Vintage Soul (20 page)

Amethyst glanced around at his computer, and at some of the other electronic devices in the room, and shook her head.
 
“I don't keep video surveillance, as you know.
 
I don't have a computer, or a television.
 
Still, there are other ways.

“I have a series of crystals imbedded in the walls that act as repositories of events.
 
When someone moves in front of them, or when someone speaks, vibrations record themselves, for a time, in the crystal.
 
It doesn't last very long – but long enough.

“I checked the crystals after I saw to Lance.
 
There is something there, but I can't make it out.
 
Just prior to my arrival there was a shadowy image flickering about the room.
 
It moved too quickly for its image to be fully captured.
 
For a few minutes that's all there was to see.
 
When the image cleared, all I could see was Lance, sprawled on the floor.
 
Otherwise, the room is empty.”
“If there was no clear sign of a break-in,” he asked, “and the wards that protected the crystals are still in place, how did you find out that they were missing?”

“I didn't, at first,” she admitted.
 
“I don't know why, but with all that's been going on, I felt as though I needed to get an inventory – just to be certain.
 
I expected to see that everything was in its proper place.
  
It was, except for the crystals.
 
Their case was there, just as always, but when I opened it, it was empty.”

He stared at her.

“That isn't possible,” he said at last.
 
“There are a number of ways those crystals could have been taken; but none of them could have worked without leaving some sort of trace.
 
You're sure that it's the same case, that there's no sign of a transference spell?”

“I'm not an amateur,” she said, taking a longer deeper pull on the brandy.
 
“Don't you think I know what I saw?
 
I'm telling you I have no idea how the crystals were taken.”

Donovan stared into his brandy and concentrated.
 
He ran over the details she'd presented him slowly, shifted them one way, and then another.
 
Something was bothering him, but he couldn't nail it down.

“You have the crow,” she said, breaking his train of thought.

He glanced up, saw that, for the moment, the bird was safe on its mantel top perch, and he nodded.
 

“It's not the bird that was here before,” he said.
 
“Cornwell is dead.
 
Whoever killed him broke a magic circle in the middle of a summoning.”

Amethyst stared at him incredulously.

“In the middle?
 
You're sure?”

He nodded.

“There was a break in both the inner and outer circles, as if someone drew their foot across it deliberately.
 
The church was all but destroyed.
 
I took what I could, and I got out of there.”

“What about
Martinez
?” she asked.
 
“I can't imagine something like this happening right under his nose.”

“One of his people showed up as I was leaving,” Donovan said.
 
“If it weren't for my new feathered friend up there,” he nodded at Asmodeus, “I might not have gotten off so easily.
 
I think all they were after was Cornwell's possessions.
 
I'm pretty sure that
Martinez
wouldn't have broken that circle, and if he did, why send someone else back later for the things he wanted from the church?
 
Why not just take them?

“And there's more.
 
I found this.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the blue-black raven feather.
 
He held it out to her, and she took it, holding it carefully as if it posed some odd threat of its own.
  
She glanced up at Asmodeus, but Donovan shook his head.

“Different bird altogether,” he said.
 
“The other was much larger, and younger.”

Asmodeus let out a caw at this, and for the first time since arriving home, Donovan smiled.

“You're no spring chicken,” he said, glancing up.

“Chicken.” The bird repeated.
 

Donovan blinked.

“You talk?”

“Talk.” The bird agreed.

Amethyst started to laugh.
 

“It seems that Cornwell managed that spell after all.
 
I guess ol' Moldy up there just didn't want to talk to him.”

Donovan heard her, but his mind had drifted again.
 
He kept thinking about the closed case, and the missing crystals.
 
Time was running out for Vanessa much more quickly than he'd thought, and he needed answers.
 
He looked at it from every angle he could conceive, but came up with nothing.
 
Still, something about it bothered him; something was there, just out of reach, something important.

“That only leaves the bone marrow dust,” he said at last.
 
“If whoever is behind all of this manages to retrieve that, or find someone else to do it, then we may be too late to stop him.”

“If he has something that can snatch those crystals from me, despite, my precautions, what makes you think he needs anyone to retrieve the bone marrow powder?
 
Isn't it possible he can just snatch it from the casket without opening it?”

He looked at her, and then shook his head, frowning.

“I don't think so.
 
I don't know what it is, exactly, but there is something in your theft we're overlooking.
 
It's itching at the back of my mind, but I can't seem to pry it free.
 
We are both familiar with what is, and is not possible.
 
This is ritual magic, and there are no spells for transportation of objects that I know of.
 
Look around.
 
I think it's more likely that whoever it is
wants
us to believe he can perform acts we know are impossible.
 
The more off-balance he keeps us, the more chance he has of finishing his ritual.
 
If he does, and it works, nothing we do will make much difference.”

He swept his arm in the direction of the books on his shelf.

“I have nearly every occult text known to exist in the last three centuries, in one form or another.
 
I don't' claim to be familiar with all of it, but I can tell you this – if that sort of magic had ever existed, it would still exist.
 
Someone would have found the record of it, recorded it, and reproduced the effect, and then someone else would have found a way to guard against it.
 
Fewer and fewer new secrets are discovered, because to get beyond all that's been tried in the past takes so much time.”

“I'd like to believe that's true,” she replied, “but I wouldn't bet my life on it.
 
That's what you're doing, you know.
 
You're betting Vanessa's life on it.”
 
She frowned, thought about what she'd just said, “Well, her existence, anyway.
 
I guess life is the wrong term in this case?”

Donovan shrugged, and she continued.
 
“If you're wrong?
 
If someone has figured out something new, something we aren't prepared to defend against, then we may be too late already.
 
Whoever it is has been at least one step ahead of us all along – snatching a vampire out from under Kline's security – not to mention breaking Kline himself like a rag doll, then breaking in here, killing Cornwell, and stealing my crystals.
  
I wouldn't want to be responsible for completing any one of those tasks, but whoever this is took them all on, and so far he hasn't left a trace.”

Donovan sighed.
 
He was about to rise and refill his drink when the phone rang.
 
He walked to the desk and answered it.
 
He frowned, and then answered.

“Tonight?
 
You've talked with him?
 
Good.
 
Get back in contact and tell him you have someone to do it.”

He listened a moment longer, then hung up the phone.

“That was
Windham
,” he said.
 
“He's gotten me the information on the buyer for the bone marrow dust.
 
The offer is still open, and so far, no one has taken up the challenge.”

“Maybe there's still time,” she replied.
 
“Maybe he's just hoping to send you off on a wild goose chase that will take long enough to keep you out of his hair until he finishes Le Duc's ritual.”

“I don't have a choice,” Donovan replied.
 
“If I don't go after this dust, someone else will.
 
If I manage to get out of the graveyard with it, I'll have something he needs, and he'll have to deal with me.
  
Without going out of state, he won't find what he needs anywhere else, and he doesn't have time for that.
 
Eventually we'll find him; if he waits too long, we'll catch him.
 
When we catch him, I would not want to get between him and Johndrow.

“I'm going after the dust tonight.
  
He won't know it's me, of course, I'll be going through Windham, but it should get me close enough to either figure out who it is we're up against, or where he's holed up.
 
I can't go after him if I can't find him.”

She didn't look convinced.

“I suppose,” she said.
 
“In any case, I have to get back.
 
There are still some things I need to check, and I want to make sure Lance is okay.
 
I don't think we'll have any more trouble now that those crystals are gone, but you never know.
 
Whoever it was might think Lance can identify him and come back to prevent it.”

“Are you going to question him?” Donovan asked.

She looked startled.
 
“I…yes.
 
I suppose I am.
 
I didn't think about it, but even if he doesn't remember what happened, there might be imprints of some of it that I could read.
 
I was in such a hurry to get over here and tell you about the missing crystals that I wasn't thorough.”

“Let me know what you find,” he said.
 
“I'll keep thinking about it, too.
 
There's still something not quite right about the whole situation; if it occurs to me, I'll contact you.
 
I can send Cleo.”

“Or your new buddy,” she laughed, tossing her head and grinning up to where Asmodeus sat, glaring smugly down at Cleo.
 

“Buddy,” he said, flapping his wings and nearly toppling from the mantle.

“Thanks for reminding me,” he muttered.
 
“I'll have to find a way to make a truce between these two, or I'll come back to find the building reduced to a pile of rubble.”

Amethyst laughed, and turned toward the door.
 
Donovan walked her to the hall, leaned in, and gave her a quick kiss.
 

“Don't worry,” he said.
 
“We'll get through this, and when we do, we'll have a reason to celebrate.”

“I hope you're right,” she said, ducking into the elevator.

As the door slid shut behind her, he stepped back into his apartment.
 
There wasn't much time.
 
He had to get a message into
Windham
's hand so the collector could pass on the intention to fill the order for the bone marrow dust.
  
He also had to gather the materials he'd need, do what he could to map his way through the graves, and get a report out to Johndrow.
 
The old vampire would be worried sick, and after the first encounter with the hotheaded young Vein and his cronies, Donovan was in no mood for further interruptions.

When he was ready, he glanced over at Cleo, who stood poised on his desk.
 
She'd been like that, watching every movement Asmodeus made, waiting for him to make the mistake of flying too low.

“You have to let it go,” Donovan said.

Cleo ignored him.

He sighed.
 
Stepping forward, he drew the cat into his arms.
 
She squirmed, but not like she'd done when he caught her earlier.
 
He cleared his mind of thought, pressed his hand to her forehead, and thought about the cathedral.
 
He relived the image of Cornwell's dried, husk of a body crumbling to dust around the toe of his boot, his escape through the rear of the church, and the subsequent attack, where Asmodeus had come to his aid.
 
Cleo grew very stiff in his grasp, but he held her until the images subsided, and when he placed her gently back on top of the desk, she had calmed.