his head. “Wizards are more isolated. Solo practitioners. Like serial killers keeping their victims in their basements.” He swiveled side to side, considering. “I’m thinking this has to be vampire-related.”
And there had been a vampire chomping on London like she was a cheeseburger, making noises about there being a price on her blood. Maybe for her part in the Brightner Building incident? “Doesn’t feel vampire, though. No tinting on all those windows. The video showed most of the principal members of the staff coming and going during daylight hours.” And London had said that they weren’t vampires.
“Are we looking at something new moving into the UK? Dionysus has been setting up a presence in the Netherlands. Maybe the Greeks are crossing the North Sea and making an influx here?”
“Why would the Greeks be storing fey body parts? No,” Granger shook his head, “no, the only thing that makes sense is wizards. They used to be organized, ages ago. Maybe they were making a comeback? Some charismatic leader bringing them together after all this time.”
“That’s a bloody disturbing thought,” Patterson said, rubbing his hands over his face. “If that’s true, then we should be just as glad that someone decided to take out the blokes before they could really gear up for trouble.”
Granger tossed the fountain pen into his pen cup, where everyone knew not to mess with it, unless they were in desperate need of a broken wrist. “Come on. I want to comb through the evidence one more time. We should be able to determine if some of that stuff was wizard enchantment.”
As he got up, Patterson grabbed the evidence bag and carried it down to the lab with them. “Wizards… Remember that basement in Bristol? What a nightmare. Someone got to those wizards ahead of us, too.”
“Some fey vigilante, from the blood droplets he left behind.” Granger recalled. “The Brightner Building attack could be the work of the same guy. If London’s account holds true, and there was a rescue mission that day, and if these people did turn out to be wizards…”
“Then we can close this case and go out for a well-deserved pint to salute the bugger.” Before Granger could argue that logic, Patterson pushed open the swinging metal door into the lab and called, “Where’s my girlfriend? Frieda, where are you hiding, luv?”
If Dr. Frieda Livingston had been dressed like a dowager, instead of in a white pair of overalls, she could have been mistaken for Miss Marple. She was twice as clever as the fictitious sleuth and held three more postgraduate degrees. She pulled her lab goggles off and offered her cheek for Patterson’s peck. “You lads bringing me more goodies to play with?”
Patterson presented her with the plastic wrapped handkerchief. “A little blood to analyze, if you please.”
Frieda took the bag from him and looked it over as she carried it to a side bench. Donning some fresh gloves, she asked, “And what do you want to know about the blood? Anything specific?”
“Just verifying if the donor is human or not, and anything else you find.” Granger crossed his arms, to keep from touching any of the surfaces in the lab and contaminating them. Or acquiring any creeping crud that might have infected the place. That time that the hell fungus rash spread through the department was enough to learn that lesson. “And can you check on something for me? Were any of the enchanted items from the wreckage wizard-made?”
“Well, now. One thing at a time,” Frieda tisked as she lowered herself to perch on a cushioned stool. She opened the plastic bag and pulled the fabric out with tweezers. With deft and experienced fingers, she placed the cloth over a dish. Using the fluids from two different bottles, she moistened the cloth until a pale pink tinge colored the fluid in the dish. In a moment she transferred a few drops to a test tube, and tucked the sample into the robotic arm waiting for it. The