Spells for the Dead - Faith Hunter Page 0,137

into PsyLED, the first mostly nonhuman unit. I think we were an experiment started by Soul, and that you wanted a hand in what we were becoming. I think there might have been a lot of pushback about that, about letting paranormals into the department at all, starting with Rick and Paka, the first were-creatures in PsyLED. I think the pushback got worse after the Blood Tarot case. I think you’ve been trying to keep us safe and to make us better at our job, and better as a team. I think you’ve pushed to make Knoxville PsyLED the regional HQ because you want to protect us.” I glanced to see if I’d made the big boss mad before I added, “I think you want to protect Rick especially, maybe because he was involved with Jane Yellowrock, and Jane is your sister.”

“Interesting.” He glanced at me as he drove. “You would be correct. You have a gift for complicated relationships and for figuring out motives. Even mine.” He was silent, but I had a feeling he wasn’t finished. “Yes. This has been an experiment for all of us, even me. I am accustomed to certain protocols, and they are not always suitable to the unit or the circumstances. I have never worked with other paranormals.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and a faint smile touched the corner of his lips. “Yet even someone as old as I can learn. We’ll tread carefully with our witness.”

“Good.” I went back to my study, but nothing else jumped out at me.

JoJo sent more info to our cells and, faster than I expected, we were in Kingston, our GPS directing us to the Merriweather home. I expected a mansion, but the house was modest sized for the trust fund and the business’ coffers, but it backed up to a water view, the roof was new, the trim had been recently painted, and the landscaping was clearly professional, using all the latest chemicals and fertilizers and planted with the fanciest of nonnative, imported flora. There were two new cars parked beside the house and, as we pulled down the street, one backed out and passed us at a sedate speed. The driver looked like a rich businessman. I checked the business’ website and identified the driver as Luther Merriweather.

We parked in front of the house and took the walkway to the front porch, rang the bell, and stood there. Two minutes passed. I rang the bell again, and this time held my ID in front of the doorbell alarm.

“Mrs. Merriweather. Your car is in the drive. We know you are home,” I said, speaking in a normal tone of voice, assuming she was listening and watching us through the security cameras. “I’m Special Agent Nell Ingram. With me is Senior Special Agent Ayatas FireWind.” I folded my ID and put it away. “We’d like to talk to you about Stella Mae Ragel. We’d like to do so in the privacy of your home, but if you wish to come to Knoxville PsyLED headquarters that can be arranged. However, it will be much more public. And you may not want that.”

Over the doorbell speaker an elegant female voice said, “My lawyer will arrive in fifteen minutes. I’ve been instructed to tell you to wait outside unless you have a subpoena. Do you?”

“No, ma’am,” I said. “No one in PsyLED wanted to make this public.”

There was a silence, as if she was digesting my meaning, then she said, “My lawyer will come to the front door shortly. After she arrives, you will be invited in. Until then, please leave my property.”

I turned and went back to the car. More slowly, FireWind followed. On the way, I not-so-accidentally dropped my cell phone onto the grass. I used the excuse to touch the grass and then push through to the ground beneath. No death and decay, just snobby grass that had started out as snobby sod.

We got in the car and FireWind touched the starter button. The air conditioner blasted in, though the day wasn’t hot enough to need it. We waited for several silent minutes until my boss said, “What did you detect when you picked up your cell phone?”

“Not a thing. No death and decay there at all.”

He made a little hmmming sound and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared out the windshield, thinking. “I misspoke. I’m not certain I’ll ever fit into this electronic world. I know

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