“Probably burned as an offering,” Janea said, musingly. “That’s a common method with daevas. Properly there should be an effigy of the god or godling with a fire in the belly section and an open mouth. When the fire is hot, the blood is poured into the mouth, raising a fragrant offering to the god.” She paused and shrugged at the looks that got. “It’s a common motif. Any parts missing?”
“No,” Hannelore said. “The bodies were intact.”
“Odd,” Janea said. “Generally organs are added to the offering. It might be an indication of squeamishness on the part of the necromancer.”
“We have two of the bodies here in our morgue,” Hannelore said. “We’d appreciate it if you could… use your abilities to see if there’s anything you can tell us.”
“Of course,” Janea said, standing up.
“Can I get something straight?” Donahue asked. “Which one of you is in charge? I’d assumed it was Mrs. Everette, but…”
“I’m the more experienced,” Janea said, looking over at Barbara. “And I’ve had more training. But Barb is… the more powerful.”
“I think we’re both wondering that,” Barbara admitted, grabbing her purse and standing up as well. “Maybe by the end of the mission we’ll know.”
“That’s… a problem,” Halliwell said, seriously. “In a crisis, you have to know who is in charge. In the event of power manifestation, control of the situation automatically shifts to you two. Who does Donahue look to for decision-making?”
“If it’s informational, Janea,” Barb said.
“And if it’s…” Janea paused, not sure how to go on.
“Tactical,” Barbara interjected. “I guess that would be me.”
“Great,” Janea grumped. “And I’m the Asatru in the room. But, yeah, if it’s tactical, I’m going to just back Barb up. Not that she’ll need much help.”
“By tactical you’re referring to direct power fighting?” Hannelore asked, interestedly.
“And any other,” Janea said, shrugging.
“I’m sorry, I have a problem with that,” Halliwell said. “I don’t think a civilian should be engaging in any sort of direct combat. Among other things, it’s illegal.”
“Sir,” Hannelore said. “Case A-1674, the Bayou Ripper?’
“Oh, damn,” Halliwell said, closing his eyes. “Sorry about the language, Mrs. Everette. And sorry for not making the connection.”
“You’re… aware of that?” Barbara asked.
“Who do you think cleared you to get out of the hospital?” Halliwell said. “And sent Germaine to you. Yes, we’re aware of that. I just hadn’t made the connection. I concur. In a Special Circumstances tactical situation, control devolves to you, unreservedly.”
“Excuse me,” Donahue said. “What does… ?”
“You’re not cleared for that compartment,” Halliwell answered the unspoken question. “I’ll probably kick it open and see if I can clear you for the mission report. Let’s just say that if Mrs. Everette says: ‘Mine,’ back off and let her handle it.”
“Agent Donahue,” Hannelore interjected. “Mrs. Everette was previously involved with a Special Circumstances investigation in Louisiana. The analysis, for obvious reasons, had to be done carefully. HRT handled the combat analysis. Let me just say that one portion of the analysis stated that HRT was, quote, impressed by the combat training, armed, unarmed and of special nature, of the subject and would, unreservedly, accept subject for entry to HRT based upon analysis of combat actions. End quote. I don’t think I’ve broken any regulations by telling you that much.”
“Oh,” Donahue said, looking at her again.
“I’d like to make a point,” Janea said. “What we are dealing with, almost assuredly, is a person, a human, who is gathering power to create a manifestation. The person may have power, may be able to channel, but should not be truly ‘supernatural’ in nature. He may, however, be able to use powers to control an unshielded person, such as Agent Donahue. That is what we have to be cautious of.”
“Understood,” Halliwell said. “Did you get that, Greg?”
“I’m trying to,” Donahue admitted. “But what are you talking about, exactly?”
“Oh, something like this, perhaps,” Janea said, closing her eyes and smiling.
Donahue felt himself overwhelmed by an unstoppable wave of lust. What was bothering him the most was that it wasn’t even directed at Janea, but at Mrs. Everette. He closed his eyes and tried not to fantasize about what she would look like with her hair spread on a pillow, quite unsuccessfully. After a moment the feeling faded with only a lingering trace. He opened his eyes again and shook his head.
“That wasn’t exactly going to stop me from doing anything,” he said after he regained the power of speech.
“It was an aspect of my goddess,” Janea said, smiling. “Her control methods are more… subtle than some.”
“That was anything but subtle,” Greg said, glancing at Barb and blushing.
“The point I’m trying to make is that if the person uses power on you, you may not have any control,” Janea said. “You could be held against your will, at the very least, unable to take action to defend others. Or, possibly, depending upon the person’s level of power and control, forced to use your weapon against others or even yourself. Self preservation is a very deeply held instinct, though. It is hard to overcome through direct means. However, you are unshielded. If you feel control slipping over you, simply work your will as hard as you can to prevent your own death and let Barbara and me handle the rest. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Donahue said, glancing at Barb again. “Are you still doing it to me?”
“No,” Janea said, sighing. “But, unfortunately, the effects can have some lingering effect.”
“Thanks so very much, Janea,” Barbara said, acerbically.
“For the effects to last there has to have been some prior emotion,” Janea said, coyly. “Now, I think we were going to view a body?”
Chapter Seven
It was the same young woman that had been in the pictures. Despite those, Barb, who had until recently never seen a dead body before other than at a viewing, was surprised by the waxen pallor. The young woman looked more like a yellow doll than a corpse. She held onto that thought as the sheet covering her was drawn back. It seemed grotesque to be viewing the poor girl’s naked body like this, especially with the two men standing there, just looking at her as if she was a slab of meat or something.
“Okay, Barb,” Janea said, gently. “I know this is rough for you. But I want you to put your hands over her and open your channel. Search for feelings that aren’t yours.”
Barbara watched Janea place her hands over the girl’s midsection and close her eyes, then followed suit, holding them about six inches over the girl’s flattened chest.
“Can you feel it?” Janea asked, quietly. “I can, faintly. Like a trace of rot.”
“Like the smell of vomit,” Barb said, softly. “God be with us, it’s so strong!” She opened her eyes and drew back her hands, wiping them on her skirt to remove the ephemeral foulness.
“You felt it that strongly?” Janea asked, opening her eyes. “I could barely sense it.”
“I can feel it from here,” Barbara said, backing up. “It’s horrible.”
“Unfortunately you have to face it,” Janea said. “I’m sorry it’s so strong for you. But you have to feel it, sense it, taste it. If you felt it again, would you be able to recognize it? As distinct from other odors of foulness?”