The Isis Collar

He looked thoughtful. “There’s not much they don’t already know, with the exception of Ms. Long, and she knows all but a few details. Okay, you’ve all heard the news about the outbreaks?” Everyone nodded. “Well, we think they’re connected to bombings at schools all over the country. Unfortunately, we don’t have any suspects. We’re looking for some people to bring in for questioning, but they’ve disappeared.”

“Not just them. Creede’s gone missing, too.”

You could’ve heard a pin drop for about ten seconds; then all of them started talking at once. Dawna’s comment came through clearest. “You’re sure he hasn’t just gone off to do his thing like he does sometimes?”

“Maybe.” I thought about that last message cutting off. But I knew he had a special charm—one he could break to call in all his people in an emergency. Nobody at the company knew anything was wrong, so he hadn’t broken it. Were his sister and I getting worked up over nothing? Yeah, he really had a sister and her name was Gillian. I’d done a Web check before I drove away from my house. He’d mentioned in an interview meeting Gillian every Saturday for breakfast and the area code of her call was the town where John had said she lived.

The door to the room opened just then and mind-blowing scents arrived moments ahead of trays full of steaming food. Barbara set my smoothie in front of me before any of the others were served and I took a happy sip through the straw. She watched me as she put down plates with a warning they were hot. I would have complimented her, but it was too good—my lips wouldn’t release the plastic tube. So I gave her a thumbs-up and she smiled.

Talking stopped for the next ten or so minutes while everybody dug in. A waitress came and went, removing empty plates and replacing drinks. I got a refill of my “drink,” for which my stomach was grateful. And I remembered that there was something else here I could eat. They had flavored honey sticks to use on the sopapillas. I loved letting those melt on my tongue. I ordered a sampler of them, but the waitress said they only came with the dessert. So I ordered a dessert. Someone would wind up eating it.

About halfway through my second smoothie, Bruno raised his finger. “I’ve been thinking about it. If Creede isn’t using the ritual room in his office and isn’t at his house, then he probably has a hidey-hole somewhere. Most of us have a safe place where nobody knows to look for us. If so, he’s probably fine. Just intent on his spell.”

Actually, John did have one of those. “His sister said she called there. They hadn’t seen him.” Although, realistically, he could have as many as he wanted.

Rizzoli spoke through a mouthful of enchilada. “He has the money and power to have a dozen hidey-holes all over the state. No help there.”

We were interrupted by my ringtone, coming from inside the bag of rice in my handbag. The stop at the grocery was just before the police pulled me over. Thankfully, nobody saw me do anything but pull it from my purse. I didn’t want to have to explain a bag of rice.

I pressed the button to take the call. “Celia Graves.”

“Good afternoon, Celia.”

My therapist, Gwen Talbert, sounded … odd. It made me frown. “Hey, Gwen. What’s up?”

“It’s nearly two o’clock. I have you down for an appointment today.”

She did? Of course, I couldn’t check my calendar, but if she had it down … oops. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I didn’t have my PDA until just a minute ago. I’m sort of at the other end of town. Can I switch with someone?”

There was a long pause. “I don’t do many Saturday appointments, Celia. But, yes. My three o’clock is here. He always arrives early. But please try to be on time in the future. People count on their appointments starting promptly. I’ll see you at three.”

I rang off and gave the group an embarrassed shrug. “Sorry. Forgot I have a doctor’s appointment right now. I’ve gotta roll.”

Dawna had started frowning again. “You’ve been forgetting an awful lot lately. You sure you’re okay?”

“Honestly? No. Maybe when I find out what sort of spell is on me—” It’s not something I wanted to think about. “But John’s working on that. If I can just find him, he was sure he could find the answer.”

Bruno let out a little growl at nearly the same time Rizzoli did. It was Rizzoli who spoke. “Did you start to write a journal like the doctor asked? Could it be you know where he is and forgot?”

I made a scared face without intending to. Oh, crap! I hoped not. “I wrote notes but couldn’t e-mail them to Dr. Gaetano and Dr. Jean-Baptiste before my phone went dead. But I do know there are definitely some gaps in my memory.”

At least two people opened their mouths to comment, but I stood up in a rush and picked up my purse. “I’m sorry. Can you all wait an hour or two to finish this discussion? Because I really need to keep this appointment.”

When Gwen Talbert had gone back into private practice and become the director of Birchwoods, she’d agreed to treat me, but she’d made it very clear that she wasn’t going to be at my beck and call. It was hard work to run a facility that size and her schedule was tight. But she’s the only one I trust to deal with … well, everything. And with the door open again on the night Ivy died, I was going to need Gwen more than ever. I was hoping I could convince her to make some of those memories disappear.

16

“Absolutely not. I’m sorry, Celia. But no.” Gwen’s normal calm had been visibly shaken by my request.

I didn’t understand why it bothered her. “But it worked so well last time. I know it’s helped Dawna and isn’t Emma considering it? Really, magical memory suppression isn’t that big of a deal. It’s even advertised on children’s networks.”

Her jaw set hard under flashing eyes. “And I’d outlaw that if I could. We’re just now, after fifty years of using this technique, finding out the damage it can do to the memory centers of the brain.”

That widened my eyes. “Damage? What kind of damage?”

She leaned back in her high-backed chair, frustrated. “Early-onset Alzheimer’s, mysterious headaches, and even strokes. My research since your kidnapping has changed my mind about the use of the therapy. I’m only willing to use the technique now on very severe cases, and only on the moment of crisis.”

Wow. Well, didn’t that just suck moss-covered swamp rocks? My headaches were getting more frequent and worse. “Could it affect … memory itself?” I mean, there might be a spell, too, but who knew if they were related? I asked, almost afraid of hearing the answer.

She shook her head and I felt a wave of pressure lift off my chest. The relief was enough to make me light- headed. “No, there’s been nothing in the research like that.”

“Then it must be the spell. Rizzoli said the second bomb was supposed to erase all traces of the first one, even memories. And John did find traces of a spell he wanted to look into.”

“That could well be it. Still, if you’re having memory problems, maybe we need to explore that. Tell me about the last two days—with as much detail as you can. And please, tell me everything. It could be quite important.”

While it wasn’t a normal request from Gwen, I had to admit that I was flattered by her intense attention.

She listened with her whole body, taking notes as I recounted the days since the bomb at the school. While she’d only asked for two days, it was important to me that someone listen to everything that had happened to me since then and why I thought there was a problem. Writing things down had helped me focus my thoughts a lot, so some of it probably sounded sort of rehearsed.

Occasionally, she would interrupt with a logical question, but mostly she just listened. The hour timer rang, but she didn’t miss a beat. She just shut it off and spun her hand in encouragement. “Please continue.”

So I did. I let it all out—as much of the interrogation as I could that wouldn’t be classified, the bomb, Ivy, Bruno, the cop who pulled me over, Dawna, John. There was so much seething anger, fear, and pain roiling around inside me and I didn’t even realize it until it all came out. “So,” I said, snuffling after my fifth tissue in the past five minutes, “am I a complete loon?”

“Actually, you’re not.” It almost sounded like she was surprised. “Most people would be. You are very mature for your age, but…” There was always a but with Gwen. “You have to learn to give up some control. Much of your anxiety stems