That I believe. Unfortunately I didn’t have the answers she wanted.

“You have the wrong person,” I said, trying to keep my voice level and not provoke her.

“Like hell I do. Your file speaks for itself, and besides, not only are you the practicing grave witch in the area, but there is witness testimony.”

“That’s impossible,” I sputtered, any semblance of calm evaporating. I’d never even seen a ghoul, let alone created a prime—and creating monsters was the type of thing a girl wouldn’t forget. “Who’s your witness?”

“I won’t reveal my sources, but the story was corroborated. Or do you deny using the dead to attack a group of witches?”

I blinked at her dumbly, waiting for my brain to scale the wall of shock and give me a clue. No use. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. I would never do something as stupid as tangle with the creatures on the other side of the chasm. Except ghosts of course, but they hardly counted as they were souls not meant to exist in the land of the dead.

I stopped. Ghosts.

A month ago I’d been kidnapped by a group of magic drunk skimmers who’d wanted me to rip a hole into the Aetheric for them. I’d manifested every haunt in the graveyard as a distraction.

“I’m assuming your sources are either in the mental ward or jail,” I said and Briar glowered.

“So you don’t deny it.”

“I don’t deny utilizing a handful of ghosts to escape armed kidnappers, who, by the way, had recently attacked a unit of ABMU officers after going mad from direct contact with the Aetheric. No, I don’t deny that. But they were ghosts. Ghosts. And ghosts can’t become ghouls.”

Briar frowned, but it had an edge of justification in it. “So you did, in fact, use your grave magic to utilize the dead as a weapon.”

“No, I created a distraction. And I did it only so I didn’t get my head blown off.”

“And I’m sure you have an excuse you find equally justifiable for why you created the ghoul. Now where is it? For so many graveyards to have ghouls it must not be trapped behind cemetery gates.”

“I told you, I didn’t—” I started to say, but paused as Briar reached into her jacket. I braced to dive out of the way if she followed through on her threat to hit me with a compulsion spell. But it wasn’t a potion or charm she pulled free but another photo.

“Look at this boy,” she said, dropping the photo in front of me. “He’s already transitioning. In a couple of hours he’ll pass beyond saving. Then there are only two paths for him. One, the transition finishes, he dies and rises as a ghoul, or two, he’s terminated before he finishes changing and his body is destroyed so he can’t come back. And that would be my job.”

She tapped the photo, forcing me to look at the boy and all the machines hooked up to his body.

“I hate terminating kids,” she said, fixing me with a dark stare. “So prove something decent exists in you and tell me where the damn prime is because there are only two ways to save this boy. One is to kill every ghoul that so much as scratched him—not an easy task as they don’t come out in the day and tonight will be too late for him. Or I can cut the chain from the top. Kill the prime and all the other ghouls lose their anchor and lay still like good corpses. Which do you think I prefer?”

“I didn’t create the prime. Check your lie detector. I’m telling you the truth.”

Her lips curled back, revealing gritted teeth, but she lifted her wrist to check the charm. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. “Either you’re pathological or using a counter charm. Hand over your bracelet and any other magical items you have on your person.”

This couldn’t be happening.

When I didn’t immediately comply, Briar fingered something in her pouch and said, “Remember, Ms. Craft, I wield the full authority of the MCIB in this investigation. If I think you are actively hindering my investigation or pose a threat to me, the OMIH, or the general population”—in one swift movement she swung the crossbow off her back and leveled it at my chest—“I can disable you by any means necessary.”

I gulped hard enough that I felt the movement all the way to my pounding temples. For the second time in an hour, I was on the wrong side of a crossbow. At least it wasn’t loaded with a steal-tipped incendiary round this time. I hadn’t seen her make the change, but the crossbow was now loaded with a bright blue foam bolt that carried a nasty concoction that felt like an immobilizer, a sleeping spell, and a draught that could temporarily block a witch’s ability to channel Aetheric energy. The last was a heavily regulated spell, and I had no idea who or what she thought she’d face that she’d need to combine all three. After all, a witch who can’t move and is unconscious wasn’t going to be casting any spells. But I guess I had to give Briar Darque one thing—she was certainly thorough with her overkill.

She twitched the crossbow, just the smallest jerk of a motion, but I got the message loud and clear. She would shoot me if I didn’t comply, and quickly.

I needed no additional prompting.

The obsidian ring where I stored Aetheric energy went on the desk first. Then I unclasped my bracelet as directed, and tossed it on the desk. As soon as it broke skin contact, I lost the benefit of my extra shields. I almost never took off the bracelet unless I was inside a circle. Even this morning, when I’d used my meditation charm on Nina Kingly, I’d never lost skin contact with the shields. Well, at least I’m not on the street. Then I’d really be in trouble. Inside, the building’s wards kept grave essence from assaulting me, but the wards couldn’t do anything about the fact I was a living, breathing, nexus in which the planes of reality converged. My personal mental shields kept my psyche grounded in mortal reality, but there was always a little slippage, tendrils of my mind that tied parts of me to the other planes. The shield bracelet helped me ignore those other planes. Without the added barrier, my psyche’s favorite two planes, the Aetheric and the land of the dead, stopped just hovering in my peripheral and swam across my vision.

To add insult to injury—not to mention my aching head—the cacophony of magic radiating off Darque intensified as my ability to sense magic heightened without the buffer the external shields provided. I winced, she wasn’t carrying so much magic that it would overwhelm me, but the magic grated at my remaining shields, announcing itself and vying for attention. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the worst of it. The real issue, the dangerous one, was the breeze making my loose curls flutter across my face. A breeze that shouldn’t have existed in a building with no open windows.

The land of the dead. I was way too close.

Darque was saying something, but I zoned her out as I took a deep breath and concentrated on centering myself. With my eyes closed, I ran a quick check of my mental shields. My main shield of living vines was solid, but I urged the vines just a little closer, tighter. I couldn’t maintain it that way indefinitely, but it wouldn’t start taking conscious effort to hold it for at least an hour. I did a quick scan of my inner shields, the ones that protected my core. All were intact. I erected my new shield—the opaque bubble that let my psyche look but not touch. Though I’d been working on it the better part of a month, the shield wasn’t ready for extended use because it still took conscious effort to maintain. Once I finished constructing and integrating the shield, it would be tied into the same part of the subconscious that reminded me to blink or to breathe. But I was far from that stage with the new shield. Which meant I wouldn’t be able to maintain it longer than a half hour or so. I hoped like hell that Briar would return my external shields before the barrier failed.

Taking one more deep breath, I released it slowly, mentally running one more check on my shields. Then I let my focus lift back to my body and opened my eyes. The wind from the land of the dead had ceased and the magic surrounding Darque no longer threatened to throw me into sensory overload. Unfortunately, I’d missed everything the woman had said in the interim.

“What?” I asked, looking up at her.

“I said do you have any other magi—Fuck!” Darque stumbled half a step back before catching herself. “Do you want me to shoot you? What the hell are you doing? Your eyes are glowing like lanterns.”

My vision was still adjusting to the overlay of the swirling colors of raw magic from the Aetheric and the patina of rot and decay from the land of the dead superimposed over mortal reality, so I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw her force herself to ease her finger from the trigger of her crossbow.

I lifted my hands in supplication. “The charm bracelet holds my extra shields. Without them the light show is unavoidable.”

Her eyes narrowed and she studied me as if waiting for an indication I was prepping an assault. If I didn’t have a crossbow pointed at my head, the situation might have been funny. After all, while my eyes glowing like night-lights may look unnerving—I’d been told that more than once—I wasn’t remotely close to being a threat. Not even with my planeweaving. Oh, I could drag her weapon into the land of the dead and let it rot, but first I’d have to reach it and she’d plug me before I made it over the desk.

“I have one more bit of magic on me,” I said without lowering my hands. “It’s a dagger. If I pick it up to put it on the desk, are you going to shoot me?”

She looked like she just might, but all she said was, “Move slow.”

I did. Since the dagger was already in my lap, there wasn’t even much moving involved.

“That’s it?” she asked and at my nod, she motioned me to stand.

Without lowering her crossbow, she used a spellchecker to sweep me for spells. As she reached my boots, I remembered that the hilt I carried the dagger in was also enchanted. Crap, this chick might just be unstable enough to shoot me where I stand if she thinks I lied. Who the hell would authorize her to carry, let alone make her an MCIB investigator?

But the spellchecker didn’t change color or make a sound as it passed the fae-enchanted leather. I almost let out a sigh of relief—except then she’d realize she missed something. Once she’d waved the spellchecker over every inch of me, she stepped back.