The Isis Collar

When I looked up into the face of the officer, even though it was shielded by his cap’s visor, I recognized him. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been lurking in an alley behind the PharMart store, hoping to either frame me for murder or simply stake me. “Officer … Danson. I’ll need your badge number, please.” My voice might have sounded cold. I know I certainly felt a flash of anger at having to run for my life as he sent bullets flying after me. Go figure.



That’s supposed to be an automatic thing. If a citizen asks, they’re supposed to provide the information. “That’s not pertinent. You were speeding. In fact, I think I’ll need to search your car. You’re acting … suspiciously.”



I hadn’t been kidding when I talked to Harris. Most of the local cops are still pissed off that I hadn’t been sentenced to life in prison for mentally manipulating a couple of them to help me a few months back. I regretted doing it, but I would have felt worse had the demon I was fighting gotten loose and destroyed the city. The judge had reluctantly sided with me, but some of the police had declared a vendetta. All I could do at this point was accept the ticket and make sure the dashboard camera in the car behind me picked up everything that happened. I raised my voice until it was a medium shout that should be able to be heard on the recording. “Officer Danson. Please give me your badge number. And the name of your supervisor. I believe you’re harassing me.”



A second cop got out of the passenger side of the patrol car, a concerned expression on his face. “Is there a problem, Bob?” Okay, Bob Danson—maybe Robert. Good to know.



I spoke again, just as loud, while keeping my hands on the wheel and staring straight ahead. I wasn’t going to make any sudden moves. “I don’t believe I was going fifty, Officers. I dispute that reading. There wouldn’t have been time to reach that speed after the red light at Fourth and Aspen. Please give me your badge number and your supervisor’s name.”



The new cop was taken aback. I could see his confusion in the rearview mirror. “Fifty? Nah, Bob. We got her at thirty-seven. What’s up?”



Danson spun to his left and hissed at his partner. “Shut up, Ryan. Just get back in the car and let me handle this.” I couldn’t believe it, but my peripheral vision told me he had his hand on the butt of his weapon. And he was looking at his partner.



Okay, I was in serious trouble.



I lowered my voice again so that only Danson would be able to hear me, but I didn’t look at him. Face forward and hands on the wheel, I nearly whispered my threat. “Officer Danson, if your intention is to make my life a living hell until I break and do something aggressive that will justify you staking me, you’re in for a long wait. Give me the ticket. I’ll take it to court and make you justify your actions. I’ll subpoena the film from every dash cam and street cam. I’ll call your partner as a hostile witness. All by the book and allowable. Eventually, someone will find you out. You’ll slip up and forget to erase a tape or mess up the radar and then you’ll be out on your butt. I’m part siren and I inherited money. I’ll live a very long time and can afford to keep up the pressure. How far do you want to push this?”



He let out a growl that was worthy of a werewolf on the full moon. “Wait here.” He stalked away. His partner looked after him with a baffled expression on his face.



I wasn’t going to let him—or any of the other cops—get to me. If I did, I’d start to actively hunt them. I can’t help that they fear me. I can help to make sure they don’t act on that fear.



It was the other cop who returned my items as Officer Danson climbed back into the patrol car. “We’ll let you off with a verbal warning this time, Ms. Graves. Please watch your speed.” He seemed honestly befuddled by his partner’s actions, but it wasn’t up to me to be the bearer of bad news. Danson was nuts. Either this young kid would be dragged down with his partner, or he’d figure out how to avoid the nuts. I just smiled sweetly with my lips closed and reached into the sunshine to take back my items.



“Thanks. I will.”



I didn’t start the car until both officers were in their seats. I didn’t need this crap and knew it was going to get out of hand again fairly soon. But today I had other things to think about. Soon the scent of cumin and peppers and oniony meat claimed my attention and I didn’t worry about it anymore. Except that I set my car alarm and sprinkled both door handles with a special residue that would capture fingerprints.



Not that there should be any. Right?



I walked up to La Cocina y Cantina and was reminded again why only locals eat here. It’s sort of a dive. The adobe coating is falling off the walls in chunks that reveal the skeletal rebar underneath. The sign is from the sixties and the turquoise paint is so faded it’s hard to read. But the owners weren’t worried about the outside. They concentrated on the inside. I knew the kitchen had shiny new equipment and high-end refrigeration and all ingredients were Grade A, top-of-the-line. Stepping through the door, I reveled in the heavy dark wood punctuated by gleaming white tablecloths and red bowls of homemade corn chips. I headed straight for the partitioned room at the back, which holds a large, circular table where a group can sit and share family-style meals. One of the owners, Barbara, saw me. She gave a cheery wave with her free hand and then motioned for me to wait before I joined the others. I paused in my tracks while she put down the plates on the table she was serving, then trotted over and gave me a big hug. “Celia! It’s been too long. You’re too busy lately.”



“Actually,” I said, laughing, “I haven’t been in because I’ve been too lazy. I took a couple months off and have just been hanging out at home. But I should have come by.”



“It’s okay. We’ve been busy again since you chased off those bad vampires. How about a Sunset Smoothie on the house? As a thank-you for your hard work.”



I smiled. Barbara and Pablo had created a very tasty drink for me, full of cheese and sauce and beef broth and lots of spices. “Well, I’ll definitely take the smoothie. But I’ll pay for it. It’s my thank-you for sticking around for those of us who can’t come in every day anymore.”



She beamed, then turned to take the order to the kitchen. “I’ll make sure it comes out with the other orders. Go. Sit. Talk to your friends. There’s a pitcher of margaritas on the table.”



I hoped everyone in the room was my friend. I took a deep breath and opened the door.



I smiled at the occupants and took the chair next to Bruno. On my other side was Dawna. Rizzoli was here, and Dr. Sloan. I wished John were here, but of course he wasn’t. A year ago, there would have been one more chair—for Vicki—and we all would have been laughing and having a fine old time. Now, the mood was … tense. They’d been talking before I walked in, but now all was silent.



“So … what’s up? Who has news, because I sure do.” All eyes turned my way expectantly. But no. “You guys first. I need to know how my news fits into yours.”



But nobody spoke up. Finally, Dawna let out an exasperated breath. “For heaven’s sake. Just go alphabetically by first name. Dr. Sloan, why don’t you start?”



Aaron Sloan nodded and pushed his glasses a notch farther up his nose. “Very well. As you know, Bruno assisted me in examining the table from Mr. Rizzoli’s office. It was quite fascinating! Basically, we learned it contained neither demonic nor angelic residue, but only standard magical traces from a practitioner with impressive skill.”



“But that entity at the ceiling … how would that—?” I turned my head to look at Bruno. He looked tired, like he used to after long nights of studying. It looked strangely good on him, because he was happiest when he was mentally exhausted. “Could you do something like that? Did you see the tape?”



He nodded and I could see a certain level of frustration there. “Could I do it? No, probably not, at least consciously. I don’t think this was a spell, per se. I think it was more an out-of-body experience by a living being. That’s not something I know much about. I’ve always considered magic to be tied to physiology, starting at the cellular level. Even if a mage can ghost, the magic should stay with the body, not travel with the spirit. I can’t explain what I saw on that tape. At least not yet.”



“Can you identify the caster?”



He nodded. “With time. There’s no spell here, no physical being to follow. All I have is residue. It’s like searching for a head of hair somewhere in the world when you only have one hair to work with.”



I nodded. “So, a needle in a haystack.”



“Worse.” His lips twisted in a wry smile. “It’s looking for the haystack with only the needle as your guide.”



Ouch. “Okay, so we have an unknown caster who might have unintentionally come to the FBI building, and for an unknown reason.”



Rizzoli spoke up after taking a sip of iced tea. No midday alcohol for the Fed. “Actually, that’s not quite true. We have several clues and I think it all comes down to you, Celia.”



That forced me to look at him. “Huh?”



“The facts are quite clear.” He raised one finger. “You were called in to aid in an interrogation.” A second finger went up. “You were in emotional distress, which Ms. Long informed me has always brought the spirit of your sister to you.”



That was true and she would know it well. I’d told her about a class project involving Ivy when I was in college. We tried various stimuli to see if she would manifest. I’d told my sister about the experiment and asked her to try to stay away unless I specifically called her. Only when I was in actual mental distress did she come without being summoned. “Okay, I get where you’re going. But why?”



Rizzoli shrugged. “You wanted answers. The entity offered to help.” He held up his ring finger. “And he knew your name. There was conscious thought and playfulness. Toying with you by making you guess. So it’s likely a mage you know, at least well enough to banter with.”