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Camil e was sitting, propped up in a bed, and Sharah was right; she looked out of it. She was breathing rapidly and shivering even under the blanket, and her eyes were darker and narrowed, like those of a frightened cat's.
Chase came through the doors and handed me back the photo. He took one look at Camil e and said, "Crap," as he pushed past us and strode over to her. "I've seen you take some nasty bumps, but I've never seen you look like this."
Sharah slid onto a stool and flipped open the chart. "That's because she was so disoriented, she couldn't even open her eyes until a few minutes ago.
Once we figured out what was wrong, we gave her a drug to counter the effects of the magic. Apparently she was conscious the entire time. Camil e--try to say something now."
"I . . . I . . . wh-wh-what the fuck happ--. . . happened?" Her teeth were chattering, as if she was freezing.
"What did happen? I know whatever it was almost knocked me for a loop when I started over to see if she was okay." I frowned, hoping that whatever it was wouldn't have any long-term effects.
"One of our techs figured out the trap. Think ecstasy or roofies, only magical. Geared toward werewolves in specific. Though any Were wil react to it,"
Sharah added, looking at me. "Which is why you felt so disoriented even near the remains."
I mul ed this over. "If I was a werewolf . . ."
She nodded slowly. "If you were a werewolf, you would have been done in by a mere whiff. Camil e reacted the way she did because, although she's not a Were, she's a witch, and her magic is incompatible with the effects of this magic. But a werewolf like your friend Amber . . . she'd be immediately pliable and under control if she caught a whiff or two of this crap."
"Wel , hel ." I frowned. "Who created this spel ? Could a werewolf have done it? Or, I guess the question is, would a werewolf have done it?"
Sharah's lips tightened. She motioned to Chase to shut the door. After he'd done so, she flipped through her notes. "A werewolf would have to be a sociopath to do something like this. Seriously. The ingredients that make up that spel compound--the gas that burst out--contain some heavy-duty dark magic. And not like Camil e's death magic, not dark in that way. We're talking sorcery here.">We headed for the elevator before anybody saw us. When we stepped out onto the fourth floor, room 422 was right around the corner. I listened at the door. No sound. After a moment, I stood back and nodded. Camil e moved in, slid the card in the lock, and it clicked. As she opened the door, she pul ed to the side, and I pushed through first, slamming my hand against the light switch.
Light flooded the room, but it was empty. Camil e peeked in the bathroom, then relaxed and shut the door.
"Nobody here."
"Maybe not now, but someone was." I opened the dresser and checked the drawers. Scattered tops, a couple pregnancy skirts, some underwear . . .
Amber had been here, al right. "Check the closet. Suitcase?"
Camil e pushed open the flimsy folding door that covered the closet. "Suitcase, check, and two pairs of shoes. Also, one coat."
I frowned. It was far too chil y for someone from Arizona to wander around Seattle without her coat in late October. Especial y if she was pregnant. "Do you see her purse anywhere?"
"Here it is, behind the bed, near the wal . How odd," Camil e said. "No woman tosses her purse on the floor behind her bed."
She handed it to me, and I sorted through it. "Her ID is here, her driver's license, medication--she's on something . . . probably for her pregnancy. Let me see . . . wal et is empty, but credit cards are stil there." I looked over at her where she sat on the bed and added, "This doesn't look good."
She paused, then cocked her head. "I get a real y strange energy from this room, Kitten. Al tingly with magic--but I can't identify it."
I couldn't pick up energy the way my sister could, but I had the same feeling, and it stemmed purely from my gut. "Where's it coming from?"
Camil e closed her eyes and held out her hands. "The . . . minibar? How odd." As she knelt to open the door to the miniature refrigerator, a loud pop sounded, and a cloud of something wafted through the room.
"What the fuck?" Camil e jumped back, choking so hard I thought she was going to cough her lungs out. "I . . . dizzy . . ." She reached for the dresser to steady herself and then crumpled to the ground.
"Camil e!" I hurried over to her side, but the minute I got near, my eyes began to water, and I couldn't focus on what I was about to do. Magic. It had to be some sort of magic from whatever had come blowing out of that minibar.
I stumbled away and leaned on the bed, breathing deeply, shaking my head. After a moment, the fog began to dissipate, and I opened the window, trying to get it to disperse, then grabbed my cel phone.
Glancing over at Camil e, who was stil stretched out on the floor, comatose, I quickly punched in the number for the FH-CSI, then the extension for Sharah. She was on the line almost immediately--must be a slow day--and I told her what had happened and gave the address.
"Please keep breathing, please . . ." I could see the gentle rise and fal of my sister's breast, reassuring me that at least she was alive. Whatever hit her seemed to be clearing out on the currents of fresh, cold air, but I didn't dare chance getting near her again, of both of us hitting the deck.
Ten minutes later, a discreet knock on the door sounded. It was Sharah. She must have busted ass to get there.
"It's Camil e," I said, pointing to her prone figure. "She opened the minibar, something went poof, and she went down. When I went in to get her, she was out like a light, and I started to get so disoriented I couldn't stay near her."
