Sarah spent nearly an hour reciting the individual and group counseling options available and introduced Ari to two more counselors. Richard Batty, mid-50s, slender and wiry, was all business; Jerome Fitzhugh, a 30-something black man, displayed a wide grin and that loose-limbed walk of a former athlete. The fifth and final member of the counseling staff, Frieda Stanley, ran the evening support groups and wouldn’t be in for another hour.
By the end of the tour, Ari was impressed. “Your operation has a lot to offer our community.”
Sarah beamed. “One-stop shopping. We hope to meet all our clients’ needs, whatever comes along. Individual and family counseling. Problem solving. Violence and grief counseling. No one else offers this much specialty. It’s important to make each relationship experience a positive one, whether the relationship succeeds or fails.”
“What happens when a vampire bond goes bad?”
A slight grimace flashed across Sarah’s face. “We try not to get to that point. When vampires are involved, the counseling needs to come before the bonding.”
“I understand that, but what if it happens?”
“Then we’d help them adjust. Improve their blocking against each other’s thoughts. Teach them how to live apart, if we can. Whatever it takes to make their situation better. It would be difficult. Separation is easier for other species.”
“So you have divorce counseling? Or whatever you call it?”
“We do relationship counseling with all the couples. Sometimes that means we help them end dysfunctional relationships. A support group can ease the way.”
“Did you know Jules and Lorraine?”
“Not well. They appeared very compatible. Why do you ask?”
“Shale implied that vampire-human relationships are nearly impossible.”
“Oh, not impossible. Harold hates to see his clients fail, and the statistics are poor. I’m not that pessimistic, unless the spouse wants to be a parent. We try to catch those cases early, before a mistake is made. I’ve seen other vampire-human bondings work, and work well. It really depends on the individuals involved.”
“What about trust? Aren’t humans the natural prey of vampires? How does a couple get past that?” Ari remembered having this very discussion with Andreas. A discussion that was never resolved.
Sarah laughed softly. “I’m not a believer in ‘love conquers all,’ but it sure helps. Barriers come down if partners are committed. Some people question the ability of a vampire to love, but I’ve seen it for myself. The last thing they want is to harm their partners. We offer classes to increase the vampire’s control over his impulses and to minimize the partner setting off certain triggers. But, yes, of course, trust is a big issue. But that’s true of any relationship, whether a vampire is involved or not.”
Yeah, but could you ever trust a predator? Then again, maybe that edge of danger was part of the thrill.
That was a disquieting thought.
Ari checked her watch. Time had passed quickly, and she still planned to visit the magic lab on her way out of town. She stuck out a hand. “Thanks, Sarah. I’ve taken up a lot of your time, but you’ve been helpful.”
“Any time.”
The spark of energy from Sarah was carefully controlled. This woman knew her abilities.
“If the need arises, don’t forget we’re here,” Sarah said.
Ari stared at the counselor, momentarily speechless. Was this an offer of personal assistance? Had Sarah read something into Ari’s questions? Something she hadn’t intended to share?
“Didn’t Harold say you might be referring clients?” Sarah asked, ending the awkward pause.
Embarrassed she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, Ari gave a weak smile. “Oh, yeah. I might do that.”
The Otherworld Forensics & Research Laboratory (OFR), known as ‘the kitchen,’ was housed behind an ordinary door at the rear of the Magic Hall. A small black sign marked the Lab Entrance to a scientific playground. In order to accommodate the expanding world of investigative processing, the lab had been recently remodeled with new equipment and more efficient workspace. It still retained its magical essence. Ari paused in the doorway and made a quick sweep of the room.
Multiple aisles, similar to a library, stretched from end to end. Instead of wooden bookshelves and tables, granite and stainless steel counters equipped with sinks and forensic paraphernalia—test tubes, beakers, microscopes and complex analysis machines—lined each row. If that had been the extent of the lab, OFR might have been any forensic facility in the country. But the OFR utilized many unique items. Electric caldrons, jars of non-human specimens, brightly colored bottles of rare chemicals, and the canisters marked with strange symbols. Those were the magical binding agents. The entire west wall of the room held a series of cubbyholes divided into sections containing herbs, tested and untested potions, and magical powders. The east wall housed the actual library, filled with thousands of books on science and magic.
This was Heaven to Ari’s witch blood. It sang in her veins, and her fingers twitched with the urge to jump into the nearest project. This was the reason history depicted witches as stirring cauldrons. Mixing magical ingredients and conjuring spells was at the core of witchcraft, an inherited talent shared by every member of the race of sorcerers, whether they were from the witch or wizard bloodline. Some were just better at it than others.
More than two dozen human and magical beings moved among the various collections, each absorbed in some experiment. Steam bubbled from a nearby shiny, silver cauldron and an aroma like spring flowers drifted in the air. Across the room, two young dwarves wielding large butcher knives chopped a black, lumpy substance and tossed the pieces into a three-foot blender. Pots hissed, tubing bubbled in the noisy and colorful landscape.
Ari’s attention was immediately drawn to the activity on her right. An old man with a long beard was standing in front of a steaming, bubbling pot. He shifted his weight from one foot to another and muttered under his breath. Every few seconds he punctuated his chant by dropping a pinch of powder into the fermenting broth. Ari briefly wondered if he could conjure something to stop the dreams, but she knew it wasn’t that simple.
She turned away and searched the room for Gillian, spotting her slim figure wrapped in yellow and purple. Gillian wasn’t blind to basic fashion, but she could argue forever about the negative effects of white lab coats on creativity. She looked up as Ari approached.
“Couldn’t wait for me to call, huh? Since you’re here, take a look at this.” She pointed to a jar on the counter in front of her and stood aside.
Ari looked at the squishy mass inside. “It’s a bunch of tiny eyeballs. So what?”
“Eye of newt,” Gillian said.
“What do you want with lizard eyeballs?”
“Technically, salamander. Ari, I’m surprised at you. As a witch, you should be familiar with Macbeth. ‘Eye of newt, toe of frog.’”
Stunned, Ari stared at her. “You’re trying to make a potion? Gillian, that’s an old wives’ tale. That stuff,” she point at the jar in distaste, “isn’t good for anything.”
Gillian’s merry laugh broke out. “Gotcha! You and I may know that, but the fake sorcerer we raided didn’t. This was one of his staple items. You should’ve seen his crystal ball. It was plastic.”
Ari rolled her eyes. Couldn’t the frauds at least do the research? And buy the right equipment? At least another charlatan was out of business. Since most of the human public couldn’t tell the difference, the frauds and wannabes did a lot of damage and ruined the reputations of genuine conjurers.
“Very funny, Gilli, but I hope some of this mess is from my crime scene.” Ari nodded to the collection of papers and test tubes covering the elf’s work space. “Learn anything?”
“Nothing earth shattering. Blood, anger, fear. The energy source analysis was a mixture, as expected.” She handed Ari a printed report. “Everything from vampire to lycanthrope to demon.”
“Demon?” Ari frowned.
“It was faint. Lots of halfling demons live peacefully in the city.”
“Yeah, I know. Rarely seen them, but I worked with one last year for a while. Interesting guy. Nothing like the full bloods. So, anything else?” Ari folded the source report and put it in her pocket. She’d give Ryan a copy. Not that he’d care.
“Give me a break,” Gillian protested. “We’re still filtering. It’s hard to filter out all the human scent. May take two or three more days. Your human cops were thorough—contaminated the entire scene.”
Ari grinned at Gillian’s complaint. Such tunnel vision. If it interfered with the sensory work, it had to be bad. “Is that the long way of saying you don’t have anything else for me?”
“Mostly. There is one puzzle. I processed everything in the parking lot. Handfuls of gravel from the sides. Even swabbed the leaves on the bushes, as you suggested. And I didn’t find what should have been there.” She paused and looked at Ari. “No odor or energy trace of a gun being discharged in the area.”
Ari’s mouth dropped open. “Are you saying a gun wasn’t used?”
“Well, I can’t go that far. But I can’t prove it was either. My finding is inconclusive. The time lag worked against us. After twelve hours it’s hard to pick up gun trace energy even with OFR equipment and skills.”
The “skills” she referred to involved a complicated process of enhancing potions, machine analysis, and magical beings specially selected and trained for their sense of smell and sensitivity to all types of energy, including magical. They could detect things not found by other methods. It usually brought good results, if swabs and collections were timely.
Inconclusive. Ari compressed her lips. Damn. Ryan’s bureaucratic snafu had bit them again.
Chapter Five
The drive to the rolling hill country where Rosalina lived took an hour. Not a long trip, but long enough to move from thinking about the lab report to worrying about the evening ahead. Plenty of time for her stomach to turn flip-flops. When pieces of the dreams began to play an endless loop in Ari’s head—his face, his voice, she began to talk aloud, sharing her fears with Mini, her intrepid car. Anything to stop the pictures. At least it passed the time.
