Heart's Blood(45)

Harry nodded. "So we don't call off the alert."

"Someone's dead." Pearl spoke up, startling everyone. "Murdered."

Grey felt his face set in grim lines, which were becoming all too familiar. He took pains to avoid grimness, but lately, all his pains did no good at all. "I am not surprised."

"But-" Elinor sounded surprised. "You never left your workshop. None of us sensed anything at all until the spirits spread their alarm."

"This murderer is a reckless fool," Grey said. "But he is not stupid. He learns. The newspapers have been filled with speculation about Galloway's murder. Because of that, he knows much of what we know. He will have taken care to contain his spell this time, to keep it from spilling free and catching anyone else in its coils."

They had reached the crowd-policemen and Briganti mostly-with a smattering of civilian magicians. Beyond them, in the distant gloom, pushed back by the ordinary police, the dark forms of the vagrants who spent their days in the park could be seen, a low rumble of muttering rising as they watched.

The magicians all recognized Harry and Grey, if the policemen didn't, and let them lead their little group through. Grey heard muttering at the presence of the ladies, most disapproving of subjecting them to such ugliness. A few muttered against women with magic. Those Grey took note of and pointed out to Harry.

Several of the Briganti present were keeping people back from the body, even though they were enforcers and not I-Branch. They'd learned that much, to keep people from muddying the magical residues left behind at a murder-by-magic, so that I-Branch could trace them.

The residues were strictly human, Grey noted with a bit of shock. They held nothing of the terrifying reek of pure evil, like that horrific relic in the conjurer's guild hall. Could the return of the demon to hell have dragged all its stink with it?

He cast about for ghosts, but found none close. The first conjurers to respond would have set up a warding perimeter, despite the dawn. The victim's ghost would be unpredictable, perhaps clinging to the body, perhaps slow to manifest. Best to be ready.

Someone had covered the body with a cloak. That much would not interfere with the investigation and it showed respect for the victim as well as soothing the sensibilities of the onlookers. Pearl and Elinor pushed to the forefront of the circle around the covered body, between Grey and Harry.

"Poor thing," Elinor whispered, wiping away a tear. "How frightened she must have been."

"She?" Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

Elinor pointed, and in the slowly brightening gloom, Grey saw a sodden plait of dark hair trailing across the gravel path. A woman this time. Grey's stomach lurched at the thought. Had the murderer killed her the same way he'd killed Galloway? Grey didn't want to know, much less see, but knew he would have to.

Pearl gasped, hands flying up to cover her mouth. "Oh no," she whispered. "No."

Grey put his arm around her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Pearl shook her head and slipped out of his grasp, gliding across the empty circle so quickly he couldn't catch her. She sank to her knees beside the body and raised the cloak just as he reached her.

As he feared, the woman's face was crushed and broken beyond recognition. He tried to lift Pearl, draw her away, but she fought him off. "No." Her voice was a harsh whisper. "I have to do this. I have to. Rose deserves no less."

Grey looked again at the ruined face while Pearl wrestled a handkerchief from her pocket. "You can't be sure who she is," he said. "She could be anyone."

Pearl shook her head violently enough to knock her bonnet askew. He straightened it for her.

"I know." She used the handkerchief, more substantial than the usual lady's accessory, to clean the few streaks of blood gently from the woman's battered face. "This is Rose Bowers. Her blood told me, and blood never lies. She sold posies. Violets mostly, but sometimes roses, when she could get them."

She laughed, but her laughter held tears. "She used to joke that her parents should have named her Violet rather than Rose, since rose bowers were so much harder to get.

"This time of year, ‘when the flowers is all gone-' " Pearl changed her voice, apparently quoting Rose, "sometimes she sold herself, but only when she could find nothing else to sell. Rose was a good girl, as good as she could afford to be. She had a good, kind heart. She was my friend."

Grey wanted to wrap Pearl up and protect her from this pain, knowing he couldn't, knowing that the greatest wealth, the greatest position-even the greatest magic-could protect no one from the pain of loss. The queen herself was still secluded in grief for her lost prince.

He could feel Pearl sweeping magic into the blood on the handkerchief. "I used to work protection spells for her," she said. "They worked, too. No one ever hurt Rose as long as she wore one of my spells. But I wasn't there. The spell wore off."

"No." Grey lifted her all the way into his arms, and carried her away. The crowd of magicians parted to let him through, and he bore her to a bench where he set her down.

He gripped her shoulders, giving them a little shake. When she still wouldn't look up at him, he took hold of her chin and turned her face up. "Rose's death is not your fault."                       
       
           



       

Behind him, he could hear Meade organizing the murder investigation. He needed to join them, but Pearl came first.

"She was murdered, Pearl. Her death lies at the feet of the men who killed her, not yours."

"But-"

"No." He stopped her speech with a finger across her lips. "You don't know if your little spell would have done any good against this madman. You say the blood never lies, so ask it. Ask if you played any part at all in this tragedy."

"I-" Pearl blinked at him, as if she'd never considered the possibility of asking such a direct question, then her gaze turned elsewhere as she did.

"Oh." Her expression cleared, brightened. "It says no. It doesn't say who, but it says not me."

"All right then." Grey straightened and offered his arm to Pearl, who stood and took it. "To work."

Someone had covered Rose's face again, he saw when they returned. He wanted to stay with Pearl, help with the investigation of the murder of her friend, but all the magicians in London were on alert and were converging on the park. As conjury magister, he was the best qualified to lead the search for the demon and where it might have gone-back to hell or off to wreak havoc elsewhere on this plane.

"You see why women have no place in magic," Nigel Cranshaw blared, pushing his way through the crowd. "They insist on coddling when there's work to be done."

"She knew the victim." Grey spoke loud enough for his voice to carry to most of the growing crowd. "They were friends. Would you not give a moment of attention to anyone who discovered a friend had been murdered?"

Cranshaw tried to stand firm, but he'd lost sympathy and knew it.

"And while dealing with that shock, that grief, Miss Parkin has given us the victim's name-Rose Bowers-and gathered up the magic of Rose Bowers's innocent blood to be held for the investigation of the crime. Work has been done."

Grey passed Pearl into Elinor's comforting arms, and began giving his orders. "Meade, you head up the evidence collection. Tap the men you want. Pearl, Elinor, you're with Meade. Your particular talents will be more useful here, I think. The rest of you lot-" Grey raised his voice to get the crowd's attention.

"Move toward the pond, away from our murder scene, and we'll put you all to work." He waved them in the direction he wanted with wide, semaphore motions. Several Briganti, with their identifying armbands, joined in to help.

Grey sent the youngest boys back to the school with their magic-masters and instructions to keep an eye out. Everyone else, he asked to pair up, conjurer with alchemist, and wizards to one side, wizards being so rare. Only twelve at the master level in all of England. Not so many in London at present. Someone procured a map of London, which Harry divided into search sections. Grey sent them out four and six at a time, allocating one wizard per quadrant.

"Make sure your spirits know to keep in touch," Grey told the conjurers, "and to alert us straightaway if anything untoward occurs-especially if you become incapable of instructing them. After moonset, use your whistles."

He tried to make sure every group that went out had at least one conjurer who could call spirits with the moon, but he couldn't always remember which men had that ability. Finally, all the searchers had gone, save for himself and a trio of sixth-formers at the academy. Two alchemists and a conjurer. If they were sixth-formers, they ought to be ready for a journeyman's test soon. Grey looked them over and grimaced in a smilelike fashion. "Ready, lads?"

The two rock-and-water boys gave him eager nods. The conjury lad swallowed hard. "Demons, sir?" his voice cracked and he flushed. "Truly?"

Grey's grim expression returned yet again. "Unfortunately, yes. And little as we are prepared to deal with it, we are more prepared than they are." He gestured at the world outside the park, including poor Rose Bowers under her borrowed cloak.