Kiss The Witch Part 17

"Witchcraft."

"What?"

"Use witchcraft on him."

"No, I don't think"

"Tony, you have to. Besides, isn't Lilith always getting on your case about not employing magic to keep your powers strong?"

"Yes, but...."

"He's right," said Carlos. "It wouldn't take anything for you to go there and get into his head."

"You think?"

Dominic said, "What do you have to lose?"

I shrugged uneasily. "Auh, not much, I suppose."

"That's right. So what do you say?"

I thought about it. There seemed nothing wrong with the proposal. Besides, I knew I could do it. And he was right. Lilith was always getting on my case about not exercising my powersnow the powers of the coven. I looked at them both and smiled. "Okay. Why not? I'll do it."

I have to admit, the idea of using witchcraft on another human being excited me. Except for unleashing a whisper box or two on Lilith, I had never done that before. But something about it felt right. Using my powers to solve a case made perfect sense. It occurred to me then, perhaps that is what Lilith intended all along. Before including me in the rite of pa.s.sage ceremony, I meant nothing to her. I was just another aging cop working my last casea washed up has been. But she gave me this incredible gift and I realized, instead of subordinating it to my job, I should employ it to help me do my job.

I said to Dominic. "Go ahead and put that APB out on Dwyer. Oh, and your car is on the next block over. Keys are in it." I turned to Carlos and backhanded him on the chest. "You. Come with me. We're going to see Ferguson."

"What are you driving?"

"I'm not. You are."

He backhanded me likewise. "Then I guess you're coming with me. Aren't cha?"

He is such a smarta.s.s sometimes.

We showed up at the front gate of Biocrynetix Laboratories at exactly four o'clock. A guard there with the nametag, Johnson, refused to let us in, citing instructions from Ferguson himself. I asked him what Ferguson had to hide. He replied he was only following orders.

"Well then you're a good man," I said. "We don't blame you for following orders."

Carlos shot me a panicked look as though I was giving up too easily. "Tony, we cannot turn back now. We have to get in."

"We will," I told him, holding my hand up to shush him. "Don't worry." I leaned across the center console enough to see out the driver's side window. "Excuse me, Johnson. Do you have an empty envelope there?"

"Envelope, sir?"

"Yes, an envelope. I would like to give you something. I need an envelope to put it in."

Johnson ducked into his guard hut, fished around among the papers on his desk and came back with a nine-by-twelve manila envelope. He removed a single slip of paper from it and handed the envelope to me.

"Thanks," I said. I leaned back, out of his line of sight, whispered into the envelope and returned it to him. "There you go. You can open that now if you like."

He took the envelope and shook it. "There's nothing in it."

"Oh, but there is," said Carlos, knowing what I had done. "It's tiny. Look closely."

Johnson folded back the envelope flap, squeezed the ends to belly it open and peered inside. A gentle whisk of air brushed pa.s.sed his brows and tease his bangs. It startled him at first. A whisper box often does that to its recipient. Inevitably, they dismiss it, as Johnson did, and succ.u.mb to the will chill that is the spell within.

"So, Johnson," I said. "Are you going to let us in now?"

He looked up at us and blinked as if noticing us for the first time. "Ahm...yes, of course. Certainly."

He stepped back into the hut and pressed a b.u.t.ton on the wall that opened the gate.

I thanked him, adding, "Better let the front desk know we're coming. Tell them it's all right."

He saluted his acknowledgement. Carlos drove on. We parked at the curb outside the entrance to the main building. As expected, we met no resistance from security at either the door or the front desk. Riding up in the elevator, Carlos asked how I intended to get Ferguson to give us the real skinny on QE647. I answered him truthfully.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Tony, if you don't know how to make him tell us the truth, then why are we here?"

"I didn't say I couldn't make him tell us the truth."

"Yes you did. You said"

"Listen. I know how to make him tell us the truth. I have to do the pulse point spell on him. I'm just not sure how to go about it exactly."

"What is the pulse point spell?"

"It's a touch spell. I have to touch a plus point somewhere on Ferguson's body. It's silly, I know, but it works. Lilith did it to me. The problem is I don't know how to get Ferguson to let me do it."

"How does Lilith get you to let her do it?"

"Carlos, how does Lilith do anything? She's a master at spell casting. All I know is she touches me and I melt in her hands. She has a repertoire of touch spells, you know. I never know when I'm under one. I mean, she has the pulse point spell, the urge purge, the quell spell, the see-me-not, the freeze breezeh.e.l.l, you name it."

"No. You name it, and do it fast. We're almost there."

"I don't know, Carlos. Maybe I can call Lilith."

"Do the whisper box on him, like you did with the guard at the gate."

"No, that's not the same. The whisper box is a will chill spell. It makes the recipient bend to suggestive actions. It's more mechanical than cerebral."

"That's what I'm saying. Use it to suggest he let you touch his plus point."

"That's just stupid."

"You have a better idea?"

He had me there. Already, we were standing outside Ferguson's office and I had nothing better to offer. "All right, but I'm going to need a vessel. A box, an envelope or something."

"Leave it to me. I'll get something to you."

Ferguson seemed surprised, if not annoyed, to see us. Probably because we let ourselves into his office unannounced.

"Mister Ferguson," I said. "I hope we're not interrupting. Your secretary left her station."

Ferguson came around his desk, offering a disingenuous smile and a cold handshake. "Not at all, Detectives. Come in. To what do I owe this honor? Have you found Howard Snow?"

"Yes and no," said Carlos, pa.s.sing on the handshake.

"Excuse me?"

"We found him. We just haven't picked him up yet."

"You haven't picked him up?"

"Not all of him."

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

I said, "Mister Ferguson, that's not why we're here. We wanted to talk to you again about QE647."

"Detective, I already told you everything I can about that. Now for what it's worth, I am willing to forget about all this if Snow is willing to return the research doc.u.ments, the computer files and everything else pertaining to the research and development of QE647. If he no longer has the compound, that's okay, too. I will forgive him. I will waive prosecution. The only thing I want now is to put all this behind us. Let bygones be bygones."

I looked to Carlos and delivered him a subtle nod. I saw him reach into his pocket as he turned his back to us and strolled casually toward the window. Ferguson seemed uninterested.

"Let bygones be bygones?" I asked.

"Yes sir."

I could tell from the tic over his left eye he was hiding something. "Well, that sure is generous of you, Mister Ferguson. I mean, if Howard Snow stole my research, I would want to make an example of him."

"I suppose that's the difference between us, Detective. Isn't it?" He attempted a forced smile, and that tic over his eye morphed into a nervous twitch on his upper lip.

I called to Carlos, who returned with a lottery ticket that he had shaped into a cup by wrapping it around his finger and twisting the ends together. "This?" I said, whispering to him as he pa.s.sed it to me.

He whispered back, "It's all I had. You got something better?"

I took the handoff. "Carlos, why don't you tell Mister Ferguson where Howard Snow is right now?"

As we traded places, with me going to the window, Carlos approached Ferguson and said, "He's dead."

I think I heard Ferguson audibly gulp. "Dead?"

"Dead as a stone, or rather a bunch of small stones. Someone blew him up in his Hummer this morning."

"But...I don't understand. Why would"

"Oh, come now," I said. "You know d.a.m.n well why someone would kill him. Now why don't you tell us what you know about QE647? Who is behind the research and funding?"

"I told you. A conglomerate of private financiers interested in producing a corn syrup"

"Forget it. Look. I want you to have this."

I handed him the lotto ticket, hoping like h.e.l.l it kept the spell I whispered into it. "What is this?" he asked.

"I want you to look at it closely."

"It's a lotto ticket."

"Yeah, and if it wins it's mine," said Carlos.

I turned sharply and gave him a look that should have bruised him. He brushed it off with a shrug. "Well it is."

Ferguson brought the ticket to within inches of his face and peeled open the folds. A whimsical little puff of wind rolled out and flirted with his lashes, causing his eyelids to flutter. He looked up at me quizzically. "Is this a joke, Detective?"

I took the ticket back and gave it to Carlos. "Yes, Mister Ferguson. It's a joke." I stepped toe-to-toe with him and said, "Now, may I take your pulse?"

He peered into my eyes, unblinking. I could not read him, except to imagine how insane my request must have sounded to him. Carlos shuffled his stance and gauged Ferguson's expression, yet I doubt he could gather any better understanding of his mindset than what I could.

Seconds rolled, ten, fifteen, twenty. Ferguson remained unmoved. I knew something was happening though, or he would have stepped away from me already. I resolved to continue staring him down, saying nothing and concentrating fiercely on the suggestive power of the spell.

It seemed obvious the lotto ticket made for a poor vessel, and I wished I had come more prepared for the task. Clearly, as the name suggests, a whisper box works best when captured in a small box, like a jewelry case. Even envelopes work well, as demonstrated with the guard at the front gate earlier. On our last case, I even used one of Carlos' empty candy bar wrappers. But I had never used a lotto ticket before. I only hoped this time the ticket was a winnerwhere spells were concerned.

Ferguson furled his brows and parted his lips into something resembling a smile. What I expected from him were the words, of course not, or get the h.e.l.l out of my office. But he said nothing. Then his expression softened. I reached for his hand and touched his pulse point. "Mister Ferguson. What is QE647?"

He looked me straight in the eye and said calmly, "It's a miracle compound. QE647 is the very essence of life, a synthetic energy source developed to stimulate bio-reanimation in complex life forms."

I turned to Carlos and gave him the silliest grin. I could not help it. I don't know if I found greater pleasure from ascertaining the information about QE647 from Ferguson, or from knowing that the pulse point spell really worked for me.

I followed that up. "Who funds the research?"

"The government," he said.

"What branch?"

"We get automatic deposits from the DOA"

"Department of Agriculture?"

"Yes."

"What is their interest in QE647?"

"I believe they...they." He rocked his head back and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. Believing he might pa.s.s out, I waved Carlos over to help steady him into a chair.

What happened next was not pretty. Ferguson began shaking uncontrollably, his muscles convulsing in spastic protest, as if shocked by electrical impulses. Carlos and I grabbed his arms to steady him.