Chapter 19
The following morning, after getting home late from New York, I called Lajoie.
“Did you learn anything?” he asked.
“Yes. Lots. We need to meet.”
“Okay, gimme a sec,” he replied. I heard muffled speaking as he covered the mic and conversed with someone, presumably Connors. “Alright, we’ll be at the shop in an hour or so.”
He hung up before I could respond. In a hurry. Perhaps they’d found something, too. Or they hadn’t and were just eager to get whatever I had in the hopes it would lead to something they could do. Well, I’d have to disappoint them. I had important background information, but there was a lot more work to do before I could identify where the next attack would take place—even knowing the relationship of the shifting ley-lines to the killings, there were hundreds of possible attack sites over the next day or two. I didn’t know which specific node was next, or where it needed to be during the sacrifice. And thanks to the Immortal I had suspects for whoever was pulling the strings, but nothing concrete, and certainly not enough to act on.
An hour later, a glass of Scotch by my right hand, I looked up at the sound of the bell over the door to see Detectives Lajoie and Connors enter. It was raining outside, and they were both dripping. I guess they hadn’t been able to park nearby.
Without breaking stride in his approach toward the counter, Lajoie called, “Okay, what have you got?”
I closed the book on the Olympians I’d been skimming and took a sip.
“Do you want any?” They both shook their heads impatiently. On duty, or just not fans of Scotch, I neither knew nor cared. I was being polite—I preferred to drink my alcohol myself.
“You told Lajoie you learned something,” Connors said. “What is it?” Her features were even sharper than usual with her hair soaking wet, a few stray strands plastered to her forehead and left cheek.
I took another sip, letting the spirit run over my tongue for a moment before swallowing, savoring the burning, oaky flavor. Then I told them what I’d found in the Athenaeum, the theory I’d developed about the end goal of the Tamesis, and what it would mean for the future of the magical world. They listened quietly, trying to process what I was saying through their limited knowledge of magic.
As I concluded, Lajoie pursed his lips. “Okay, suppose you’re correct. What’s the worst-case scenario?”
I took another long, slow sip.
“If they get everything right and it works according to plan, the worst-case scenario is the Fae decide they’re tired of hiding in the Otherworld and move to re-establish themselves as a major power on Earth, leading to that open war that I mentioned when we first went to visit Lugh. Which would be bad for everyone. With the Arcanum crippled and unable to stand against the Fae armies, humanity would probably still win in the long run due to sheer weight of numbers and weapons, but it would be a lot uglier, with a lot more casualties on all sides.”
“And if everything doesn’t go according to plan?” Lajoie asked, one eyebrow raised.
I pursed my lips. “If their calculations are off, or if they somehow make a significant mistake, such as too much or too little energy, imperfect timing, or imperfect alignment of the ley-lines, then the consequences are unknowable. Possibly nothing happens. Or possibly they shift the Great Cycle to the wrong new equilibrium and destroy the veil in the process, severing Earth from the Otherworld and maybe even ending the processes that generate magic in the universe. Which would almost certainly have dire effects for the Fae and the magical races of Earth, and possibly even for humanity at large.”
“What do you mean dire, Quinn?” Connors asked.
“I mean, Adrienne,” I replied, looking her dead in the eye, “that everyone could die. All of them. Every human and nonhuman animal on Earth, and every Faerie in the Otherworld. I’ve been pondering this for a day and a half now, and as best I can figure, that’s why the Tuatha Dé forbid experimenting with the veil in the first place. Magic is intimately tied to life and has been ever since the Earth became linked to the Otherworld tens of thousands of years ago. That event, the introduction of magic to our world, caused a mass extinction. It vanishing could well mean another, even the end of life itself.”
They took this as calmly as could be expected. I saw the tightening in their eyes and the corners of their lips, and Connors’s breathing quickened ever so slightly.
“So…” she began, and then trailed off as she tried to process it.
“So,” I picked up, quietly, “we’re no longer looking to stop a couple of serial killers. We’re now, quite possibly, trying to save the world. The three of us.”
A moment of silence. Then Connors spoke.
“Guess I’ll have that drink now, if you wouldn’t mind.”
I quirked the corners of my lips and poured each of them a finger of the good stuff.
Lajoie raised his glass. “To saving the world.” We raised ours in response and the three of us drank silently for a moment. Then he set his glass down and asked, “So how the hell are we supposed to do it?”
“I’m not sure,” I shook my head.
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Connors chuckled drily.
“We keep doing what we’re doing. I’ve got a lead on the ritual itself, and with any luck might be able to pinpoint the next location before the murder actually takes place. That should allow us to disrupt the rites and stop the Tamesis, which would buy some time. But it won’t end the threat unless we can stop whoever is behind it, too. I’ve got potential suspects on that front.”
“You do?” Lajoie raised his eyebrows. “Care to share?”
I shrugged. “A friend of mine suggested that some of the Olympians may have the means, motive, and opportunity to be the power behind the scenes.”
“The Olympians? As in Greek gods?” he asked.
“Greco-Roman, but close enough,” I nodded. “They’re a tribe of the High Fae, like the Aesir and the Aes Sidhe, and one of my old mentors who is very familiar with them pointed out that they’ve got the requisite knowledge and power, they’ve resented humanity for a long time now, and they could have recruited followers in both worlds to do their dirty work for them.”
“Can we talk to them?” Connors sounded hopeful.
“Not really,” I answered. “They have no formal relations with the Arcanum and they keep to themselves.”
She sighed. “So what can we do about it?”
“Not much, to be honest. Even if Janus is pulling the strings, I doubt he’s conducting the rituals personally, especially since we know whoever was behind it last time used the Avartagh for the actual deeds. But I can try to put out feelers in the local Hellenic Revivalist neopagan community and see if anything comes up, I suppose.” I took a long sip. “Did you two find anything while I was gone?”
“We did, as a matter of fact,” Connors replied. “For starters, the M.E. identified our second victim by her DNA, which was in CODIS—apparently she spent some time in prison for burglary in her early 20s. Jane Crandall. Did you know her?”
“Vaguely, in passing.” I thought about it for a moment. “She was an unranked sorcerer, like Evan—trained by the Arcanum, but not powerful enough to be considered for membership. There are a few dozen of them in the area. She’d only been in Philly for a few years. An occasional customer of mine, but nothing more than that.”
“Okay,” she continued. “Well, we got the crime scene guys to go through her apartment and compared all the paperwork they found with what we found in Evan Townes’s place. There were a bunch of things in common, but most were to be expected, like shopping in overlapping occult stores, including yours. But they’d also both visited the same bar in Germantown and had receipts. They drank different things—seems Evan was a beer guy and Jane preferred wine. But for some reason they’d both purchased the same specialty martini. The coincidence warranted checking the place out. We figured it might help us figure out how the killers are targeting their sacrificial lambs.”
“Anything unusual about the bar?” I asked.
Lajoie shook his head. “No. But I showed the bartender pictures of both victims, and he clearly remembered each of them buying a drink for a woman they’d met at the bar. The same woman, as it turned out. Got him to sit with a sketch artist.”
Connors pulled out a smartphone and showed me an image—a sketch of a woman.
“Look familiar?” Her tone implied she already knew the answer.
I stared for a second before recognizing her. “Samantha Carr.” It wasn’t a perfect likeness, but it was clearly her. “She’s a Sorcerer. Third Rank.”
I rubbed my temples and thought it through for a moment.
“There’s plenty of perfectly reasonable explanations for why she’d be involved. Simplest would be that she’s investigating the same case we are—as a ranked member of the Arcanum, she’s sworn the same oaths I have and thus has the same responsibilities.”
“Oaths? What kind of oaths?” Connors asked.
“The same kind you took when you became a police officer. Ranked Sorcerers of the Arcanum swear three oaths in accordance with the society’s mission: we swear to protect mankind from magical and supernatural threats, to uphold and defend the Arcanum’s treaties, and to serve the duly elected officers of the Arcane Court. Sam got back into town recently, but if something came to her attention suggesting imminent rogue magical activity, she may have somehow been able to identify potential victims ahead of time. That would explain the meetings in Germantown.”
Lajoie nodded and stroked his chin in thought. “She showed up in town recently, you said? Could be a coincidence, I suppose, but what if it isn’t? Cops swear oaths, sure, but there are plenty of dirty cops out there.”
I shook my head. “Our oaths are bound in magic. I don’t know of any case of a ranked Sorcerer turning traitor or deliberately foreswearing his or her oaths in the thousand-year history of the Arcanum. Even if she wanted to, a Third Rank like Sam wouldn’t have the power to break her oaths’ binding enchantments without help. She could voluntarily resign her rank and the Arcane Court would dissolve the bonds, but short of that, betrayal would lead to severe magical consequences. Possibly even fatal. It’s not impossible, I suppose, but it would take power far beyond her own.”
“Would these Olympians have that kind of power? If she’s in league with them…”
“They would, yes,” I nodded, “but I don’t even want to think about that. If Sam is directly involved in the murders, this just got a million times more complicated. A Faerie and a member of the Arcanum, working together on an ancient and powerful blood rite invented by an insane Fae criminal? Possibly directed by one or more Olympians? I don’t even know what the full implications of that are. But she, at least, is bound to have allies and friends in the Arcanum. Plus she and I have a bit of history.”
“What kind of history?” Lajoie looked concerned.
I shook my head. “Nothing serious. She used to come around the shop pretty regularly when she first moved to the city. She was interested in me, presumably by reputation rather than my actual personality, and we went on one date. It did not go well.” I left it at that. “Hadn’t seen her in years until recently, though. She told me she’d been travelling.”
“Is there any way you can track her down?” Connors asked.
“Maybe,” I nodded. “I need to make a phone call.”
They continued sipping the whisky while I dialed. An increasingly familiar voice answered. “Hello?”
“Rachel,” I said.
“Quinn,” she replied, sounding tired. “I just got back from Canada. How can I be of service?”
“I know the Rectors keep track of members’ whereabouts, and I need to find someone. Third Rank, name is Samantha Carr. Lives somewhere in the Philly area.”
She sighed. “Give me a second, I’ve got to look through my records.”
I waited, drumming my fingers on the counter impatiently.
“Conshohocken,” she finally replied, “wherever that is. I assume you know. No exact address listed.”
“I’m familiar,” I responded. “We should be able to work with that.”
“Glad to be of help.” She sounded anything but glad. “The Lord Marshal passed the word that you’re working for her directly, and we Rectors are to give you every possible assistance.”
“Of course, she did,” I grumbled.
“Anything else, Quinn?”
“No, that’s all I needed,” I answered.
She abruptly hung up without saying goodbye. If her voice was anything to judge by, her wechuge hunting trip in the Canadian Rockies had been exhausting. I didn’t begrudge her the lack of social pleasantries. I certainly wasn’t one to judge.
“Well?” Connors asked.
“She lives in Conshohocken. With that and the sketch you should be able to find her.”
Lajoie nodded. “That we can do. Conshy’s pretty small, so it shouldn’t be too problematic. And when we find her?”
“Then we talk to her. We, you understand? Do not approach her without me.”
They both nodded.
“We’ve seen enough at this point to let you deal with the magic stuff,” Lajoie said. He tossed back the last sip of Scotch in his glass. “Also there was something else. The bartender told us she’d met with a few others besides our two victims. Since he’d only seen them each once, he couldn’t give accurate sketches, but we’ve got general descriptions. Four total. Three men—one mid-thirties, muscular, Hispanic; one younger scrawny black kid in his early twenties; one tall elderly white guy. The last was a heavier short woman of indeterminate ethnicity—our guy thought she might be Native American or Middle Eastern. Any of those ring a bell?”
I thought for a minute and shook my head. “Maybe vaguely. Nothing concrete enough for me to help track down, sorry. But if she was talking to them, we can certainly ask her when you find her. And one is probably our next victim. So I’d suggest hurrying.”
“Well, partner,” he said, looking at Connors, “let’s get to detectiving.”