No Humans Involved (Otherworld 7)

I looked up at him. "Ghosts do play pranks. I've had it happen. But these ones are breaching the physical barrier. That is different."

"I know. But about this human folk magic business, I'm not sure what to make of it. I don't know enough about magic to give an educated opinion."

"Well, I'm not the best-informed supernatural around, but even I know that human magic doesn't work. Robert would be our best source on that."

Jeremy stared down the street, his expression unreadable. "I don't suppose there's any need to follow up with Molly Crane, something we might discover by breaking into her house later or interrogating her further."

I shook my head.

"Did she give you any other contacts? Let a name slip? Another dark-magic practitioner or black-market contact we should investigate?"

"Nothing."

He looked almost disappointed. Then he said, with a soft sigh, "I suppose it's on to Robert, then. I'll call the airport and see when we can get a flight to San Francisco or San Jose."

"One there for you and one to L.A. for me, I'm afraid. I need to be back on the set first thing in the morning."

"Ah. Of course." His gaze dipped away and I was certain he did look disappointed. Then he cleared his throat. "I'll see Robert alone, then, and come to L.A. tomorrow. I'll help him with the preliminary research, to be polite, but I'll get away as soon as I can."

II

This was always the hardest part. Not only was it delicate work, but the smell was enough to unsettle even the strongest stomach. It didn't bother her as much as it did the others, and it wasn't so much the smell itself as the thought of what was burning.

They'd been careful not to use too much gasoline on the boy, but the flames had still licked the artifacts high above the concrete floor. An interesting experiment, but not one they were likely to repeat...not unless this material proved significantly better than the rest.

She adjusted her mask and checked the temperature on their tiny version of a cremation oven, designed to incinerate the organs, which was all they needed.

This oven burned at a lower temperature than ones used by funeral homes, so only the soft tissue turned to ash. Even then an auxiliary power supply was necessary. In Brentwood, a power spike would likely be attributed to marijuana growing and ignored--there were better uses for the police budget than stopping movie stars and pop singers growing a little weed--but it was always safest to provide no excuse for investigation.

After they'd taken the organs from the body, they'd needed to dispose of the remainder. Burning an entire corpse wasn't feasible. The boy's body--larger than that of their previous cases--would have been difficult to transport whole. So Don had recruited Murray's help, and they'd cut the body in two so they could carry it out in reinforced garbage bags.

It was then that Murray had snapped. Odd, she mused as she unraveled the bolt of cheesecloth. After all they'd been through together, it had been helping Don bisect the corpse that had done it.

Tina had calmed him down. She was good at that, one advantage to having a psychologist in the group. To reap the magic, they had to do things that were bound to affect the weaker among them, but Tina could always get the shaky back on track...and assess how likely they were to stay there.

The door opened, and Don walked in, nose wrinkling. She pointed at the stack of surgical masks, but he waved them away.

"How's Murray?" she asked.

"Better. Embarrassed about the whole thing now. Work's been stressful this past week."

She nodded. "It happens."

The timer sounded and she opened the oven, stepping back as heat poured out.

"He should take a vacation," she said as she examined the tray of gray and white ash.

"I'll suggest--"

"No. Insist."

Their eyes met. Don nodded.

"How was the new disposal site?" she asked.

"It's not as convenient as the garden, but it'll do."

She nodded. The terraced gardens had been convenient. Too convenient, and they'd used them more than they should have, with each disposal increasing the chance of being caught. Unacceptable.