Witch Hunt(18)

The second I freed my jacket, I realized that I should have taken at least a few seconds to prepare before going after Stonecrow.
Mostly because I was suddenly suffocating.
I’m not much into big showy rituals, but I know what it feels like when someone else is doing one. The air goes thick with magic and it’s like trying to breathe underwater. That was what happened to me when I crossed over the invisible line of wards underneath the trees rimming Shady Groves. My chest clenched up, throat closed, eyes watering.
I sneezed into the elbow of my sleeve. And then sneezed again, and again.
Shit. If I’d been on another OPA training run, I would have gotten so many points off on covert ops. Needed to clear my head. And my nose.
Necromancer or not, Stonecrow had real power. But I left my gun in my holster as I crouch-walked through the bushes, trying to make as little noise as possible for a six-foot-tall ape like myself. I plastered my back to the edge of a mausoleum and blew a few more muffled sneezes into my sleeve.
When I finally got control of my breathing, I heard the drums.
The rhythm immediately made me think of tribal things. The jungles of Central America. Wildcats and parrots. Those big bass drums that you pound with mallets before battle and make your enemies shit themselves because it sounds so badass.
The drumming was punctuated by a dry jangling noise. Not metal, but maybe wood.
A thickly accented voice echoed over the graveyard.
“By the light of the coyote moon, I summon the spirits,” she said. “By the dirt of these hallowed graves, I summon the spirits.” More rattling, another beat on the drums.
That accent didn’t sound like anything I’d heard before. I could barely understand a damn thing she was saying. But between what I did understand and the overwhelming sting of her magic, I knew that I’d found the suspect.
I peered around the edge of the mausoleum. Further down the hill, I glimpsed faint, flickering candlelight reflecting off of smooth brown skin. Bare skin, to be exact.
A woman was standing in front of a grave with her arms raised. Bone bracelets encircled her wrists. That was the only thing she seemed to be wearing above the waist, aside from a feathered headdress that had probably required the death of an entire endangered species to produce. There was some serious meat on those half-naked hips. The swell of her ass was covered in a strip of coyote pelt.
Beyond her shoulder, I could make out a pair of terrified-looking faces. They were far beyond the light from her fire. The candles lit their eyes with bright pinpricks. It was enough to tell that they were both wearing suits, like they’d be off to office jobs once they were done with the graveyard girl.
So this would be Isobel Stonecrow and her latest clients.
She was still talking in that thick, obscure accent. “Gods of the sky and stars! Deliver to me Brad Stewart!”
“Brian,” said the woman in the suit skirt. “His name was Brian.”
A pause, and Stonecrow called, “Brian!”
I sneezed repeatedly into my sleeve, trying to smother my face with my suit so that nobody would hear. The magic was too much for me. I slid to the ground with my arms over my nose and mouth, sitting on muddy grass that was still wet from yesterday’s rain.
Fortunately, Stonecrow was drumming again, even louder than before. She beat that damn drum until it sounded like the skin might break.
Then, suddenly, she stopped.
“Cindy?” Her voice sounded different, higher-pitched and with an American accent. “What are you doing here, Cindy?” The magic was still thick, but it had stopped building in intensity. It felt like the whole world had stopped to listen to Stonecrow’s voice.
The other woman gave a cry. “Brian!”
Magic surged, hard and sudden.
I sneezed.
There was no drumming to cover my ass this time. There was a clattering of bones as Stonecrow whirled to stare at me, only halfway concealed by the corner of the mausoleum. The candlelight from the tapers lit up the side of her face, giving me a glimpse of a very beautiful woman. She had big lips. I’d always liked big lips.#p#分页标题#e#
Crimson striped her cheeks, nose, throat, breasts. Was that…blood?
She lifted the mallet for the drums in one hand like she was going to hurl it at me.
“Who’s there?”
So much for sneaking up on her. I stood and put a hand on my holster. “Isobel Stonecrow, you are under arrest for necromancy.”
Her clients didn’t need to hear anything else. They turned tail and fled down the hill toward their red Lexus. The woman was wearing three-inch heels, so it was a slow fleeing. At another time, it would have been funny to watch her stagger through the mud.
Stonecrow flung the mallet at me. I ducked. It twirled harmlessly over my shoulder.