to her knees. She checked under the desk and between the desk and half wall. “What?”

“The book. That special book you’d asked me to look at from Dr. Sloan. It was right here on my desk when we went to Levy’s and now it’s not.”

Holy hell. She was right. It wasn’t something I’d even thought about but had been dead center on her desk. I looked over at Rizzoli and he snapped his fingers. Two men appeared as if by magic.

“Dust this whole area for fingerprints and do a magic trace.” He wrote down Dr. Sloan’s name in a paper notebook from his hip pocket. “Let’s get out of their way and back to see what they’ve found in the other room.”

I looked again at the broken window. “I can’t imagine why she’d want to steal a book about the divine that’s probably available on Amazon.com. I’m a lot more freaked out she was able to get in here in the first place. That says that she knows who I am and can walk right into a building that’s spelled to keep her out.”

The witch drawing runes on the rug looked up. “You have a spell on this building specific to her? Why?” Rizzoli raised his brows and give me a questioning look.

“Well, no. The spell’s not that specific. But it is a strong magical barrier that’s intended to bar entry to those with evil intent.”

The woman went back to drawing symbols in chalk. I’d seen that kind of thing before; done right, it would lift the blood spots and any skin samples into the air where they could be collected in test tubes … and leave our rug nice and clean. Nifty spell, that. Rizzoli’s witch shook her head. “That sort of thing is completely useless against someone of this caliber. She could walk through it the way you walk through morning mist. I’m frankly surprised I don’t recognize the magic signature in her blood. I know most of the upper echelon of magic.”

“You can read someone’s magic signature just by encountering it?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. Like, John Creede made the binding spell in this charm ball … and it’s a nice piece of work. Pity you missed the suspect. It probably would have held her. What did work was the knife Bruno DeLuca made. Damn, is it impressive. Best item I’ve encountered outside of religious artifacts at the Vatican.” She paused for a moment and stared at the silver knife in my wrist sheath. “I have to admit I’m surprised you have items made by both of them. They’re not known to run in the same circles and they don’t hand out their craft like penny candy. But they were definitely gifts, offered by hand, not taken by force. So, they’re yours and I don’t have to ask ugly questions about how they came into your possession.”

Wow. All that and I didn’t remember her even touching the knife. She’d done a casting circle on it, but I’d placed it inside and took it out again. I’d been watching closely, to make certain the blade wouldn’t disappear with Rizzoli’s team when they left. I needed it handy since the witch was still at large. “So if you cast a spell here, they’d know you, too? What’s your name? John said he didn’t recognize this caster.”

She rocked back to sit on her heels and her fingers stopped fluttering over the chalk symbols. Her eyes, blazing with blue fire, were focused on me. “He said that? How did he come in contact with this magic before we arrived?” I noticed she didn’t answer my question about her name.

“Okay, my bad. He hasn’t touched this particular magic, but he did touch the magic affecting me from the bomb. I guess I’m assuming the witch who was just here was the same person who set off the bomb at the school. It felt like the same magic, here and at your office and the school.”

She pursed her lips and tapped one slender finger on her pant leg. “And John Creede actually said he didn’t recognize the caster? Because he knows a lot of people.”

Had he? I felt my brows furrowing as I thought back. “No, I guess not. I didn’t ask about the caster. I asked if he knew what the spell on me was. He said he didn’t know the spell, but it was really complex. He took several of my hairs to check it out further.”

She stood up in a single movement that was fluid and limber. I was betting she was either a martial artist or a yoga instructor. “Chief, I think I need samples of Ms. Graves’s hair as well. We might be able to match any residual magic in her hair with the first series of events.”

He nodded briefly, but I held up a hand to stop her. “Slow down. I really don’t like having bits of me floating around out there. I’m already locking my hairbrush and comb in a warded safe to keep them away from people who want to use my hair to make anti-siren charms and vampire death curses. I don’t mind John having them because I trust him. But I don’t know you from Adam. Not even your name.”

Rizzoli gave another small nod and made a motion at the witch. She pulled out a card and passed it to me as he spoke. “Abigail Wendy Jones. Goes by Gail. Graduate of Harvard College of Magic, cum laude, when she was sixteen. Been with the Bureau for five years now after teaching at the Academy for two. Level nine-plus talent. We only bring her in from Quantico for special cases that require a high level of expertise.” He raised his brows to make sure he had my attention. “I think you know her father.”

Gail Jones. I’d been suitably impressed until that last bit and then my jaw dropped. “And you want me to trust her after telling me who her father is?” Because I did know her father. John Jones is a talented mage. He’s also a member of an organization of mercenaries who kill supernatural beings who had committed crimes and couldn’t be successfully imprisoned. In short, he’s a magical hit man. He’d coerced me into working with him more than once.

Gail Jones’s jaw set and she looked uncomfortable. “Dad and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things— including his lack of respect for the law. We’re not a close family.”

That twinged my conscience because I had the same feelings about my mother … and I am a firm believer that a person shouldn’t be judged by their family tree. Heaven knows I wouldn’t want to be.

Still—I bent my head toward Rizzoli. “You take them and if you want to give them to her, I’ll hold you responsible for any problems.”

If my lack of trust bothered her, Gail didn’t let on. She didn’t flinch. Maybe she’d gotten used to it, like I had. She just pulled a pair of delicate tweezers from her kit and handed them to Rizzoli. “We’ll need three—and make sure you get the root. That’s the important part.”

She grabbed a plastic evidence bag and wrote my name on it with a squeaky marker before holding it open expectantly. Rizzoli stared at the top of my head for a long moment, tweezers poised. I wasn’t sure what was going through his mind. Then he reached forward and I felt pain too large for the act explode through my head. Stars twinkled in my vision and I sucked in a breath to keep from screaming. What the heck? It hadn’t hurt hardly at all when John had plucked some out … despite my kvetching at him.

And now my headache was back. Damn it. Every time I forgot about it for a moment it would reappear. It was getting annoying. I needed to get on with my day … what was left of it. I was going to call Bruno, and Creede, see what they knew about Ms. Jones. The Bureau trusted her. But I’d reserve judgment until I checked my own sources. I’m naturally a little paranoid, but this situation was pushing me over the top.

“Is there anything else you need me for, Rizzoli?”

“Why?”

“I’ve got a couple of calls to make.”

“Call away.” He waved in the general direction of the stairs. “Just don’t go anywhere without letting me know.”

I sighed. Unless I wanted all the nice agents listening in, I’d need to make the call in my office. On the third freaking floor. I so did not want to go up those stairs. I was tired. And hungry. Of course, I’d never gotten the chance to eat since the ph? earlier. Now that the headache was back I was nauseous. The reception area might have the blood removed but there was glass embedded in everything, including the walls—which didn’t seem logical since the glass should have exploded outward. That