in his strange voice. "If they simply blow up the mountain, the result might be the same."
"Is that true, Dorrie?"
She nodded. "It could be."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
Magnus crawled through the flowers, peering at me through the shining curtain of his hair. His eyes were swirling bands of green and blue, whirling until I was dizzy. I looked away.
"Raise a handful of the dead. Can you do that?" he asked.
"No sweat," I said. "But will everybody's lawyers agree to that?"
"I'll see that they do," he said.
"Dorrie?" I asked.
She nodded. "I'll see to it."
I stared at Magnus for a moment. "Will Serephina really rescue the boy?"
"Yes," he said.
I stared down at him. "Then I'll see you tonight."
"No, I'll be well and truly drunk again. It's not foolproof, but it helps drown her out."
"Fine; I'll raise you a handful of dead. Keep your land safe."
"You have our gratitude," Magnus said. He looked feral, frightening, beautiful crouched in the flowers. His gratitude might be worth something if Serephina didn't kill him first.
Hell, if she didn't kill me first.
Chapter 33
I called Special Agent Bradford late in the day. They hadn't found Xavier. They hadn't found Jeff. They hadn't found any vampires that I needed to kill, and why the hell was I calling him? I was not on this case, remember? I remembered. And yes, the two youngest victims had been sexually assaulted, but not the same day they were killed. I probably should have brought Magnus in, but he was the only one who understood the spells on Bloody Bones. He wouldn't be any good to us locked up. Dorrie knew a local witch she trusted. I'd thought that maybe Bloody Bones was our killer. I'd never seen a vampire hide itself so completely from me as the one that killed Coltrain. I'd added it to my list of suspects, but hadn't told the cops. Now I was glad I hadn't. The sexual assault had Xavier written all over it. Besides, explaining that a nursery boggle from Scotland was committing murders on the ethereal plane sounded far-fetched even to me.
The sky was thick with clouds that glowed like jewels. They shimmered and stretched across the sky like a gigantic gleaming blanket that some great beast had shredded with massive claws. Through the holes in the clouds, the sky peeked through black with a few diamond-chip stars bright enough to compete with the gleaming sky.
I stood on the hilltop staring up at the sky, breathing in the cool spring air. Larry stood beside me, looking up. His eyes reflected the glowing light.
"Get on with it," Stirling said.
I turned and looked at him. Him, Bayard, and Ms. Harrison. Beau had been with them, but I'd made him wait at the bottom of the mountain. I'd even told him if he so much as showed his face up top, I'd put a bullet in it. I wasn't sure Stirling believed me, but Beau had.
"Not an appreciator of nature's beauty, are you, Raymond?"
Even by moonlight I could see his scowl. "I want this over with, Ms. Blake. Now, tonight."
Strangely enough, I agreed with him. It made me nervous. I didn't like Raymond. It made me want to argue with him, regardless of whether I agreed. But I didn't argue. Point for me.
"I'll get it done tonight, Raymond; don't sweat it."
"Please stop calling me by my first name, Ms. Blake." He made the request through clenched teeth, but he had said "please."
"Fine. It'll be done tonight, Mr. Stirling. Okay?"
He nodded. "Thank you; now get on with it."
I opened my mouth to say something smart, but Larry said very softly, "Anita."
He was right, as usual. As much fun as it was to yank Stirling's chain, it was just delaying the inevitable. I was tired of Stirling, of Magnus, and of everything. It was time to do this job and go home. Well, maybe not straight home. I wouldn't leave without Jeff Quinlan, one way or another.
The goat gave a high, questioning bleat. It was staked out in the middle of the boneyard. It was a brown-and-white-spotted goat with those strange yellow eyes they sometimes have. It had floppy white ears and seemed to like having the top of its head scratched. Larry had petted it in the Jeep on the drive over. Always a bad idea. Never get friendly with the sacrifices. Makes it hard to kill them.
I had not petted the goat. I knew better. This was Larry's first goat. He'd learn. Hard or