The Isis Collar

Then it rang again. Rizzoli, a second time. That wasn’t like him. I’d have to take it. “Hello?” I spoke low and fast, hoping he’d get the hint I couldn’t talk.



“What’s happening, Graves? Do you need backup?”



That made me frown because how would he know? “Why do you ask?”



“The request got moved up the chain, owing to the new necklace I gave you. What do you need?”



Whoa. The FBI consultant badge Rizzoli gave me meant it wasn’t the police who would respond to a perimeter alert anymore? It would be the FBI? I was pretty sure my jaw dropped, because Dawna looked at me oddly. But how could I tell him what the problem was without saying it out loud? “I’ll text you.”



“We … um, prefer voice for situations like this. Too easy for fakes.”



Well, wasn’t that a bitch? I let out a deep sigh and tried to figure out what to do.



Dawna wrote on the pad: What’s up?



That’s when it occurred to me. “I’ll send you a JPEG. Stay tuned.” I hung up on Rizzoli and started to write on the pad with my head down and my hand shielding the paper like a fifth grader trying to hide a note from the teacher.



Security breach at my office. Believed to be the witch who set off the bomb. Bring illusion specialists. I think she’s still here. I’ll do my best to keep her inside.



I took a flash photo of the page with my phone while it was still shielded, made sure it was legible, and sent it to Rizzoli with a few quick clicks. Then I folded the paper before even Dawna could see it. I mouthed the word Rizzoli, and her eyes widened. Then she nodded.



Then I said out loud, as casual as I could, “Pull up those decorator photos, will you? I’m thinking the stripes in the reception area are starting to fade where the sun hits. Maybe we need to try a different pattern.”



By her expression, I’d asked for pictures of Bigfoot. But she did it. One of the reasons she’s my best friend. We’d taken photos for the decorator so she could figure out, from miles away, what sort of wallpaper would work in the building and keep within the historical landmark guidelines that went with the plaque near the entrance. The other reason we took the photos was so that everything we took out of the building during the renovation could go back into the right rooms and their usual places.



A question was poised on Dawna’s lips, but she didn’t know whether to ask. I finally handed her the message I’d sent to Rizzoli. She put it on her lap, likewise hiding it from the room. After reading it her eyes went wide and she started looking around.



My cell phone binged to tell me I had a text message. I glanced at the screen. Done. I showed the screen to Dawna and she breathed a sigh of relief.



The voices in the conference room were getting louder and Ron was having to raise his voice to be heard over the din.



I wanted to start the search of the building while they were still busy. I still had two of the total body-binding charms Cree … John had given me, along with a couple of confusion charms in case I had to fight. But with a witch powerful enough to duplicate Bruno’s stunt, my only real hope was the ones John had done. Even Bruno had been impressed by them because he’d never been able to get one to work right.



I picked up my cell phone and texted a quick message. But I didn’t send it. Instead, I turned it so Dawna could read it.



If something’s different from pic, I’ll point @ pic and u thumb up or down if OK. K?



She closed her fist with her thumb up in the air and smiled. Good enough. She wasn’t leaping up to join me in walking around, which didn’t bode well for vampire fighting. Still, this was a witch and a powerful one. Frankly, I didn’t want to search, either.



I limped into the reception area, my right shoe making a heavier click on the hardwood floor that was barely audible over the shouting match in the next room.



The first thing I spotted different from the picture was a Ficus tree. Visions of the rubber plant came back to my mind and I kicked all my senses into high gear. Sometimes the nose or ears will take over when the eyes are being deceived. I stared hard at anything but the tree, sensing the feel of the room. I inhaled deep and slow and for the first time caught the barest whiff of women’s perfume—a delicate floral that was meant to be remembered only after close contact.



After a moment, I caught Dawna’s intensely wide pupils and motioned toward it with my eyes alone. She gave a thumbs-up. Hmm. I guess I’d just never noticed it before.



That’s when fate intervened. After a cop I knew died, I’d been given a cat named Minnie the Mouser. Since I’m seldom home and the office is open most of the day and night, it made sense for her to live here. Even Ron has gotten attached to the little orange and white ball of fluff with the big attitude and tiny voice. He keeps a host of toys in the corner of his office, along with a padded bed for Her Majesty’s comfort. We all do.



Entering the room, Minnie sniffed the air before focusing her stare on the chairs. There were only two in the photo, opposite the couch, but there were more scattered all over the building. While they’re bulky to move around, we had done so more than once before when extra clients came in who would be waiting awhile. The chairs were insanely comfortable despite their stuffy Victorian appearance, and sitting makes people less annoyed than standing. I passed the seating group like nothing was wrong but turned a quizzical face to my friend.



She slipped off her shoes and came out from behind her desk in nyloned feet. In a flash she was out of view, likely racing to the vacant office down the hall where we kept two others in the set. The rest were on the second floor and I doubted that Ron would bring one down from there on the narrow staircase, no matter how important the client.



I pretended to ignore the chairs while keeping my peripheral vision firmly fixed on them and the cat. I examined the wallpaper, comparing it to the photo in my hand.



When Dawna returned, a shake of her head and a thumbs-down with a frown made my pulse abruptly pound. My headache suddenly made itself known again. It had dulled from whatever magic John had used, but now it was back in blinding glory. The intensity of the pain made me suck in my breath hard and fight to focus.



That was when Minnie hissed at the chairs and arched her back before racing out of the room. The pain faded under the rush of adrenaline, when I felt familiar magic brewing in the room. I didn’t hear even a whisper over the yelling in the conference room, but I knew I didn’t have time to wait for Rizzoli and crew. The witch knew I knew and she would target me first. The fastest way to incapacitate the witch was to throw one of the charms at the chair she’d become. But if I picked the wrong chair and hit a cushion, the charm could easily bounce back and bind both me and Dawna.



There was another option. I was loathe to use it if I didn’t have to, but it would certainly solve my current problem. I have knives that are so magically powerful they’re considered artifacts. It took Bruno five years to make them for me, bleeding himself every day to bind the magic. One of those knives had killed Lilith. Her evil had turned the metal permanently black. No witch, no matter how tough, could withstand it.



The problem was, I didn’t know which chair she was. I hated to waste the charms, but a combination strike might be my only option. I faked a pair of sneezes, which made my head throb again, and then snuffled. I reached into my pocket like I was going for a tissue and drew out the charms. I practice really hard so when I throw charms, they land where I expect them to.



I threw one charm with each hand, as fast as I could. They hit the floor in front of the left- and right-hand chairs. Before I could think much about what I was doing, I pulled one of my knives from its sheath and tossed it; the blade flipped through the air before burying itself nearly to the hilt just above the ornately carved rosewood leg of the corner chair.



A scream of pain and anger filled the room. A flaming blast of magic hit me in the chest with frightening intensity and threw me backward. I landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. I only saw the woman’s platinum blonde hair as she shifted back to human form and plucked the glowing, white-hot knife from her arm. Then she dropped it like it burned. It probably did. She was holding something in her other hand. It was thick and square, but that’s all I could make out.



With a fast movement despite the pain, she jumped through the nearest window feetfirst, just like I had when I was saving Willow. The sound of shattering glass was like another scream. Then she was gone.



Well, so much for keeping her here. I had a feeling Rizzoli wasn’t going to be pleased with me.



I thought about chasing her, but frankly, I wouldn’t be able to keep up with her, thanks to my worsening limp. I was abruptly tired beyond measure. I had about as much energy as I’d had the last time I’d had the flu. I just wanted to curl up under a blanket with a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Sans noodles and chicken, of course. John was right. Something was really wrong with me.



The door to the conference room flew open and Ron marched out, looking angry. “What the hell is going on out here?” The tension in his voice was apparent. “We’re trying to have a meeting in here before people have to catch flights out.”



I opened my mouth to explain when it hit me. “Um, well, see … there could be a problem with your clients catching flights anytime soon.”



“Ooh,” Dawna replied with a wince because she realized it, too. “Yeah, that’s probably true.”



Ron is tall and lanky and has a face that’s all sharp angles. I’m sure he’s effective in court because he can be intimidating, but he’s also able to turn on fake charm like the best used-car salesman. He looked around the room and spotted the tattered blinds and glass littering the floor. He closed his eyes and put one hand on his hip, pushing aside his thousand-dollar suit jacket, while the other went up to rub his forehead. “Is that blood on the Oriental rug? What the hell, Celia? I’m getting really tired of the drama in your life.”



Him and me both.



A text message binged on arrival. Rizzoli: Lower the barrier. We’re here.



They were? I checked the time. It had only been eight minutes since I’d sent my photo message. It’s at least a thirty-minute drive from his office. Even if he was already en route when he called … this was too fast. Was I being followed? I’d definitely have to talk to Rizzoli about that, because my business depends on keeping things private. A federal shadow would not be good at all. But first things first. I sighed. “You might want to alert your clients that the FBI is here. Hopefully none of them have anything to hide, because I just chased a suspected terrorist out of the building. I don’t know how long she was here, but she was using illusion magic to look like a chair in the reception area. It could be coincidental, or one of them could have brought her.”