The Isis Collar Read online

  It’s hard to describe the feeling of jumping feetfirst through a closed, reinforced-glass window. The shock to the spine is first as the metal wires try to slow down your momentum. But I’d put a lot of force into my flying kick, the magical explosion gave us an extra push, and the window gave way. It wasn’t a clean break by any means. I wrapped my jacket around Willow’s face and head as best I could as slivers of wire and glass tore at my legs and arms. My body did fit through the window opening, but the metal wasn’t kind to my shoulder as the blast pushed me through. I landed hard on my back on the asphalt and my shirt rode up as we skidded for a solid thirty or forty feet. Road rash isn’t a fun thing as it’s happening, but I couldn’t turn over or move my arms for fear of hurting Willow.

  So I endured it, knowing I’d be picking pieces of gravel and glass from my back and scalp for hours a week or more. At least it would only be hours rather than a year, with the accelerated healing.

  A pair of officers rushed forward to help, taking Willow from my arms and pulling me bodily toward the perimeter that had been set up across the street. I saw Harris and the other cops near the ambulances.

  Every muscle in my body ached and itched and I couldn’t seem to focus my eyes, which I worried about. Then I saw a friendly face. Julie Murphy came racing toward me as I cleared the yellow tape, her blonde pigtails flying behind her. She wrapped me in a hug. “Celia! They said you’d never make it out in time.”

  I let out a pained chuckle. “Never count me out, kiddo. I’m tough to keep down.” She pulled away from me and smiled. Then she noticed her arms, which were covered with smears of red. She started screaming for help. I guess I was bleeding and didn’t realize it. Oh, yeah. I should have realized I was bleeding from the pain in my back. Duh. That was when my body started to protest and pain rushed through me in a wave fast enough to make my stomach roil. The paramedics raced my way with bags in tow. One of them smiled at me and I recognized him.

  But then he frowned at just about the time the ground raced up to meet me. I don’t remember whose arms caught me as my nose connected with the curb.

  3

  “You look terrible!”

  The glare I shot Dawna was probably less than effective, what with the dark glasses and all, but I glared at her nonetheless. I had already been in a foul mood. Having her criticize my appearance didn’t help. Of course she looked perfect. She was wearing a hot pink tailored business suit that showed off both her coloring and her figure. She’s half Vietnamese and exotic looking. She also has the best fashion sense of anyone I know. I swear she missed her calling as a stylist to the stars. Instead, she works as a receptionist in my office building. She seems to like it most days. God alone knows why.

  “I didn’t mean it like that! You know I didn’t.” She shot me a stricken look. “It’s just you’re pale, even for you. And you’re limping. And what’s with wearing sunglasses indoors?”

  “Headache.” I stuck with a one-word answer because I really didn’t want to talk about it. Not even to Dawna, who is one of my best friends in the world.

  “Still? Shouldn’t all of this have healed by now? I mean, I’m just a plain old human, and I’ve never had a headache last for more than a day—let alone two weeks.”

  I grabbed my messages and started for the stairs. Maybe if I kept moving we wouldn’t have to continue this conversation. Because if it went on much longer, I wasn’t sure I could remain civil. I know she’s just worried about me. But that didn’t make me any less frustrated. I didn’t want to take my mood out on her and wind up saying something I was going to regret.

  “I have another doctor’s appointment tomorrow evening.”

  “Evening? Do doctors even do evening appointments?”

  “This one does.”

  “But…,” she started to argue when the phone rang. Since she’s the receptionist, she had to answer. I pretended not to see her signal for me to wait and hustled up to my third-floor office.

  It had been two full weeks since the “incident” at the grade school. Normally the vampire side of me kicks in, healing injuries in minutes, days at the most. But it hadn’t. Oh, the road rash was gone. But the bite mark was still swollen and sore, with nasty bruising, and there was this huge, black bruise on my thigh that was seriously ugly and simply would not go away. And then there was the headache. It was hideous: blinding pain, light sensitivity, nausea. I’d been to the clinic on campus, a chiropractor, and four specialists so far and nobody seemed to have a clue. It was frustrating as hell. Almost as frustrating as dealing with the insurance company.

  I opened my office door. As usual, I had to push my way through a buzz of energy that prickled my skin. I have some serious wards on my office because of the weapons safe that holds all the tools of my trade, some of which are seriously valuable and would qualify as major magical artifacts. I’d hate to lose them. So I keep them protected.

  I closed the door in a none-too-subtle hint that I didn’t want to be disturbed. Dawna would probably be annoyed, but she’d respect my privacy. Dottie … well, I’d learned early on that Dottie does pretty much whatever she pleases. Still, she doesn’t undertake the steep flights of stairs without good cause. In a week or so the construction folks were supposed to show up to install an elevator. We’d had to wait until we could get one that wouldn’t lose the building its “historic” status.

  God, how I hoped my head would be better by then. I didn’t even want to think about how painful the noise would be otherwise.

  “Don’t think about it,” I told myself sternly. “I could be fine by then.” To distract myself, I flopped down behind the desk to go through messages and the mail.

  The top five messages were all from the same man. Alan Tuttle, Security Chief of MagnaChem, a local pharmaceutical manufacturer. God, but the man wouldn’t give up! He wanted an escort for the new owner and some of his staff to his plant in Mexico where the drug gangs had all but taken over the town.

  The most recent message was marked URGENT and had a note attached to it because the message had been too long for the slip.

  Fifth call – I did what you asked and told him that you weren’t feeling well, and wouldn’t be taking any out-of-town jobs for the next few weeks. I suggested Miller & Creede to him. He said the owner of the company has a “personal issue” with Creede and won’t use them. He said that they were willing to double your usual fee if you would clear your calendar and leave for their offices in Mexico immediately.

  Well, hell. Double? I charge a fairly high fee to begin with. It was a real shame that I was too sick to go anywhere. But, no. I couldn’t work. Not like this. Too bad about Creede, though.

  The only other interesting message was from Bruno. He was back from the East Coast! For the moment he was staying in the Graduate Student Apartments, but they were kind of a dump. He said he’d be moving out as soon as he found a house he liked.

  I grinned. He was back. Bruno and I have our issues. I trust him with my life, just not with my heart. He’s broken it twice. I’m not sure I’ll ever get past that. But he’s more than my former fiancé. He’s my friend. He’s also a world-class mage and a great guy to have around when things get hairy. Which, sadly, happens a lot in my life. Too, he makes me laugh and that means a lot.

  The first two letters in the stack of mail wiped my smile right off my face. All of the doctors I’d been visiting insisted on getting insurance information to file claims even though I was willing to pay cash.

  I have my insurance through the university—part of a special alumni package that gives full benefits provided I pay and pass at least one class per semester. Letter one was from the health insurance division. It ever-so-politely denied any and all of my health insurance claims incurred since the vampire bite that turned me because, as an Abomination, I was part vampire, and therefore dead and the policy clearly states they do not pay claims postdeath. They offered their sincerest condolences and indicated that the appropriate paperwork had been forwarded to the life ins
urance division to pay out my death benefits to my beneficiary.

  The second letter, from the life insurance division, regretfully denied said benefits on the basis that as I was an Abomination; I was part human and therefore not dead.

  Typical. Throwing the letters onto the desk in disgust, I returned to the stack of phone messages. After all, I’d made a lot of calls the past couple of weeks. Surely Alex, or the principal from the school, or Harris …

  I flipped through the little pink slips of paper a second time to be sure.

  Nada.

  Now that was just weird. Almost as weird as how fast the incident had disappeared from the news cycle. Just a couple of days reporting on a “failed attack” on a local school, with the culprits apprehended on scene. Congrats to the police and fire departments on a job well done, yadda da yadda da. But no word about repairs or moving students to different schools or anything I’d expected to see.

  Still, it might not be any sort of cover-up. After all, news moves on. And the hottest Hollywood power couple’s filing for divorce and the assassination of the British prime minister had taken over the headlines.

  The last specialist I’d spoken to had very specifically asked me to find out if anyone else at the scene of the “incident” was having similar symptoms. But how could I find out if no one would answer my calls and the news wasn’t covering it anymore?

  Of course it’s easy to ignore a phone message. It’s not nearly so easy to ignore someone standing on your doorstep or, in this case, in your waiting room. Perhaps it was time to make an in-person visit. Not to the police station. They’d stonewall me, or throw me out on my ear. Better to go back to the grade school. Principal Sanchez owed me one. I wasn’t above playing the guilt card to get information, not if it would help me get rid of this damned headache.

  * * *

  The magical barrier around Abraham Lincoln Elementary had not only been reinstalled, it had also been amped up considerably if the pain I felt crossing it was any indication. It hurt, the pain almost driving me to my knees. It did cause me to stumble, which made my already-pounding headache that much worse.

  Striding up the walk to the main entrance felt … surreal. It looked so normal. There was the flagpole Harris had cuffed the first caster to. The classroom window I’d crashed through with Willow had been replaced. I could see children sitting at their desks, studying.

  Walking through the entrance, I suppressed a shudder. The floor was fine. Solid as a rock. What I’d seen inside the school—the dissolving tiles—had it been some sort of illusion? I felt strange walking on it. My pulse sped up, and I found myself stretching my abilities to the limit trying to find any trace of magic.

  Nothing. Everything was just as it should be. Which was just freaking weird.

  I hurried toward the principal’s office, the click of my high heels echoing oddly in wide corridors lined with metal lockers. I made it all of the way into the office without spotting the school security guard, or anyone else in authority. It bugged me. It shouldn’t be that easy just to stroll in like this. Of course putting in more security would be like locking the door after the thieves: too little, too late. But still, I didn’t like it.

  I didn’t run into a single adult until I reached the office door. Once I was there, though, there was quite a fuss. The school secretary jumped up from her desk. Short, stocky, and middle-aged, she threw her chubby arms around me in a huge hug that made my injured arm throb. “I’m Marjorie Jacobs. I can’t thank you enough! None of us can.” Her thanks were so loud, and profuse, that closed office doors were opened, revealing the school counselor, the assistant principal, and, finally, the security officer Jamisyn. The one person who didn’t show up was the person I’d come to see.

  “Principal Sanchez will be so disappointed she missed you.” The secretary shook her head sadly. “She’s so grateful. We all are! If that bomb hadn’t been a dud, we could’ve all been killed.”

  “They’ve decided it was a dud?” I was surprised to hear it. It sure hadn’t felt like a dud. And the bomb squad psychic had definitely said we needed to clear the building. And what about the illusion of the dissolving floor? That had to have taken a fair amount of magic. How could the authorities not have found anything? That made no sense at all.

  “Had to have been.” This from a man standing beside an office sign reading: Vice Principal Colin Parker. “They did a thorough investigation. Complete sweeps of the building. Nobody could find evidence that the bomb in the basement went off. And these were top mages brought in just for this project. We did a complete cleansing—just in case. But there’s no sign anything was wrong. Which is why we felt no need to let the press start a panic. After all, no harm done.” His smile was a little slick for my taste, his words just a bit rushed. It was obvious that he was more than willing to sweep the whole mess under the rug. Something about him bugged me. It took me almost a full minute to figure out what it was. He reminded me of Ron, the attorney who rents space in my office building. He’s a pompous ass with delusions of adequacy. This Parker was just like him.

  “Did they even find residue of the spell that kept everyone frozen in place?”

  “You know, they didn’t,” the secretary admitted. “Which is just odd. But no harm seems to have been done. And they’re still investigating. I’m sure the authorities will figure it out sooner or later.”

  “And in the meantime,” Parker said, giving a pointed look at the clock, “we need to get back to work. If you’ll excuse us?” He phrased it as a question, but it was an order and the secretary scurried back behind her desk. “I’ll be sure to let Principal Sanchez know you stopped by.”

  I wrote my cell phone number on the back of one of my business cards and passed it across the desk to Marjorie. “Have the principal call me. Please?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I could feel Parker’s eyes boring into my back as I walked through the door Jamisyn held open for me. I hadn’t come here to be treated like a hero. But I hadn’t expected a three-minute brush-off, either! Jerk.

  “Parker’s an ass,” Jamisyn said as he followed me into the hallway. “Don’t pay any attention to him. None of the rest of us do.”

  I found myself smiling. “I guess that’s why he’s the assistant principal.”

  “Oh, yeah. And believe me it chapped his hide when they brought in Ms. Sanchez above him. He was so sure he had a lock on it. But half the staff would’ve quit on the spot if they’d given him the job.”

  We’d reached the outdoors. This was my last chance to make this trip more than just wasted time. It was so frustrating. Damn it anyway. I really needed some information. Something was off about this whole thing; something tied to my not being able to heal. But I wasn’t getting anywhere, and I wouldn’t if I couldn’t get someone to tell me what I needed to know. “So, Jamisyn, do you think it was a dud?”

  He looked uncomfortable, his eyes shifting from the glass doors behind us to the gulls that had begun circling overhead, and out to the street. “I think there’s more going on than they’re telling.” He forced a smile, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “But what would I know? Nobody tells me anything.”

  “I wish I could’ve talked to Ms. Sanchez.” I didn’t bother to hide my frustration.

  “Yeah, well, she had a meeting with the principals from the other schools.” His eyes widened for a second, almost in panic.

  “Other schools?”

  “Oh, um, you know … in the district. Other grade schools.”

  He was lying. But before I could follow up on it, Parker tapped on the glass door behind us, making Jamisyn and me both jump in surprise.

  “I gotta get back to work. Good luck,” he called over his shoulder as he bolted.

  The way things were going, I’d need it.

  4

  Since I’m a glutton for punishment I went straight from the school to the police station. I mean, really, why not make a day of it? I pulled into the covered parking garage attached to the San
ta Maria de Luna PD, cruising around and around until I found the spot I was looking for right across from the little white Toyota belonging to none other than Detective Alexander. If Jamisyn’s good-luck wish worked, she should be getting off-shift soon. If not, well, I was in a dark, cool, quiet place that was ever so much better for my headache.

  I only had to wait an hour.

  “Oh, shit. It’s you.”

  “Gee, Heather. You’d think you weren’t happy to see me or something.” I was mostly being sarcastic. Still, a little part of me was hurt that she had been ducking my calls and was obviously unhappy to see me. We might not be close, but we’d always been friendly.

  “What do you want?” she snapped. She tried to walk around me, but I stepped back in her way.

  “Were there bombs in more than just the one school?”

  “Damn it, Graves!”

  Wow, not even “Celia” anymore. This was serious. “What?”

  She ran fingers through her hair and let out a frustrated breath. “You keep doing this. You keep putting me in the hot seat, asking me to do things I can’t, wanting me to tell you things you’re not supposed to know. Do you have any idea how much trouble you get me into? You want information? Why come to me? Why not ask Rizzoli?”

  I took a step back, my hands coming up in a defensive gesture. Alex was practically snarling at me. This was way more attitude than usual. More than the situation deserved. I was about to say so, to ask what had her so hot under the collar, when she winked at me, her eyes flickering in the direction of a camera I’d seen posted in a nearby corner.

  Aha. Okay, so she wasn’t really pissed off. Which was good. But she also couldn’t talk. Still, she’d managed to pass on one important kernel of information. Rizzoli is Special Agent Dominic Rizzoli, FBI. Who wouldn’t be involved if this were just a local matter. Which meant that somehow, somewhere … this had crossed state lines. Holy crap.