Grave Dance (Alex Craft, #2)(68)

“Detective Andrews,” she said, studying him, “I heard you were jettisoned from the force for going MIA during the Coleman case.”

Falin didn’t answer, but pul ed his jacket aside to reveal the FIB shield at his waist.

“My mistake, Agent,” she said before turning back to me.

“Are we stil on for a little tit for tat?”

“Yeah. I’l be right there.” I shot her a smile and then focused on Falin again. “It’s a good idea,” I told him.

“Weren’t you going to get a warrant?”

“I’m more concerned with getting you out of here.”

And I was more concerned with my friends not spending a moment longer than necessary carrying some shadowy, crystal ized spel that was just waiting to overwhelm them at an unknown moment.

“I’l keep my head down,” I promised.

He huffed out a breath and rol ed his eyes. “Because He huffed out a breath and rol ed his eyes. “Because you’re so good at that.”

As if to accent his point, Lusa chose that moment to turn and cal out, “Miss Craft.”

Falin and I both cringed. Okay, so keeping my head down wasn’t one of my strong suits.

“I have to go,” I said, and then jogged to catch up with Lusa. Falin didn’t stop me this time.

Lusa headed away from the news vans and cop cars to where the fence ended at the steel supports of the Lenore Street Bridge. The traffic on Lenore had died down.

Everyone who was interested in seeing the commotion had apparently already arrived, so the bridge was stil , quiet, and rather dark. Safety lights dotted the span at evenly spaced intervals, but I could have wished for a little more light, especial y as Lusa trudged deeper and the bridge towered over us.

I had to say one thing for her—I’d told her I wanted this off the books, and she’d found a place where no one was likely to overhear or disturb us. And she wasn’t done yet. Once we stopped, she fished a silver necklace from the top of her blouse, pul ing the chain until a half dozen charms spil ed over her col ar. The air around us hummed as she tapped into the raw magic in her earrings and channeled it into one of her waiting charms. A spel buzzed to life around us.

“You’re a sensitive, right?” she asked and I nodded.

“Good, then you know that I activated a privacy bubble.

No one but us can hear what we say. Now, why are you real y here?”

I’d rather have heard how she found the hole in reality first, but I wasn’t in a position to demand she show me hers before I showed her mine. Opening my purse, I dug out the page of runes I’d copied. Then I unfolded the paper and passed it to Lusa.

“Those are sketches of runes from a magical construct.

As you can probably tel , they aren’t exactly common. When I watched your broadcast, I noticed similar runes cut into the I watched your broadcast, I noticed similar runes cut into the ground around the tear. My theory is that whoever sent the construct also cast the ritual that opened that tear. I’m here to prove that theory, and to find out anything I can about the witch who is responsible.”

“Nice. This might actual y be newsworthy.”

She’d threatened and goaded me but hadn’t actual y thought I could provide her with a story? Figures.

“So do you know what the runes do?” she asked, and I shook my head.

“I did a little cursory research, but so far I haven’t turned up anything definitive.” I paused, letting her study the runes for a moment before I asked, “You’ve used Aaron Corrie as a source before, right?”

Lusa furrowed her brow, which I’d never seen her do on TV—probably because the thought lines that crawled across her forehead weren’t terribly attractive. “Dr. Corrie?

Yes. He wasn’t able to identify the runes either?”

I made a rude sound and Lusa looked up, surprise on her face.

“He’d like to identify them. Unfortunately he doesn’t care for the company I keep,” I said, and her lips formed a perfect O, but she didn’t look surprised. Since she knew the man, she surely knew his stance on the fae. I didn’t ask whether she thought Corrie had disapproved of my company due to the fact that I lived in a fae’s house or because I’d partnered with an FIB agent—the fae-phobic geezer had plenty of reasons not to trust me—but as long as she didn’t guess my heritage, I didn’t care. “Since you’ve worked with Corrie before . . .” I trailed off, and Lusa’s glossed lips stretched in a slow smile.

“I like the way you think, Craft. I suppose you’l want to know what Dr. Corrie and I turn up on the runes?” she asked, but obviously she anticipated that I’d agree because she didn’t wait for me to answer before saying, “So, we’ve got a tear into the Aetheric surrounded by odd runes, and a magical construct built from the same runes, that, when magical construct built from the same runes, that, when dispel ed, opened a hole into the Aetheric.”

Oh, I liked her theory—I didn’t think it was right, as none of the ravens Caleb, Falin, and the col ectors destroyed had torn reality, but I wasn’t going to correct her. After al , if she ran with that theory for her story, the attention for the holes would shift off me.

Lusa squinted, pul ing the paper closer to her face.

“These are incomplete, right?”