Free Demon Hunts by Ce Murphy Page B

spreading over Seattle, one that eventually awakened the dead. Today there was nothing so appalling, and, as the room turned and I drifted through the surreal, brilliant colors of the shamanic world, I thought there were worse ways to spend a lunch hour. Maybe I could come up here once a week to make sure all was well, though the pragmatic part of me suggested I’d better get an annual pass if I wanted to do that. They’d probably notice if I kept dropping by and cheating my way in with a police badge.
    Billy, diffidently, asked, “Getting anything?”
    I shook off my musings enough to answer. Our seats had rotated far enough to the north that I could now see down Aurora Avenue. Billy’s house, off to the west, lit up with the remains of the circle Melinda’d drawn for me. I glanced farther east, toward Lake Washington, and caught a glimmer of brightness at the corner of my eye. “Nothing I don’t recognize. I can see your house, but it’s almost straight on to us now. I might need line of sight to really pick things up.”
    â€œYou didn’t with the cauldron.”
    â€œThe cauldron was spilling gook all over the city,” I said irritably. “I’ve never tried looking for the remnants of somebody’s power before. I can see a glimmer over at Matthews Beach, but I—oh. I guess I don’t have to wait for the restaurant to turn that far before I get a straight look at it, huh?” Embarrassed, I got up and walked around the restaurant until I could see the lake.
    Matthews Beach was where the thunderbird had fallen six months ago, and where my prize idiocy had torn the landscape into a new shape. There was a waterfall there now, and almost no one in Seattle remembered how it got its name. Some of those who did, though—people who belonged, like it or not, to Magic Seattle, like me and Billy—came together there daily, greeting the sunrise, waking the world and generally pouring goodwill and power into a place they saw as mystically significant.
    The result was a glow that beggared the light from the Holliday’s home. It was like a miniature nuclear warhead had gone off, that much purity of white. I rubbed one eye and went back to the table. “I can definitely see power spots if I’m looking for them. Thunderbird Falls is brimming over. It kind of makes me wonder how things can get out of kilter here, if there’s that much basically positive energy being poured out.”
    â€œWatched the news lately?”
    I sagged and didn’t even perk up when the waitress brought my onion-and-cheese-tart appetizer. Hey, if I was expensing the meal, I figured I should enjoy it. And if I wasn’t able to expense it, I’d definitely better enjoy it. “Yeah. It’s all Laurie Corvallis, Talking Head, Spreading the Bad Word. Why doesn’t anybody ever report on the good stuff?”
    â€œDisaster’s good for the oligarchy. Ha,” Billy said to my goggle-eyes. “Fair’s fair. You pull out ‘exsanguinate,’ I pull out ‘oligarchy.’”
    â€œI’m in awe. There’s nothing sexier than a guy with a big vocabulary. Don’t tell your wife I said that.” I glanced back at the view, searching for telltale shimmers of power. There were flashes here and there, tiny bright spots that didn’t have enoughstrength to hold my attention, much less to represent a power circle. “I wonder…”
    My gaze drifted back to the Hollidays’ distant house. The power emanating there was the good kind, full of life, rather than anything that would harness a killer and send it to do its bidding. I’d never looked for something darker. “Ritual murder probably leaves a different kind of mark than happy fluffy-bunny magic, huh?” I held my breath a moment, working myself up to it, then reached for the magic inside me.
    I’d been depending on auras, and on the brilliant light and