Free Dark Oracle by Alayna Williams Page B

ewer to ewer under a night sky. She’d pulled this when she’d read the cards back at the cabin. When she drew cards more than once, it usually indicated she was overlooking something important.
    She flipped back through her journal for her initial impressions of the card, recalling what she’d used to focus her first reading: the picture of Magnusson and his daughter. Her mind skipped through its familiar nonlinear thinking, like a butterfly over a field, and she let it light on Magnusson’s daughter, Cassie. She let her thoughts roam over the hills and valleys of her impressions, not guiding them, waiting for a flash of intuition to light her way, a flash that would quicken her pulse with knowledge.
    She grabbed some of the papers Harry had left, scanning them for more information about Magnusson’s daughter. She found a notation about her birthplace: Ithaca, New York. . . and her full name: Cassiopeia Marie Magnusson. Just the kind of name a physicist would saddle a child with.
    Her mind seized that. Cassiopeia. The maiden in the card was looking up at the stars. It could be the constellation Cassiopeia.
    Magnusson’s daughter might just be the key Tara was searching for.
    H ARRY KNEW HE WAS BEING WATCHED .
    From the time he’d left Tara’s room, his skin had crawled. He scanned the darkness of the motel parking lot, unholstering his gun. Pools of the buzzing sulfur lights picked out the shapes of cars: his, the night clerk’s beat-up Datsun, a Winnebago belonging to the retired couple watching game shows loudly downstairs, and a station wagon driven by two harried parents dragging their kids kicking and screaming to the Grand Canyon, as evidenced by the maps and toys littering the seats.
    Concealing the gun behind the empty pizza box he’d intended to take to the Dumpster, he stepped down the metal stairs, wincing at the loud echoes his steps made. Below the perforated metal steps, he glimpsed movement, a figure receding around the corner of the motel. It disappeared beyond the edge of the blacktop parking lot hidden by the side of the Winnebago, and did not emerge.
    An eavesdropper? Surveillance? Harry’s eyes narrowed.
    Harry followed, crossing around the front bumper of the camper. His sneakers made no sound on the asphalt, and he listened. He could hear the pings made by the Winnebago’s engine as it cooled down, the high-pitched whine of the parking lot lights overhead, his heart hammering in his throat.
    He swung out around the edge of the Winnebago, flipping the pizza box under his right arm to reveal and brace the gun.
    “Agent Li.” Richard Corvus stood, hands in his pockets, watching him with amusement. Streetlight outlined him in saffron, reflecting off his glasses. The effect made his eyes entirely unreadable.
    Harry sighed, holstering his gun. “Hello, sir.”
    Corvus sniffed at the pizza box. “That stuff’ll kill you.”
    Harry shrugged. “I can think of many worse ways to go than by way of double cheese and pepperoni.” He cast the box, Frisbee-style, into the nearby Dumpster. It landed with a hollow slap that made Corvus twitch. “What brings you here?”
    “Checking on your progress. I might have asked you the same.” Corvus gave him an arch glance.
    Li responded stoically. “Comparing notes.” He didn’t like Corvus’s insinuation. It seemed both possessive and invasive.
    “What have you found?” Corvus cocked his head. Li was reminded of a bird, a balding crow in his black coat.
    Li swallowed. “We didn’t get much from DOD. Major Gabriel is busily mopping up the crime scene, and we can’t drag out of them what Magnusson is working on. Judging by his research, I’m guessing it has to do with particle physics, but we’ll keep looking.
    “DOD hasn’t released any trace evidence to us. I’ve put in a request for copies through official channels. Magnusson’s office is clean.” Li withheld the information about the photos and the watch. Deep down in his gut, he never