Free The Isis Collar by Cat Adams Page A

the siren?”
    I suppose it would have been sporting to tell Rizzoli about my enhanced hearing. But … nah.
    It was a little surprising to hear the annoyance in my driver’s voice. I got the impression it wasn’t because of having to call in but because the speaker referred to me as the siren. Interesting. “Her name is Celia Graves. Yes, she’s with me in the car. But we have a problem. I need to explain the situation. Fully.”
    “That’s need to know, Agent. And she doesn’t.”
    “Sir, if you want her cooperation, I’m going to have to tell her at least some of what’s going on.”
    There was a long, charged silence.
    “We need her. But understand that I’m holding you fully responsible for her behavior. Understood?”
    “Understood.” Rizzoli ended the call without another word. Maybe the other guy had hung up on him, but I didn’t think so. It made me wonder if he was going to get in hot water because of me. I hoped not. But he was right about one thing. If they had any hope of getting my cooperation they were going to have to tell me what in the hell was going on.
    “All right, listen up. I told you that there were bombs in other locations. They were always in pairs. The first one hooked to the air ducts would go off first, freezing people in place and disbursing … well, we don’t know what just yet. The second wipes all evidence and memory of the first.
    “The guidance counselor at the school in downtown L.A. happened to be a level-seven mage with a black arts defense background. Sheer fluke that, just like you, he felt a pair of bombs go off. He recognized the first one as something very dark and forbidden—something even the big boys in the sorcery circles don’t play with. We’ve had our best people working forensics on the magic and they keep saying it’s a mess, that the results they’re getting just aren’t possible.”
    He took another deep breath before continuing at the same breakneck speed. “In the meantime we’ve been monitoring the teachers, kids, everyone involved, trying to figure out what the first bombs do. So far we can’t find anything wrong with the kids. But the adults in the schools … that’s a different story. They’re dying at an alarming rate, but none of the deaths seem to be magical. They’re just showing up at the hospital with what seem like mild symptoms, say they’re in extreme pain, and then … they never check out. Nobody in the press has put it together yet, thank heavens. And in one case … something happened. I can’t tell you about it. But if it gets out, all hell’s going to break loose. Even as it is now, people are eventually going to start to notice. In a few days the story is going to be impossible to contain.”
    Crap. I believe in disclosure. I believe the public has a right to know. But I also know how much damage mass panic can do. I wouldn’t want to be the one calling the shots on this case. Hell, I wouldn’t even want to be in Rizzoli’s shoes.
    “So. Someone cast a spell, but nobody knows what it does. What does the guy you have in custody have to do with it?”
    The nod said he expected the question. “We started watching the Internet, low-key stuff in the anti-American chat rooms, hoping for anyone who claimed responsibility or bragged about it. What we found was far more disturbing. The event was definitely organized. There were indications that this is a timed magical event. That there are more bombs, and that when they’ve all detonated the spell will be released full force.”
    “Do you have a date?”
    “Not yet. That’s one of the things we want to find out. If there’s a deadline, we need to know what it is.”
    “What about the two guys the cops arrested at our school?”
    “No good. They were hired wands. Didn’t know a thing other than how to set up the device. But the guy we have now—we think he can tell us what the spell does. But we have to be careful; as soon as they figure out he’s been