Her eyes lingered on the cut of my clothes, and the fitness of the body in them. Since I work out hard, I’m pretty damned fit. Early ballet training may have given me grace and good posture, but running, swimming, and exercise machines give me strength and muscle definition. It shows, even under clothing. She was no slouch, either, in the muscle department.

Her expression stayed neutral, except for the eyes. Not for the first time I wished for just a bit of psychic talent.

“How much did you wish for it?” Detective Gibson’s voice cut into the memory and I started. My eyes blinked several times, trying to focus on the here and now. When I did, the implication came home.

He was trying to trip me up. It probably works well when there’s some guilt. But I didn’t have any, so it didn’t bother me. “Please. Get real. I’m not perfect, but I like who I am. A vamp turns you, you lose your identity, lose everything. Besides, if I’d asked for this, don’t you think I would have stuck around to see it finished?”

He didn’t rise to that bait. He just spun his finger in a circle. “Go on.”

I tried to remember where I was. Oh yeah. Arguing with the bitchy mage about the trunk.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t allow weapons of any kind to pass through the second gate. I need to see them. Then you can check them with Mr. Meyers here at the guard station and pick them up on the way back.”

There was no hesitation in her voice and no sign of deference. He might be the one with the title, but she was definitely the person in charge. I gave Gerry an inquiring look and he flushed but didn’t say anything.

“I’d rather not do that.” I said it calmly. I wasn’t angry. But something about her set me off. I didn’t want her going through my things. I didn’t have any reason not to trust her, not to believe she was just doing her job. But I wasn’t letting her get into that trunk.

She looked at me, her expression completely impassive. “Either I go through the trunk or you’ll have to leave.”

“Actually, there is a third option.” I smiled when I said it, a bright, shiny smile that she was sensible enough not to trust.

“What?” Gerry’s voice held equal parts suspicion and wary amusement. He knew me. And while he might respect Ms. Magicwielder, he didn’t like her. Not one itty bit. He wouldn’t help me sidetrack her, but he wouldn’t mind watching while I did it.

“I don’t check the weapons. I check the car.”

She stared at me in stunned silence.

Gerry laughed and belatedly tried to cover it with a cough.

It was her turn to flush, but she held her temper admirably. Her voice was deceptively pleasant when she spoke. “Those packages appear quite heavy. Are you sure you want to carry them all the way to the main building?”

“Not a problem.” I reached into my bag and flipped open my cell phone. I hit speed dial. The receptionist picked up on the first ring.

“Molly, it’s Celia. I’m leaving the car at the outer gate for security reasons, but I have birthday presents for Vicki. Could you have the bellhop bring down one of the carts for me? I’d be very grateful.”

“Of course, ma’am, he’ll be right down.”

Gibson’s snort of laughter brought me out of the spell-induced reverie again. He was good, damned good, to put me in and out of the memory spell like that. I hadn’t felt a thing when he’d worked his magic. Oh, he didn’t have Bruno’s power, few do, but Gibson was smooth enough to make up for the difference.

“Clever, very clever.” He grinned at me, and the impish expression on his face chased back the death’s head for a moment.

“Thanks.” I grinned back at him. “I thought so.”

“Bet it pissed her off.”

“Oh yeah.” I didn’t even try to keep the satisfaction from my voice. It made him shake his head and chuckle.

“So, you celebrated your friend’s birthday, then what?”

“Dinner at La Cocina.” The words popped out of my mouth of their own volition. I blinked in startlement. I didn’t actually remember it, couldn’t have told you what I’d ordered, but at the same time I was absolutely certain it was the truth. Weird.

“Anything else?”

I tried to relax, just let the information flow, but there was nothing. I shook my head. With the spell compelling me, I couldn’t fake the lack of knowledge. Actually, I’d hoped the spell might pull something more out of my mind. No such luck.

“That’s it?” He sounded disappointed. I didn’t blame him. It was so damned frustrating.

Gibson stared at me for a long moment. I could see he was appraising me, judging me against some inner scale. Maybe he was trying to see if I was lying, despite the magic. Most people do. Some deliberately, because they want to misdirect the cops; some out of sheer habit, or from faulty memory. But the way he’d primed me, the memory should be there. If the freaking bat hadn’t screwed with my head.

“How badly do you want to remember?”

I met the intensity of his gaze without flinching. “I don’t want to remember,” I snarled. “I need to.”

He reached down to the tape recorder and abruptly hit the stop button. I watched the little wheels that moved the tape come to a halt, wondering what in the hell was going on. “How much money have you got on you?”

I blinked a little in shock. Alex is incredibly straightforward, honest, and honorable. I couldn’t believe that a man she trusted as much as Gibson could be crooked, but he was certainly acting suspiciously. I picked my words carefully, trying to keep my voice utterly neutral. “Not much, but my office is only a couple blocks from here. I can get some. Why?”

He smiled a slow, wicked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As a cop, I am not allowed to employ the services of a clairvoyant to look into the past, or hire a mage or hypnotist to make you remember. Particularly since recalling the attack might be traumatizing and could cause brain damage.” He sounded both bitter and resigned. “But if”—he forced his face into neutral lines—“you, as a civilian, choose to employ one of those esteemed individuals, and if you should choose to have me present—”

“That’s cutting the rules awfully fine, Detective Gibson.” I made sure I didn’t sound judgmental. But I knew as well as he did that the courts frowned on this sort of thing. Magic is a fact of life, but it is too easily manipulated. For that matter, so is some of the newer and flashier technology—which was why Gibson was using a tape rather than a digital recorder. Somewhere along the way he’d turned off the camera as well. I could tell because there were no lights flashing on it at all.

“Ms. Graves.” Gibson took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “There are things we don’t tell the press. Mainly because if the public knew, they’d panic and make things worse for everyone.”

I nodded. It made sense. I didn’t like it, but I’d seen a mob mentality in action once before. It had scared the shit out of me, and I didn’t have to try to stop them. The cops were the ones who got to face that sort of thing head-on and get crucified afterward, no matter how they handled the situation. I could accept the need for … discretion.

“I need your help, so I’m going to tell you something—but you didn’t hear it, and you sure as hell didn’t get it from me.”

“I can keep my mouth shut,” I assured him.

“Good. Because we don’t need this getting out, especially not right now. But you need to know why we’re taking this so very seriously, and why I’m willing to bend a little to get the job done.”

“Tell me.”

Gibson leaned in and spoke even more softly. “There was a spell used on that alley to eliminate every trace of living or formerly living matter down to the pre-cellular level. Not even bacteria survived. The spell that was used is anathema. Do you know what that means?”

I forced my mind back to my history of magic classes in college and recited from memory, “‘The early Catholic church declared anathema all magic that was based on demonic power, magic that can be worked only by a demon or a half-human/half-demon spawn. Any human party to that type of magic is immediately excommunicated.’”

“Yep,” he agreed. “And all spells that are anathema have been incorporated into the Nuremberg Accords. Their use is considered a crime against humanity and cause to be brought before the international tribunal. Demonic spells are war crimes … even when there’s no war.”

Demonic. Something must have shown in my expression, because he said, “What? You’ve thought of something.”

It was so frustrating, I almost remembered something … a whistling sound, flashing lights … but out of context it didn’t make sense.

Gibson gave me some space. We sat and sipped coffee and stared at nothing for a few minutes. When I had a little better grip on my emotions I broke the silence. “So we’re dealing with at least the semi-demonic.”

He let out a little growl and lowered his voice. “Don’t say that too loud, and never in public. We’ve got the World Series coming up just a few short miles away in Anaheim.”

Well, that certainly explained both why the police had decided to act dumb to Emma and why Alex had been careful about what she said to me. Assuming, of course, she actually knew anything. She might not.

Gibson slid his glasses back on and scooted back in his seat. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and began reading from it. “‘The first officers on the scene were Conner and Watson. They arrived within fifteen minutes of Ms. Landingham’s call. The place was deserted, but they could see what looked like the remains of two adult males on the ground near the foot of a back staircase next to a Dumpster and a rather large pile of smoldering ash that they believed might be the burned remains of multiple vampires. They radioed for backup and proceeded toward the alley. Watson was in the lead. As he reached his left arm into the alley to shine his flashlight on the remains he felt …’” Gibson hesitated for a second before continuing with the same clinical detachment coroners use to stay sane. “‘… a burning, tingling sensation in his arm. He told his partner to stay back and call for magical backup.’”