Ritual Magic

of his blood gone. What she could see of his features looked regular; the lower half of his face was hidden by the black cloth they’d gagged him with. Blond hair going gray, a bit of a paunch . . . which she could see because his killers had stripped him before staking him to the ground with four big iron spikes. One through each hand, one through each foot.
    He’d still been alive when they did that. Alive, too, when they drew some kind of rune on his chest with a knife. They hadn’t cut his throat until after they pinned him to the earth like a human bug. He’d struggled. Damn near pulled one of his hands free in spite of the spike, which spoke of strength and desperation and guts. It took guts to do that to yourself. He’d ripped his hand apart, trying to get loose.
    Lily’s gut cramped. Whoever he was, he’d been a fighter.
    “What’s your buddy doing?” the cop behind her asked.
    “Investigating,” Lily said. That came out too terse. Angry. She tried again. “I don’t know any more than what he told Detective Erskine. I don’t know spellwork myself.”
    “Huh. I thought all you Unit types did the woo-woo stuff.”
    Lily sighed. You’d think she’d be better at waiting. She did enough of it. “We all have different areas of expertise. I’m a touch sensitive. I can’t work magic, so I never learned spellwork. I’ll be checking for death magic after he’s finished.” There were special protocols for dealing with a body and a scene involving death magic, so they needed to know for sure before the Bureau’s CSI team got started.
    When Lily and Karonski got here, the city’s crime scene team had started working the scene, though they hadn’t gotten beyond taking pictures and video. Karonski had set them to working on the path and relegated the rest of the SDPD to searching the nearby area, maintaining the perimeter, and watching Hardy and the boys. The guy with the lead, Detective Erskine, was not happy about that.
    It would have to be Erskine, Lily thought glumly as she rose. Not T.J. or Brady or even Laurell, but Erskine. She turned to face the patrol officer. Officer Daryl Crown wasn’t middle-aged yet, but if he stood on tiptoe he’d bump his head on it. He was Caucasian, brown and brown, with tired eyes and, from the smell, a nicotine habit. He’d been first on-scene, and Lily had wanted to question him while Karonski did his thing, so she’d asked him to escort her here.
    She cocked her head. “The boys who found the body—Ryan and Patrick, right?”
    “He likes to be called Pat.”
    She made a mental note of that. “They said they were on the bike trail and heard Hardy singing.”
    “If Hardy’s the guy who doesn’t talk, then yeah. They also said they never take their bikes off the marked paths, but they made an exception this time.”
    “I guess they don’t usually cut school, either.” She exchanged a look with him. “They’re brothers. The parents here yet?”
    “I’ll check.” He clicked his mike and asked someone about that. “The dad just arrived. Mr. Samuel Springer.”
    “If Karonski doesn’t finish up pretty soon, I’ll—”
    “I’m done,” called a voice from below. “Come on down. Carefully.”
    Lily didn’t waste any time following that order.
    The ravine wasn’t deep, but it was steep and covered in bushy growth. Only one good way down, so they weren’t using it. The perps probably had. The next-best access was about ten feet to Lily’s right. She headed there, sliding the strap of her purse across her chest messenger-bag style so she’d have both hands free. That let her scramble down quickly, hitting the bottom of the ravine several yards from the body.
    Karonski met her. His face didn’t tell her much. The lines were grooved deeper than usual, but that might be fatigue from the spell.
    “Well?” she said.
    “We’ll share notes after you’ve checked things out your way. Stay back as far as you can. Don’t cross the circle.”
    “It’s not active, is it?”
    “No, but don’t touch it. Just touch one of his hands for now.”
    She nodded, slipped booties on over her shoes, and advanced carefully. She’d already mapped out her route from above.
    The circle around the victim had been drawn with a thick line of powder the color of unburned charcoal. It was scuffed in several places. Inside it—in addition to the body—were simple runes sand-painted on the earth. They were a pale, chalky yellow. It looked like there’d been