The interview room was not comfortable, but the hospital had been worse.
Wheels turned slowly. I rested my head on my handcuffed arms and tried to nap, or at least gather some energy. I’d only done what I’d needed to do. They would’ve been singing a different tune if they’d had a witch possessed by an angel to deal with. Assuming they ever sang again.
While my body lay heavily on the chair, pain drugs pumping through my system and my leg still managing, somehow, to hurt, I turned it over in my mind.
The angel involved explained a lot of the questions—how they’d got the recipe for rift juice, the extra power behind the witch, their brazen disregard for morality. Which angel was it, though?
All I knew was it smelled like roses.
I had to get hold of my Oma. Nic. I had to ask questions, find answers.
Would Dierdre’s shitstain ex back off, now Amor was toast? Who the hells was she? Ex Retrievals? A dropout from the course? Or just accessed some of the training, somehow, got the gear from someone else? From an ally Overworld they did favors for? Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
Beo.
I hoped Dierdre had got out without seeing too much of the gore. I hoped she was being looked after. The one good thing about Taig being barred from me was that it meant he’d have her in hand, and I trusted him to do a half decent job of that.
Maybe I dozed. The door opened and Clint came in with a uniform beside him. Groggily, I watched as he sat opposite me at the table. “Hello, Caretaker. This is Sergeant Greene.”
“Hello, Detective, Sergeant.” I kept it civil and patted myself on the back for it.
“We have multiple officers who witnessed you killing an as yet unidentified witch who had given herself into our custody. I will remind you that your job does not permit lethal force. Again. For the second time this week.” He flipped through some notes, found a page, and pretended to read the information as if he didn’t know what had happened.
“Ask your witnesses if they smelled roses,” I said, tiredly. I didn’t want to do this dance.
“Roses.”
“Roses,” I repeated, flatly.
His brows rose. “Anything else, Caretaker?”
“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling the first bubbles of rage and trying to pop them. “Her eyes were going white.”
He took a few notes. “And the significance?”
“She was calling an angel.”
He paused, looked up at me. “An…angel.”
“Yeah. You know. Opposite of demon.” Honestly, did they hand out supernatural detective badges as a gimmick in breakfast cereal?
“Angels are positive beings,” he said, calmly. “And mythical ones. They’re protective.”
Maybe drive through kids meals? Tiny burger, fries, juice box, detective license. “Angels are as real as demons. They’re two sides of the same coin. They want different things from us, use different methods, but at the end of the day we’re the juicy steak for both.”
He took some more notes. “Juicy steak.”
Elders, my kingdom for Taig. “I’m not an expert in the academic stuff,” I said, with a shrug that reminded me I’d blocked her fist with my face. It wouldn’t be my first black eye. “I know their strategies, warning signs, and how to deal with them.” Not that we really could. But we could hold the line, force them back. That was about the best you could hope for. “You want a dissertation, call a professor. There’s plenty around.” Maybe, like, three. In the world.
“So.” He looked up at me. “You killed the victim—”
“Hold up. Victim is Dierdre.”
His eyes narrowed fractionally. “You killed the witch in question because she smelled of roses and you thought you saw her eyes go white.”
She’d also negated a spell, but I didn’t think I could prove that. And anyway, fuck this specific man. “Yes. Mid-summoning ritual.”
More notetaking. “Talk me through a summoning ritual.”
“Can’t,” I said, with a shrug. “Never done it. I just know it’s generally done on the knees. You need a bit of time for it. I assume it’s a long spell.”
“Spell?” he asked, barely making any notes. “She didn’t have her wand. Nor did she speak.”
Who said nor? Really? “No wand, but casting spells?” I barely resisted making an exaggeratedly shocked face. “Sounds like possession to me. You don’t need a wand for that, just to have sold your soul. Or whatever it is angels ask for, I don’t honestly know. Again, not my thing.” I saw Greene beside Clint glance down and carefully arrange his face to ensure he didn’t smile. Cool, a fan. “As for her speaking—she was Retrievals trained. She was also in lupetec. You wouldn’t hear her casting.”
“Anything else?” Clint asked, loftily, clicking his pen in finality.
“Yeah.” I sat back, my arm aching from where I was forced to hold it with the cuffs. “Can I get a cup of coffee? Black, no sugar.”
They came in a few more times with questions. Each time they’d obviously gone and looked into things I’d said. The possibility of being charged with murder grew further away, but my coffee didn’t get any closer. I had no idea what time it was when the door opened and Arthur walked in, steaming cup in his hand.
The man looked like he’d crawled out of a six-month bender arse first.
“Are you okay?” I asked him, as he set the coffee in front of me. And then, hard on the heels of my concern came the memory. The potion. Fuck, I hadn’t even checked in on him. Hadn’t even thought about him.
There was a flicker of surprise on his face. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He sat beside me. “They’re finalizing the paperwork now.”
“For?”
“Your release.” He nudged the coffee a bit closer. “You almost got done for murder.”
“Some thanks,” I muttered, taking the coffee. It was the perfect temperature. I had to wonder if Taig was behind it, or Arthur. “They called you in, hey?”
“I’m your supervisor.”
Right then, he looked like he needed to supervise eight straight, a shower and a shave. “Weird, without a District High Wizard, isn’t it?” I asked, realizing the ramifications of the lack of hand on the wheel. So many little things would be falling between the cracks. “Who contacted you?”
He sent me an unreadable glance, then shrugged. Ah. Secrets. Which meant Taig had—off the books.
He stretched out his legs and lifted a hand gingerly to his shoulder. So, now he felt it. I eyeballed his wound. If there was a bandage there it was far neater. “Can I do anything to help?”
That flicker of surprise again. “No.” Then, “But…thank you.”
I shrugged. “It’s what covens do. Watch out, you’ll have a freezer full of casseroles in no time.” The coffee was wonderful. I poured it into my body, glad of the warmth.
It didn’t fill the hollow, though.
“So.”
He lifted his eyes to mine, waiting for me to continue.
“What time is it and what’s the plan?”
He opened his mouth to answer and then went silent as the door opened. A very neutral looking Clint walked in, keys in hand. “Caretaker Aurora, you’re being released from custody while we investigate the murder of Lucinda McFarlane.”
I zoned out the rest. Lucinda McFarlane. It rang zero bells for me, but it was nice to know she had been a real person.
"I'm going to see what I can do to get you back to work," Arthur told me, tiredly, as I was escorted out with two uniforms who were taking me back to my place. They needed my clothes for evidence. I sure had plenty of that on me.
"What do you mean?" I asked, pausing outside the door. It was dark. My body clock said it was midday. Fucking body clocks, what do they know.
"During an investigation, Caretakers are placed on administrative leave," he said, his voice a monotone. "But we need you on board. Had sightings of vampires last night where they aren't permitted."
Of course. Without Beo—
"Sure. Well. You have my number." I paused, glancing at him. "You do have my number. Right? My personal one."
"Why would you give me your personal number, Rory?" He looked shrunken with defeat.
I held my hand out. At his blank, apathetic look I said, "Give me your phone, King, so I can save my number."
I added myself to his contacts and sent myself a message, then enjoyed the trip back with the uniforms in a thick, awkward silence.
Bernie arrived about ten minutes after I'd seen the back of them. "Well, look at you." She clicked her tongue, walked past me into my home, peering around. "Enjoying the bachelor life?" She set down a massive bag on my table and pointed at the couch.
"Yeah," I said, through numb lips as I took the seat she'd indicated.
"'Atta girl," she said, with a big wink. "Get some boys to keep your wine cupboard and downstairs entertaining area full." Another wink.
Downstairs entertaining area? I looked at her blankly as she started healing magicks. Was that a euphemism? It had to be. This was Bernie.
The familiar fog of magickal healing rolled over me. I sank into it, grateful for the reprieve from the rage. She let herself out. I stayed right where I was on the couch and slept.
When I woke, I was cold and alone.
No notifications. No messages.
Empty.
I rolled over, curled up, and slept again.