Mate Bond
Page 78
Gil handed another necklace to Bowman. “This will help.”
“Help me what?” He was as suspicious as Brigid.
“Cut through any spells Turner has laid on to keep you from Kenzie. He knows a lot of Fae magic. Half the crap Cristian and I found in his trailer is about Fae spells and how to find the power, as a human, to work them. He’s figured out a lot—how to tap the ley lines; how to use sympathetic magic—blood, hair, the like—to control people. He’s dangerous. This is a fairly general spell, but it should help.”
Bowman would have preferred him to say, Here’s the perfect weapon that will take out Turner and free Kenzie without her and Ryan getting hurt, instead of It should help. But Bowman had learned to take what he could get.
They rendezvoused at a coffeehouse outside the university, a place that didn’t mind serving Shifters. The clientele was young, mostly students and newbie executives. They gave the Shifters curious glances, though Brigid stood out still more than the Shifters. She’d look otherworldly even without the tunic and breeches, with her pale hair, long braids, and black eyes. She gazed coolly back at the men who stared at her in wonder until they pretended great interest in their coffees.
Bowman sipped his brew in the parking lot, for once having no enjoyment of the rich, bitter liquid. They’d decided to keep the penetrating team for the university small—Bowman, Pierce, Graham, Reid. Gil, who Bowman wasn’t going to trust by a long way, would stay with Cade. Cade had orders to sit on him if he tried anything.
“I’m here to help,” Gil said, undaunted. “Believe me, I owe Kenzie.”
“Damn right you do.” Bowman snarled at him. “But you take orders from me, got it?”
Gil raised his hands. “All right. It’s your show.”
“We don’t even know if Turner’s at his office,” Pierce pointed out. “He could be at his house in South Carolina. The university is only a guess.”
“Simple enough to discover.” Cristian took out his cell phone and tapped numbers. “Hello, is that the Department of Anthropology?” he asked when a woman’s voice answered. His accent became thick. “I am a colleague of Professor Turner, an anthropologist from Romania. Is he in? May I speak to him?”
Bowman heard the woman on the other end. “He’s here, but he’s over in his lab. He doesn’t like to be disturbed there. I can leave a message with your number, or send you to his voice mail.”
“It is no matter.” Cristian managed to sound cheerful and bumbling, and somehow stooped and elderly, though he stood next to Bowman as taut and dangerous as a naked blade. “I take a chance. I call him again this afternoon, yes? Thank you, young lady. You have a nice day.”
He tapped the phone again and dropped it into his pocket. “He is there.”
“I heard,” Bowman said tightly.
Graham gave Cristian a look of reassessment. “You’re a devious bastard. Why haven’t I met you before?”
“Bowman does not let me attend the meetings of Shifter leaders,” Cristian said calmly. “He keeps me, as you say, in reserve.”
“And you just happened to know the guy’s phone number?” Graham asked.
“Of course. When we began to research Professor Turner, I learned everything about him—where he lived, where he worked, and who he worked with, and I stored it here.” Cristian tapped the side of his head. “Better than a computer.”
Pierce tried to hide his snort and didn’t succeed. Cristian gave him a chilling look, and Pierce quickly drank coffee.
Jamie, Cade, and a few other trackers broke from the main party, Gil in tow, as they left the coffeehouse. They would keep watch, alert Bowman of any trouble, and be ready to assist when needed. Cade grumbled that he didn’t like it, but he acknowledged that secrecy, not a direct attack, was the answer here.
Cristian accompanied Bowman’s group with Brigid back to the campus, then he and Brigid walked away together. They’d been assigned the task of distracting campus security while the other Shifters and Reid slipped inside the building that housed Turner’s lab.
Cristian, with his salt-and-pepper hair and tall body, and Brigid, nearly as tall as he was, her white braids brushing the backs of her knees, were certainly distracting. They drew the gazes of not only the lone security man in his cart, but also every other person they strolled past.
Bowman signaled the others. They opened the unlocked door of the small building Cristian had told Bowman housed Turner’s lab and walked inside, one at a time. Following the directions Cristian had given them, they went down a flight of stairs and through another heavy door at the bottom.
The basement of this building was silent, dim, and empty, and made Bowman’s wolf growl in unease. The place, as Ryan would say, creeped him out.
The scent was wrong, a strange combination of dry, sterilized air and dust. The hall was long, the tile institutional white, the walls painted off-white and needing a touch-up. No pictures lined the corridor, though bulletin boards hung outside each door. These boards were filled with photos, photocopied articles with circled paragraphs, and small posters with sayings like You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.
The metal doors between the ordinary ones unnerved Bowman most of all. These were stainless steel and massive, like the doors of giant refrigerators. Large chains hung across them, locked with padlocks.
Reid touched a door. “Ordinary metal,” he said. “Not spelled. But it makes you wonder what they’re keeping in there.”
Bowman sniffed but caught no scent. The chilled, dry air dampened all smells.
They walked on in silence.
Turner’s lab lay right where Cristian said it would. The word “lab” conjured in Bowman’s mind rows of test tubes and flaming alcohol burners, but then, he’d never seen one outside of TV or movies. This lab was nothing more than a large room of tables, a desk and chair, a ton of dusty books on shelves scaling the walls, and trays that held shards of pottery or skulls and bones.
The Shifters tightened at the sight of the bones. Most were human, and ancient—any life that had clung to them was long gone. Even so, these humans should not have been disturbed from their rest.
Reid stopped before one glassed-in tray that sat by itself. “These are Shifter,” he said.
Bowman went quickly to him, and the other two Shifters closed behind Bowman. Three skulls and several piles of bones occupied the case. Unlike the bones in the other trays, these weren’t labeled.
“Help me what?” He was as suspicious as Brigid.
“Cut through any spells Turner has laid on to keep you from Kenzie. He knows a lot of Fae magic. Half the crap Cristian and I found in his trailer is about Fae spells and how to find the power, as a human, to work them. He’s figured out a lot—how to tap the ley lines; how to use sympathetic magic—blood, hair, the like—to control people. He’s dangerous. This is a fairly general spell, but it should help.”
Bowman would have preferred him to say, Here’s the perfect weapon that will take out Turner and free Kenzie without her and Ryan getting hurt, instead of It should help. But Bowman had learned to take what he could get.
They rendezvoused at a coffeehouse outside the university, a place that didn’t mind serving Shifters. The clientele was young, mostly students and newbie executives. They gave the Shifters curious glances, though Brigid stood out still more than the Shifters. She’d look otherworldly even without the tunic and breeches, with her pale hair, long braids, and black eyes. She gazed coolly back at the men who stared at her in wonder until they pretended great interest in their coffees.
Bowman sipped his brew in the parking lot, for once having no enjoyment of the rich, bitter liquid. They’d decided to keep the penetrating team for the university small—Bowman, Pierce, Graham, Reid. Gil, who Bowman wasn’t going to trust by a long way, would stay with Cade. Cade had orders to sit on him if he tried anything.
“I’m here to help,” Gil said, undaunted. “Believe me, I owe Kenzie.”
“Damn right you do.” Bowman snarled at him. “But you take orders from me, got it?”
Gil raised his hands. “All right. It’s your show.”
“We don’t even know if Turner’s at his office,” Pierce pointed out. “He could be at his house in South Carolina. The university is only a guess.”
“Simple enough to discover.” Cristian took out his cell phone and tapped numbers. “Hello, is that the Department of Anthropology?” he asked when a woman’s voice answered. His accent became thick. “I am a colleague of Professor Turner, an anthropologist from Romania. Is he in? May I speak to him?”
Bowman heard the woman on the other end. “He’s here, but he’s over in his lab. He doesn’t like to be disturbed there. I can leave a message with your number, or send you to his voice mail.”
“It is no matter.” Cristian managed to sound cheerful and bumbling, and somehow stooped and elderly, though he stood next to Bowman as taut and dangerous as a naked blade. “I take a chance. I call him again this afternoon, yes? Thank you, young lady. You have a nice day.”
He tapped the phone again and dropped it into his pocket. “He is there.”
“I heard,” Bowman said tightly.
Graham gave Cristian a look of reassessment. “You’re a devious bastard. Why haven’t I met you before?”
“Bowman does not let me attend the meetings of Shifter leaders,” Cristian said calmly. “He keeps me, as you say, in reserve.”
“And you just happened to know the guy’s phone number?” Graham asked.
“Of course. When we began to research Professor Turner, I learned everything about him—where he lived, where he worked, and who he worked with, and I stored it here.” Cristian tapped the side of his head. “Better than a computer.”
Pierce tried to hide his snort and didn’t succeed. Cristian gave him a chilling look, and Pierce quickly drank coffee.
Jamie, Cade, and a few other trackers broke from the main party, Gil in tow, as they left the coffeehouse. They would keep watch, alert Bowman of any trouble, and be ready to assist when needed. Cade grumbled that he didn’t like it, but he acknowledged that secrecy, not a direct attack, was the answer here.
Cristian accompanied Bowman’s group with Brigid back to the campus, then he and Brigid walked away together. They’d been assigned the task of distracting campus security while the other Shifters and Reid slipped inside the building that housed Turner’s lab.
Cristian, with his salt-and-pepper hair and tall body, and Brigid, nearly as tall as he was, her white braids brushing the backs of her knees, were certainly distracting. They drew the gazes of not only the lone security man in his cart, but also every other person they strolled past.
Bowman signaled the others. They opened the unlocked door of the small building Cristian had told Bowman housed Turner’s lab and walked inside, one at a time. Following the directions Cristian had given them, they went down a flight of stairs and through another heavy door at the bottom.
The basement of this building was silent, dim, and empty, and made Bowman’s wolf growl in unease. The place, as Ryan would say, creeped him out.
The scent was wrong, a strange combination of dry, sterilized air and dust. The hall was long, the tile institutional white, the walls painted off-white and needing a touch-up. No pictures lined the corridor, though bulletin boards hung outside each door. These boards were filled with photos, photocopied articles with circled paragraphs, and small posters with sayings like You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.
The metal doors between the ordinary ones unnerved Bowman most of all. These were stainless steel and massive, like the doors of giant refrigerators. Large chains hung across them, locked with padlocks.
Reid touched a door. “Ordinary metal,” he said. “Not spelled. But it makes you wonder what they’re keeping in there.”
Bowman sniffed but caught no scent. The chilled, dry air dampened all smells.
They walked on in silence.
Turner’s lab lay right where Cristian said it would. The word “lab” conjured in Bowman’s mind rows of test tubes and flaming alcohol burners, but then, he’d never seen one outside of TV or movies. This lab was nothing more than a large room of tables, a desk and chair, a ton of dusty books on shelves scaling the walls, and trays that held shards of pottery or skulls and bones.
The Shifters tightened at the sight of the bones. Most were human, and ancient—any life that had clung to them was long gone. Even so, these humans should not have been disturbed from their rest.
Reid stopped before one glassed-in tray that sat by itself. “These are Shifter,” he said.
Bowman went quickly to him, and the other two Shifters closed behind Bowman. Three skulls and several piles of bones occupied the case. Unlike the bones in the other trays, these weren’t labeled.
