While Jack contacted Adelle, Marshall went to the other end of the hall and saw a smear of red down the wall. This was what had gotten the officers so excited. Norms wouldn’t be able to see the scene the way Marshall could, but a blood-stained wall was universal in the world of crime investigation.
He eyed the bullet hole in the wall near the stain. It looked like the soldier had held his own in the fight.
Many magic users had little knowledge of norm weapons, and it looked like at least one member of the Blaike family had suffered from that ignorance.
Once he saw his partner was done contacting Adelle, Marshall made his way over to Jack and held out a hand. “Can I get an assist? I could probably do it on my own, but I’d rather not tap myself dry at the beginning of a case.”
In a very Jack-like fashion, he didn’t ask any questions and extended his hand, palm up, in a gesture of trust. If Marshall asked something of him, Jack would give it.
Marshall took the offered hand and closed his eyes. Jack’s skin was as warm and grounding as the desert hues it resembled. As usual, Jack’s power was right on the surface and easy to siphon off. Marshall called the star-flecked rainbow of his partner’s magic into the azure of his own wellspring of power, causing their colors to combine into a pattern reminiscent of a supernova remnant.
The pleasure of Jack’s power beckoned, doing its best to draw Marshall away from his appointed task. It was the only downside to joining with the man. He felt too good, and it conflicted with the Guard’s no emotions policy. It wasn’t a hard rule for every member of the organization, but powerful dreamwalkers didn’t get the choice to follow it. They kept their shit together, or else.
And Marshall had the dubious honor of being at the head of the pack.
Once Marshall had himself under control, he harnessed and condensed their combined magics into the shape of a net, which he cast out as far as he could. In his mind’s eye, Marshall now had thousands of tiny, gently pulsing lights under his control.
Each light represented a person within a one-mile radius of him. Most were a simple black, signifying it was the soul of a norm, but a small number were colors, ranging from the jewel tones of his partners to black lights with bright flecks of color belonging to those who probably didn’t even know they possessed magic. Passing by Adelle’s warm orange essence and a familiar, vibrant yellow that spelled potential trouble, he searched for an anomaly—anything that might be the soldier or his young charge.
For a fleeting moment, he thought he felt an odd nothingness on the fringes of his net, but it was gone before he fully registered it. He tried to grab it, but how was he supposed to hold on to nothing?
He tried to suppress his irritation but couldn’t hold back a sigh. It would have been nice to catch them now and save himself the trouble of hunting them down later.
Marshall told all the black and color-flecked black lights to find a safe place to sleep—safe according to him, not the person. The last thing he needed was a bunch of zombie-like sleepwalkers wandering all over town, trying to get to their beds. No, the closest empty spot of sidewalk or floor was good enough for his purposes.
As they slept, he gave them all a simple, but strong, suggestion that told them the cemetery damage was caused by a sinkhole, adding in a compulsion to tell anyone outside his radius who saw them sleeping that they had fallen down due to an aftershock from the sinkhole.
Then he searched for memories of either of the fights. He found nothing but confused impressions and wild speculation, neither of which would be helpful in his investigation.
Marshall took away any memories that didn’t support his sinkhole story, then went into the minds of the police officers who had passed him on the stairwell and told them all to forget anything they heard or saw in the hallway. His job would be easier if he didn’t have to fight with the Boston PD to get to the soldier and the boy.
Once Marshall finished, he woke everyone up. Normally, he didn’t need a subject to be asleep to alter memories, but for big things, like the destruction of a major landmark, he needed to go in deeper than he could while the person was awake. If he touched someone, he could do almost anything he wanted using minimal power, but on such a massive scale, he needed speed over finesse. It had only taken him thirty seconds to complete the entire spell, cutting down the chance someone outside his net had stumbled across his sleepers.
Marshall opened his eyes. “Done. Thanks for the boost.”
“That was quick.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” A hundred-plus years of exploring his magic had given him the precision few of his contemporaries had achieved. It was one of the reasons why he was the leader of the most called-upon team in the Guard. No one had stopped to wonder if he was ready for the responsibility. They’d just shoved him into the fray feet first.
“Took you long enough to get around to that.” A rich, booming voice with an Irish lilt informed him. “Back in my day, it was the first thing we did.”
“Back in your day people also regularly died of smallpox, didn’t they?” Jack frowned at the newcomer in an uncharacteristic show of irritation. “But you don’t brag about it, Callum.”
Internally, Marshall sighed. The only reason he could think of for Callum Lane to be here was to talk to Marshall about becoming the new praetor. “I prefer to observe a situation before I decide to tinker with thousands of people’s minds. It saves time and endless backtracking.”
“Sure, and it can, but with my way, you’d be having a better chance of catching the criminals before they get away.” Callum’s thin mouth was tight with disapproval, and his bushy red eyebrows had nearly eclipsed his eyes. It was going to be one of those encounters.
“Did you come here to be a backseat driver, Cal?” Marshall decided to just get it over with. Dodging the man wasn’t working, so they might as well have it out now.
“You know why I came here, sonny. You’ve been moping about long enough, and it’s time for you to get back to your real life and your real job.”
“This is my life, and I happen to like my job. I’m quite good at it. Or so I’m told.”
“This?” Callum peered around the magic-soaked hallway. “This is a simple matter anyone could clean up. If you like, I can take it off your hands and leave you free to return to—”
“I don’t quit in the middle of a case.” Marshall cut him off harshly.
“Don’t suppose you do, do you? You should, though. It’s time to stop living in the past.” Marshall’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Callum forged ahead, obviously meaning to speak his peace. “Praetor Nala’s been dead more than a year now, and it’s time for a new one to take her place. It’s time for you to step up and be the man we all know ya to be.”
“The man you used to know is gone, Cal. I haven’t been him for a long time now.”
“You only say that because you can’t let go, won’t let go…”
“Callum…” Jack growled out a warning to the man.
Heedless of the warning, Callum forged ahead. “She’s gone, man! You have to let her go and move on. Stop wasting your talents mooning over a lost child—” Callum’s words froze in his mouth, and he swayed where he stood, his mind no longer under his control.
Marshall’s eyes burned as he fought to control himself. “She. Is. Not. Gone.” Each word was punctuated by Callum staggering back a step as Marshall’s will pushed at him.
“Mars.” Jack’s hand was on the back of Marshall’s neck, grounding him. “It’s okay, you can stop now. No one is going to keep us from finding Nova.”
Marshall snapped his gaze away from Callum, releasing the man from his control, and took a deep breath to calm himself. “I told you I’m not the man you knew, Cal. If you need someone right now, you’ll have to find another praetor. My time is not my own to give.” Not trusting his control, he kept his eyes on the wall next to Callum.
Not easily daunted, Callum stood his ground but showed sense and calmed his tone. “Your father, gods rest his soul, wouldn’t have left you to stew for as long as I have. But he isn’t here, so I’ll do right by you the only way I know how.”
“My father would have found her by now,” Marshall said bitterly.
“Self-pity doesn’t become you, sonny. Nor does it accomplish anything.”
