Part 15 (1/2)

But obviously the grandmother did. One of the boys, the younger one who couldn't have been older than six or seven, which explained why he was probably bored out of his mind, was tugging on the older woman's sweater and repeating, ”Groymutter. Groymutter.”

Sounded like a dirty word to me, but what did I know?

It seemed like it took forever but the trio finally moved off, once the grandmother caught an eyeful at what had been intriguing her grandsons.

I waited until I heard their footsteps recede upstairs before glancing around. No one in sight.

A quick duck beneath the tape and I was in the room, keeping toward the walls so I couldn't easily be seen from the open doorway.

Last night I thought the s.p.a.ce looked crowded because of the people, but even empty it looked overfull, especially if you compared it to the warehouse I'd just left. A different decorating sensibility than I was used to with great floral carpets blanketing the floor, pastoral murals on the walls, ma.s.sive gold frames, crystal chandeliers, and wall sconces the only light even though it was barely eleven o'clock. The s.p.a.ce was making me claustrophobic. Or maybe it was approaching the spot where Cheverill had died.

Fortunately there weren't any bloodstains to make me squirm. Since the room had been blocked off, it might be a smidge easier getting a reading on the doctor. I was hesitant because it was a museum with a lot of people moving in and out of the s.p.a.ce, plus it'd been jam packed last night. But if I didn't try, my alternative was to do nothing. I set my purse on the nearest table and prepared to get to work.

The casting spell shouldn't be hard. I wasn't scrying, which involved looking into a translucent object such as a crystal ball, or water, or even smoke for that matter, in an attempt to see or find someone. For one thing I didn't have any tools though a quick glace around rea.s.sured me there were enough crystals dangling from the lighting fixtures that if push came to shove I might be able to try that approach. Instead I planned to cast a lost person spell. It tended to be stronger for me and easier to work.

Inhaling a deep breath I stepped toward the area where the doctor, if that's what he'd been, had been kneeling. Just then my purse started doing a little hum and jig on the glossy surface of the mahogany table. I was so focused on what I was about to do it took a few seconds to realize what was happening. My cell phone.

Could it be Ling Mai?

I lunged toward the table and fumbled getting my phone out, only to recognize the number calling as Bran's. Not that I'd memorized it or anything. Perish the thought.

But I didn't need a p.i.s.sed off warlock reaming me out for leaving the warehouse, or being at the museum, or my plan. How'd I know that's what he wanted? It was Bran.

Flipping off the phone was a tacky and small-minded gesture, I'll admit, as I shoved it back in the purse once I'd turned it off totally. Somehow I knew Ling Mai wouldn't be calling in the time it took me to spell cast and get out of here.

Back to the spot I settled my nerves and focused to bring up an image of the doctor, which was vague. I just hadn't been paying that much attention to him. Not with another man dying in front of me.

As if sorting through pictures on a cell phone, I let my memory scan past the other impressions of the room, the other faces. Bran with his thunder frown. The younger man I'd talked to after Cheverill had collapsed. Cheverill himself, with his head of silver hair and patrician features.

Then, at last, the doctor. Middle-aged. Gray in his hair, but only slightly. Deep grooves in his face, as if troubled or worried a lot. Really pretty nondescript, but hopefully enough to get a bead on.

I slowed my breathing, lowered my shoulders to release tension in my neck and focused.

Keeper of what disappears, I thee seek.

Open and find he who is lost from sight.

By sun, by earth, by air and by water.

I thee implore. What is lost, now shall be found.

Behind my closed lids I saw a glimmer. So faint I found myself leaning forward as if to see it better. Still vague. Green. An imposing stone building. The sound of traffic.

That could be anywhere in Paris.

I tried again. This time focusing more on my impressions of the doctor than simply his looks. Competence. Or was that what I expected to see? Focus, Noziak, and really see, as Bran had made me see the street yesterday morning. Not what I expected to see but what had really been before my eyes.

Fear. That's what jumped out at me. The doctor's? Yes, and others, as if a riptide of emotions circled around Cheverill's body. Greed. A vacuum of need. The need for power, for control.

Impressions so strong they felt like a physical sensation beating against me. And preternaturals. Cheverill for sure, but I didn't know what kind. Whatever he'd been, the younger man had been one too. Not blood bound but species drawn. And others. So many others. Powerful beings.

I remembered realizing there had been a lot of preternaturals at the event, but now it was being brought home in a different way. There was an intention behind their presence last night which I hadn't been aware of then.

I could feel my focus slip toward that issue and pulled it back to finding the doctor. Everything else could wait. I started my chant again. Only different now.

Earth called, find me the path.

Wind spent, blow me the way.

Sun lit, lead me along.

Water born, reveal the depths.

What is lost, must be found.

Seek. Guide. Direct.

Vessel I am. Vessel I shall be.

Show me the way. So mote it be.

And I had my answer, as clear as a street sign looming out of the fog. Now I just had to find the place.

CHAPTER 30.

Van had been waiting. Patiently, because he had little choice. Trial? Experiment? Something was going down today and as he watched the dawn's light brighten and fan across the floor he expected his jailors to return.

But they didn't. Not right away. Even the human who brought his food hadn't appeared.

As the cell grew lighter the nerves danced along Van's skin. A good sign because he'd been so drugged, so numbed for days that even pain was a welcome relief.

When he heard the screech of the outer door opening at last, he adjusted his balance until his weight was evenly on both feet. Then he relaxed his muscles as much as possible. The better to pounce the second he saw an opportunity.

The trio who'd come recently had brought reinforcements. A fourth person who smelled different, not like the Were who'd been here before. No talking today, just purposeful strides.

He sagged against his restraints, faking weakness when all his inner wolf wanted to do was rend and tear. But he wouldn't let his beast gain control. Not yet.

”You are awake?” Jean-Claude the doctor asked, sliding up to Van, but not close. From where Van was restrained he could smell the stale sweat of the man's fear. The stench increased when Van raised his head, slowly, to glare at the man with eyes more wolf than human. A trick Van had perfected back in high school when jerks went sniffing around Alex. He knew his eye shape elongated, the color lightened from a dark brown to a golden amber, and the focus intensified, at least that's what the one being viewed saw.

Which is why so many turned tail and ran. The doctor didn't. He froze. A sure sign of being lower on the food chain, far lower.