The Isis Collar (Blood Singer #4) 4

He gave me that look every professor gives every student when they’re fishing for what should be a simple answer in the cobwebs of a frustrated mind. “Come now, Ms. Graves. You have a degree in the science, and I presume it was earned. Might be demonic? Weird pains? Be more specific. What evidence did it give of what sort of demon it was?”

I shrugged and leaned against the counter to take the weight off my leg. It was really starting to hurt again. I was overworking it. “That’s the thing, Doctor. I can’t be more specific because it doesn’t fit any of the parameters I’ve learned about. I can only tell you what we experienced and maybe you can come up with the specifics.”

That got him curious. I could see it, bird bright in his eyes. He ushered me across the room to a pair of chairs in one corner. A soda and a bottle of iced tea sat on the table between the seats. The chair I sat in smelled of Bruno’s cologne. Nice.

“So, tell me about this entity,” Sloan asked as he sat down opposite me.

I did. After minutes of explaining the situation I added, “And it could speak. Audible sound that everyone heard.”

He was listening with his whole body, soaking it in. One of his arms was bent at the elbow, the hand lightly resting against his lips. It was interesting to watch his lips doing push-ups on his thumb, making the whole hand move. “Are you certain it was audible? It could have been in all of your minds. Simultaneously. Are you positive there was sound?”

“She probably isn’t, but I am.” Rizzoli reentered the room with Bruno hot on his heels. “We always videotape interrogations. There’s actual sound, Doctor.”

Sloan’s brows rose and I nodded. I knew I’d heard it with my ears. I’ve heard voices in my head before. Demons who tried to trick me, even seduce me. But this … this wasn’t the same at all. “It called me by name, Doctor, and responded to thoughts I hadn’t spoken out loud.”

Rizzoli turned to me. “Is that what that meant? When the demon wrote: ‘Think again, Celia’ on the window in frost?”

“Yep,” I said while Bruno looked at me with undisguised interest. “I had just thought that the demon wasn’t very bright because all it could write was No.”

“And you’re calling this entity a demon because—?” Bruno asked.

“Metal table … on fire. With no flame source in the room,” I offered.

Rizzoli added, “Letters in black that promised the prisoner pain if he didn’t talk to us.”

“Of course,” Dr. Sloan interjected. “That’s part of the confusion, isn’t it? Threatening pain and destruction. But look at the secondary issues … pain if the prisoner didn’t reveal secrets of a crime and offering a warning that only the truth would set him free. Couldn’t it be angelic instead of demonic?”

Angelic? “You mean like … angels? They don’t normally intervene in the affairs of man, do they?” I mean, yeah, they exist. But what would they be doing there, at the FBI office? “Melting tables isn’t really their sort of thing, is it?”

The doctor shrugged. “Burning bush, Archangel Michael’s flaming sword. Fire cleanses as well as punishes. It’s old-school … or Old Testament to be sure, but maybe after the demonic rift, They are taking a greater interest in our city.”

He said the word to imply a capital letter. They. Purity personified. Um. Wow. I don’t know how I feel about the possibility I’d had a brush with the angelic. I think if I took any time to digest it, it would scare me worse than fighting the demonic. My gran always said I had a guardian angel watching over me, but it sort of freaks me out that it might actually be true. I’m not exactly a perfect person. “Is there any way to check to be sure?”

He nodded confidently. “You have the primary text on it in your possession. The book I gave you.”

I felt my face get warm. “Oh. Well, see…”

Rizzoli broke in. “I’m afraid that a dangerous witch broke into Ms. Graves’s office today and stole that book. Is there another one in the college library that we might look at to find out what the witch might have been looking for?”

Sloan’s face looked stricken. “Oh dear. No, I’m afraid not. It’s a very rare volume. The only other one I know of is in the Oxford University library.”

I winced. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Sloan.” And I was. I hate to lose gifts. “I didn’t realize. I should have kept it locked in my safe.”

He waved it off. “My fault entirely. I don’t think I ever mentioned it was rare, so how could you know? I can request the volume be scanned at Oxford and e-mailed to me, of course. And until then, I could certainly test for traces of one or the other in the flame residue. I’d love to look at the tape and examine the table if that’s possible.”

I looked at Rizzoli and he brightened. “Sure. I could make that happen. Where do you want the table delivered?”

That sort of startled Dr. Sloan. “Um, it would be better in situ.”

The agent raised his hands as though helpless. “Unfortunately, our Bureau clairvoyant told us we needed to get it off the premises or something bad was going to happen. It’s in a truck right now. I could have it here in a half hour. I can e-mail you the video.”

“Isn’t that confidential?” It seemed a logical question for me to ask. I wondered about interviews, aka debriefings, I’d had with him before on other cases.

“We didn’t learn anything from the suspect until after the entity left, so we can give up the rearview video that doesn’t reveal the suspect’s face but does show the entity.” He shrugged, like it was completely normal everyday stuff.

Hey, maybe it was. For him.

Dr. Sloan was looking both excited and terrified. “Yes, yes. We can bring it here. Well … not here. No, that wouldn’t do at all. Maybe the lab.” He stood up and rushed to the door, then stopped. “No. There are classes there tomorrow. I need a large enough location to seal the table in a circle in case it’s a connection portal. Bruno, I’ll need your help of course to plan the casting.” He pointed at my former fiancé with brows raised.

Bruno raised his hands, slightly confused. “Yes, certainly. Whatever you need.”

“Mr.… Rizzoli, is it? Let’s take a walk. I think there’s an empty room in the pharmaceutical college that has a loading bay. We’ll go call the dean. I’m sure we can work something out.” Sloan grabbed Rizzoli by the elbow and he must have been stronger than he looked, because the FBI agent was nearly pulled off his feet as the tiny professor raced out of the room with him in tow.

It was abruptly silent in the room, and awkward. I looked at Bruno, who was staring at me. “So. Um, hi.”

“Hi.” His voice was low and sultry and made me shiver. “You look good.”

I laughed because I couldn’t help it. “I look like crap. I’m white as a ghost … well, a bat anyhow. And my hair is stringy.” I self-consciously ran fingers through it and pulled apart tangles. “It needs to be cut.” In short, I was in no fit condition to be seeing him when he was looking like he walked out of an issue of GQ magazine. “No, you look good. Great, in fact. I look like the walking dead.”

He shrugged with one shoulder and crossed the room to where I was sitting. “So maybe I like the walking dead. At least one of them.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against my cheek. It felt nice. Safe and comfortable—vastly different from John but no less desirable. Just to prove a point to myself, I turned my face slightly and pressed my lips against his. Flames of magic rolled across my skin, more powerful than John’s but with a different … taste. I lingered there, remembering old times when a kiss was often the beginning of something much more intense. Bruno let me kiss him, not making it more than it was. I moved my jaw, opening his mouth, and touched his tongue with mine.

When I pulled back first, I noticed the surprised look in his eyes. Not upset, just surprised. I suppose it was natural for him to be confused, because I sure was. “I … I’m not sure why I did that.”

“Old habits die hard?”

My breath came out in a frustrated rush. “No. It’s not like that. It’s just that—” I had nothing. I had no idea why I’d kissed him, while I was still feeling the hurt he’d inflicted.

He sat down across from me and stared at me for a long moment. “It’s just that you kissed Creede earlier today and needed to prove to yourself, and maybe to me, that you’re being fair?”

My jaw dropped. Literally. I could feel air on my tongue. My mouth started moving, but no words came out until, “It’s … I mean … we—”

“Celia.” His voice was calm. “It’s okay. I’m not going to fly into some sort of jealous rage. I could taste his magic on you, could sense where he’d touched you.” He lifted one shoulder. “I know he has his sights set on you. It’s not like it’s a surprise.”

My stomach felt hollow, yet it threatened to heave up into my throat. “I’m not trying to hurt you.” The words were a whisper and my gaze was fixed on his neck. “I’d never do that.” Shades of John’s promise to me. Crap.

“Celia.” His voice was soft. He leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his knees. “I’m the one who hurt you. I know that and there aren’t enough words in the language to describe how sorry I am. I’m not even sure how to make it up to you. I think I need to get my head back together to figure it out. So I’m in the field instead of in the office. I’m getting back in shape and getting my doctorate.”

“And I’m so excited for you. You’ve talked about that since we graduated.”

He smiled and his expression was filled with pride and hope. “The land the Murphys own in Arkansas and the fee-simple magic attached to it was a doctoral thesis topic if I ever saw one, and they’ve been kind enough to grant me permission to visit whenever I need to. So I signed up for a year right here at USC-Bayview and I’m getting to work.”