Ritual Magic

paved, but it was a lot smoother than the ground. She didn’t have to pay such close attention to where her feet landed. She could think about other things . . . like how many perps were involved.
    It would have taken at least two people to carry the victim down into the ravine, all right. Or one lupus. Lily hadn’t mentioned that possibility. She gave it less than one chance in a hundred. Lupi were as capable of wrongdoing as humans, but no lupus would knowingly help the Great Bitch, and if Friar was involved, the Big B was, too. Of course, Lily didn’t know for certain that this victim was connected to the amnesia victims. She had a strong suspicion, yeah. If you have two creepy-freaky things happen close together, you suspect they’re connected. But suspicion is not fact.
    Rule would be able to tell. As soon as he got here—and a quick check of the mate-sense told her he was close and getting closer. Good. He’d be able to sniff out how many perps were involved and if they were all human. Or not. No point in raising that particular issue unless she had to.
    Black-and-whites with their strobing red lights were clustered at one end of the parking lot. They’d used the cars to section it off, keep the civilians away. A thin woman trailing a cameraman was arguing with one of the uniforms on the civilian side of the patrol-car fence. Lily had no trouble picking out Erskine in the crowd of cops on the near side of that barrier. He looked like a pudgy, faded leprechaun in black-framed glasses. He frowned when he spotted her.
    Erskine was a good cop. Lily had worked with him sometimes back when she was in Homicide, so she knew this. More by-the-book than brilliant, maybe, but competent and thorough. She hadn’t liked him back then, but that was mainly because he hadn’t liked her. She’d never been sure what about her rubbed him the wrong way, but from day one it was clear something did. They’d put up with each other for the sake of the job.
    These days he couldn’t stand her. He blamed her for Mech’s death.
    Sergeant Homer Mechtle had been a good cop, too. And a friend. He’d committed suicide last year. When Lily killed a telepath named Helen, the psychic backlash had killed or damaged a number of the people she’d been controlling, aided by an ancient staff. Mech had been one of them.
    Sometimes Lily blamed herself for Mech’s death, too.
    The uniforms parted to allow her to jog up to the detective. “I need to—”
    “Your boss told me,” Erskine said curtly. “I talked to Springer. He okayed you checking out his boys. The boys don’t know about any possible contagion. Keep it that way.”
    Well, darn. And there she’d been looking forward to scaring the snot out of them. “My consultant will be here soon. Rule Turner. Karonski told you about him.”
    “Is that what you call him? Your consultant?” Erskine could sneer without moving a muscle on his face. It was a good trick, especially on a face like his. Erskine had one of those round faces that look boyish no matter how old its wearer gets. “Yeah, Karonski mentioned him. You want to keep chatting with me, or would you like to find out if those boys are okay?”
    Her lips tightened
.
She turned without a word.
    “Agent Yu!” a woman called. “What can you tell me about the murder?”
    That was the reporter. Lily ignored her with the ease of long practice.
    Samuel Springer and his sons stood near a large oak, well away from the patrol-car fence and the eager reporter. He was a tall, skinny man with dark hair, a luxuriant mustache, and glasses. One of the boys looked exactly like him, done smaller and without the mustache. The other was sandy haired and lacked glasses, but had the same sharp features. Springer had his arms around both boys. He watched warily as she approached.
    “Special Agent Lily Yu,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’re Samuel Springer?”
    The man eyed her hand a moment, then turned loose of one of his sons to accept the handshake she was silently insisting on. “I am.”
    No magic. Lily released his hand and looked at the taller of the boys. The dark-haired one. “Are you Ryan? I’ve got a friend named Ryan.” She held out her hand to him, too.
    He glanced up at his father uncertainly. Springer nodded. “Go on.”
    Ryan took her hand. She shook with him solemnly, but inside all kinds of knots relaxed. No magic. Not a trace. “Good to meet you, Ryan. You’ve had a really rough day.” She turned