Lupi 08 - Death Magic

was one of the Leidolf bunch. Mustn’t discuss Nokolai business in front of a Leidolf, even if the two sets of guards were playing nice together.
    Rule let the strand of hair unwind. “About the ghost that isn’t yours. What did you do after it wisped away?”
    “Asked if anyone else had seen it, of course.”
    That amused him. “At a firing range for FBI agents.”
    “I needed to know, didn’t I? Besides, everyone knows I’m part of the woo-woo crowd.”
    “And had anyone else seen it?”
    “No.” Which raised a number of questions, didn’t it?

THREE
     

     
    I F Lily had to be in D.C., she was glad it was October. Summers here sweated, winters were too damn cold, but October in D.C was nice. Almost as nice as in San Diego, if not as dependably pleasant. D.C. was also, she admitted, a lot greener. Water fell from the sky here on a regular basis. On her last sojourn in the capital, Lily had broken down and bought a pair of rain boots.
    Not that she’d need them for the party. Trust a precog to pick the right weekend for perfect weather.
    Ruben Brooks, head of Unit 12 of the FBI’s Magical Crimes Division, wasn’t just Gifted. His precognitive ability was off-the-charts. He lived in a Bethesda neighborhood that no FBI employee, however high up the ladder, should have been able to afford. But his wife came from money. Old money, not modern megabucks, the kind of wealth that, like river rocks, had been worn smooth by time into the polished detritus of trust funds and expectations. The Brookses’ Bethesda home had been a wedding present from her parents.
    The house itself had more bedrooms than Lily was used to and a fair helping of antiques, yet on the whole it was more comfortable than pretentious. Land and location—that’s what pushed the price into the stratosphere. Bethesda was expensive to start with. The stone-and-timber home was a short subway ride from downtown D.C., yet sat on over three acres of land, nestled into a surviving patch of old-growth forest. The grounds immediately surrounding the house were beautiful—lush and imaginatively landscaped.
    Backyard barbecue? Maybe, but not the sort of backyard Lily was used to.
    There was enough space for the impromptu softball game they’d played while waiting on the food. As the day darkened into twilight, they sat down to eat at ten long picnic tables set up on the lawn to accommodate the guests. Those guests were an eclectic mix: Unit agents plus their partners, spouses, or dates; regular FBI; and plenty of non-Bureau guests, too. Lily had the chance to meet some of those spouses and dates—like Margarita Karonski, and wasn’t that a mouthful? Karonski’s wife was about forty, with big breasts, a big laugh, lustrous black hair, and a master’s degree in electrical engineering.
    It was all very egalitarian. Lily ate ribs and potato salad with Rule, a seventh-grade teacher, another Unit agent, the head of a small seminary, Ruben’s secretary, and the director of the Census Bureau.
    The director and the teacher turned out to be interesting people, even if they were wrongheaded about key issues. Like baseball. After dessert, the three of them lingered at the table, arguing about instant replay.
    “Lily Yu!” boomed out behind her. “It’s been too long!”
    Lily turned. A man with Einstein hair, Ben Franklin glasses, and guileless brown eyes snared in a nest of wrinkles beneath bushy brows was beaming at her. He wore baggy shorts and Birkenstocks. A Hawaiian print shirt covered the decided paunch around his middle. “Dr. Fagin!”
    “Fagin, my dear, simply Fagin, unless you wish to adopt Sherry’s habit and call me Xavier. Otherwise I’ll look like a patronizing ass when I call you Lily.”
    She grinned, swung her legs over the bench and stood. “Annette, Carl,” she said to her fellow debaters, “do you know Dr. Xavier Fagin? He consults here sometimes, but he’s at Harvard—”
    “Ah, but I’m retired now. I moved to D.C. last month.”
    “I didn’t know that. It’s quite a change for you.”
    “Life is change, after all.” He smiled his vague, dotty-old-professor smile, a gentle benediction meant to baffle all inquiries.
    Lily took the hint and dropped the subject. “Fagin, this is Annette Broderick and Carl Rogers.”
    “I know Annette.” Fagin turned that gentle smile on the Census director. “Delighted to see you again, my dear. And you’re Carl? Good to meet you. I’m afraid I’ve come to rudely steal Lily