“Except it’s not fae.”
He continued without acknowledging me. “—and they obviously don’t want a spotlight on the issue either. The sale of iron is at the highest it’s ever been in Nekros, and the Ambassador for Fae and Human Affairs Office has been flooded with complaints from both sides. Then there are the political groups. Such as the group lobbying to make glamour illegal—”
As if they could enforce that.
“—and these people don’t view witches much better than fae. You have heard about the bill being considered that mandates that all children take an RMC test before they reach school age.”
I hadn’t actually. As someone who may not test human, the idea of a mandatory Relative Magic Compatibility test terrified me. And I surely wasn’t the only one. Besides, testing children was ridiculous. Unless they were wyrd, even people who peaked well above average on the RMC test had to choose to study and learn to use magic. And if people wanted to hate anyone with potential to use magic, only nulls were safe, and nulls were rarer than wyrd witches. The majority of the population could skim at least a little magic. Not much, and they couldn’t do a lot with it, but as long as they didn’t flatline on the RMC test, they had some small magical potential.
“So,” he continued, “if you don’t want to land in jail, you damn well better drop the case and leave well enough alone. Rebecca Cramer—that’s the woman who went through the window, if you didn’t know—her husband claims she was in police custody at the time of her death. He wants to press charges, except there were no NCPD officers on the scene when she went through that window. His description of the officer indicated that he was tall with long blond hair—does that sound like anyone you’re known to associate with?”
I looked away.
“What do you think Cramer is going to do when he finds out an FIB agent was involved in the death of his wife? And your client, Nina Kingly, she’s currently championing tighter restrictions on magic and its uses. Kelly Kirkwood has called the precinct a dozen times today. And an hour before your little lunch affair, I received a call from a reporter who was investigating the claims of a couple who said their son was murdered and the police dismissed the case. You’re stirring up fear and creating a hell of a lot of bad press for everyone.”
“I…” I had absolutely no idea what to say. He was right. I’d been careless. I’d been thinking about how to find the killer and giving the families peace of mind in the knowledge that their loved ones hadn’t committed suicide. I’d never considered what they might do with that information. “So what should I do?”
“Stop playing detective. You’re an exceptional grave witch, invaluable when it comes to questioning murder victims. But every time you get involved in a case, everything goes to hell. Leave the investigating to the police and stick to talking to the dead.”
I stared at him, too stunned to speak.
I was saved the necessity by a sharp tapping on the door. John stalked across the room and jerked it open, looking every bit the part of a very pissed off bear. The uniformed rookie on the other side shrank back, his head ducking.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but Ms. Craft’s brother is here. He said it was urgent. Something to do with their mother.”
My breath caught, my heart forgetting it needed to beat. Could it be…? I jumped to my feet, but made it no farther as John turned toward me, his bulky frame blocking the door.
“Since when have you had a brother?” The clinical skepticism in his voice brought reality back into focus. The hope that a moment before had crowded out room for doubt, withered and soured.
My legs weren’t quite solid enough to hold me and I sank into my chair. John watched me, but if he noticed me deflating, he made no comment. He just waited. Which wasn’t surprising, John had seen my background check when I’d been hired as a consultant. Officially, I had no listed relatives.
“My brother disappeared when I was eleven.” And I’d never given up hope that I’d find him again one day. But today? At the police station? I didn’t think so. “And my mother died when I was five. Whoever is in the lobby doesn’t know me.”
John grunted under his breath. “I’m starting to wonder if anyone does.”
I cringed. How could I respond to that? Not that John waited for a response. His mustache stretched downward with his frown as he stepped around his desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled out his service weapon.
“What did you say the last guy possessed by this ‘rider’ looked like?” he asked as he holstered the gun.
“As of a couple hours ago? Male, probably average height. He might have had short hair, but I’m not sure the color.”
“That describes half the population of Nekros.”
I shrugged. It was the best I had. “I’ll know with one look if it’s the rider.”
“No you won’t. You’re staying here.”
“Like hell I am,” I said, pushing out of the chair.
John shook his head. “Officer, arrest her.”
I gaped at John. “For what?”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s an entire list I can choose from after your little escapade earlier, but for now, let’s go with endangering a civilian.”
“What civilian?”
“At the moment, yourself,” he said, heading for the door. He stopped long enough to shoot a hard glance at the rookie. “Officer, that wasn’t a suggestion. Arrest her.”
“Sir?” The man practically cowered in the doorway.
“You can’t just arrest me,” I said, trying to slip around John.
“I’ll add resisting in a minute.” He grabbed my arm. “Cuffs.”
The rookie fumbled the cuffs from his belt, nearly dropping them before handing them to John, who slapped them around my wrists with the expertise of a veteran officer.
The iron content in the metal sent pain surging through my arms. I winced, cursing, but John had no idea I was anything other than human and that the iron hurt me. Ignoring my protests, he pushed me back into his office.
“Don’t forget to read Craft her rights,” he said, heading out the door.
“Yes, sir.” The officer took my arm, and then after digging through his pockets and pulling out a small slip of paper, he Mirandized me.
Chapter 24
“This is ridiculous. You know that, right?” I said once the rookie finished literally reading me my rights.
“Just following orders, ma’am.”
Yeah, I’d noticed that.
“Well, can’t we do this without the cuffs?” A burning itch now accompanied the stinging pain, and I fought hard not to let it show in my voice, or worse, to whimper. Humans didn’t have issues with iron and I was trying my best to pass as human.
The rookie not only didn’t remove the cuffs; he didn’t even bother answering the question. Grabbing my biceps, he pushed me toward the door.
“Uh, where are we going?”
“The cage, until you can make bail.”
Oh, he had to be kidding. I was ninety percent sure John had me arrested to keep me out of the lobby—which I’d have to pass through to reach the precinct’s cells. I was also sure he’d have thought of some other way to keep me out of the lobby if he weren’t so pissed, but either way, if it was the rider out there, I didn’t want my hands cuffed behind my back.
“Shouldn’t we wait for John to get back?” I asked, edging away from the door.
“Don’t make this difficult, ma’am.” He shoved me forward.
Crap.
As soon as he pushed me through the doorway, I opened my shields, peering across the planes. He escorted me down a small hall of offices—very small, not many detectives got an office instead of a slot in the bullpen—and then we were in the lobby. I scanned the room, ignoring the decay and the magic, looking only for souls. John’s cheery yellow soul was in the front, posture stiff and suspicious as he talked to a body filled with a soul coated in darkness.
The rider looked up as the rookie pushed me into the lobby. A smile stretched across his stolen face. “Sister.”
Crap.
“That’s him, John. That’s the rider,” I yelled.
Then all hell broke loose.
The rider lifted a gun, aiming it at me. Someone shouted for him to drop the weapon. He wouldn’t. I knew he wouldn’t. I threw myself down even before I heard the gunshot.
Pain sliced through my arm, hot and sharp. Then I hit the ground. I’d managed to twist enough to land on my shoulder, which kept my head from slamming into the linoleum, but the jarring impact sent another wave of pain through me. I didn’t bother fighting the scream that burst from me—no one could hear it over the gunshots. Three of them, all in rapid succession.
The sudden silence following the loud shots sounded dull, empty, or maybe that was the ringing in my ears. Blood dripped down my arm as I tried to get my feet under me before—
Too late.
A large, shapeless darkness dashed through the station lobby, headed straight for me. No, not for me—we’d already danced that particular encounter—it attached itself to the rookie, pouring into him. I gulped, forgetting the hot pain surging through my body as I broke out in a frozen sweat.
Oh, crap, crap. “John, help.”
My boots left black marks on the floor, accompanied by smudges of blood as I scrambled, pushing myself farther from the rookie. His soul continued to dim. Fast.
“Someone call a medic,” John yelled as he headed for me. “How bad are you hurt?”
I shook my head, still trying to scoot away from the rider and his new host. “John, it’s in the rookie.”
The young officer smiled at me, his eyes glazing over with darkness. He drew his gun, leveling it at my chest. At this range, he couldn’t miss.
“Good-bye, Alex Craft.”
I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I stared at the gun and time slowed, narrowing to only his finger as it tensed, to the movement of the gun’s action. I cringed, ready for the pain to blast into me. But his finger stopped, his face going slack.