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The dracken hummed and one elegant eyebrow lifted.
Derrick took a breath and admitted, “Nora wouldn’t have left the manor without first checking on me.”
“That invested in your welfare, is she?”
“She did risk her life, and her magic, to save me.”
Unease settled in my gut, and I realized with some asperity that my hand and arm were bound to my chest with gauze wrappings. A pungent clove smell wafted from the gauze when I tried to wiggle my fingers, and I was only marginally comforted by the twitch of my index and pinky. A dull ache began, originating at the site of the runestone and I tried to coach myself out of hyperventilating.
Just what had I done to myself?
Derrick continued his summary to the dracken, “Reports have Delilah and Brock in Castile around eleven this morning, and when Constable Cade was finally able to track the warlock, she was in the middle of Witches Walk. I think they drugged her and left for some other purpose."
“You think the warlock’s removal from the premises was a crime of opportunity?” The woman in the mirror asked.
“I’m not willing to rule anything out at this point,” Derrick said with a shake of his head. “Chances are that Delilah and Brock left her drugged and in a public space where someone could find her and make sure she was cared for, but…”
“But?”
He heaved a sigh and his shoulders tensed. His head turned so that I could see the outline of his nose, the flexing of his jaw as he chose his words. “But it might be something more. It could be Delilah made a deal with our warlock traffickers and leaving Nora – the warlock – was part of it. Or it could have been her plan all along to kill Nora, there’s no way to know for sure yet. And I have to wonder why she asked for a counselor in the first place if all she meant to do was drug them. She could have done that to the family’s counselor with less expense and hassle.”
Rage swelled through me as I remembered the calm, barely apologetic smile on Delilah's face before I lost consciousness. I should have known. I should have seen through her. Still, it was difficult to imagine the charming woman as a warlock trafficker despite all the evidence.
A chill sped through me and I swallowed. The trick of true evil is convincing you it doesn't exist. I knew that. Father used to say it all the time.
“There are no indicators that Delilah and the Birchwoods are connected?”
The name struck like a fist-sized rock in my gut and everything in me tensed. That was what Lord Malcolm had called Bess and Martin: Birchwood. Why would Delilah Leslie be connected to Bess and Martin?
Derrick shook his head. “No, and I don’t think there’s a connection. I picked Nora’s name at random from the registry. Nobody could have known which counselor I would find first.”
I supposed that was a relief, though it left the question as to why the CEB knew Martin and Bess as Birchwood. I knew Martin had run-ins with them from time to time, but most of that revolved around his client list. Or so I thought.
The dracken’s mouth pulled into a severe frown. “There are too many unknown variables. You found nothing incriminating in the manor?”
“No, Lieutenant. Whoever is making the runestones, they aren’t doing it in the house. Cade’s tracking spells went dark within a two-mile radius of Gahai Hill and we’ve already begun sweeping the area on foot. My coin is on a cavern structure either under or around the hill.”
The dracken turned, showcasing her left ear so that its dramatic points and piercings glinted in the light. There was a slight blurring before her hand came into view and she began stroking her lower lip with a thumb, her brow drawn in so much concentration I feared to breathe, let alone move. Then, apparently coming to a decision, her hand disappeared, and she faced Derrick again.
“Lord Malcom’s death is enough for us to move. We’ll mobilize the unit and come to you. If there’s something to find out there, we’ll have more of a chance at locating it together.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Derrick said.
The image in the mirror shimmered and the dracken was gone, leaving behind a void of darkness where glass should be. Derrick reached and flicked something behind the cherub’s head and there was a whirring of gears as the frame began to rotate, its brass surface shrinking and shrinking until all that was left was the cherub face, hardly bigger than the palm of his hand. He plucked the thing from the wall and turned, stopping as his gaze fell on me.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“Yes, the warlock is awake.” I struggled to sit up. “What did you do to me? And where’s Cordova?”
Derrick’s eyebrow quirked and he moved to set the brass cherub on the table before heading toward me. “Cordova went back to the manor. He doesn’t think anyone saw him help us, and he wanted to see if the traffickers panicked. If they get sloppy somehow, we can catch them faster. And your bones were melting. I did what I could to reverse those effects, but we won’t know for sure how bad it is until we try to remove that runestone.”
I stared at him, not quite sure I heard him right. “What?”
“No, I’m not exaggerating,” he said as he crouched beside me.
His gaze flickered over my bound arm, and he reached with one hand, his tattoos already flaring to life as he shone light over the offending appendage. I watched the light travel slowly across my arm, saw the odd mix of bones in my wrist, the pulsating blue spot of runestone nestled at the crux of thumb and forefinger. There was something not quite right about the shape of my knuckles and I had the strangest sensation that I was plummeting from a great height.
“Maker help me,” I whispered.
