I scooped my badge from the floor and raised it. “The shooters are dead, and both the police, the HCI, and a Society team are on the way. Can you make an announcement for all patients and hospital staff currently in this section of the hospital to remain in their rooms until further notice? Then block off both ends of the corridor and get a doctor here ASAP for my partner, who’s been shot.”
“Partner,” René murmured, drawing my gaze back to him. He was resting his head back against the wall, and his eyes were closed, but he wasn’t showing any outward sign of pain, either in his expression or his voice. It just added more fuel to the theory that his level of control was beyond that of any normal man. “I do like the sound of that. Perhaps I should convince Sophie that you and I need to become an elite crime-fighting team within the Society.”
“Not going to happen, because I have a partner already. Besides, sex will absolutelyneverhappen if you and I start working together.”
“You and I both know neither of us have the level of control that sort of abstinence would take.”
I didn’t bother refuting that statement, because it was, at least on my end, absolutely true. I stepped over him and cautiously approached the two men. I didn’t examine their bodies because there was little point. We knew who these men were; what we didn’t know was who had messed with their minds and ordered them to kill me and then themselves. While telepaths could read the thoughts of the deceased—there was a decidedly small window of around six minutes, with memory degradation starting at around the three- or four-minute mark—there was little chance of that happening here due to the fact their brains no longer sat within their skulls. And that undoubtedly had been the intent.
They haven’t been touched by a telepath, Atticus said.The fading remnant of dark magic lies on them.
He was sitting in one of the unbloodied patches of floor in front of the door, carefully cleaning his claws.
You can tell that from the spell?
I can.
And would you recognize that magic if the user came within range?
Yes, of course. He paused.There is magic on the door handle, by the way.
I stopped abruptly, my gaze narrowing as I examined the handle more thoroughly. The spell threads were very fine and thickly interwoven, and though it wasn’t a spell I recognized, what I could pick out said it was something nasty.
It’s a mash of two separate spells,Atticus said. It’s basically designed to explode the minute anyone touches the handle.
These people really don’t care about lives, do they?
They are not called dark witches because they are happy, caring souls.
His mental tone was dry, and I snorted softly.What about if I enter the room less conventionally? Will that set it off?
If you mean kicking the door in, no. It will also preserve the spell in case the Society has someone up here who can run a trace.
I stepped back, raised a foot, and kicked the door as hard as I could. It crashed back against the wall hard enough to send plaster dust flying, revealing a single occupancy room with a small bathroom to my left. There was no one in the bed or the bathroom. No one sitting in the visitor chair. Though I’d been expecting it, my gut still twisted.
I tapped the earwig. Betty answered immediately. “We’ve a team, the HCI, and the police on the way. The HCI should be there first, ETA about five. Any further casualties?”
“No, but I need you to do me a favor.”
“Shoot.”
“Remember that tracker we used on Monica?”
“The one she removed before she took off?”
“Yeah, that one. Can you run a trace on it and get a location? Ginny’s got it on her, and we activated it before she left for the hospital.”
“Really? It hasn’t registered as reactivated on the system, and it should have.”
“Could it have been listed as returned to inventory or something?”
“Unlikely, given it’s still listed as being in your possession. Hang on, and I’ll check.”
While she did so, I scanned the room, looking for any additional magical traps but seeing nothing untoward. I stepped inside warily, immediately noticing the overnight bag that sat on top of the drawers to the right of the bed. Someone other than Ginny had been in here, because Monica certainly hadn’t been transported here with it.
“You’re right,” Betty said. “It was listed as being returned.”
I frowned. “When?”
