Blue Moon

I knelt in the dry leaves and felt better. I hadn't thrown up at a crime scene in a long time. At least Zerbrowski wasn't here to rib me about it. I wasn't even embarrassed. Was that a sign of maturity?

Male voices behind me. Sheriff Wilkes saying, almost yelling, "She's just a civvie. She shouldn't be here. She isn't even licensed for this state."

"I'm in charge here, Sheriff. I say who stays and who goes." Henderson wasn't yelling, but his voice carried.

I grabbed the tree trunk to help me stand, and my arm tingled so hard it almost went numb. I stood, pushing away from the tree, nearly falling, but I kept my feet. I looked up the smooth trunk. About eight feet up was a pentagram carved into the bark of the tree. The cut had been darkened with blood. With the dried blood rubbed into it, it was almost invisible against the dark grey bark, but there was also a spell of reluctance on it. So that no one had looked, not even me. Only when I touched the tree did I sense it. Like all illusion, once you see it, you know it's there.

I looked at the other trees and found a bloody pentagram carved into each one. It was a circle of power, of protection. A circle formed of blood and the land itself. Wiccans -- witches -- can use their power for evil if they're willing to pay the price in karma. Whatever you do, good or ill, comes back to you threefold. But even a wiccan gone bad wouldn't carve up a tree. Had the trees, the land, themselves, been invoked? That might mean an elemental. They could be nasty. But they didn't feel evil. They felt angry if you messed with their land, but they weren't evil, more angry-neutral. I'd gotten that whiff of evil as I passed through the circle. Evil with a capital E. There just aren't that many preternatural critters that trip that particular wire.

"Captain Henderson," I said. I had to say it twice before they stopped arguing and looked at me.

They both looked at me. Neither looked friendly, but at least I knew who they were mad at: each other. Local cops don't like anybody horning in on their turf. It was normal for the local police to resent outsiders. But I knew that Wilkes had more to protect than his turf. He must be frantic having real cops here now. But now wasn't the time to spill the beans. I had no proof. Accusing a policeman of corruption tends to upset the other cops.

"Did you see the pentagrams on the trees?"

The question was strange enough that they both stopped being angry and paid attention. I pointed the pentagrams out, and like all good illusion, once I showed them, they could see it. The emperor has no clothes.

"So?" Wilkes said.

"So, this was a circle of protection, of power. Something was called here to kill her."

"The marks on the trees could have been here for days," Wilkes said.

"Test the blood on the pentagrams," I said. "It won't be hers, but it will be fresh."

"Why isn't it the victim's?" Henderson asked.

"Because they used the blood to seal the circle. They had to have the blood before the death."

"It was a human sacrifice then," Henderson said.

"Not exactly," I said.

"This was a troll kill," Wilkes said. He didn't sound sure; he sounded desperate.

Henderson turned to him. "You keep saying that, Wilkes. You keep saying it was trolls."

"That biologist herself said it looked like primates. It sure as hell wasn't a person. There aren't that many primates ru

"She said humanoid," I said.

They both looked at me again.

"Dr. Onslow said humanoid. A lot of people assume humanoid means primate, but there are other options."

"Like what?" Wilkes said. His beeper went off. He checked the number, then looked at me. "Excuse me, Captain Henderson."

Henderson looked at me. "Do you and the sheriff have some sort of history, Ms. Blake?"

I frowned. "History? How?"

"He was very certain that you shouldn't be anywhere near this body. He was also very certain that this was a troll kill. Very certain."

"Who called you guys then?"

"An anonymous tip."

We looked at each other. "Who suggested I get to join the fun?"

"One of the EMS crew. The man's usual partner met you last night."

I shook my head. "I don't know him."

"His regular partner is a girl. Lucy something."

That explained Lucy's medical knowledge, and why she wasn't working on the day of the full moon. Don't want to be around fresh blood with the moon almost full. Too tempting. Too chancy.

"I remember her vaguely, I guess." I remembered her more than vaguely, but the last time I'd seen her was just after I'd murdered someone, so I was going to be fuzzy on the details. For one awful moment, I wondered if Henderson had been trying to trick me and the body was really Lucy. But the height was wrong. The woman had been tall, not my size. Most of the women that Richard dated were short. I guess if you've got a body type you like, you stick to it. My choice of victims seemed to be a lot wider.

"Why did they need a power circle, Ms. Blake?" Henderson asked.

"To keep in what they called."

He frowned at me. "Like you said before, the foreplay is getting tiresome. Just tell me what the fuck you think it was."

"I think they called a demon."

His eyes widened. "A what?"

"A demon," I said.

Henderson just looked at me. "Why?"

"When I crossed the circle, I got that feeling of evil. No matter how monstrous the critter, it doesn't feel the same as something dedicated to evil and no other purpose."

"You see many demons while you're out slaying vampires, Ms. Blake?"

"Once, Captain, just once. It was ... " I stepped out of the circle of power, and I felt better. They'd done their best to hide the traces, but things like this have a tendency to cling. "I was called into a case that they thought was a vampire, but it was demonic possession. The woman ... " I stopped again because I didn't have words for it, or no words that wouldn't seem silly, melodramatic. I tried to tell the story by sticking to the facts. Me and Sergeant Friday.

"The woman had been an ordinary housewife, mother of two. She'd been a diagnosed schizophrenic, Captain. Her particular brand of craziness was almost a multiple personality disorder, but not that clear-cut. She was like the little girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very, very good. A model churchgoer, teacher of Sunday school. She ca

Henderson raised an eyebrow at that. For a cop, it was pure shock. "Why wasn't she in a hospital?"

"Because when she took her medicine, she was the good mother, the good wife. I talked to her when she was 'well,' and she was a very nice person. I saw why the husband tried to hold on to her. It was tragic in the true sense of the word that her own brain chemistry was destroying her life."

"It's sad, but it's not demonic," Henderson said.

"Neighborhood pets were vanishing, showing up drained of blood. I traced it to the woman. Her history of mental illness had raised flags with the cops. So far, just sad, right." I stared off up the hill at the cops and the techs and everyone. They were not looking down the hill. No one wanted to hang around this one. Even if you aren't truly sensitive to the psychic, we all have survival instincts that work better than we do. Everyone would be reluctant on this one, and they wouldn't know why.

"You still with me, Blake?" Henderson asked.

"Sorry. The night we arrested her, two uniforms had had to drag her out of another man's bed, handcuffed. They didn't have another female on site that night, so I rode in back with her. She was loud and boisterous, flirting with the men, being snotty with me. I don't even remember what I said, but I remember the look on her face when she turned to me. We're riding in this dark police car, and as she turns her head to look at me, the hair on my body stood up. There were no glowing eyes, no smell of sulfur, Captain Henderson, but I felt evil rise off of her like some disturbing perfume." I looked at him, and he was scrutinizing my face like he was trying to memorize it. "I don't scare easy, Captain, but for that instant, I was scared. Scared of her, and it showed on my face, and she laughed, and the moment was gone."