“Let’s continue with Nell and me clearing the coffee shop and the arrival of the local police, ambulances, and later, the arrival of the local witches.”
The footage showed us clearing the coffee shop, FireWind lifting the woman with the broken leg and carrying her out back. Me making calls. Local PD and medic units arriving. A fire truck, in case the revving truck caught on fire.
T. Laine said, “Since no local coven leaders have been answering or returning my calls, and with the North Nashville coven so busy shielding multiple sites, I did an end run. I contacted Wendy Cornwall, one of the local witches who helped close the hellmouth. She got Theresa Anderson-Kentner, Suzanne Richardson-White, and Barbara Traywick Hasebe to help her, which gave us four witches. With the long-distance advice of Astrid Grainger, they managed, barely, to contain and shield the death and decay in the truck and not let it spread.”
FireWind said, “This why we need more covens on a consultation basis. You are wearing yourself too thin.” When Lainie stiffened, FireWind said, calm lacing his words, “It was not a complaint, Kent. It was an observation. I do not want you to fall apart. You are too important to PsyLED, to this unit, and to me.”
T. Laine blinked several times as if it took time for her to process his words. As if to cover her reaction, she said, “I headed back as fast as lights and sirens let me, but I was still ninety minutes getting to the coffee shop. Astrid talked Wendy through a new working that Astrid and her coven have been testing the last few days. It was moderately successful.” On the screen, I saw the local witches we had worked with in the past. The local covens had been resistant to working with PsyLED for a long time, but the recent misfortunes had driven some of them closer to T. Laine, close enough for them to trust her and work with her even when the coven leaders were recalcitrant.
“The circle they set up in the debris and the working that followed was enough to shield the decay of the man in the truck, and the truck itself,” FireWind said. “His body is now undergoing a postmortem examination inside the portable null room purchased yesterday from the North Nashville coven by UTMC.”
“They bought it?” T. Laine said, startled.
“Yes,” FireWind said. “It will be outfitted for first responders and can be transported off-site for emergency use at scenes.”
He shifted to me. “Nell, Dr. Gomez asked after you. The forensic pathologist with a minor in paranormal medicine?” he said, reminding me who she was. “I have the impression she wants to examine you.”
“Yeah. Probably looking forward to examining me on her autopsy table someday.”
Occam, still too close to his cat, went all catty-still and I realized I shouldn’t have said that. I patted his hand where it gripped the chair arm hard enough to stretch the fake leather.
FireWind tilted his head for me to continue, but I shook my head. I had been a patient at UTMC a few times before I stopped letting Unit Eighteen take me there when injured. The paranormal doctors became way too interested in me when they realized I wasn’t human and wasn’t anything they had seen before. I figured that patient confidentiality only went so far when a doctor was feeling nosy, and that Gomez had gotten into my records despite HIPAA.
“I got something,” JoJo said, interrupting us. “I got a name change,” she said, excitement in her voice. “Elizabeth Racine Alcock changed her name legally after she left the commune. She took the name Cadence Blue Thompkins. I show a new birth certificate, new IDs, new everything. She married four years ago and took her husband’s name, which changed it yet again. No wonder it’s been so hard to track her.
“She’s now Cadence Blue Thompkins Merriweather. She lives in Kingston, halfway between Knoxville and Cookeville. Her husband is a conservative businessman.” Her fingers flew, her lips pursed, and Unit Eighteen looked suddenly revived. “A CEO of a large, politically active, financially successful company that makes . . .” Jo leaned in and read, “Ball bearings, sleeves, flanges, and thrust bearings, whatever they are, in bronze, copper, brass, iron, sintered products—again with the ‘whatever they are’—self-lubricated bushings and wearplate. I have no idea what most of that stuff is, but it makes them a lot of money. The couple are movers and shakers.”