Trail of Dead (Scarlett Bernard #2)(33)

“Hey, Kirsten,” I said quietly.

“Scarlett?” Her voice was strained and tight, even more so than at the meeting.

“What happened?” I asked immediately.

“She made her move,” Kirsten said, a tremor in her voice. “Where are you?”

I felt an automatic twinge of embarrassment, but reminded myself that I had nothing to be ashamed of. Jesse and I were under Dashiell’s orders to stick together. “Cruz’s parents’ house.”

“Give me the address. We need to talk now.”

“Hang on.” I poked Jesse with a foot until his eyes opened. He stared at me blearily, and I held out the phone. “Tell Kirsten how to get here. I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

I showered quickly and brushed my teeth, pulling clean jeans and a long-sleeved green T-shirt out of my overnight bag. Thank you, Molly. I needed my comfort clothes.

Jesse must have used an upstairs shower, because his hair was as wet as mine when I came back into the kitchen. I noticed a startling lack of kinetic energy in the room and figured the dog must be outside. “Coffee?” he asked.

“You bet.”

We heard the barking at 7:20, and Jesse went to let Kirsten and an ecstatic Max inside. She wore a denim jacket over brown cords and a peasant-style shirt, and her hair was neat, but there was something off about her. She looked sort of wild-eyed and desperate, like she’d been the night before when she was yelling at Dashiell, but she seemed more relaxed too. Maybe she was just relieved that the other shoe had dropped.

I was impatient to hear what Olivia had finally done, but Jesse’s good manners acted up and he had to offer her a cup of coffee first. “Only if you’ve got a to-go mug,” she said distractedly. “You and I need to hit the road.”

“Wait, you and Jesse?” I said with my eyebrows raised. “Not me?”

“No, I’m afraid you can’t come,” Kirsten replied. She stopped and took a breath, like her brain had just caught up with the fact that she was having this conversation. “Let me sit for just a second.”

Jesse found a travel mug in the cupboard and filled it for her. Kirsten thanked him and wrapped her fingers around the mug. “When you’re ready,” he said quietly.

I was less patient. “Uh, Kirsten?” I waved a hand. “Share with the class?”

“There was a murder last night at Beth Israel, in San Diego. Well, a storage facility near the temple. An elderly rabbi was killed, and something was stolen.”

“Okay…”

She looked directly at Jesse, holding his eyes. “Scarlett says that you are a good investigator, and Dashiell seems to trust you to find Olivia. I’d like you to come with me to San Diego and ask some questions.”

“Sure,” Jesse said mildly. “But it would help if I knew what I was asking about.”

“Right.” Her gaze shifted to include me again. “How much do you know about alchemy?” she asked.

Jesse and I exchanged a look. “Common metals into gold?” I offered. My dad had been a history teacher, and spent many a family dinner telling stories and theories to my brother and me. As a result I knew a ton of useless facts and historical anecdotes, without having much actual comprehensive knowledge of any one period in history. On the bright side, I was occasionally excellent at Trivial Pursuit.

“Certainly, yes, the ancient alchemists worked on things like that. They were scientists. But in witchcraft the term refers to the creation of magical artifacts. Every once in a while a witch is powerful enough to channel magic into an object and have it stay there.”

“Why?” Jesse asked. “What’s the point?”

“Think of it like a…shortcut. If you want homemade bread, you can go out and buy all the ingredients of the quality you want, then mix and bake the bread. Its quality will depend partly on your ingredients, and partly on your talent. Spells are a lot like cooking that way: you follow certain rituals, contribute the talent you have, and theoretically get what you want.” She moved the mug toward her face, then paused with her hands in midair. “Cream?”

Jesse got her some out of the fridge. She nodded a thanks and continued, “With a magical artifact, the goal is to acquire accessible power that is earmarked for one purpose. So instead of following all those steps, you just have what you want ready.”

“Like a bread maker,” I said, grinning. I earned a weary smile.

“Yes, exactly. Only you don’t even have to add ingredients anymore. Just push a button and get bread. That’s what alchemy can do.” She looked impatiently at her watch. “Detective Cruz, we should get moving.”

But Jesse made no move to stand. “Why keep that a secret?” he asked. “What’s the big deal?”

Kirsten took a long sip of coffee, like she was delaying. Her eyes jumped between Jesse and me. “Because of nulls,” she said finally, and I straightened up in surprise.

“Me? What did I do?”

“Not just you, all nulls. Witches have worked to keep such artifacts away from you, because their power is only borrowed.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t get it,” Jesse said.

Kirsten nodded like she was expecting that and got up. “Watch.”

She looked around for a moment and then stepped across the kitchen and out of my radius. Picking up a small saltshaker, she held it against her mouth and whispered something. Holding her hand flat again, the little saltshaker began to rock back and forth on its edges, like it was trying to walk. “Holy crap!” Jesse said, then bit his lip. I elbowed him. “Sorry,” he added. Ignoring us, Kirsten took a few steps toward me, the little shaker still rocking. I felt it when she entered my radius; even felt the tiny zing of the active spell shorting out, like a fly crashing into a bug zapper. The saltshaker stilled in Kirsten’s hand. Meeting my eyes, Kirsten took a few steps backward, out of my radius. The saltshaker remained still.