Last Breath (11 page)

They sometimes hid in plain sight as new age retail stores or palm reading services, but everyone in the magical community knew what really went on in those back rooms. There was one in DC, and another in Ellicott City just outside of Baltimore. One in the morning, Christmas at midnight, Halloween at dusk, you could call a number or show up with a password and you’d gain entrance to what was pretty much the Walmart of the magical world.

I didn’t have time to drive down to Ellicott City, but I was putting it on my agenda. I also put one other thing onto my agenda. As soon as Detective Tremelay and I were done with our trip to Old Town Mall, I needed to track down Dario and clue him in about what was going on in Baltimore.

It wasn’t just because I wanted to see him or indulge in additional masochism. I’d withheld information from him before and betrayed his trust. I wasn’t about to do that again. Death magic with human sacrifice, and an angel on the loose? Even if it didn’t threaten the
Balaj
, I was going to make sure Dario knew what was happening. I’d go see him now, but it was still daylight, and in August it would remain so until probably after nine at night. I didn’t see my trip to Old Mall taking longer than a few hours. Plenty of time to race through a dozen pubs afterward to search for a vampire.

A visit to an abandoned slum that was the go-to spot for drug dealers and murderous thugs as well as those practicing death magic might not warrant extra care in my personal beauty routine, but if I was going to hit a bunch of bars afterward I might as well look good. Because… well, I didn’t really want to think too much about why at this point my beauty routine was suddenly so important.

Shoving those thoughts aside, I straightened my crazy dark-brown hair, slapped on some mascara and a flattering shade of plum lipstick, and on a whim threw on the push-up bra.

Push-up bra clearly needed a shirt to show off the gravity defying effects of said enhancement device, so I dug out a tank-top that looked like it had been painted onto my skin. And then I got out the skinny jeans. I drew the line at heels, though. After trying to outrun an angry john in heeled sandals last week, I was wary of non-serviceable footwear.

I winced as I saw my appearance in the mirror. I could see Brandi wearing something like this, but not a Templar who was trying to convince a much older detective that she was a credible source of information, and then later meet with a vampire who was clearly no longer interested. Unfortunately I didn’t have time to change because there was a knock at the door.

Crap. I ran from the bedroom. Easily ran, because I was wearing my sneakers and not the four inch platform shoes that would have completed my sleazy outfit. Whipping open the door, I took a deep breath, no doubt exaggerating the cleavage enhancement of my attire.

“Hi.”

The detective stared wordlessly at my chest, his eyes widening. “Are you…? I thought we were going to check out the crime scene at the Mall. Do you have a date or something? Should I come back?”

Date or something? I was such an idiot when it came to men. He knew I’d been at work earlier today. There was
really
no excuse for my skintight clothing right now. I took another breath, noticing that his eyes were remaining fixed on my chest no matter how he tried to raise them. Yeah, I had boobs. Yeah, he was a guy. But he wasn’t into me in any way beyond the fact that I was two steps from naked in front of him.

“Ready to go? Let me get my sword.” I hesitated, my hand on the scabbard. “Is it okay if I take my sword? I’m a Templar. I kind of go everywhere with it.”

He smirked, his eyes finally rising to look at my face. “You weren’t wearing it at the coffee shop today. You didn’t have it on when we responded to the crime scene last night. Clearly you
don’t
take it everywhere.”

“Would you go to Old Town Mall without your gun?” Of course he had the legal right to carry his gun. Gigantic swords were a bit different. Knives where the blade folded down and weren’t the spring-operated switchblade type were allowed regardless of blade length. So if I could fold Trust’s thirty inch blade into a gigantic hilt, I could carry it around legally. Bastard swords didn’t fold.

“Point taken. And since my gun and I are both accompanying you, there is no need for you to take your sword.”

I knew I was going to have this argument one day, but had been hoping it wouldn’t be today. “It’s sheathed. Legally I’m allowed to carry and transport it.”

“Yes, but there’s that whole intent thing. The sword is considered a dangerous weapon whose sole purpose is to injure. It’s not a fishing knife or a hunting knife. You’re not going to a reenactment or a Renaissance Fair.”

I wasn’t a lawyer and didn’t play one on TV, but I was still going to try and argue my way out of this. “It’s
not
a dangerous weapon, it’s a tool. Gutting fish, skinning deer, lopping the heads off vampires, creating a holy space to protect the both of us against undead. Same stuff. It’s a tool.”

The detective tilted his head, one eyebrow raised. “Sorry. Not buying that one. Crazy women who think that they’re Templar Knights and are on a mission to protect the world from vampires and Satanists don’t get a pass on concealed carry law.”

“It’s not concealed,” I argued. “Plain sight in the car and strapped to my back. There’s no intent to harm humans.”

“It’s a
sword
.” Tremelay’s voice was getting louder. I wondered what my neighbors were thinking about this discussion. “You’re not bringing an illegal weapon to a crime scene.”

“A sword is totally legal. There’s nothing in Maryland law that indicates a restriction on blade length. It’s not a switchblade or a throwing star. I’ve got no intent to harm someone. Case law shows the definition of dangerous weapon outside named illegal weapons hinges on the utility purposes of the knife and intent.”

“It’s not a knife, it’s a sword.”

And now the detective was shouting. Stupid Maryland. I wished I was still in Virginia where these things were so much easier.

“It’s a religious object.” This was my last ditch effort, and it was a long shot.

He rolled his eyes. “Get a rosary. You’re not carrying around a sword the size of a first-grader just so you can pray.”

I hesitated. There was my keychain crucifix as well as my spelled butter knife.
That
couldn’t be considered a weapon by any stretch of the imagination. Still, it bothered me to be heading out without my sword strapped to my back. Funny how I’d lived here six months with it hidden under my mattress and now I wanted it everywhere I went. My sudden attachment to the weapon, and yes it was a weapon, hadn’t anything to do with being a Templar. None of my family went grocery shopping wearing their swords. I couldn’t think of any other Templar who had their sword constantly with them.

Maybe I was going crazy, but I felt like I needed it. I felt naked without it. Even locking it in the car while I worked bothered me.

“Then I’m going to drive separately from you. There’s nothing you can do about my bringing the sword in my own car. It will be in plain sight and it’s in the sheath.”

The detective sighed then glared at the weapon. “Fine. You can bring it with us in my car, but it
stays
in the car. I don’t want to see you wearing it around. Got it?”

I hid a smirk and gathered up the sword. Whatever. We’d continue this argument when we got there, and if I lost, then at least my sword would be nearby in the car. And if things went wrong… well, from what I’d read the most he could charge me with was a misdemeanor.

I
DID LOSE
that argument, and Trusty remained in the car as the detective and I walked the dark pathway of the Mall. There wasn’t that heavy, menacing feel that I’d gotten from the area the night before. Some of that could have been that the sun was still up and there were a few people milling about the streets. Some of it could have been that I was with someone instead completely alone, and that someone had a gun. Not that his forty cal would do him any good against a demon, or really even a skilled magic user. Some of it could have been that I broke the smudge barrier, and whatever had been pacing the edges had left. Either way, the area felt cleaner, lighter. Well, as clean and light as a row of abandoned stores could feel.

We went to the house where I’d found the smudge stick and dog bone and I watched while Tremelay surveyed the outside of the building. For what, I had no idea. The whole time he walked around, taking note of every tag of graffiti and visually checking with me to make sure it wasn’t part of a magical symbol. I wondered whether I should tell him about my meeting with Shade. He’d been pretty accepting of the whole Templar and magic thing so far, but I think it was more about gaining information into the killer’s mind-set than any belief in what I did.

Shade. How could I tell Tremelay that an angel had killed his prime suspect, and that I’d met with an illusion who’d not given me any other names or valuable information before disappearing into thin air? Yeah. Better keep my mouth shut on that one.

Done with his graffiti surveillance, the detective made his way around the building, inspecting the entrances and windows. The old store wasn’t public property, and Tremelay informed me he couldn’t officially break into the building. He could, however, go inside to investigate when there was a clear sign that someone else had been doing the breaking and entering. So we walked around to the rear of the building and I pointed out the broken boards and windows. Evidently that was enough for the detective to wiggle himself through the window.

Yeah. I’m bad. I didn’t tell him the front door was unlocked and open. It was much more fun watching him crawl through a window.

“Here.” I showed him the saucepan and the burned remains of the sage by the back door of the building.

“Doesn’t smell like it’s been burned recently,” he said leaning down to sniff at the sage bits.

“It would have been burned Friday night during the ritual,” I explained. And here’s where I confessed to more illegal activity. “I found a bone in this pot which turned out to be from a dog.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Dog? Is the rest of the dog somewhere else?”

Oh God, I hoped not. “It’s not a sacrifice like what happened to Bethany Scarborough. Practitioners can get dog bones either from roadkill, pet crematoriums, or if they’re the squeamish sort, from magical supply shops.”

I pulled the dog bone out of my pocket and showed it to Tremelay. He turned it over in his hand a few times then stared up at me. “They sell these on the internet, too?”

“Yeah, if you know where to go. There are lots of magical rituals that involve the use of animal bones, feathers, snake skins, etc. It’s not powering the ritual, so there’s no need to have a sacrifice of the animal. The bones are used to channel the energy or to create a barrier. Their use is symbolic.”

He slipped the dog bone into his pocket. “So you’re expecting to see this at four locations equidistant from the crime scene?”

I nodded. “I haven’t been to the other buildings. You may need to take a little walk around while I discover clear signs of illegal entry, if you know what I mean.”

The detective gave me a stern look. “Ainsworth, you are a whole lot of trouble. And I’m still thinking that you might just be a crazy woman.”

I
was
trouble, and I probably was crazy too, but I was the only one he knew that had any idea of what was going on here.

There was a vacant lot next to the building where Bethany had been sacrificed. Knowing the need for the spell perimeter to be a circle rather than an oval or a polygon, we walked the weed-infested lot, Tremelay taking one side and me the other. These types of magical circles didn’t
have
to be perfectly round, but the further they got from an ideal shape, the less effective they were at holding out, or in, energy.

It was slow going. The weeds hid huge chunks of concrete and rock from whatever structure had once stood here. The mages wouldn’t have wanted to set the place on fire, but it only took a small clearing of weeds, or a space between two pieces of rock to set up the smudge pot. After the fifth time nearly twisting my ankle in the debris, I heard Tremelay give a shout.

Getting to him was an exercise in agility. Once again I was glad at my choice of sensible footwear over sexy heels. The saucepot was on top of a flat piece of concrete, wedged between two pieces of rusted, jutting rebar. Inside were burnt pieces of sage, and a bone.

Tremelay handed me a pair of latex gloves and I slipped them on. Then I held my breath as I picked up the bone to examine it. We were in the east quarter, and the bone I held wasn’t the hollow bone of a bird. “I think it’s another dog bone.” My heart sank, but I wanted to check the other two quarters just to make sure.

The detective held out a plastic bag and I slipped the bone inside, noting that he closed it and wrote the details of where we found it on the outside of the bag before pocketing it. “Okay. Onward.”

We prowled the dilapidated building at the south corner and again I pulled a bone out of the smudge pot. “Well, this isn’t a scorpion, so I think I know what we’re dealing with,” I told Tremelay.

“I’ll admit I’m a little weirded out that you just shoved your hand in there with the possibility that a scorpion was under those ashes. Honestly this whole thing is beginning to weird me out. What
are
we dealing with? You can tell me later what your theory would have been if you’d yanked a scorpion out of that pot.”

“Dog bone in four quarters is meant to keep something out of the ritual. When you’re conducting magic, it’s a waste to have energy flying around all over the place, so a circle is primarily meant to concentrate the energy inside for the greatest effect. Likewise, you don’t want to broadcast what you’re doing all over the natural and supernatural world—that’s the second purpose of a circle. All the magic for the ritual would have been going on inside the line of symbols surrounding the tub with the body. That was the circle holding the energy in. This one.” I waved my hand at the smudge pot. “Was meant to keep something out.”