Free Last Breath by Debra Dunbar Page B

came to naturalistic pursuits, it was a big fat zero. Edible plants, mushrooms, butterflies, birds, and animal bones all were subjects I’d never explored beyond the bare basics. Templars weren’t expected to forage for food, survive the zombie apocalypse, or track wild animals, thus I couldn’t tell an oriole from a robin. For all I knew, this bone was from someone’s chicken lunch.
    Three hours later I knew what the bone wasn’t. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t a skull or vertebrae. And it wasn’t from a bird.
    That was about it. All the long bones looked the same, in spite of expert instruction to look for ball ends, notches and curves. If this was a long bone, then it was from a fairly small animal—a squirrel or maybe a rabbit or cat. Heck if I knew. Luckily one university site offered an identification service, so I took the best pictures I could with my phone and sent them off with the fifty dollar fee, wincing at the expenditure. There were no vampires bankrolling this investigation, and I doubted Detective Sleeps-in-his-Clothes would chip in to cover my expenses. I’d need to start watching my funds, or I’d be right back where I started two weeks ago—behind on rent and living on a Ramen noodle diet.
    Then I turned my attention to the symbols at the death magic ritual. Most of them I quickly crossed off as the usual runes a mage would use when delineating a protective space for spell-work. Slowly I made my way through the remaining symbols until I’d identified all but one. They’d performed a type of protection spell, one used to keep the casters safe as well as to contain… something. That something was the remaining symbol.
    I wasn’t all that worried in spite of the fact the mages had poured an obscene amount of power into this spell. The symbol wasn’t the sigil of a Goetic demon, and I was fairly certain it wasn’t any of the major demons either. It didn’t follow the same lines of the sigils indicating higher spirits. This one seemed home-grown.
    A lot of magic was. This symbol could represent a rival mage. To keep them safe from a magical hit, such as what I suspected happened to Ronald. It could be to contain an actual person—to keep another wizard in his hometown, or to hold his magical working back.
    If the latter, that would require a huge amount of magical energy. Restricting someone’s movements was more difficult than a charm to win a scratch-off. If the spell also acted as a magical shield… well, no wonder the human sacrifice. It would take me forever to puzzle out who or what the target of this spell was, and I didn’t have forever. The specifics of whatever the mages were containing would have to wait because I had only a few hours left before I needed to get ready for work.
    I eyed the clock and started in on the research I should be able to finish before my shift began—the sigil under Ronald’s body. Enlarging the pictures from my phone, I copied the sigil onto paper, drawing the blurred sections in red. There were several possibilities that I noted as I poured over my reference books, but as the sun was beginning to lighten the eastern sky, I hit pay dirt. Even with the blurred sections from rain and the shifting of the body on the grass, the sigil burned into the ground under Ronald’s body could be none other than Araziel.
    The angel of Taurus, which was the astrological sign associated with the Hierophant in Tarot. The Magician. The Light of God. Often confused with Azrael, who was cast out of heaven as one of the leaders of the tenth choir who engaged in carnal relations with human women. Araziel was little known outside of Cabalistic circles or those who specialized in higher spirits.
    Goetic demons were one thing. They were lesser demons, inclined to help rather than attack. Summoning a Goetic demon took skill and confidence. Summoning a higher demon took adept status and enough power to compel and bind. But summoning an angel ? My blood ran cold at the