“I bought the bones through legitimate sources.” Talking from the floor handcuffed with Nicky almost sitting on him, he still managed to sound like he meant it.
“Your legitimate source gave you up,” I said.
“You’re lying.”
“How else did we find you?”
Curtis looked uncertain then.
“Did you actually try and use some sort of necromancy or death magic on me? Was that all the finger pointing and clutching your juju bag?”
“You broke my fucking finger!”
“You’re lucky that’s all I broke.”
“This is police brutality.”
“Remember I’m not regular police, Curtis.”
“I didn’t see a marshal’s badge, I think you’re lying. I think you’re just regular cops, so it’s police brutality. I’ll press charges.”
“Oh no, breaking your finger wasn’t brutal, you haven’t seen brutal yet.”
“Is that a threat?” he asked indignantly.
“Yes,” I said.
My simply agreeing threw him, so he didn’t know what to say. I got my badge off my belt and held it down so he could see that it was a U.S. Marshals badge with the banner across it that read Preternatural Division. His eyes widened, his breathing got faster.
“See, preternatural marshal, which means I do not have to play by regular cop rules.”
Zerbrowski spoke from closer to the skeleton on the wall. I was just happy he was feeling well enough to stand and move around. “Have him take down the spell or whatever it is.”
“Take it down,” I said as I put my badge back on my belt. It was harder putting it back than taking it off with the body armor on.
But Curtis shook his head. “I will not dismantle it for you, and I warn you if you touch it without my help, you could be seriously hurt or killed.”
“Fuck this,” I said. I left Nicky to guard Curtis and went to the wall with its mystic symbols and bones.
Zerbrowski asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Take it down.”
“Shouldn’t you wait for one of the police witches to look at it first? Some of this stuff can be pretty nasty.”
I looked at the wall with something other than my eyes, some people would call it the third eye, and whenever I looked at the symbols, they had a faint glow, which meant active magic. I didn’t recognize the symbols, though, so I had no way of knowing what they meant. I didn’t do a lot of magic symbols, because mine was more innate psychic ability than outside magic. There was some weight and power to the altar, too, but more of the ordinary energy that any physical item can gain if it’s used in regular magical practices. It was when I looked at the bones on the wall that it flared brightest. They had power. They glowed with a gold fire that nothing else in the room could match. Jesus.
“You’re using the bones as a sort of magical battery. That’s why you have part of it in that bag that was around your neck and why you held it so tight. The magic you tried to use against me is mostly from the bones.”
“I am a sorcerer.”
“Most sorcerers get their magic from somewhere outside themselves—demon, genie, elemental, but it’s always an outside power source.”
“You have to have willpower to control them, that is the true power,” Curtis said. He tried to sound smug, but he was still lying on the floor, so it lost some of its smugness, but he still sounded pleased with himself. I didn’t want him pleased with himself.
“If I told you that your spell here was draining the life out of a young woman, would you give a damn?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I bet you can’t even hear what the bones are saying, can you?”
He frowned and looked puzzled. “They can’t talk. They’re objects of power, not alive.”
“Just because you can’t hear it doesn’t mean it’s not saying something.”