Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [144]
It would have seemed silly if I hadn’t seen the look on Bradley’s face. If he hadn’t told me about my file. He said file, like everyone had a file. Maybe they did. But someone had requested my file. I had a sudden image of my life, my crimes, all printed in neat type crossing one shadowy desk after another until it reached, where? Or would the question be who?
Blake, Anita Blake. It even sounded funny. Of course, the federal government has never been known for its sense of humor.
35
EDWARD LET ME drive his Hummer to the hospital. He stayed behind to wait for the witch. She was Donna’s friend so he’d play Ted and hold her hand through the crime scene. It would be her very first crime scene. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end to sink or swim. Even I’d had a gentler introduction to police work than this.
Olaf stayed to commune with the bodies. Fine with me. I did not want to be in a car, or any small confined space with Olaf without Edward along to chaperone. I think the police and the Feds would have gladly given him to me for the ride, though. All he’d really done was confirm my supposition that the killer would not have willingly left his trophies behind, though Olaf knew less about magic than I did. He didn’t know why the killer left. I was the only one with a scenario for that, and even I would be relieved if the wicca practitioner seconded my opinion. If she didn’t, then we were truly out of guesses.
In fact, almost no one wanted to go with me. Franklin thought I was nuts. What did I mean, the survivors weren’t survivors, but the living dead? Bradley wasn’t willing to leave Franklin as the ranking agent on site. The geology maps were on the way, and I don’t think he wanted Franklin in charge of the search. Marks wouldn’t leave the scene to the Feds, and he also thought I was nuts. Ramirez and one uniform followed me in an unmarked car.
I didn’t really think they’d find the monster. There had been no tracks. No tracks meant either it could fly or it dematerialized. Either way they weren’t going to find it, not on foot, not with maps. So I felt free to go to the hospital.
Another reason to go into Albuquerque was that Edward had found me a name. A man who was known as a brujo, a witch. Donna had only given “Ted” the name on the condition it would not be used to harm the man. She’d only been given the name on the strict understanding that no harm would come to him. The one who gave up the name didn’t want the brujo to come back and hurt her. He would work evil spells for money, as well as personal vengeance. If you could prove in court that he performed real magic for nefarious purposes, it was an automatic death sentence. His name was Nicandro Baco, and he was supposed to be a necromancer. If he was, he’d be the first one, other than me, that I’d ever met. The name came with one other warning. Be careful of him. He was much more dangerous than he looked. Just what I needed—a necromancer with an attitude. Oh, wait, I was a necromancer with an attitude. If he got shitty with me, we’d see who was the bigger fish. Was that a chip on my shoulder or overconfidence? We’d see.
Oh, and Bernardo went with me. He sat in the passenger seat slumped down until the seatbelt I’d insisted he wear cut across his neck. His handsome face was set in a scowl, arms crossed over his chest. I think he’d have crossed his legs if he’d had room. Words like closed-off, brooding, came to mind.
Shadows stretched across the road, though there were no trees or buildings to cast them. It was like the shadows just spilled out of the earth itself to lie across the road like a promise of the night to come. If you went by the watch on my wrist, it was early evening. If you went by the level of daylight, it was late afternoon.