He snorted. “They’re also said to be rare. As in, there aren’t any.”
“You’re confusing sorcerers with adepts. Sorcery is a Gift, not a level of ability. We have no adepts in our realm anymore. Sorcerers are extremely rare, but that Gift does still appear from time to time. Also, we know very little about the nonhuman traditions, such as gnomish or elven magic, so I have to consider them possible exceptions.”
Sjorensen spoke up gravely. “You said something about adjusting spells. What does that mean?”
Sherry blessed her with a smile. “Advanced practitioners can often adapt a spell from a foreign tradition to their needs. But that would be information, too. If this spell shows signs of drawing on multiple traditions, you’ll know you are looking for an advanced practitioner.”
The woman directly across from Lily frowned. “Don’t we already know that? They harvested death magic and used it to kill Bixton. That sounds pretty advanced.”
Sherry shook her head. “Unfortunately, death magic can be harvested by someone with only a moderate understanding of magic if they get hold of an accurate rite. Your suspect may be quite advanced, or only the equivalent of a bright middle-schooler willing to put out a lot of effort.”
“Which is why,” Lily added, “once someone starts down that path, they usually practice with animals at first. That’s a possible way to track our perps, or to provide corroboratory evidence. And only one guy has to be skilled. The others involved in the rite may be completely ignorant. There’s some disagreement,” she added with a glance at Sherry, “about whether they even have to be Gifted.” The disagreement she knew about was between Sherry and Cullen.
Sherry’s eyes twinkled. “True. I personally believe all the participants must possess some trace of magic, but that’s a theoretical preference on my part. Obviously I can’t test it.”
Erin Hoffsteader said, “What about the spell on the knife? That has to be pretty advanced.”
“We don’t know that,” Sherry said calmly. “Not yet.”
“In fact,” Lily put in, paraphrasing Cullen again, “for all we know, our perps didn’t enspell the knife themselves. They could have found it or bought it. It’s even possible—not likely, but possible—they got hold of a pre-Purge artifact with an intact spell.” She looked at Sherry. “If the knife’s old enough, that is.”
“I don’t know. The most accurate spell to determine age must be performed in two parts—at new moon, then at full moon.”
“Pre-Purge?” Drummond was skeptical. “That would make it over three hundred years old. Is it possible for a spell to survive that long?”
“Oh, yes,” Sherry said, “if it was cast by an adept. I know of three such artifacts with intact spells. Two of them are in museums.”
Now that was interesting. Lily didn’t want to get sidetracked, though. “All of which explains why I want my expert to have a look at that dagger. We need information, even if it isn’t admissible.”
Sherry smiled. “There’s a good chance my coven can corroborate anything Cullen learns, and our results would be admissible.”
Drummond looked like he’d bitten into the proverbial lemon, but he agreed, with the provision that Sherry be present when Cullen examined the dagger. Drummond then thanked Sherry brusquely for her time and dismissed her. The he told them sourly to “get some coffee if you want, but make it quick.”
Lily didn’t hesitate. She had her foam cup in hand and was sipping when he began the briefing. “You’ve all heard shit about this one already. Most of it’s wrong. Listen up to what we actually know.” He went on to hit all the basic points concisely without leaving anything important out, covering when, where, and what they knew of how the senator had been killed. Then he called on Hannah to describe what CSI had found.
That turned out to be not much, except for an oddly damp spot on the carpet near the body. They were running tests on fibers from that spot. Results not in yet.
Drummond told Hannah she could go if she wanted. She did. He looked around the table. “This next part is going to stay in this room. Anyone leaks it, I’ll find out, and I’ll bury you. We’ve got a wit—the maid—who places someone on the scene with the senator at the right time. Someone who identified himself to her as Ruben Brooks.”
A chorus of exclamations was summed up by Brassard from MCD: “What the hell?”
Drummond spoke over them. “None of us likes having one of our own fingered, and why would a lifetime cop commit murder after announcing himself to the damn maid? Doesn’t make sense. But trust me—we’re taking it seriously. We have to. He’s got motive enough, given the senator’s opposition to his Unit.” He paused. “For the record, Brooks denies it. Says he was home all morning. His wife says the same. Special Agent Yu here has a theory that supports Brooks’s innocence.”
Nearly two dozen pairs of eyes fixed on Lily. The scowliest pair belonged to Mayhew, the one Drummond had told to shut up earlier. “She’s Unit. Brooks is her boss.”
“He is,” Lily said evenly. “I won’t give you my opinion of him, because that wouldn’t mean shit to you. Or to this investigation. But aside from my opinion, there’s reason to think he isn’t the perp.” She went on to explain why the trail of death magic she’d followed suggested that the knife had been intended for use by someone without magic. “Brooks, of course, is Gifted. There’s no reason he would need a weapon fueled by death magic.”
Mayhew wasn’t giving up. “Unless he wanted us to think it couldn’t be him.”
Lily’s eyebrows rose. “So he announced himself to the maid? Which is he—a devious mastermind, or a bloody idiot?”
“Enough,” Drummond said. “You’ve got the basics. Now you get assignments. Each of you will work with at least one partner. I want every interview, every shred of evidence, substantiated by two people.”
Drummond was thorough. He had teams checking public transport, looking into Ruben’s activities the past month, obtaining financial information on Bixton, his wife, and his family. One team would head into North Carolina to look into associations in the senator’s hometown. Another—the one Sjorensen ended up on—would try to trace the dagger. Drummond would handle the interviews with Bixton’s wife and immediate family himself. He assigned Lily the job of digging into Bixton’s political enemies, starting with an interview with his chief of staff.
Her partner was Doug Mullins.
WHEN Drummond dismissed them, Lily had to swim upstream through the mass of people leaving the room. Mullins was in his usual spot next to his idol, who was talking to Nguyen.
“Come on,” Mullins told her.
“In a minute.” She waited until Nguyen finished and turned away. “Two things,” she said to Drummond. “First, I need to let you know I’ve got a medical appointment today. Second—”
“What the hell?” His eyebrows snapped down. “I was told you were good to go.”
“I am. There’s some lingering weakness in my right arm, but otherwise I’m fit. But I was moved from light duty to active without a doctor signing off on it.” Let him assume her appointment was for dotting those bureaucratic i’s.
He waved that aside. “Don’t bother with your second thing. I’ve already heard it from Doug.” His smile was slow and sour. “The two of you are stuck with each other.”
She glanced at Mullins, who scowled. “No, the other thing is that I want to dig into the death magic angle.”
“How?”
“Homeless shelters. Missing persons reports. At least one person and possibly more were killed to charge that dagger. There’s a good chance that wasn’t the first time our perps killed, either. They probably had to practice.”