Spells for the Dead - Faith Hunter Page 0,89

way to use illegally obtained evidence as part of a case.”

“But people are dying. Isn’t stopping that magical attack more important than gathering evidence for a case? If it’s a witch, the local witches would take the death witch into custody under witch law anyway, and we’d never hear from her again. Nothing we do in a death-witch case would be used for the courts. And if it isn’t a death witch, the person responsible will still never see a courtroom. Not with that kind of power at their fingertips. The person who did this will be destroyed by other means long before that can happen.”

We both fell silent. The air conditioner came on, a soft, nearly noiseless whir. Into the hush a mechanical voice said, “CLMT2207. Please provide appropriate file heading for the previous discussion.”

JoJo cursed and said, “Clementine, Jones. Preserve previous conversation under heading ‘Death Magics, Ingram, Temp File.’ Then go off-line.”

The voice-recognition program repeated the orders and went off-line.

We stared at each other. “Sometimes I hate computers,” JoJo said.

Which was a terrible lie. Even with Clementine listening in, she loved that the program had the ability to do all the cool stuff.

Jo said, “Seriously. Do not read a person until you have this convo with FireWind. I’m sending you back to the Ragel horse farm. You need to reread the land around the house to see if it’s less contaminated. FireWind left for Cookeville while you were in the null room, and we’ll have people and equipment and probably body parts in and out of here all day and night now that the null room has proven so necessary to the survival of the victims.”

“FireWind wanted two people here in HQ at all times.” I frowned at her. “You’re trying to keep me from reading the hospital patients.”

“You can thank me later.”

I frowned harder and pulled off a twisted leaf trying to open at my hairline. I stole a gesture from Mud and gave a teenager’s whatever shrug, gathered up my gobags, my vampire tree, and extra magazines, and left. On the way, I alerted my mama where I’d be, possibly overnight, and arranged with Sam to drive my sisters wherever they needed to go. I also added teaching Esther to drive to my mental Esther To-Do list, along with opening a bank account and discussions of getting a job. My list was getting quite long.

* * *

* * *

I left for Cookeville in the very late afternoon, fighting traffic, listening to my onboard computer reading the other unit members’ case notes. I learned nothing new and gained no new insights. Having learned the probie’s lessons about showing up at a crime scene without bearing gifts, I stopped at a sandwich shop and bought a half dozen varieties. I didn’t stop at the hotel to drop off my gear. Occam was at the farm, and that was where I wanted to be.

Clouds were moving in and it got dark before the sun set. I switched on my lights as the farm’s fencing came into view. Dusk pooled in deep shadows, murky darkness, lightless gloom, profound enough to hide the monsters and demons used by church folk to scare their children into obedience. Today there were very few cars blocking the road. I took the turn past the wilted flowers and showed my ID to the bored guard before continuing up to the house.

As I took the first turn, I spotted something in the tall, fall pasture grass and hit the brakes. The thing scuttled away. No. Not something. Someone, crouched, skulking. A white head dropped below the tops of the grasses and then darted off. Soul and Rick had white hair. No. They were nowhere near here; Soul was off doing director-ish things and Rick LaFleur was on a case in Chattanooga.

Pulling over, I gathered up my flashlight and my weapon, wishing for a null pen, but I had none. I sent out a group text giving my exact location and saying that I was checking out something. I slipped from the car and maneuvered between the boards of the fence, into the grass, my torso higher than the grass near the road. I moved slowly through the pasture, the leaves shushing against my pants.

The acreage had been planted at some point in a perennial natural mix of tall fescue, Kentucky bluegrass, big bluestem, and a dozen other native grasses for natural grazing. As I moved deeper into the pasture, the grass grew higher, the shadows deeper

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