The last specialist I’d spoken to had very specifically asked me to find out if anyone else at the scene of the “incident” was having similar symptoms. But how could I find out if no one would answer my calls and the news wasn’t covering it anymore?
Of course it’s easy to ignore a phone message. It’s not nearly so easy to ignore someone standing on your doorstep or, in this case, in your waiting room. Perhaps it was time to make an in-person visit. Not to the police station. They’d stonewall me, or throw me out on my ear. Better to go back to the grade school. Principal Sanchez owed me one. I wasn’t above playing the guilt card to get information, not if it would help me get rid of this damned headache.
The magical barrier around Abraham Lincoln Elementary had not only been reinstalled, it had also been amped up considerably if the pain I felt crossing it was any indication. It hurt, the pain almost driving me to my knees. It did cause me to stumble, which made my already-pounding headache that much worse.
Striding up the walk to the main entrance felt … surreal. It looked so normal. There was the flagpole Harris had cuffed the first caster to. The classroom window I’d crashed through with Willow had been replaced. I could see children sitting at their desks, studying.
Walking through the entrance, I suppressed a shudder. The floor was fine. Solid as a rock. What I’d seen inside the school—the dissolving tiles—had it been some sort of illusion? I felt strange walking on it. My pulse sped up, and I found myself stretching my abilities to the limit trying to find any trace of magic.
Nothing. Everything was just as it should be. Which was just freaking weird.
I hurried toward the principal’s office, the click of my high heels echoing oddly in wide corridors lined with metal lockers. I made it all of the way into the office without spotting the school security guard, or anyone else in authority. It bugged me. It shouldn’t be that easy just to stroll in like this. Of course putting in more security would be like locking the door after the thieves: too little, too late. But still, I didn’t like it.
I didn’t run into a single adult until I reached the office door. Once I was there, though, there was quite a fuss. The school secretary jumped up from her desk. Short, stocky, and middle-aged, she threw her chubby arms around me in a huge hug that made my injured arm throb. “I’m Marjorie Jacobs. I can’t thank you enough! None of us can.” Her thanks were so loud, and profuse, that closed office doors were opened, revealing the school counselor, the assistant principal, and, finally, the security officer Jamisyn. The one person who didn’t show up was the person I’d come to see.
“Principal Sanchez will be so disappointed she missed you.” The secretary shook her head sadly. “She’s so grateful. We all are! If that bomb hadn’t been a dud, we could’ve all been killed.”
“They’ve decided it was a dud?” I was surprised to hear it. It sure hadn’t felt like a dud. And the bomb squad psychic had definitely said we needed to clear the building. And what about the illusion of the dissolving floor? That had to have taken a fair amount of magic. How could the authorities not have found anything? That made no sense at all.
“Had to have been.” This from a man standing beside an office sign reading: Vice Principal Colin Parker. “They did a thorough investigation. Complete sweeps of the building. Nobody could find evidence that the bomb in the basement went off. And these were top mages brought in just for this project. We did a complete cleansing—just in case. But there’s no sign anything was wrong. Which is why we felt no need to let the press start a panic. After all, no harm done.” His smile was a little slick for my taste, his words just a bit rushed. It was obvious that he was more than willing to sweep the whole mess under the rug. Something about him bugged me. It took me almost a full minute to figure out what it was. He reminded me of Ron, the attorney who rents space in my office building. He’s a pompous ass with delusions of adequacy. This Parker was just like him.
“Did they even find residue of the spell that kept everyone frozen in place?”
“You know, they didn’t,” the secretary admitted. “Which is just odd. But no harm seems to have been done. And they’re still investigating. I’m sure the authorities will figure it out sooner or later.”
“And in the meantime,” Parker said, giving a pointed look at the clock, “we need to get back to work. If you’ll excuse us?” He phrased it as a question, but it was an order and the secretary scurried back behind her desk. “I’ll be sure to let Principal Sanchez know you stopped by.”
I wrote my cell phone number on the back of one of my business cards and passed it across the desk to Marjorie. “Have the principal call me. Please?”
“Absolutely.”
I could feel Parker’s eyes boring into my back as I walked through the door Jamisyn held open for me. I hadn’t come here to be treated like a hero. But I hadn’t expected a three-minute brush-off, either! Jerk.
“Parker’s an ass,” Jamisyn said as he followed me into the hallway. “Don’t pay any attention to him. None of the rest of us do.”
I found myself smiling. “I guess that’s why he’s the assistant principal.”
“Oh, yeah. And believe me it chapped his hide when they brought in Ms. Sanchez above him. He was so sure he had a lock on it. But half the staff would’ve quit on the spot if they’d given him the job.”
We’d reached the outdoors. This was my last chance to make this trip more than just wasted time. It was so frustrating. Damn it anyway. I really needed some information. Something was off about this whole thing; something tied to my not being able to heal. But I wasn’t getting anywhere, and I wouldn’t if I couldn’t get someone to tell me what I needed to know. “So, Jamisyn, do you think it was a dud?”
He looked uncomfortable, his eyes shifting from the glass doors behind us to the gulls that had begun circling overhead, and out to the street. “I think there’s more going on than they’re telling.” He forced a smile, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “But what would I know? Nobody tells me anything.”
“I wish I could’ve talked to Ms. Sanchez.” I didn’t bother to hide my frustration.
“Yeah, well, she had a meeting with the principals from the other schools.” His eyes widened for a second, almost in panic.
“Other schools?”
“Oh, um, you know … in the district. Other grade schools.”
He was lying. But before I could follow up on it, Parker tapped on the glass door behind us, making Jamisyn and me both jump in surprise.
“I gotta get back to work. Good luck,” he called over his shoulder as he bolted.
The way things were going, I’d need it.
4
Since I’m a glutton for punishment I went straight from the school to the police station. I mean, really, why not make a day of it? I pulled into the covered parking garage attached to the Santa Maria de Luna PD, cruising around and around until I found the spot I was looking for right across from the little white Toyota belonging to none other than Detective Alexander. If Jamisyn’s good-luck wish worked, she should be getting off-shift soon. If not, well, I was in a dark, cool, quiet place that was ever so much better for my headache.
I only had to wait an hour.
“Oh, shit. It’s you.”
“Gee, Heather. You’d think you weren’t happy to see me or something.” I was mostly being sarcastic. Still, a little part of me was hurt that she had been ducking my calls and was obviously unhappy to see me. We might not be close, but we’d always been friendly.
“What do you want?” she snapped. She tried to walk around me, but I stepped back in her way.
“Were there bombs in more than just the one school?”
“Damn it, Graves!”
Wow, not even “Celia” anymore. This was serious. “What?”
She ran fingers through her hair and let out a frustrated breath. “You keep doing this. You keep putting me in the hot seat, asking me to do things I can’t, wanting me to tell you things you’re not supposed to know. Do you have any idea how much trouble you get me into? You want information? Why come to me? Why not ask Rizzoli?”
I took a step back, my hands coming up in a defensive gesture. Alex was practically snarling at me. This was way more attitude than usual. More than the situation deserved. I was about to say so, to ask what had her so hot under the collar, when she winked at me, her eyes flickering in the direction of a camera I’d seen posted in a nearby corner.
Aha. Okay, so she wasn’t really pissed off. Which was good. But she also couldn’t talk. Still, she’d managed to pass on one important kernel of information. Rizzoli is Special Agent Dominic Rizzoli, FBI. Who wouldn’t be involved if this were just a local matter. Which meant that somehow, somewhere … this had crossed state lines. Holy crap.
“Heather…”
“Don’t you ‘Heather’ me,” she snarled. “You were Vicki’s friend, not mine. Vicki’s dead. Don’t think you can use her memory to make me forget my duty. ’Cause that’s not going to happen.”
The words stung. Even if I’d read the wink right, that we were putting on a show for the cameras, it still hurt. Mainly because I still missed Vicki. Maybe just as much as Alex did.
“Fine. I won’t bother you at work again.”
“Good. Don’t.”
5
I wasn’t able to reach Rizzoli either that day or the next. Frustrating, but not unexpected. I might have a handy-dandy consultant’s badge, but there are limits to how much good it does me. Rizzoli would get hold of me when he was ready, and not until. I, meanwhile, had other things on my mind.
Dusk was falling as I entered the Pacific Health Complex. It wasn’t so much a hospital as a clustered group of private-practice specialist physicians. If this doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, I was afraid I was going to have to give up. Of course this one had been recommended by Gwen Talbert, my therapist and a very highly respected physician, so maybe he’d have better luck. Or more skill. Either one was fine with me.