Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

"We're going to go see the Feds?" Spleen said, half sitting up in his seat. "Oh, hell-"

"Spleen," I said. "You haven't done anything wrong. You don't have anything to worry about from these people here."

"So we gots something else to worry about?" Cinnamon said, eyeing me warily.

"Second, Cinnamon and Spleen are going to wait with Andre Rand," I said, pointing at him. "He's my dad's old partner, and I trust him. I've told him you're 'edgy' and that if you get scared, or even just uncomfortable, for any reason, you're just going to leave-no arguments. He knows to call a cab for me and Jinx."

"We're not scared," Cinnamon said, jutting her jaw.

"Speak for yourself, tiger," Spleen said. "You can soak up lead bullets."

"Third… I have a little negotiating to do with Philip. And if it goes well."

"You wants to get down hispaants," Cinnamon said.

"-if it goes well, Rand's going to escort you back so Philip can brief you."

"About what?" Spleen said, his one good eye gone surprisingly wide.

"I can't talk about an ongoing investigation," I said, "but maybe Philip can."

After a moment, I nodded roughly, and got out of the car. I guided Jinx, and Spleen shepherded Cinnamon. Andre Rand met us and ushered us in through the metal detectors, with as little verbal comment about our guests as possible. I'd briefed him about Cinnamon-who was now ignoring us all, engrossed again in the audio world of Alagaesia-but still he raised his eyebrows at me.

Rand took us to floor six and beeped us in to the long corridor divided between Atlanta Homicide on the left and "Federal Magic" on the right. Breaking the law with magic turned a local felony into a federal crime-but you needed that local conviction to make it stick, so the magical Feds tended to be friendly with the locals. I'd never heard of the relationship being this tight, but it figures it would be that way in Atlanta, where there was more magic-and misuse-than anywhere else.

Rand stopped at the end of the hall, knocking at the door to the Fed offices, to summon Philip, I assumed. While we waited beside him, I took a good look at the agency's logo, etched into the office's frosted glass wall. The seal bore an eagle carrying a lightning bolt, and around the rim were the words DEPARTMENT OF EXTRAORDINARY INVESTIGATIONS. I found myself wishing I could see inside, see where Philip worked-and looked back, surprised to see Rand holding the door open to the Federal offices. Grinning, I led Jinx inside.

The DEI reception room was small but surprisingly stylish, with fresh-off-the-stands issues of hip magazines neatly arranged on a granite-topped end-table sitting between two comfy chairs. An array of paranormal-themed posters curled around the walls, including an honest-to-gosh X-Files "I WANT TO BELIEVE" poster next to an official-looking one that said "DEI: A CENTURY AND A HALF OF SERVICE,

But as we filed in, we weren't looking at the posters. All our eyes were drawn to the granite-topped reception desk-and Philip, resting a hip on it casually, like a shot out of GQ.

"Homina," Cinnamon said.

"I like his cologne," Jinx said, her hand on my wrist giving a brief squeeze.

"Miss Frost, thank you for coming," he said, winking at me. Then his gaze took in Jinx's cane, Cinnamon's headphones, and Spleen's one-good-eye fidgeting, and he actually seemed at a bit of a loss. "So," he began, one hand brushing his dark, evil-Spock beard, "I, uh-"

"Special Agent Philip Davidson," I said, "please meet Skye 'Jinx' Anderson, my graphomancer. She's graciously agreed to come down to get this process started, and my… associates were kind enough to give us a ride."

"I'll wait out here, if that's OK. OK? OK," Spleen said, fidgeting harder, looking around the office, trying not to stare at the single heavy black door that went out of reception and into the back. "You know, to watch her." He nodded at Cinnamon, who growled.

"Y'all do that," I said, pecking Rand on the cheek. "I owe you one, 'Uncle Andy.'"

Phil ushered us through yet another big heavy door with a big knobbly lock. "Your cat friend," he said in a low voice. "That's not makeup-"

"Drop it," I said. "She has it hard enough as it is."

Philip conducted us through a clean, well-lit group of offices paralleling Atlanta Homicide, and then through a darkened observation room into the same evidence room where I'd first seen… 'it.' The cadaverous man was gone, but wiry-haired old Balducci was there, scowling, leaning back from the evidence tray before him like it might bite him.

"Miss Frost, good to see you again," he said, obviously not pleased to see me again at all. "Agent Davidson, I'm still not sure this is a good idea."

"We need all the help we can get," Philip said. "Miss Anderson, if-"

He paused, and I turned. Jinx was frozen in the door. "Jinx, are you all right?"

She stood for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, slowly stepping forward into the room. "So. It is here."

"Yes," I said.

"Well," she said. "Show me."

Balducci raised his eyebrows but said nothing as I pulled out a chair for her and guided her into it. I started to reach for the tray, but Jinx held up her hand.

"I can tell where it is," she said, a bit sharp. "Could I have a little room?"

Balducci's chair squeaked back as he popped to his feet, and suddenly he, Philip and I were in three corners of the room, all far from Jinx. I looked over at Balducci, then Phil. They were just as uncomfortable and sickened by the lid as I was.

Then Jinx reached for the lid-and screamed.

I felt a hot electric shock ripple through my tattoos and fell back against the wall. Jinx jerked her hand back, tumbling out of her chair, knocking it sideways onto the floor-and screaming, screaming the whole time in repeated, high pitched, full-voiced wails.

Balducci clutched himself, reaching for his heart. After a shocked moment, both Phil and I stepped forward just as Jinx's screams subsided.

"Jinx," I said, reaching for her. "Are you-"

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, holding out her hand, and I recoiled from the blind glare burning out from those spooky geode eyes. "Don't help me."

We stood back as she collected herself and straightened her glasses. She groped blindly for the chair, found it, and righted it. With one hand she lifted herself up and brushed herself off, still keeping that fixed-head stare that was so very Jinx. After a moment she bent, collected her cane, and sat down primly at the table, folding her hands in her lap before sighing.

"My, my," she said. "Quite a shocker you have there. May I continue?"

"Uh…" Balducci said, staring at Phil, who nodded. "Yeah."

She reached out a hand abruptly and put her whole palm across the lid, screaming instantly like she was pressing her hand on a hot stove. Her other hand tightened on her cane, and she twisted in her seat and screwed her face up until she stopped screaming.

"Not the first clear images I wanted to see after twenty years of darkness," she said, voice ragged and angry and very un-Jinx. "Not what I wanted to see at all"

"What did you see?" Phil said.

"Impressions, really," Jinx said. "A woman, mid-twenties, blond, naked. A sort of circular tattoo. Cut from her flesh with an athame, a ritual magic dagger-"

I looked at Balducci, who was holding his hand over his mouth cautiously, skeptically, following every word. Up till now Jinx had not told us anything she couldn't have gotten from me, a cold-reading trick typical of most of the charlatans claiming to be psychics. I couldn't blame him for being skeptical "And then-dear goddess!-he poured salt on the wound-"

She shoved the lid away, and Phil and Balducci looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. "The psychic record ends there. I'm pretty sure the salt was to sever any remaining magical connection to the living host." She lowered her head. "I can't say for certain, but I got a very strong impression that dagger wanted to end the ritual in her heart."