My query didn’t sound like much of a threat, I know, but salt was the basest form of purification, and when it came to magick, sometimes the simplest path was the most effective. At this particular moment I was perfectly happy to test that theory by pouring some down Annalise’s throat.
She laughed again then shook her head. “Petty magic, little man. Is that your answer to everything?”
“It works,” I growled.
“Perhaps not. Maybe I merely allowed you to believe that,” she corrected.
Our eyes remained locked for a handful of heartbeats. Finally, I said, “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“Of course you are.”
She laughed. “Go ahead and cling to your faulty beliefs. It only makes things easier for me. Although, I must admit, I was looking forward to a challenge from you. I should have known better.”
Her words were audible but shrouded by the resurgence of blood rushing in my ears. In that instant the hammering in the back of my head spread forward to encompass my entire skull, and all I wanted to do was scream. Instead, I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes as I rubbed my temples.
“Yeah… Whatever…” I mumbled.
“All right… Now I am done,” Miranda said.
“Done what?” I asked in return while opening my eyes.
She ignored my question. Instead, she turned and called over her shoulder in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, “Officer Bardwell, we can go now.”
“Hold on,” I demanded, shifting forward and glaring at her. “We aren’t finished here yet.”
The corrections officer was already starting to disconnect her restraints from the table as I spoke.
“Yes, little man,” she replied. “We are.”
“Stand up,” he ordered her.
She complied, waiting silently as he deftly reconnected the cuffs with the Martin chain looped around her waist. Taking hold of her upper arm, he guided her around the chair and away from me toward the door where they had entered earlier. I couldn’t do anything but sit there quietly and watch them go. Hanging my head, I let out a long sigh. As if the agony trying to chisel its way out through the side of my skull wasn’t enough, now I was stewing in self-recrimination over the fact that I had allowed her to win.
“Just a minute,” Miranda said, her voice coming from a few steps away.
I looked up and saw the two of them standing next to the door. Miranda turned slightly and leveled yet another pitying stare upon me.
After a thick silence she stated coldly, “You want to know about the other half of the necklace.”
My throat tightened as my heart jumped in my chest. Suddenly, her lead was no longer measured in steps. She had already lapped me and was still pulling out ahead. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she knew what I wanted. The dead always seemed to know things they shouldn’t. I guess, under the circumstances, I was simply having trouble thinking of her as dead, and that was just another of my critical errors in all of this.
It was obvious that lying about the necklace wasn’t going to work, so I replied, “Yes.”
She regarded me coolly for a moment. “Come back tomorrow and maybe I will let you ask Annalise if she knows anything about it.”
With that, she turned away from me. A few seconds later they were gone, and I was left alone with a blinding headache and an icy chill slowly working its way up my spine.
CHAPTER 5
“Are you okay, Rowan?” Constance asked. “You don’t look well at all.”
We were sitting in an office normally used by one of the staff psychologists. Actually, I was the one doing the sitting. Constance was pacing back and forth in front of me.
Following my less than productive visit with Miranda, Officer Baker had escorted me back to the administrative unit where the petite FBI agent was waiting. Although the thrum in my head had been blinding me to most everything else resembling lucid thought, I still somehow managed to make it a point to apologize to him again for my reckless outburst. Given the back-story he had relayed earlier, I wasn’t terribly shocked by his contrite reply. The words themselves were innocuous but their hidden meaning clear-that being the fact that he would just as soon I had been successful in my attempt to choke the life from Annalise.
I rubbed my eyes, pushing my glasses up off the bridge of my nose with little regard for them. Finally I muttered, “The headache’s finally started to dial back a bit, but honestly, I’ve been a hell of a lot better.”
“Should we have one of the doctors take a look at you?”
“Wrong kind of headache. Wouldn’t do any good,” I breathed. “You’ve figured that pattern out by now.”
“True enough,” she sighed. “Even so, is there something I can get for you? Water? Coffee? Soft drink?”
“How about a bottle of Scotch?” I replied.
“I said soft drink. Scotch will have to wait until later.”
“Yeah, I was afraid of that. Coffee would probably be good. Maybe some aspirin. It won’t fix it, but it usually helps take the edge off at least…” I replied. “And a phone.”
“Do you really need a phone?”
“Yeah, actually. I do.”
From the sudden lack of audible footsteps, I could tell she stopped moving. A second later I felt something tapping against the back of my wrist and heard her say, “Here.”
I lowered my hands from my face and looked up to see that she was offering me her cell.
“You can use mine,” she said. “I know I can get you some coffee. I’ll have to ask around about the aspirin.”
“Two outta three…” I mumbled, leaving the rest of the cliche unspoken as I took the proffered device from her hand.
“I’ll go see what I can do,” she told me as I flipped the cell open. Stopping at the door, she turned and blurted, “What the hell were you thinking, Rowan?” Her tone was a jumble of admonishment and confusion, with neither one taking any real prominence over the other.
“Ben must be rubbing off on you too,” I replied, skirting the query. “I’m pretty sure he’s asked me the same thing at least a dozen times.”
“Probably,” she replied then deepened her voice and added, “But it’s more likely he said, ‘Jeezus H Christ, white man. What the fuck didja’ think ya’ were doin’ in there?’”
“Yeah,” I grunted, a slight chuckle in my voice. “That sounds more like it. Not a bad imitation, either. So I take it you were watching the show too?”
She nodded. “I was with Doctor Jante and Doctor Clayton.”
“Who’s Doctor Clayton?”
“Chief psychologist for the facility.”
“Great. How many shrinks does it take to screw Rowan? Three. One to fuck him up and two to analyze.” I sighed then asked, “Speaking of which, where are they? I would have thought Jante would be ready to read me the riot act.”
“I asked them to let you have some time to decompress.”
“I’m amazed she agreed,” I mused. “Gives them some time to compare notes, I guess. They’ve probably got me diagnosed as a complete nutcase by now.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But getting back to my original question,” she pressed. “You don’t usually go off the deep end like that. I’m serious, Rowan, what were you thinking?”
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger as I tried to ground the pain. After a heartbeat or two I said, “I’m pretty sure we can safely say I wasn’t.”
She clucked her tongue. “Yeah… I think you’re right…”
I grimaced then looked up at her. “I hate to even ask, but exactly how pissed off is Doctor Jante?”
“Believe it or not, I don’t think she is. I doubt she’s happy about it, but she really acted like what happened was no big surprise.”
“What about the other guy?”
“Doctor Clayton? Pretty much the same. He seemed to follow her lead.”
“Who was responsible for allowing the meeting to continue?”
“It was Doctor Clayton’s call, but Jante pushed for it, and like I said, she seems to have quite a bit of influence over him.”