“Me too.” I grinned, and for the first time since I’d raised Jameson, I felt like good could come from disturbing the dead. “Now, could that twister drop those crumbs in the trash?”

  Establishing a basis for trust was one thing. Agreeing on a plan was another.

  “You need to raise them so we can learn what happened.” Wayne continued to press the same issue.

  “No, I need to raise the fey. The other werewolf is irrelevant, and his head and neck were damaged. If he can’t talk, he isn’t a help to us anyway.”

  “What? Zombies can’t write?” An eyebrow crept up.

  “You didn’t see the body. This zombie won’t be very useful for information gathering. Plus, the fey already talked to me once. It shouldn’t be too hard to make it talk to me again.”

  That was the hope, anyway. Raising the squirrel from the dead hadn’t taken much energy, but a fey was a larger creature, and that required more power. How much more? Well, hard to say, since neither of the humanoids I’d raised had been intentional.

  Wayne pressed his lips into a thin line. “I didn’t realize the damage was that extensive. My reports focused on the physical side of the altercation.”

  “It was impressively terrible.” Right now, this case was a daily reminder of why few people managed more than a few years in this job. A harsh lesson that my efforts to break with the clan could be short-term gains. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind where it belonged. That was a problem I’d deal with when necessary.

  “We sneak in, you raise the fey, and then we have the answers we need for you to unravel the spells on the werewolf.” Wayne ticked each point off on his fingers like it would be simple.

  “No.” I shook my head. There was a better way to do this. “We nicely ask Nash for time to review the body because we think there’s more evidence to be found. You distract him, I raise the fey and question him. Once we have the information, I’ll make up the spell, and we’ll trap the werewolf so I can reverse the magic.” As uneasy as intentionally raising the dead made me, the werewolf being forced to kill because of the magic on him deserved a chance to be himself again.

  One finger tapped the face of his wristwatch. “Nash should be at work. When I talked to him yesterday, he said all the work would keep him there through the weekend.”

  “Not so fast. I don’t have the magic for all of this.” Between a week of power-intensive spells and this morning’s excitement, I was down to a quarter of my normal power reserve, which wasn’t enough for what we had in mind.

  “How long?”

  Shrugging, I gave him my best estimate. “Two days. Maybe three.”

  “That’s not fast enough. More deer and people will die.” Wayne grimaced. “Is there any way you can get the power?”

  “I don’t use blood magic! Necromancy is bad enough, but blood magic, that corruption follows you into the hereafter!” By the end, my voice was just shy of a scream.

  Wayne’s back straightened, and his shoulders tightened. The gray of his eyes darkened to that of thunderheads heavy with rain and fury. “That is not what I meant.”

  I took in a deep breath of air and held it, not trusting myself to speak.

  “Is there a way you can regenerate your power faster without risk to your health or that of anyone else?” Each word was carefully enunciated, which did nothing to hide the anger underneath them. “I would never ask you to do blood magic, especially not when we are fighting against that very evil.”

  “How do you suggest I refill my magic?” I hefted the mug filled with a restorative brew into the air before drinking deeply. Trouble was, it wasn’t enough. I could drink nothing but these (if the stress they put on my body didn’t kill me), and I still wouldn’t have the power I needed.

  The herbs were bitter on my tongue. Dad had given me some power, but it wasn’t enough, and I couldn’t ask him. He had his own work, and the last thing I wanted was to give the clan another reason to look at him if they discovered my necromancy.

  “Can’t you witches store energy in things for later use? Like stones or such?”

  “Yes, but I don’t have any.” He didn’t need to know about the vase, especially since it had all of two drops of magic in it right now.

  “What about another witch’s store? Could you use that?” Wayne tapped his fingers on the table. “Do you know anyone who’d let you have that much power?”

  There was one store of energy I should have been able to access, but couldn’t. The clan hadn’t outright forbidden me from withdrawing power, but the implications of what would happen if I did had been unpleasant.

  Of course, a witch in good standing with the clan wouldn’t have that trouble. My dad couldn’t make a withdrawal like this without attracting attention, but other witches were trusted.

  Sweet bones of Narzel. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” Or who I’d have to ask.

  Wayne leaned back in his chair and adopted that bland voice that told me just how much he cared. “Can you live with knowing you could’ve prevented another death?”

  He knew the answer, but he didn’t know the real reason I agreed. I wasn’t afraid of being guilty of acting too slowly and allowing a death. I was afraid my necromancy would get away from me, and one night I’d wake up with a zombie standing over me, asking if my heart had been worth their life.

  With my phone in one hand and a mug of sadly decaffeinated tea in the other, I watched Wayne’s car pull out of the driveway. Our entire plan hinged on this phone call.

  “Narzel fart.” I mashed send and prayed I wouldn’t regret this.

  Two rings.

  Maybe it would be better to hang up.

  Three rings.

  There had to be another way to get a boost.

  “Kelsey, to what do I owe the honor?” Jamie’s voice slid through the line, cool and curious. “Last we spoke on the phone, you hoped a spell would melt my face.”

  I scrunched my eyes shut. He hadn’t forgotten. “You’d just broken up with me after four years together. What did you expect?”

  “Does it matter?”

  How was I supposed to answer? I set the tea on the end table before I could forget it was in my hand and slosh it. “I don’t know. That was years ago. We were different then, younger, naive.”

  “What do you want, Kelsey? You’ve barely been civil.”

  I wanted to get off the phone, but that didn’t get me the magic I needed. “Since the day you dumped me, you’ve shown up at my place to remind me the clan is watching. You’ve never apologized for how you behaved, and you’ve never once apologized for being the clan’s messenger. How should I have acted?”

  My voice held more anger than I’d meant to convey because I was angry. Newly minted adult I may have been, but that hadn’t made my love any less real.

  A sigh drifted across the line. “No apology I give now will sound sincere. But I am sorry. Perhaps one day, you’ll believe me.”

  “Maybe, and maybe it’s years too late.” And the wound in my heart still bled every time I heard his voice.

  “Why did you call?”

  Fingers digging into the arm of the couch, I hoped this bit of trust wouldn’t come back to haunt me. Or light me on fire. “I need magic, for a spell to capture the werewolf corrupted by blood magic.”

  Seconds ticked by.

  “You have magic.”

  “Not enough. I won’t have enough to do the spell tonight, and it has to be tonight.” My hand started to cramp from gripping the arm of the sofa too tightly. One by one, I relaxed my fingers.

  “Oh... oh.” A sound like a pen clicking over and over filled the gap. “How much power?”

  “I’m at about a quarter tank. I need to be full to the brim for this spell.”

  The pen clicked again. “Dinner, my place.”

  “What? That’s where you’ll give me the power?” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice. Why would we need to eat together? Power exchanges could be very simple things.

  “It’s the price.” A hint of amusement twisted through his voice.

  Narzel fart. Always a catch. “There has to be something you want more than that.” Anything but spending an hour trying to remember the times he’d made me laugh. And the last time he’d made me cry.

  “Dinner or no deal.”

  “I still need the magic tonight.” If he didn’t give it to me at dinner how would I get it in time to start the spell preparations?

  “You’ll have your power.” His voice took on a rich texture that he hadn’t grown into years ago. “Do we have a deal?”

  Sweet bony knees of Narzel. “Deal.”

  “I’m delighted.” A weaker woman would’ve shivered at the suggestion in his voice. “Seven. My place.”

  He hung up. Hardly a second later, a message showed up with his address.

  I should’ve felt triumphant. The power wasn’t mine yet, but nearly so. After what Jamie had seen when he’d assisted with the purification ritual, I couldn’t think of a reason he wouldn’t help. The blood magic was even more a threat to him since he didn’t have the necromancy to combat it. And, all it cost was a dinner.

  So, why did I feel like I’d just agreed to a date with my own personal devil?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Four hours later, after a good nap and five minutes of sheer panic at the plan, I parked next to Wayne.

  He hopped out of the Bronco and opened my door. “Are you sure you’re up to this? Don’t you need more magic?”

  “Not for this part.” That was as much truth as I was willing to give him. So much of this plan hinged on if this and then that. None of which was guaranteed. Raising the fey was as close to a sure thing, since I’d basically raised it before.

  He shook his head and backed up.

  Two small plastic bags and a folding knife sat on the back seat. The knife clipped to the pocket of my pants. The bag with a single giant salt crystal went in the pocket next to it. The other bag, filled with thick flakes of salt, went in my other pocket. Out of habit, I patted my hip sheath. Yup, my wand was still there.

  “Ready.” My badge was already in place, and my keys fit nicely in a back pocket. If things went wrong, which given how much fun Narzel had been having with my life lately was probable, I didn’t need a purse to get in the way.

  Wayne fell into step next to me. “Nash is expecting us. I told him I have questions about the scenes I haven’t been to, and you are going to explain the magical implications.”

  He went through the plan like we hadn’t talked about it ten times now, but I let him because I knew the real reason for the repetition. He was nervous. That made two of us.

  “I’ll be quick.” So far, raising the dead hadn’t taken much time, but that could change.

  Nash stepped out of the front door and waved.

  Beside me, the tension slid from Wayne’s shoulders, and he adopted an easy grin. If I hadn’t seen the transition, I’d never have known how tense he’d been a moment ago.

  Today, Nash was in his usual work attire, and with the exception of the four braids pulling his hair into a high ponytail, he looked nothing like the man who’d showed up for drinks at Walking Rug. He smiled at me, and it had a gleam that hadn’t been there on Tuesday. “Howdy, partner.”

  Chuckling and shaking my head, I said, “Nashville werebears don’t strike me as the type to use that phrase.”

  “My mistake.” he bowed his head slightly. His smile faded. “The two of you got stuck working through the weekend too? My condolences. Come on in.” He held the door open for us.

  On the way back to autopsy, Wayne kept up casual conversation about the change in lead officer. Agent Mitchell would be fine, but she needed more time to recover from working in daylight and going without sleep. Daytime wasn’t easy on dark elves.

  Guilt crept over me that I hadn’t visited her, and I promised myself I’d see her as soon as I had twelve hours off work when I wasn’t sleeping. With any luck, that would be tomorrow. Though if this week had taught me anything, it was that I should know better than to rely on luck.

  My faith, or lack thereof, in luck aside, the lab coat Nash insisted I wear before seeing the fey blocked access to my pockets. I’d forgotten about all the personal protective gear that was required down here in the morgue.

  When Nash’s back was turned, Wayne raised an eyebrow at me as he tugged on his lab coat. I shrugged and went back to putting on the gloves. I’d have to roll with it.

  Nash showed Wayne the werewolf’s remains first. I did my best not to look. They’d been bad before, and time didn’t help. Besides, a quick glance at the crushed face reaffirmed my memory that dead or undead, talking was out of the question for this poor person.

  From there, Nash went over to the table with the fey. He went through the wounds one by one, during which I developed a vivid mental image of the amount and type of damage the werewolf had done before the fey had bled to death. On the plus side, the face and neck were relatively untouched.

  “This,” Nash pointed to the fey’s side above his hip, “was where we isolated two separate blood samples, one from the deceased and the other from the werewolf we now identify as CJ.”

  “Could I see those and the process for separating them?” Wayne asked.

  Nash hesitated. “I still have several injuries to detail.”

  “And those would have more meaning to me if I understood the blood evidence the way you do. My area of expertise is ballistics.” His smile managed to be self-deprecating and charming.

  “Well, I could.” Nash’s eyes darted between Wayne and me. “Pine, would you like to join us?”

  “If you don’t mind, I still need to make sense of magical traces. Could I stay here? It’s easier to visualize when looking at the body.” That last part was a lie, and hopefully Nash couldn’t hear it in my voice.

  “Well.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Sure. We’ll be in the next room if you need us.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nash motioned for Harris to follow him. “What do you know about typing blood?”

  Wayne’s shoulder bumped Nash’s as they walked to the door. For as much space as Wayne seemed to take up, Nash was actually the taller of the two. “I recall something about different protein markers.”

  Closing my eyes, I relaxed my hold on my necromancy. Rather than flow through me, it rushed out, like a river bursting through a dam. It trembled along my skin, and it took every bit of my will to haul it back inside where it belonged. Standing by the fey and its unseeing eyes, I had the feeling that if I was even the slightest bit less disciplined, it would’ve filled the room with no regard for the consequences.

  A thick cord of necromancy gripped tightly in a metaphysical hand, my wand in my real hand pointed at the fey, and I was ready. “Eair Deyr.” It hurt to push the words past the lump in my throat.

  Icy necromancy shoved its way out of me and stampeded into the fey. The body twitched as cold power poured in.

  Not daring to breathe, I watched, unsure if I hoped this worked. If it failed, perhaps it had all been some terrible nightmare, and I’d wake up to find I’d been corrupted with the blood magic at the first scene and nothing else had been real.

  The fey sat up, mouth open, ribs expanding as if regaining the breath it had lost during death. The filmed over eyes turned ice blue and twitched in the now open orbital sockets. “Where am I?”

  “Shhh!” I took my eyes off the fey long enough to check the door. If they’d heard, Wayne was delaying Nash. “You have to be quiet.”

  That second was all it took for the fey to fling the sheet to the side and swing its legs over the side of the table. It gasped and clasped a hand over the grievous wound in its thigh. “I need a doctor!” it rasped, low enough to count for quiet but with an edge of panic that would carry.

  Oh, no. “A doctor can’t help you.”

  The fey jerked its head up to look at me. “Are you saying I’m going to die?” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He snapped it shut, blinking rapidly before saying, “Why can’t I scream?”

  “Um.” Telling him I’d said he had to be quiet and that my order had made it impossible for him to scream didn’t seem like the best idea. Neither did informing him he was dead. Call me crazy, but I doubted he’d take the news well.

  He looked away from me long enough to take in the room. “Why am I in a morgue?”

  The knot in my stomach was the knowledge that I was well out of my depth. He hadn’t risen like Jameson, aware of the situation and ready to help, or remembered when he whispered to me about spells.

  He started to get off the table. Given the state of his body, that was unlikely to end well, especially since he needed to be back where he’d started when Nash returned.

  “Stop.”

  He froze.

  I let out a sigh of relief. At least that much was working. “Lay down as you were.”

  “No, I want to go to the doctor.” His body started moving into position. “Why is this happening to me?” A squeak joined the rasp of his voice.

  Murmurs reached me through the door. Narzel’s interfering bones. The fey had to be dead again before Nash came back.

  Wrapping necromancy around my voice, I tried again. “Tell me what charm, spell, or other type of magic you used on the werewolf.”

  “I didn’t… a charm, one that was destroyed in the creation of the attached spell.” His eyes widened. “Why am I telling you this?”

  “Because you have to. Now, tell me the rest.” Right then, when I forced a scared undead man to tell me his secrets, I felt a tarnish creep over my soul.

  “Do not mix. How was I to know he’d already activated a charm?” His arm shook as he tried to lift it off the table, but I’d raised him, and he couldn’t disobey my command.

  “Tell me about the spell you used.”

  “Drop of blood. Command him to obey. Cross not with other magics, or mayhem will you make.” If his eyes hadn’t been clouded with death, they would’ve been unfocused.

  “A compulsion? But those take power. How was it powered?” The voices in the other room were getting louder.