The Isis Collar

“Where do you want him?” The taller of the goons was speaking to a person not yet revealed.

When I heard Glinda Miller-Thompson-Jamisyn’s voice (or whoever the hell she was) I turned to see John’s reaction. He’d paled further, and was giving little shakes of his head no, like he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing and hearing. He looked so … pained. I didn’t even want to say I told you so.

A flicker of motion over Dottie’s bowl drew my attention back to the seeing. “Put him over there, in the spelled cuffs. They’re strong enough to secure him. And please do be rough.”

John swore under his breath as he watched—his eyes fixed firmly on the vision of a woman staring at him with hate in her eyes. “Glinda. I … what the hell are you doing?”

The men chuckled and I winced at the image in the bowl as John’s unconscious form was chained to the wall to hang by his arms and then used as a punching bag by three men until the blonde finally held up her hand. “Okay, that’s enough. We don’t want to kill him.” Her smile sent the same chills down my spine as it had in the bar. “Yet.”

The shortest of the three guys moved back and rubbed his knuckles, which were already swollen and red. “So what’d he do to ya?”

She shrugged and walked toward him, swaying her hips with angry sexuality that the three men couldn’t help but notice and lick their lips at. “He was born more powerful than me. He seemed to think that made me less than him and his handpicked cadre of professionals. But who’s more powerful now, John Creede?” She reached up and removed the item around his neck. It was some sort of jewelry—gold with gemstones—and it glowed with energy. She put it around her own neck and likewise arched her back. But it wasn’t pain that made her spine bow. It was ecstasy. “Oh, my. That’s nice. I like this sort of power. In fact, I think I’ll keep it. All of it.” Her arm shot forward in a powerful, magically enhanced punch to John’s face that was the cause of the cut over his eye. His head snapped sideways and hit the wall, giving him the black eye he still bore. “A few more times and he’ll be less than I ever was and I’ll be more than he could dream of being. Then we’ll see who the employees respect.”

Ouch. I looked at John. His eyes were glittering with anger, his hands clenched into fists.

But it was Bruno who grabbed my attention when he whispered, “Dear God. That’s supposed to only be a legend. Where the hell did she get it?”

“Get what? Do you recognize that necklace?”

“It’s the Isis Collar,” John said coldly. “George had always hinted he’d found something ancient and dangerous in a private collection and was guarding it to keep it from getting into the hands of someone with evil intent. But I had no idea Glinda had found it … or would actually use it.”

“The Isis Collar?” Okay, color me clueless. Apparently this was a big deal, though.

Bruno whispered to me while staring at the image in the bowl. “It was supposedly a gift from the goddess Isis to the fifth Egyptian pharaoh. Most of the pharaohs were mages, but they didn’t start to get powerful until later in the First Dynasty. There’s a little-known legend that the Isis Collar could steal magic from any mage or witch so the pharaoh was always the most powerful one in the room. Isis is supposed to protect anyone wearing her collar.” I was happy to turn to listen to Bruno, to turn away from watching the three goons punch, kick, and slam John’s body with everything from crowbars to lead shot–filled saps. Damn. Yeah, he was going to the hospital. I was amazed he was still upright. Even he was paling at the image. But I think worst for him was watching the smile on the face of a woman he’d considered family as he was beaten.

“The thing is, magic is part of the user; it’s … tuned to the individual.”

“But mages can share magic. I saw you guys do it with the others at the rift.”

“Yes,” John agreed. “But that was willingly, and it was a real effort to make it work. Taking it by force, raw and unfiltered…”

“Could drive someone insane?” I suggested.

His eyes were haunted. “Oh, yes.”

Dottie wasn’t listening; her whole attention was focused on the images playing out in the bowl. She was in control, but it was taking everything she had. I’d seen her do this before. She could do it, but she’d be tired for days after.

The image skipped then until what was apparently the next morning … this morning. Glinda was removing the collar from John’s neck one more time as he moaned in pain. “That should be enough. Kill him.”

The three guards, who were having coffee and donuts at a table in the corner, raised their brows. “You didn’t pay us to kill him. That’s fifty grand extra. You got that kinda money?”

Glinda shrugged and put the collar back around her neck with a small smile and wiggle of her hips. “Not at the moment. The amount I had to put out to get rid of the half siren bitch was simply ridiculous!” She pouted. “Fine, I’ll wait to kill him. I have to get ready to ship the rest of the antibiotic out of the country so nobody can say I was hoarding it. And the group who bought the rest of the bombs will be at the docks tonight to collect them. Then I’ll have all the money I need and the best part is that it’ll be loony religious zealots who take the blame for the whole mess. Then I’ll just buy Miller and Creede at auction after he’s been dead for a few years.”

Fuck a duck. The prisoner at the FBI had been right. There would be more bombs. Worse, she was shipping the drugs away. Who knows how many would die?

The small goon in the image got a worried look on his face. “But we get the shots now, right? Before they’re gone?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Of course. Of course. Go to the lab. Tell them I sent you. There’s still a few hundred doses I haven’t moved to the warehouse. But be careful not to get spotted by anyone on the first floor. One woman’s unusually nosy. Maybe she needs to be the first person with a full-blown case.” She smiled again. “In fact, why don’t you collect her? I think she needs to be late tomorrow. And then I’ll need to start looking for a replacement.”

Wow. Wasn’t she a sweetheart?

“That’ll cost you extra,” said the big guy.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve only got a few thousand left and I’ve got to live on that until the wire hits the Swiss account.” She looked at John’s limp form and sighed. “Fine. Take him back, but not to his house. Dump him at that crappy office he leased here in the city. I’ll give you the address. He won’t remember anything anyway, so we can always pick him off later. And if the siren is still hanging around there, see if you can put her in the hospital.”

As they moved through the swinging doors, I got another chill to my blood. “Oh, and once I get the money, there’s another mage I want to you find.…”

Dottie came to with a start. She shook her head and took a deep breath. “My. That was draining. I believe some tea is in order. Celia, would you mind?”

She’s really good at breaking the tension in a room with grace and poise. And I had to admit I was happy to escape.

By the time I got back with the tea, John and Bruno had gone. I was surprised I didn’t hear them go, but I was sort of preoccupied. “Did they go to the hospital?”

“I believe so, dear.” She patted the couch next to her. “Come sit down so we can talk.”

I set down a cup of tea in front of her but really had no time to talk. I had a ton of things to do, the first of which was to call Rizzoli. He needed to find some way to locate the remaining bombs and find and arrest Glinda. Glinda the wicked witch. “No time, I’m afraid. But thanks for this. And for the call yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” She blinked, her eyes still a little glazed. “Did I call you?”

Yeah, I wondered if that might be the case. “You called me during a trance to give me information I needed. It helped and everybody got out safe.”

“Oh my goodness! That must be when I found myself in the kitchen holding the phone. But there was a dial tone, so I’d presumed I hadn’t made a call. I’m so glad it helped. It’s important to be a good prophet if I’m going to be one at all.”

Prophet? I looked at her warily. One of the things the siren queen, Lopaka, told me was that true sirens have spirits who attend them and prophets to guide their future, that ghosts and seers seek them out to offer their aid. I’d always considered it coincidence that Vicki was a clairvoyant and Ivy haunted me. And Dottie was just a nice old lady who needed a job. “Why do you say that?”

She tipped her head. “Because I am, of course. Before she died, the queen’s prophet, Pili, called me and explained how it worked.” She smiled at me and I frowned in return. “Don’t be so fearful, dear. It doesn’t change anything. I merely allow myself to be … receptive to your life. Just like I used to with dear Karl. It helped him do his job and made me feel useful. I do like to feel useful.”

Karl Gibson had been the cop who’d introduced me to her. He’d died in the line of fire when a demon attacked at the World Series. “I don’t want to be a burden to you.” I was serious and it probably showed on my face. “I don’t need a prophet, or a clairvoyant. I do okay on my own.”

She nodded patiently but gave the mark from the death curse on my palm a pointed look. “If you say so.”

23

I called Rizzoli on my way to see Dr. Jean-Baptiste. I wanted to know how Mikey was doing, and Julie, and all the other kids who had been infected. I thought of all those doses of medicine hidden somewhere while Glinda waited for the price to go up and I wanted to hurt somebody—preferably a certain platinum blonde.

Rizzoli didn’t pick up the line, but he called me back as I turned into the doctor’s parking lot. I could hear exhaustion and strain in his voice the minute he said hello. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">