Part 18 (1/2)

”Sure,” I said. ”Tell yourself that if it makes things easier to mask.”

”Please go,” said Shelby politely, lifting her magazine again. ”I'm tired and in a lot of pain.”

”I'm going to figure out who did this,” I said. ”Whether you help me or not.”

Shelby didn't reply.

I left the hospital in a p.i.s.sed-off state that was rare even for me. So my partner was no help, and probably hated my guts even more than she had at the beginning of our dysfunctional little alliance. n.o.body who knew anything would talk to me. Not only was I an outsider, I hated magick to my core and it probably showed.

Of course, I realized almost immediately that I was being stupid. There was was a witch who would help me, if only out of his own desires for vengeance. It would have to be good enough for now. a witch who would help me, if only out of his own desires for vengeance. It would have to be good enough for now.

In my car he appeared to me, a flare of gold in the rearview mirror. I swerved and almost went off the overpa.s.s on the Appleby Expressway. ”Hex me!”

”What are you running toward, Insoli?”

”Leave me alone!” I shouted at Asmodeus, pulling over and putting on my blinkers.

”The Skull of Mathias is not your provenance, Insoli. You will bring down exactly what you seek to hide from if you go toward it.”

”Cryptic much?” I snapped at him. Where was a good exorcist when you needed one?

”I am drawn to convergences, Insoli, and one is happening as we speak. Dark magick. Magick that kills. You would do well to stay away.” am drawn to convergences, Insoli, and one is happening as we speak. Dark magick. Magick that kills. You would do well to stay away.”

Before I could shout at him to leave again, a tractor-trailer blew by with its horn blaring. Wind rattled the Fairlane and when I looked back into the rear seat Asmodeus was gone.

”Hex me,” I muttered again as I tried to stop my hands from shaking. The tight sense in my chest, the sense that Asmodeus had been right, eased after a few minutes and I drove on.

After all, everyone knew you couldn't trust a daemon.

The Blackburns' building didn't look any better in daylight. In fact, I could see the cracked brick and peeling paint and garbage all over the sidewalk, so it was measurably worse.

I pounded on the door and got the same surly guard, in what was probably the same ugly mesh s.h.i.+rt and studded jeans. ”I need to see Victor,” I said. ”It's urgent.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, but stepped aside without comment and pointed up the stairs. ”Be my guest. Cop,” he added as an afterthought. I had the feeling I was supposed to be insulted, but didn't dwell on it.

Scratchy cla.s.sical music drifted from the top floor of the apartments, and I pushed open the door to see Victor nodding in his armchair. He looked very old, used up and spat out by the power that ran in his blood.

The moment my foot landed inside the door, his eyes snapped open and fixated on me. ”Does anyone in your generation knock, Ms. Wilder?”

”Sorry,” I said without thinking. Once he was awake, the sheer force of his will animated his face and body with the intensity of a wildfire.

He sighed. ”Never mind. Valerie's running wilder by the day. Soon she'll be exactly like you. Tea?”

I took my cue to sit down across from him. ”Coffee, if you have it.”

Victor picked up an old-fas.h.i.+oned servant's bell and jangled it, then sat back and steepled his fingers. ”I take it you're not here socially.”

”No,” I said. ”But I am here asking a favor.”

He frowned. ”You know, according to magickal law, I can-”

”You can compel a favor in return, I know,” I snapped. ”What'll it be?” Yet another reason I hated most witches. They're so d.a.m.n OCD about balance and favors and all that c.r.a.p.

”I can, can, but I but I won't won't,” said Victor patiently. ”You don't have anything I want.”

”Well.. . well, fine,” I said, blus.h.i.+ng. ”Don't ask, then.”

”You don't like witches very much, do you?” said Victor. I snorted.

”What gave you that idea?”

”I don't blame you,” he said. ”We're an untrustworthy, self-serving, insular bunch.” The creepy servant came in and brought a tray of steaming mugs. Victor added sugar to his tea and sipped. I tried my coffee after a discreet sniff to make sure it wasn't riddled with poison. It wasn't half bad.

”I need to get some information,” I said. ”And you're the only person I know of that will give me the straight truth.”

”Very well,” said Victor. ”Ask away.”

I bit my lip. ”What is the Skull of Mathias?”

At first, I thought Victor was having a heart attack. He froze with his cup halfway to his lips and stared at me, absolutely still, his breathing as rapid and shallow as a hummingbird's. ”Victor?” I said cautiously. ”You okay?”

”How do you know about the Skull?” he whispered, setting his mug back in the saucer. China rattled as his hands shook.

”Doesn't matter,” I said. ”What does is that you people yanked me into the middle of your idiot feud over this thing, and I want to know what it is, close my case, and return to a world that has at least a veneer of normality.” I set down my coffee and leaned toward Victor, who still looked like the reaper was standing on his grave. ”You owe it to your son. He deserves to rest. And Valerie deserves to know who killed her brother and why.” I didn't say anything about what Victor deserved-he'd killed Patrick O'Halloran, or ordered it done. Even if I could never prove it, he was guilty as a crooked priest.

Victor was composed again, bright eyes missing nothing. Only a tight jaw and a line of white around his mouth betrayed the shock he'd had. ”I can see why you've lasted so long as an Insoli,” he said finally. ”You never give up.”

”Not until I'm dead,” I agreed. Victor sighed, pulling out a battered silver flask from his pants pocket and adding the contents to his teacup. The liquid was black and oily. I decided it would be better if I didn't scrutinize the smell too closely.

”How much do you know about daemons?” he asked me finally.

Asmodeus flashed into my mind, the implacable gold eyes searing through my skin and into my thoughts. ”More than I want to.”

”One time, they walked among men,” said Victor. ”Gifting the nonmagickal with abilities to kill or destroy. The caster witches did not appreciate the implied challenge, and cast the daemons into their shadow realm.”

I knew all of this. I also knew that not all all the daemons had been cast from ye olde mortal coil. Unfortunately for me. ”So what's the twist ending here, Victor?” I said. the daemons had been cast from ye olde mortal coil. Unfortunately for me. ”So what's the twist ending here, Victor?” I said.

He rubbed his chin. ”Mathias was the sole human given permanent magick, the power to draw workings from his own body. His descendants diluted and abused the power until they were reduced to using their own blood, or the blood of victims, to focus the terrible gifts the daemon gave their ancestor.”

'The first blood witch,” I said.

”Yes, but also not a blood witch,” said Victor. ”Mathias needed no blood, just as a daemon needs no focus or buffer. When he was killed a follower inscribed every working and spell he had conceived onto the master's own skull.”