The Isis Collar (6 page)

“And in the meantime,” Parker said, giving a pointed look at the clock, “we need to get back to work. If you’ll excuse us?” He phrased it as a question, but it was an order and the secretary scurried back behind her desk. “I’ll be sure to let Principal Sanchez know you stopped by.”

I wrote my cell phone number on the back of one of my business cards and passed it across the desk to Marjorie. “Have the principal call me. Please?”

“Absolutely.”

I could feel Parker’s eyes boring into my back as I walked through the door Jamisyn held open for me. I hadn’t come here to be treated like a hero. But I hadn’t expected a three-minute brush-off, either! Jerk.

“Parker’s an ass,” Jamisyn said as he followed me into the hallway. “Don’t pay any attention to him. None of the rest of us do.”

I found myself smiling. “I guess that’s why he’s the
assistant
principal.”

“Oh, yeah. And believe me it chapped his hide when they brought in Ms. Sanchez above him. He was so sure he had a lock on it. But half the staff would’ve quit on the spot if they’d given him the job.”

We’d reached the outdoors. This was my last chance to make this trip more than just wasted time. It was so frustrating. Damn it anyway. I really
needed
some information. Something was off about this whole thing; something tied to my not being able to heal. But I wasn’t getting anywhere, and I wouldn’t if I couldn’t get someone to tell me what I needed to know. “So, Jamisyn, do
you
think it was a dud?”

He looked uncomfortable, his eyes shifting from the glass doors behind us to the gulls that had begun circling overhead, and out to the street. “I think there’s more going on than they’re telling.” He forced a smile, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “But what would I know? Nobody tells me anything.”

“I wish I could’ve talked to Ms. Sanchez.” I didn’t bother to hide my frustration.

“Yeah, well, she had a meeting with the principals from the other schools.” His eyes widened for a second, almost in panic.

“Other schools?”

“Oh, um, you know … in the district. Other grade schools.”

He was lying. But before I could follow up on it, Parker tapped on the glass door behind us, making Jamisyn and me both jump in surprise.

“I gotta get back to work. Good luck,” he called over his shoulder as he bolted.

The way things were going, I’d need it.

4

Since
I’m a glutton for punishment I went straight from the school to the police station. I mean, really, why not make a day of it? I pulled into the covered parking garage attached to the Santa Maria de Luna PD, cruising around and around until I found the spot I was looking for right across from the little white Toyota belonging to none other than Detective Alexander. If Jamisyn’s good-luck wish worked, she should be getting off-shift soon. If not, well, I was in a dark, cool, quiet place that was ever so much better for my headache.

I only had to wait an hour.

“Oh, shit. It’s you.”

“Gee, Heather. You’d think you weren’t happy to see me or something.” I was mostly being sarcastic. Still, a little part of me was hurt that she had been ducking my calls and was obviously unhappy to see me. We might not be close, but we’d always been friendly.

“What do you want?” she snapped. She tried to walk around me, but I stepped back in her way.

“Were there bombs in more than just the one school?”

“Damn it, Graves!”

Wow, not even “Celia” anymore. This was serious. “What?”

She ran fingers through her hair and let out a frustrated breath. “You keep doing this. You keep putting me in the hot seat, asking me to do things I
can’t,
wanting me to tell you things you’re not supposed to know. Do you have any idea how much trouble you get me into? You want information? Why come to me? Why not ask Rizzoli?”

I took a step back, my hands coming up in a defensive gesture. Alex was practically snarling at me. This was way more attitude than usual. More than the situation deserved. I was about to say so, to ask what had her so hot under the collar, when she winked at me, her eyes flickering in the direction of a camera I’d seen posted in a nearby corner.

Aha. Okay, so she wasn’t really pissed off. Which was good. But she also couldn’t talk. Still, she’d managed to pass on one important kernel of information. Rizzoli is Special Agent Dominic Rizzoli, FBI. Who wouldn’t be involved if this were just a local matter. Which meant that somehow, somewhere … this had crossed state lines. Holy crap.

“Heather…”

“Don’t you ‘Heather’ me,” she snarled. “You were Vicki’s friend, not mine. Vicki’s dead. Don’t think you can use her memory to make me forget my duty. ’Cause that’s not going to happen.”

The words stung. Even if I’d read the wink right, that we were putting on a show for the cameras, it still hurt. Mainly because I still missed Vicki. Maybe just as much as Alex did.

“Fine. I won’t bother you at work again.”

“Good. Don’t.”

5

I wasn’t
able to reach Rizzoli either that day or the next. Frustrating, but not unexpected. I might have a handy-dandy consultant’s badge, but there are limits to how much good it does me. Rizzoli would get hold of me when he was ready, and not until. I, meanwhile, had other things on my mind.

Dusk was falling as I entered the Pacific Health Complex. It wasn’t so much a hospital as a clustered group of private-practice specialist physicians. If this doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, I was afraid I was going to have to give up. Of course this one had been recommended by Gwen Talbert, my therapist and a very highly respected physician, so maybe he’d have better luck. Or more skill. Either one was fine with me.

I looked at the building directory when I walked in. Most of the offices were closed for the day, but this particular doctor offered evening hours. And why wouldn’t he? He was an Orvah practitioner. It was an art distantly related to Voodoo whose doctors sort of depended on darkness for a lot of their healing. He was the only certified specialist in this area of the state.

The amber-skinned receptionist with a name tag that read
Simone
smiled as I reached her desk. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I’m Celia Graves. I have a seven o’clock appointment with Dr. Jean-Baptiste.”

She checked a list and then nodded before rising from her chair. “Of course. Right this way, Ms. Graves. I’ll need you to fill out some insurance forms.”

I almost laughed and decided not to mention that said
forms
probably wouldn’t yield any actual payment from my insurance. I couldn’t remember whether I’d brought my checkbook.

“The doctor is running a little behind, so we have some time.”

Naturally. What doctor
isn’t
running behind? “Could we at least draw the blood? You asked that I not eat, but I have a … medical condition. I really need to get something in me so bad things don’t happen.” That was putting it mildly. I was trying really hard not to stare too long at Simone’s lovely, slender neck. Pretty, silken skin that was alive with color. One of the things I wanted to see the doctor for was how my inner vamp was wanting to come out and play more often since the bomb and it was getting harder to fight it. I clutched my purse tighter, feeling the outline of one of the nutrition shake bottles inside. It wasn’t what my stomach wanted this close to sundown, but it would satisfy the hunger.

“Oh! Of course. We can certainly do the lab work first. I’m sorry. I remember you mentioning your … condition when you set the appointment close to night. But the doctor did insist on an evening appointment. And I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Well, they’d better be damned good reasons, because everybody I’d run into for the past hour had looked pretty much like a Happy Meal. It was all I could do to keep myself in check.

“We’ll get you taken care of.” And she did. I was whisked into a brightly lit, modern lab where obviously well-trained techs found a vein on the first try. I felt the pinch in my arm and had to shut my eyes. Smelling the blood was bad enough. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I actually saw it—thick and red in the glass tube.

The second the blonde in blue pressed a cotton ball to the crook of my arm, my other hand was in my bag. I slugged down one bottle like it was the first taste of water I’d had in a week. The second one I sipped more leisurely and I felt the twitching under my skin ease. I wasn’t sure if removing the symptoms was good or bad, but the vampire thing wasn’t something the doctor was going to fix, so I figured I’d take my chances.

I was sitting in the hallway finishing the last of the chocolaty goodness when Simone reappeared.

“I’m very sorry, Ms. Graves, but I’m afraid I need to get identification and credit card information from you.” Her face flushed, whether from embarrassment or anger I wasn’t sure. “I just spoke with your insurance carrier. It seems they’re denying your coverage. They claim you’re, well,
dead.
”

So much for not mentioning it. I figured at least it would have to go through the processing period or not get noticed until working hours tomorrow. I sighed and began rummaging in my purse. This was just getting ridiculous. The minute I got back to the office I was scanning those letters and sending them to my attorney. Let him deal with the idiots at the insurance company.

Simone glanced from my driver’s license to my face and back again until I felt compelled to explain. “It’s the Abomination thing. They’re claiming I’m dead so that they won’t have to pay any of my claims.”

“I see.” She handed back my license, but took my credit card with her. She’d barely gone when a nurse in Snoopy scrubs weighed me and lead me into the exam room.

When I followed the nurse through the doorway at the end of the hall all impressions of the shining white and stainless-steel office disappeared. The room was dim, lit with burning torches set into pockets in the walls. I could barely hear the low whir of fans that pulled the smoke upward and away from the room. Mostly the sound in the room was from an artificial waterfall in the corner that filled the air with a cool mist. The moist air was filled with such a strong mix of scents that I nearly started sneezing. Everything from peppermint to catnip, licorice, and bitterroot. Oh, and let’s not forget the animals. I didn’t think it was legal to have live animals in a medical building. Yet here they were—goats and chickens and lizards and snails in glass tanks.

Um.

There were small groups of people in various areas of the large room, dressed in colorful outfits that made my red shirt look positively pastel. Men and women in lab coats were talking in low tones and one was standing in the middle of a circle, shaking a headless chicken.

Um again.

I was still gathering my senses around me when a tall, handsome black man walked in through the opposite door. He was wearing a standard white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. He reached out his hand toward me and locked piercing, intelligent eyes with mine. His accent was minimal and there was an interesting edge to his
a’
s that made me think of England. “Ms. Graves? Sorry to keep you waiting.” He passed me back the credit card I’d given Simone. “I’m Dr. Jean-Baptiste. Let’s get started, shall we?” He waved me toward a padded leather chair that looked surprisingly comfortable. I sat down, and when I looked up again, I got my second surprise.

He’d donned a headdress of leather with beads, feathers, and what I feared was chicken claws. In his hand was a carved wooden stick—too long for a wand but too short for a cane. There were more feathers attached in long streams.

It was as though putting on his tools of the trade transported him in time and space. It might have said
M.D.
on his shiny brass name tag, but the
witch
shone in glowing eyes filled with power enough to make my skin crawl.

“There is something wrong with your blood. Have you fed on anyone sick lately?”

It was such a matter-of-fact question that I reared back in surprise. “I haven’t fed on anyone. Ever.”

His expression showed his disbelief, like an ob-gyn reacting to a pregnant woman telling him she was a virgin. He raised the carved staff and brought it down toward my forehead. I raised a hand before I thought and stopped it cold a foot away from me. It ticked me off for no apparent reason. His brows rose and then he dipped his head. “That angered you. My apologies. It is part of the examination. You have no experience with Orvah magic?”

I shook my head. “Not since college, and it was just a chapter in my practical magic course. I’m only here because Gwen Talbert recommended you.”

He let go of the staff abruptly, leaving me holding it in the air. He sat down on a rolling padded stool and put a small white laptop on his … well,
lap
while I tried to figure out what to do with the stick. “Tell me,” he commanded. “Why
are
you here?”

Torches, goats rumbling in the background, and … fingers racing across a keyboard. Frankly, it was a little hard to focus. I put the stick on the floor next to my chair and started slow, trying to figure out exactly what to say. At this point, I’d said it so many times that I nearly had the symptoms memorized. “I’ve had a blinding headache since a bomb exploded in the local grade school, and most mornings I can barely stand for the pain in my leg. A bite wound from a small child simply won’t heal for no reason anyone can find. I’ve also been having really weird dreams—where I’m stalking people, hissing at them. But I wake up in bed. I’m afraid to even fall asleep some nights. I swear it’s about the bomb. You heard about that, right?”

He nodded. “Hard not to. It was all over the paper for days. But all the reports said it was a failed attempt, that nobody was seriously injured.”

“I know. And that’s what’s weird. Because I’d
swear
two bombs went off. The first explosion happened when everybody was frozen in place and the second one was down in the boiler room.” I hadn’t talked this freely about the incident with the previous doctors. But maybe that was why they hadn’t been able to help me. Gwen trusted this guy. I trusted Gwen. I decided to put my faith in doctor-patient confidentiality and tell him everything.