Part 14 (1/2)

”Well, I can't believe they were stupid enough to leave their parking garage unwarded,” I said. ”Let's go.”

Yellow tape had gone up around the scene in the time I'd been gone, and Pete was scribbling a field report on his clipboard while his team packed up. He greeted me with a nod. ”Detective. Ms. Wilder.”

”Swann,” Sunny corrected him. ”I'm her cousin on the mother's side.”

”Whatever brightens your aura,” said Pete. ”Why are you here, exactly?”

I took Pete aside. ”You know Sunny's a witch, right? And O'Halloran too?”

”I've heard all the same rumors you have,” said Pete in his unflappable way.

”Pete, would you consider for a minute that maybe magick was used here?” I said. He rubbed his chin.

”Detective, I haven't forgotten those weres. I haven't forgotten what happened with the DA. Magick makes a h.e.l.luva lot more sense than an invisible bomb or a CIA conspiracy.”

”Sunny can tell us how they used it,” I said. ”If you don't mind her taking a look around.”

Pete thought about that for a second, and then nodded. ”I'm thinking I'll just leave this part out of my scene report.”

”Smart man,” I said. Crumpled in my back pocket was a bandanna stained with sweet-and-sour sauce, and also doused in the nastiest, stinkiest floral perfume I could find at Nocturnal, the snooty department store where Shelby probably spent most of her free time. ”Sunny, take this.” I lifted the tape and we walked forward, but Sunny froze when she saw Patrick's body.

”I'm going to be sick.”

”No,” I a.s.sured her. ”No, you won't. Just breathe.”

”G.o.ds,” said Sunny, clapping the bandanna over her mouth and nose. ”Does it always smell this bad?”

”Not always,” said Pete. ”Although last month there was this guy we dragged out of the bay, must have been floating for a good two weeks, and when we pulled him out of the water his stomach-”

”Pete,” I warned in the voice I use to stop fleeing suspects in their tracks and make reticent ex-boyfriends squirm. ”Let's let Sunny work in peace.”

My cousin was as green as a soccer field, but she took a breath and walked closer to the car, kneeling down to trace the ground a few feet from the driver's side door. ”Did you see this?”

I looked at the charred concrete, feeling dumb. ”Burn marks?”

”It's a circle,” said Sunny, and the niggling thing just under my consciousness snapped into place. What I had mistaken for the blast radius was was a circle, surrounding the Jaguar far too neatly to have been caused by a bomb. a circle, surrounding the Jaguar far too neatly to have been caused by a bomb.

”Simple,” Sunny said. ”Set your circle for an incendiary working but don't close it. When anyone else crosses your working, poof.” She gestured at the car. ”He never had a chance. Can I please get away from this body now?”

Pete helped her up, then stopped. ”There's something s.h.i.+ny under the car.”

I crouched next to him, seeing a small tube about the size of a cheap lipstick or an expensive cigar. Pete slipped on a glove and snagged the object, while I slipped on a glove of my own to receive it.

The tube was unmarred except for some soot and had a twist-off top. ”What is it?” Sunny called from outside the tape.

”No clue,” I muttered, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the two halves. A piece of rolled paper, thick linen or parchment, fell into my palm. I unrolled it to reveal spidery ink cursive: We see with empty eyes. We see with empty eyes.

”c.r.a.p,” I said.

Nocturne City General is not the hospital you want to be in if you're sick or maimed. It looks more like the setting for a Stephen King novel than a real hospital, low asbestos tiles and green linoleum circa the early 1970s, all capped off by flickering fluorescent tubes that fill the air with a constant buzz.

It's also not the place you want to be if you're a were-the smell alone will make you faint. Bleach fumes trying to cover up thirty years of sweat and blood and dying, and not doing the job.

Shelby's room was a semiprivate on the second floor, which some overambitious contractor had tried to cheer up with hot pink paint and a wallpaper border featuring playful kittens.

”Hey,” she said weakly, raising a hand trailing IV lines. ”Long time no see.”

I didn't respond, just tossed the note in its evidence baggie on the blankets next to her and crossed my arms. Shelby read it, her already drawn face going pale. ”Where did you get this?”

”The bomber left it for us,” I said. ”Thoughtful of him, or her.”

Shelby swallowed and I saw her eyes dart to the call b.u.t.ton resting on her nightstand. I reached across her bed, jerked the thing out of the wall in a shower of sparks and tossed it in the trash. ”You and I are going to talk, and no one is going to interrupt us.”

The fear in Shelby's eyes told me everything I needed-the message meant something to her, and that meant she'd lied to me. ”Luna, you've got the wrong idea.”

And the hits just keep on coming. ”No, see, I think I've got it exactly right. Vincent Blackburn turns up dead, and a car bomb obliterates your uncle. The bomber leaves a message for us-the same phrase that I've heard other blood witches use. 'An eye for an eye' comes to mind, Shelby.” I leaned in, so close I could smell the old blood from her wound, and said evenly, ”There's a gang war going on between the blood witches and the casters. How long do you think it will be before the Blackburns start in on your generation?”

Shelby pa.s.sed a hand over her eyes. Her shoulders were shaking and she turned her head away, ostensibly so I wouldn't see her tears. For a cop, she cracked awfully easy. I've had purse s.n.a.t.c.hers who held out longer. ”I'm waiting,” I said. ”Tell me the truth now or I go straight to Morgan and get you suspended.”

She let out a harsh sound that could have been a laugh. ”The truth? This war isn't about Vincent Blackburn. It's always been there. Blood witches and caster witches. We've always fought them, and they've always hated us. It never ends, so what's the point of even trying?”

”The point,” point,” I said, ”is that I don't appreciate almost getting turned into a chicken-fried steak because of some idiotic feud between a couple of bored old men. It stops here.” I said, ”is that I don't appreciate almost getting turned into a chicken-fried steak because of some idiotic feud between a couple of bored old men. It stops here.”

Shelby flipped a hand at me, as if I were hopeless. ”No, it doesn't. Now Seamus will retaliate and they'll scuttle back under their rock until the next stupid junkie turns up dead.” She levered herself up on her elbows. ”You can't stand in my uncle's way. He'll do what he has to do to protect my family. He always has.”

”People are dying,” I said. ”Real people. They may be junkies and wh.o.r.es and the bottom sc.r.a.pings of this city, but they're people. people. Not blood witches or caster witches.” I sighed. My head hurt and I wanted to go home and wash the smoke smell off me. ”Don't you want to figure out who killed Vincent, bring it out into the open? Don't you want to make this end?” Not blood witches or caster witches.” I sighed. My head hurt and I wanted to go home and wash the smoke smell off me. ”Don't you want to figure out who killed Vincent, bring it out into the open? Don't you want to make this end?”

”It's beyond my control,” said Shelby coldly. ”I'm just the mutt of the family. They've always hated the Blackburns and they always will. I don't know anything beyond that. I was never privy privy to the magickal secrets. Unworthy, you know.” to the magickal secrets. Unworthy, you know.”

The bitterness in her voice could have been mine, when I talked about the were packs and the Insoli. I thought of my grandmother shaking her head and asking, Why couldn't you have the same blood as your cousin? Why couldn't you have the same blood as your cousin? I too knew the stigma of being normal among the witches. I too knew the stigma of being normal among the witches.

In spite of her lying to me, I felt my resolve to be hard-a.s.sed soften. ”And why do the Blackburns hate your family, Shelby? I've seen enough relations.h.i.+ps go wrong to know that loathing so deep doesn't happen because of a few bar fights or stray spells.”

I sat next to her and straightened out her blankets, a gesture that Sunny would often perform after I'd woken from a nightmare when we were children, living with our grandmother. Shelby sighed and rubbed at her tears with the back of her hand.

”I'm sorry.”

I pa.s.sed her a tissue without comment.

”All I know,” said Shelby, blowing her nose, ”is that a long time ago, my family stole something from the Blackburns, and they'd kill-have killed-to get it back.”

” 'It' being ... ?”