Free Spirit Animals (Ritual Crime Unit Book 3) by E. E. Richardson Page A

like a cloud of octopus ink—or blood in water.
    Entirely too much like blood in water.
    Change of plan, Pierce decided. Get him away from that thing’s grip, now. Still looking through the compact, she backed towards Deepan’s position, bumping a shelf with her hip and flinching as a propped-up book fell sideways with a thud. The stone jars on the top shelf rocked slightly, but all that rained down on her head was dust.
    Deepan didn’t so much as twitch.
    Pierce reached out to touch his shoulder with the back of her hand, with half-formed thoughts of safety procedures for electric shocks. His skin was warm through his thin shirt, but it was like giving a nudge to somebody unconscious: unresponsive solid meat. She gave him a harder shove, enough to push him off-balance. His feet shifted under him to compensate for the wobble, but otherwise he gave no reaction. Lights on, but nobody home.
    Another glance through the compact showed that the ivory-framed mirror was already stained a vivid, bloody red. She took a grip on Deepan’s shoulder, preparing to try and bodily wrench him away from it.
    An urgent cough from the direction of the door made her jump and almost stumble back against the thorny frame. Pierce looked up from her intent focus on the compact to see Cliff standing in the doorway of the shed. “Ah, I wouldn’t advise moving him, Claire,” he said hastily. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s an eighteenth-century soul mirror, and separating the victim from its hold prematurely could have very nasty consequences.”
    She was pretty sure that leaving him fixated on the thing would have nasty consequences too. “It’s draining his blood,” she said, shaking her head. Was it her imagination, or was Deepan’s face already starting to look grey? “I don’t know how long he was like this before I got here.”
    “Yes, but if we break the magical connection the wrong way, it could be like yanking out a knife.”
    Pierce stepped away from Deepan, ceding the field to Cliff’s expertise. “Tell me you know the right way,” she said.
    “Hmm,” Cliff said, which wasn’t the most encouraging sound he could have made. Cliff was good at what he did, but he was used to thinking things through in the lab, not life-and-death fieldwork. Pierce twitched silently as he paused to think, aware that ‘less haste, more speed’ wasn’t really an approach she’d ever had much talent for. She was only conscious of Deepan, grey-faced and rigid beside her, and that they had no way of knowing how much of his blood the mirror had sapped already.
    “Need this?” She held the compact mirror out to Cliff, hoping to kickstart some sort of plan of action.
    He seemed to notice it in her hand for the first time. “A secondary mirror? Ah, yes, probably a wise precaution—but don’t worry, I came prepared.” He was carrying a leather satchel over his shoulder, and from it he dug out a case that turned out to hold a pair of wraparound sunglasses. “Mirror shades,” he said, almost apologetically, as he put them on. “Not the greatest fashion statement, I know, but remarkably useful for mirror work.”
    “If this works, I’ll put them on the field equipment list,” Pierce said tightly. She edged back into the corner to allow Cliff to pass her in the tight space. Fuck, she hated hanging back and watching while other people took charge, but years of experience policing many different forms of magic didn’t make her a qualified practitioner. Whether performing magic required inborn talent was still a subject of hot debate, but regardless, it certainly took a great deal of patience, obsessive attention to detail, and the ability to block out all distractions.
    Even if someone was dying.
    Cliff gave Deepan an avuncular but absent pat on the shoulder as he crouched beside him with a creak of knees. “Don’t worry, lad, I’m almost sure that I know what I’m doing.” But his gaze was on the mirror, with the sort of pensive frown