Ritual Magic

Lily’s life. Did that mean that somehow Julia Yu’s memory loss did help him? Had there been something in Julia’s life—something she used to know, but no longer did—that could derail Friar’s plans?
    Whatever the hell those plans might be. She needed to stop speculating until she had more facts to build on. If she couldn’t get a handle on
why
, she’d look at how. Which meant pestering Cullen, because Miriam and her damn coven weren’t here yet.
    She only hoped he wouldn’t be too bloody careful with her. Some of the others were doing that, and it drove her crazy.
    Cullen was perched on a table in the center of the main dining room, legs folded in half lotus, watching the busy CSI techs like a grouchy Buddha. Every so often he sketched something in the air, though his air-writing didn’t glow like it usually did. Maybe he didn’t like to do that around so many cops. Technically, sorcery was illegal, though the law hadn’t been enforced for decades, and not just because most people didn’t think sorcerers existed anymore. The law was based on such poor understanding of what sorcery was—and how magic in general worked—that enforcing it was about as reasonable as arresting people for leaving their Christmas decorations up too long. Which, she’d read, was illegal in Maine, but no one got arrested for it.
    He saw her coming and stood, then launched himself from the table, leaping over a startled tech using a hand vac. The table rocked slightly. He landed easily and scowled at her. “I hope to God you’ve got something for me to do.”
    She should have known she could count on Cullen not to tread warily around her delicate feelings. “You can leave if you’re done.”
    “No, I can’t. I’m waiting on Miriam. There’s a couple more elaborate spells I can try, but they require a full circle.”
    “While we wait, I’ve got a few questions.”
    “Of course you do.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve got precious few answers for you. Whatever was done to Julia, the spell or ritual took place elsewhere. No matter how carefully a spell or ritual is worked, it leaves traces. There aren’t any here.”
    “You’ve abandoned the idea of a potion?”
    “It’s just so damn unlikely. If Friar somehow hooked up with another of Dya’s people, someone who might be able to concoct a potion that would do this . . . but that’s not at all likely, is it? Plus any potion would have to have turned magically inert afterward, since I checked every glass at the table. That’s also hard for anyone but a Binai to pull off.”
    Dya’s people made the most sophisticated potions known to the sidhe, which meant they were very sophisticated indeed. But the Binai were few and lived in the sidhe realms, and the two Queens came down really, really hard on anyone in their realms who so much as spoke the Great Bitch’s name. None of the Binai would knowingly give aid to
her
.
    All of which made it, as Cullen said, damn unlikely. “So what—ah. At last.” Lily started for the restaurant’s front door.
    It had opened to admit five people. The one in the lead was a tall woman, what some might call statuesque, others lush. An insurance chart would likely peg her as thirty pounds above optimum, but she wore those pounds the way another woman might wrap up in a sarong.
    Miriam Faircastle reminded Lily a bit of Nettie Two Horses. They were about the same age, two self-assured, forty-plus women who’d never married or seemed to feel the need. Mostly, though, it was the hair. Miriam’s was every bit as long and frizzy as Nettie’s and a similar shade of coppery brown. Their styles were vastly different, though. Miriam liked color. Lots of color. Tonight she’d pulled her hair back with a blue scarf. She put that with a floaty turquoise skirt, an orange tee, and a second scarf wrapped around her hips, that one mostly yellow with some green and blue. To make sure she didn’t leave any part of the spectrum feeling neglected, she’d added several strands of bright red beads around her neck.
    Lily had met three of the people with Miriam. The fourth was new to her—a short, square little woman with thick glasses and a blond braid. Lily gave the group a nod. “I know Jack and Gail and Warren,” she said, “and this is—?”
    “Abby,” Miriam said and clasped Lily’s shoulders in her hands, looking down at her with dark brown eyes. “Abby Farmer. You haven’t worked with her before. She’s new to