Hard Magic (23 page)

*give* It was less a command than a plea, and the surprise of that let the current flow out of me in a smoother pattern than I’d anticipated, threads weaving and unweaving as they went. My threads were dark green, and I saw them merging with darker blue cables—Nifty, my brain identified—winding around and disappearing, then adding themselves to red snakes—Pietr—snapping and hissing until they became part of the whole as well, weaving docilely into a golden-brown wave of silky water that
felt
like Venec.

*nick?*

A loop of bright yellow came down with a flicker, giggling an apology. He’d gotten lost.

Nicky had just gotten himself a new nickname, we all agreed without speaking a word. He protested, but the image of a swooping, blushing yellow butterfly was already set.

*attention* Stosser told us, then we were in his hands, our current, still attached to ourselves, being woven into a spell by the sheer force of his will.

To say that it was a weird sensation was an understatement. My usually mellow temper got a splash of ire, and then cool sadness, sweet intelligence, and a warmly burning flame of affection, and then all the emotions of the entire group merged, even as I was trying to sort them out. There was a moment of panic, and then a sense of calm imposed from within. It was all right. This was what I/We intended to do.

I/We made a sweep over the car, a flowing wave of intermingled current, each point distinct, but linked. One pass, then another, looking for any surface emotions, anything that might connect to the scrap of physical evidence in Stosser’s hand, the nail clipping the “injury” I/We were working from.

Nothing. Nothing but a faint cool minty-stale sensation, like canned air.

*all right. move on.*

If I/We couldn’t find the killer, we would work backward from the victims. The emotional image formed in our awareness, not the physical aspects of what they had looked like, but the sense of them, the affection they’d had for each other, the joy they had taken in their work.

From that, it seemed as though outlines rose up from the car in front of Me/Us, shadowed bodies, half translucent, half filled with an intensity, a bright sharp flare of—

Oh god. Oh god oh god please make it stop make it stop!

“Mother of freaking God!”

If the words hadn’t hurt my head so much, I’d have echoed them. Maybe I did, but there was too much pounding and thudding inside my skull for me to hear it.

A much quieter voice asked: “Is everyone still with us?”

It was a valid question. I’d had overrush described to me, the way current burned you up from the inside, and this didn’t feel like it, but the memory of that flaring pain had to have been something dire….

“We felt them die.”

My eyes cracked open, expecting to be blinded by nasty bright lights, but it was blessedly dark. Someone had thought to turn off the lights. Or, possibly, we’d blown the fuses again.

“We
were
them dying.”

Nobody contradicted Venec’s correction. The memory—the
experience
—was still too much with me, and probably the others, too, to quibble.

A cold sort of clammy hand slid into mine, grasping it firmly. My fingers were probably just as cold, from the way the rest of me felt. I couldn’t tell whose hand it was, holding mine, but it didn’t really matter. They were living hands. Clammy, but living.

“Lawrence? Shune?”

“Here, boss,” came a low voice, and I lifted my head enough to see two bodies sitting on the floor, leaning against each other like the rubble of a bombed-out building. If that was them, then the hand in mine was probably Pietr’s. I managed to move my head slowly enough that the pounding and thudding didn’t up the intensity, and looked across my body to the form curled up alongside me. Yeah, that sleeve was connected to the shirt that was on Pietr. He hadn’t disappeared.

“Hi,” I said. Lame, but it was all I could think of. The head burrowed into my rib cage lifted, and his gray eyes looked into mine, and any thought I ever had of Pietr as just good-looking was pretty much gone. He was still a fine piece of flesh, don’t get me wrong. But I didn’t see the physical there, then. I saw Pietr.

And he saw me. I don’t know what it was, exactly, he saw…but it was
me.

“Sharon and Ian?” I asked, not looking away from that shadowed gaze.

*okay* came back the ping, not okay by a long shot but the awareness of them both breathing and recovering, and coming home soon.

“Everyone’s okay.” Venec, recovering faster, turned on one of the lamps, shading the light away from us, moving around and touching us on the shoulder or arm, making physical contact with a gentleness that I should have been surprised to encounter in him, but wasn’t. “We made it out. Next time, we’ll know better.”

“What went wrong?” I needed to know. The spell had been working perfectly, we had been totally on the track of the actual moment of the murder, and…

“Nothing went wrong. It went too right.”

That made sense, I guess. “But if the spell worked, and it had to, for us to get that much from the echoes of dead people, then why didn’t we feel anything from the killer?”

“I don’t know,” Venec admitted, sitting down on the floor next to the sofa, his left shoulder about even with my rib cage. I felt the urge again to pet his hair in reassurance, the same way I would Pietr, and before I could stop myself, that’s what my hand was doing.

Amazingly, he let me. His hair was coarse, not soft, and thicker than I’d thought it would be. It didn’t feel anything like touching Pietr, at all.

“We need to try again.”

“Agreed.”

“And go through that again?” But Nifty sounded more annoyed than protesting.

“Not a chance in hell.” Ian, standing in the doorway, Sharon half-hidden behind him. He was paler than I thought a human being could get, and his suit was rumpled, but his expression was determined.

“We have to. We were so close….”

“We were so close to dying!”

Ian seemed taken aback by his own shout, and he shuddered once, a faint full-body ripple. “That much emotion, it almost pulled us all in. We meddled with a form of blood-magic there, not even realizing, siphoning off the power of their death. Necromancy is a nasty word for a reason. Not moral, but practical. Death only begets death.”

Even falling-over wiped, Ian could still make pretty with the words. I’d have been impressed, if I had the energy. We. Not you, not I, not us: we. Pack was right; and not just any pack, but
his
pack.

“We won’t go there,” Nick said. “We know now that’s a dead end.”

Someone groaned at the unintentional pun.

“Sorry. I mean…we still need to find the killer. Now that we know the spell does work, we just have to look harder, more carefully, for the trace that leads back to him. Or her. Everything leaves a trace.”

“I don’t…”

Venec interrupted his partner, his voice still and calm, but firm. “If we stop now, if we come this close and the killer still gets away…what have we accomplished, Ian? What have we done, other than prove the naysayers right, that current is not meant to be used for anything other than personal gain? Is that what you want?”

“You know it isn’t. But the cost—”

“The cost is what it always was. You and I knew that. Now, so do they. And they want to go on. They
believe,
Ian. You can’t give with one hand and take away with the other.”

I wasn’t quite sure what was going on between those two, but something was about to simmer over, and as wasted as my body was, I could feel every inch of me leaning toward Venec, willing Ian to hear, to understand. I didn’t know what it was that I believed, exactly, but it meant we couldn’t stop now. We had to
know.

Ian looked over his shoulder at Sharon, who gave a small but firm nod. He looked at us, sprawled on the floor and furniture. We looked back at him, all of us looking like hell and probably shaking in our metaphorical boots, but we didn’t even have to check with each other. We were a team. We were in.

“All right.” He sounded resigned, but his shoulders were straighter than they’d been just a minute ago, and there was a little tinge of color back in his skin. Boss was proud of us.

It turned out that we hadn’t actually blown the fuses; Venec had shut out the lights as an immediate reaction, when he came to. Good thing, that, since our eyes were all sparkle-dazed from the not-memory of flames up around us, when we were trapped inside the Reybeorns’ last minutes. It took a while for the headache to subside and a while longer for our eyes to adjust again to normal lighting. Once we did, Nifty was the first one to point out what was wrong with the whole experience.

“There wasn’t any fire.”

Sharon stopped with her forkful of pizza halfway to her mouth. “You noticed that too, huh?”

We had expected the spell to take a chunk out of us, current-wise. Interestingly, though, we were less drawn-down than expected. We were ravenous, though. Ian had taken one hard look at us, and placed an order for our now-usual pizzas and caffeine that arrived with impressive speed. At some point we had apparently established an account at the pizza place on the corner, because no money changed hands when the delivery guy appeared at the door.

Yeah, I could see myself getting really tired of pizza, fast. There was a Thai place a couple of blocks over, maybe I’d stage a take-out coup.

If we made it to next week. If we didn’t get killed, or fired. If I wasn’t standing on the unemployment line, trying to make rent on a place I suddenly couldn’t afford…

“It could just have been a visual representation of the pain, their brains trying to translate suffocation into something they could see, and try to fight?”

“Maybe it was hell,” Pietr said.

“You think they went to hell?” Nifty asked, surprised.

“I have no idea. I just said maybe it was.”

“I don’t believe in hell.” Of course Sharon didn’t.

“Ah,” Nifty said, waggling his finger in her face. “But does hell believe in you?”

I shoved the crust of my slice into my mouth, to keep from laughing.

“My head hurts,” Sharon grumbled. “Now is not the time to start any pseudo rational theistic conversations that will result in you getting your face bashed with a pillow.”

Our wannabe lead dogs were doing their usual dominance squabble, turning every possible conversation into a can-you-top-this, and Pietr was just egging them on for a distraction. Finished with my dinner, I tuned the three of them out, and tried to focus on the graph paper Nick had just put down on the table in front of me.

“If we arrange ourselves that way, we should be able to disperse the emotional energy evenly, keep it moving at a steady rate and not let it pool in any one of us.” He wasn’t trying to ignore the others, he had totally shut them out. Yay for geek focus.

I looked carefully at the sheet, then back up at him. “You know that’s a pentagram, right?”

He made that spastic shrug movement thing. “There was a reason it was traditional?”

Made as much sense as anything else. Venec came over, a slice of pizza in his hand, and leaned over my shoulder to see what Nick had drawn. The smell of pepperoni battled with his own scent and made me dizzy. I grabbed a garlic knot from the container in front of me, and told myself it smelled just as good.

“Interesting. That should work. But we only have five points?”

“That leaves someone to be the grounding wire,” Nick said. “Like I used Bonnie, before. If we’re going to do this again, or any other kind of spellwork, we really should have a grounder outside the activity. Just in case. One less person in the wave, before, and I don’t know if we all would have made it out.”

I wasn’t sure what made Nick the expert, but Venec nodded in agreement. “Solid strategy. I don’t suppose you play chess?”

“Not against you, I don’t,” Nick said.

I played chess, and well, too. I decided to keep that fact to myself, for now, and ate another garlic knot.

So, we’d be playing chess this time. Going in not like a healer, the way we’d approached it the first time, but as a strategic…not an attack, but an opening move. Invite the other player—the ghost of the killer’s emotions, to step onto the board. I was probably mangling metaphors, but I knew what I meant.

“I’ll ground,” Ian said. He had changed out of his suit, and was back in his usual grungies. There was even a faint shadow of beard growth that I’d swear hadn’t been there an hour ago. Could current hold back hair growth? I was so going to look into that, once shorts season came around again. I hate waxing.

“You’re planning on going back there?”

“I made an excuse rather swiftly to the Johbs family, and left my briefcase there. It would make perfect sense for me to swing by and pick it up again, once my companion had recovered. From her dizzy spell.”

“Yeah, because you didn’t look like you were about to toss cookies yourself,” Sharon said. “Tell them it was bad tuna salad at lunch. Anyone who’s ever been to a conference will understand that.”

Ian scanned all of our faces, as if he was looking for something, some sign that we shouldn’t go through with it. Whatever he saw, it seemed to satisfy him, because he just gave a nod and was gone. Poof. No shimmer, no flicker, not even the crack of electricity you sometimes got when you Transloc’d yourself.

“Day-um.” Nifty said it for everyone.

“I’d tell you to take notes on how it should be done,” Venec said, “but we have other things to do right now. Everyone pick a point on the graph, and hold it.”

The sense of connection was fading, and Ian hadn’t been hard in it to begin with, but we still knew the moment he was back in place. It was like hearing a door open down the hallway; unless you knew the slight squeak it made halfway on the hinges, you’d miss noticing it entirely, but once you knew, it was impossible to miss.

The pizza sat heavy in my gut, and I could feel the indigestion building up, along with the tension.

“Hang in there, people. A little more, and we’re done. Just a little more.”

“Please would be nice,” Nifty said, and got a glare from everyone. But that focused us, and the count from ten to five got us into sync, and *here*

Ian’s pointer, bringing us around from the outside, rather than the internal approach we took the last time. The wave flowed around the car, surrounding it, avoiding the front seat and the hotspots that caught us last time, just in case.

*down and out* someone suggested, and we flowed along the sides of the car, touching every inch, over paint and under chrome, into keyholes and around the handles….

The sense of stale mint returned.

*catch that?*

We caught it. Cool, stale, flat. Definitely minty, like mouth-wash. Distantly, a sense of flames; not the agonizing burn of before, but a cool crackling, like an artificial log in a gas-powered fireplace.

Cool. Practical. Distanced. Uninvolved. Smooth and slick like fresh Plexiglas, and absolutely nothing we could use.

It took Ian a little longer to get back than it did for him to go out. I guess he had to make actual goodbyes this time. We spent the time waiting coming up with—and shooting down—theories.

“Fatae? A fatae could have killed them, easy, and even if someone saw something they’d never admit to it.” Nick was, I guessed, reacting to the one fatae he’d seen, rather than going home and reading up on the fairy tales the way I told him to. Not all of them were big and scary. In fact, a lot of them were small and scary, and, according to J, you never saw them until they’d already drowned you in the bog.

J had laughed when he said that. I never really thought it was funny.

“Fatae don’t use current,” Pietr pointed out. “We’ve established that current was used, was in fact essential to them dying that way.”

“Have we? There are a lot of different breeds, and we don’t know all that much about all of them,” Sharon said. “One of them might be able to kill, and not leave a trace, and the rest is all just our conjecture and could be wrong.”

It was an interesting theory. I hadn’t met enough fatae personally to say yes or no, but Venec, it seemed, had. “We’re forgetting one thing, in that otherwise plausible theory. Fatae aren’t much for secrecy or keeping quiet after the fact. There would be a lot fewer fairy tales if they could—you think that
we
started all those myths?”