Lupi 08 - Death Magic

gotten used to that, too.
    But it wasn’t as if she didn’t know how to be a subordinate. She was just out of practice. She’d be patient if it . . .
    Crawford nodded at the patrol officer. “She’s cleared.”
    Lily ducked under the barricade.
    “Sorry about the delay,” Crawford said under his breath when she reached him. “It’s a goddamn circus. Every goddamn agency in town wants in. I turned away two agents from ATF, another from the DEA—” He broke off, shook his head. “I can see why they need you, though. Drummond’s inside.”
    “Thanks. Where’s the sign-in?”
    “One of my people’s handling it at the door.”
    The senator’s Washington digs weren’t all that different from hers, Lily thought as she approached the house. His place was bigger, sure, and stone rather than brick, plus the location was better—facing a small park rather than an identical row of conjoined homes. But from the outside it didn’t look that much nicer than Nokolai’s pied-à-terre in the capital.
    Lily signed in at the bottom of the steps leading to the front porch, which held a couple of planters topped with profusely blooming yellow mums. The front door was open. She stepped inside.
    Things took a turn for the grand on this side of the door. The foyer was large and floored with marble; the painting over the narrow console table looked old and expensive. The Bixton family had made their money from logging, if she remembered right, though they’d long since diversified. Rule had told her that the senator’s personal wealth was held in a blind trust to avoid any possible conflict of interest. Bixton’s a bigot , he’d added, but an honest one .
    Facing the door was a short wall with a gleaming console table. It held a floral arrangement, a pair of silver candlesticks, and a cardboard box full of disposable booties. To her right, an arched entry led to the living room, where voices suggested the official presence was gathered. She couldn’t see much of the room from here. To her left was a single closed door and a wide, sweeping staircase any forties movie star would have been delighted to descend on camera.
    Lily bent and took off her Nikes and her socks. They went in the tote she’d retrieved from the trunk of her car.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” someone asked in a deep, raspy voice.
    Lily straightened. The man standing in the arched entry on her right was average height and on the thin side. He wore a navy blue off-the-rack suit and combed his thinning black hair straight back from a high, flat forehead. Plain gold wedding ring on his left hand, just like the ghost’s. Disposable booties covered his scuffed black shoes. His eyes were dark and keen and pissed.
    “It’s the quickest way for me to check for traces of magic on the floor. I’m Special Agent Lily Yu.” She held out her hand. “You are—?”
    He scowled. “Al Drummond, but you can call me ‘sir.’ The floor didn’t kill Bixton. A goddamn knife did. Put your damn shoes back on, grab some booties, and get in here.” He turned and tramped back in the living room.
    Lily obeyed one of those orders. She followed him into the living room . . . after digging out her baby wipes and giving her bare feet a thorough wipe-down. Her shoes stayed in her tote.
    It was a long, narrow room, ending in French doors to the backyard. Everything was capital-G gracious. The walls were pale gold, the silk drapes dark gold, the furnishings a mix of ivory and gold with splashes of red. Lily’s mother would have loved it. There was a large oil painting over the mantle, a landscape in the pastoral style that had been big a hundred and fifty years ago. Ornate frame. More fresh flowers—in a vase on the mantle, floating in a bowl on the coffee table. No clutter. Everything was spotless . . . except for that messy body on the ivory carpet at the other end of the room.
    Lily knew the small mob swarming the room by type, if not by name. One man was snapping still photos while another aimed a camcorder and an older woman took notes. Lily did know the woman. Hannah Kuruc was a topnotch Crime Scene Officer; the other two would be part of her crew. At the far end, a man in a dark suit stood in the open French doors with his back to the room, talking to someone Lily couldn’t see. He turned his head briefly and Lily caught his profile.
    The ME was on-scene himself. No flunkies for Senator Bixton.
    Drummond was at this end of the room, talking