The Isis Collar (Blood Singer #4)

The Isis Collar (Blood Singer #4) Page 18

Dawna looked at the building and it was obvious she didn’t want to go back inside. She was probably noticing that there were more cars than usual in the lot. Someone had even parked in my reserved spot, so I’d had to take the last free space. I’ve never understood that tendency of people to ignore signs and bright yellow letters against black pavement. But they do, and then look surprised when you confront them. “Is it two o’clock?” Her voice sounded annoyed, bordering on bitter.

I glanced at my watch. “Quarter ’til.”

Her nose wrinkled. “It’s the French settlement conference. Big, angry family who are fighting over Mommy’s million-dollar estate. That’ll be a pleasant meeting, I’m sure. It sure won’t be quiet. I didn’t sign on to this job to be a combination nanny and bouncer.”

I didn’t bite on that bait, because in my mind, that’s pretty much what a receptionist is. And I know Dawna knows that. She’s said it herself more than once. “You’re just cranky because you’ve been up too long.”

“You’re probably right.” She climbed out of the car. I made a motion to toss back her keys, but she stopped me with a gesture. “I’ve got a date tonight anyway. I’d have canceled for the lessons, but I’d rather not. You’re going to need it to get home. I can pick it up later.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. No problema.” She pasted a smile on her face and started across the lot. I was right behind her for the first couple of steps, but then my cell rang. When she paused, as if to wait, I waved her on. It sounded like they really needed her in there.

I pressed the button, answering, “Graves.”

“Take the job!” I couldn’t put a name to the panicked voice on the other end of the line, but it sounded familiar. It wasn’t someone I spoke to regularly, but I’d spoken to him before, and recently.

“You have to take the job,”he pleaded. “You have to. Her psychic told her that she had to get you out of the way if this was going to work. She won’t kill you if you just leave.”

“Who is this? What job?” I asked, but I had a pretty good idea about the last part.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sanchez is dead. Marjorie’s in the hospital. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, too.” He was sobbing, now. “Please. Just take the job.” He hung up before I could say anything else.

I was cold, and it had nothing to do with the temperature outdoors. Sanchez is dead. Marjorie is in the hospital. The only Sanchez I’d run into lately was the principal at Abe Lincoln, and Marjorie was the name of the secretary I’d given the business card with my cell number to. The caller could have been Jamisyn. Or maybe the vice principal … what was his name anyway? But I was betting on Jamisyn. We’d talked, and he actually had seemed to like me.

I stepped up on the porch intending to hurry up to my office and do a little computer search. The only job I’ve refused lately was MagnaChem. But what would a grade-school security guard have to do with a drug manufacturer?

The voices inside the office became audible before I’d taken a dozen steps from the car, and the short hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. Because Dawna was right. This wasn’t going to be a quiet meeting. One of the voices was newly familiar to me. I’d heard it a week earlier, when it was trying to convince me to set off a bomb.

“I really feel it will be best if you listen to me.” I felt that voice course through my veins, felt my body react to it the way it had in the school basement. My hand automatically went for my Colt and I pulled it back with effort. There were too many people in the office; I didn’t want to add a gun into the mix. Instead, I pulled a couple of very particular charms out of my jacket and palmed them as I walked in the building.

Dawna didn’t seem to notice me. She was more concerned with the obvious issues, more talking to herself than me. “I’d better get on the phone to the cops. I’d bet good money there’s going to be trouble.”

Yeah. Me, too.

“Mom told me I’d get enough to have a house with a pool! I have bursitis, Jill!” A heavyset man with a scraggly beard was screaming into the face of a woman with blonde hair. “So just back off!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Remmy. What are you smoking? She said you needed a pool, not that she’d buy you one. I was there … remember?”

Dawna broke in with a bright smile. “Excuse me, everyone?” They all turned to her cheery but professional voice. “We’re about ready to get started. Ron is just finishing up a call, but the conference room is available if everyone’s here. Is anyone missing?”

They all looked around them and shrugged. “No, that’s all of us.” It made me frown, because I could swear I’d heard her voice.

Of course, Ron wasn’t the only other tenant in the building. While Dawna was moving the people into the big conference room, I sprinted up to the third floor. Well, tried to sprint. My bum calf just about gave out halfway and I had to lean hard on the railing the rest of the way.

Damn it. I really hoped Creede … John or one of the doctors figured out something soon. It was getting worse, I could tell. And just the thought of that panicked voice on the line: Sanchez is dead. Marjorie’s in the hospital. I shuddered. Rizzoli had said the adults were falling like flies.

I hadn’t … yet. I just wanted to keep it that way.

I went across the hall to my own office, just to see if anyone had made it through the magical wards I keep around it for protection. Nothing. I put my palm on the biometric plate and pressed *57, which would tell me who the last person to access it was. After two flashes, it read: Profile 1. That was me.

Dawna was back at her desk when I came down the stairs. I was confused and put the charms back in my pocket while she cocked her head and stared at me. “You look odd. Everything okay?”

I started to say I was fine, but the truth was, I wasn’t. I tried to speak casually. “Hey, when we got out of the car, weren’t there two women talking in here?”

She was looking at her computer screen and didn’t hear me at first. She mumbled an, “Uh-huh. Why?”

I didn’t answer, just stared at her with raised brows until she finally looked at me, a quizzical look on her face. “Yeah, actually there were. So—”

I nodded, feeling suddenly pissed at myself. “So where’d the second one go? Was there anyone in Ron’s office?”

She shook her head. “Oh, hey! What about the security log? Didn’t Dottie tell us there was a log we could look at to see who’s come and gone in the building?”

Yes, there was, and I remembered her telling us. “Call her. Ask her how to find it. Once you have it, print me out a copy. I’m going to go to the college and ask around about witches who can disable magical shields without anyone noticing. Because I would swear our shield was in place and no way should a person with evil intent have been able to get through.”

She nodded and reached for the phone. I paid special attention to the shield around the office when I left. It felt absolutely normal, but unless the witch flew out a window either she slipped out past us during the screaming match or … she was still there. I began to make a careful check of the possible entrances, including the back door, off the kitchen. It was locked and can only be locked from the inside. Then I went around to the front, looking for any footprints in the soft dirt underneath the windows. We keep the dirt loose just for that reason. With attorneys, bail bondsmen, and bodyguards in the building, we nearly always have enemies.

Then I remembered something that might explain the mystery. Bruno had once cast an illusion spell on himself so strong that six people in a room had believed him to be a potted rubber tree. Another powerful mage in the room had ratted him out.

I’m not a witch and I knew I was dealing with a powerful one. So I wanted to be very certain of my facts before I simply left my friend … and Ron … to the witch. Even he deserved better than that. I hurried back inside.

“Dottie’s line was busy. What are you—” Dawna stopped speaking when I put a finger to my lips. I made motions for a pen and paper. Dawna understands about being bugged, so she just nodded and handed me a yellow legal pad and pen.

Turn on the perimeter, I wrote, and held the pad so she could see. She raised her brows and leaned back in her chair, obviously worried. The perimeter was added to our security system after a mage hacked past our prior system to plant listening devices. The perimeter locks down the building and sends a signal to the police. A fine powder is then released through the venting system. Invisible to the eye and completely odorless and tasteless, it luminesces under black light so that anything in the building when the button is pushed gets marked. It will wash off eventually, but not before the cops arrive. Anyone who tries to leave without permission catches the second marker, which is magical. I don’t really understand the metaphysics of it, but in addition to itching like poison ivy, I guess it “flavors” your next few spells, and it flashes like a neon sign to other mages.

You sure? Dawna wrote back, and I nodded. She pressed the button on the floor near her foot—each of the leaseholders has one in their office in case nobody’s at the front desk. There was no outward indication that anything happened, and even though I was expecting it I couldn’t feel or sense the dust or any sort of magic.

But we have a special black light we use on driver’s licenses to be sure they’re not fake and Dawna turned it on. Sure enough, the tops of her fingers had a pale orange tinge that couldn’t be from anything else.

I was looking around the room to see if anything of sufficient mass to be a person was out of place or new. It was like looking at one of those “hidden object” computer games.

My cell phone rang, and when I picked it up to look at the screen, it was Rizzoli. Crap. I wanted to take the call, but I didn’t want any unintended listeners eavesdropping on us. I ignored the ringing. I could call back once I had verified nobody was in the building and had gotten everyone out. After four rings, it went to voice mail.