Ritual Magic

be here soon, with the coven. Does it have to be, like, a Catholic saint?”
    “Holiness isn’t dependent on creed, but if you’re talking about Miriam Faircastle—”
    “You know another Miriam? She’s a Wiccan high priestess, so I thought maybe she’d do.”
    Cullen snorted. “Miriam’s no saint.”
    “You don’t like her?”
    “Woman completely lacks a sense of humor.”
    It figured that Cullen would see that as a prerequisite for sainthood. “She’s a bit intense, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as her eyes widened in shock.
    Cullen spun to face the spot she was staring at. “What is it?”
    “Mist.” White mist that rapidly pushed out blobs so it was shaped like a starfish with a stump where the top limb should be. Four of the blobs coalesced into arms and legs as the one on top became a head and everything sprang into focus. A lean man with slicked-back hair stood there, smirking at her. He was as translucent as the mist he’d formed himself out of.
    Al Drummond. Former FBI agent. Former bad guy, though he’d redeemed himself. Currently quite dead, but that didn’t keep him from smirking at her. “Surprise.”
    “Son of a bitch.”
    “Don’t get all soppy, now.”
    “Drummond—”
    “I can’t stay, but I wanted you to know, first, that Friar’s in this up to his grimy neck. Second, I’ll be working this one with you, but mostly from my side of things. I won’t be able to chat much.” Far faster than he’d come into focus, he winked out.
    Lily stared in disbelief at the empty space. “I need a saint, and
that’s
what I get?”

THREE

    L ILY had had plenty of experience dealing with a victim’s family members when they were in the grip of grief or anger. She’d thought she understood their feelings. She’d been wrong.
    Fury pulsed inside her like a second heart, driving her forward, but she could keep it in check. Use it. Over the next couple hours it flicked at her now and then, hot and raw like a flame licking up the side of a fire pit. But the job wrapped its constraints around her, telling her when to pause and take a breath, telling her not to respond to that sullen lash. As long as she could keep moving forward, she’d do okay.
    But it was a good thing Karonski would be here tomorrow. A damn good thing.
    At this point Lily knew pretty much exactly what she’d known two hours earlier. Her family had been questioned and turned loose; most of them had headed to the hospital. “Nothing,” Rickie had told her. “The Big A and I got nothing from them worth repeating. No one saw or heard anything unusual until Mrs. Yu started screaming.”
    The coven wasn’t here yet. Their head priestess had been in Mission Viejo, over an hour away, when Ida called her. CSI was still working the scene. Cullen was helping them by making sure everything they removed was magically inert. Ackleford and his people were interviewing the last of the restaurant’s patrons. Lily had told him that Friar was probably involved. There were special procedures to be followed in a case involving Robert Friar. For one thing, he was a powerful clairaudient—a listener. Lily’s Gift blocked him, as did Rule’s mantle, but the regular agents would have to be careful about what they said.
    And Lily . . . Lily was feeling increasingly useless. She was also running out of reasons to avoid going to the hospital.
    She ought to want to be there, but, oh, God, she didn’t. For once in her life, she wanted to play ostrich. She would put off going as long as she could, put off that moment when she looked at her father and her family, knowing she was probably the reason her mother had been attacked.
    Coincidences happen, but this was not one. Not if Friar was involved. He hadn’t done this just to get at Lily, though. He and his damn mistress were too goal oriented for that, and their goal was the biggest makeover ever, using
her
specs for Humanity 2.0.
    Lily didn’t see how robbing Julia Yu of most of her life gave them a leg up on the world-domination thing. Maybe this had been the test-drive of some new magical trick or device. A way to be sure it worked before turning it on his real target—Rule? Ruben? the president?—and to hurt Lily along the way. That made more sense.
    No, it didn’t. Why would Friar show his hand this way? Why alert them that such a thing was possible? Robert Friar wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t risk having his real attack misfire just so he could shovel some pain into