Ambient magic was free magic—magic that hadn’t been absorbed by earth or water. In the past, the leakage from nodes had been small enough that almost all of it had been soaked up quickly. But after the realms shifted, nodes leaked more magic than earth and water could soak up. The ambient magic level was higher than it had been in a couple centuries…and still rising. Rising faster in some places than others.
Ruben Brooks, Lily’s boss, had had a hunch shortly after the Turning. Since he was an off-the-scale precog with the president’s ear, the FAA had listened. Brooks suspected that anyone with a Gift soaked up magic in a small way—not like dragons, of course, who were enormous magical sponges. But enough to make a difference to delicate equipment—especially if they were trained.
Unit agents were almost all Gifted, almost all trained in one of the many magical disciplines. They now flew for free on every major airline…and were allowed to use their phones.
That was a perk that might not last much longer. The airlines no longer flew over the noisiest nodes, so incidents of computer malfunction were down, and silk casings on computerized equipment did offer some shielding. But the FAA was quietly investigating whether the flights that did experience a brief malfunction were those without any Gifted on board.
Quietly, because there was still a lot of distrust for the Gifted.
Lily was an exception in one way. She was Gifted, but not trained; her Gift was essentially untrainable. As a sensitive, she felt magic tactilely, but couldn’t be affected by it. Or work it.
She didn’t feel guilty about taking advantage of a privilege she might or might not be earning. She was using her phone to protect and serve, not to chat about personal matters…though there was an uncomfortable overlap between the professional and the personal in this case.
When Nettie answered, Lily began with the words she’d used too often, professionally. “Nettie, I’m calling about Steve Hilliard. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“So am I.” Nettie’s voice was gruffer than usual. “Are you going to handle the case yourself?”
“I don’t know yet. Are you up to a consult?”
Nettie Two-Horses—a ritually trained shaman as well as a Harvard-trained physician—was Nokolai, as Steve Hilliard had been. Nettie must have known Hilliard, might have played with him as a child. She was close to Rule’s age, Lily thought, though the years looked different on her than they did on him.
Nettie was clan, but she was female. Female clan weren’t lupus. They aged normally.
“If I can help, I want to. Training and disposition mean I can’t go kill the bastard who did it myself, but I want him caught.”
“Good enough. You know that someone applied a tattoo to his neck?”
“I’ve talked to Isen. Yes, I know about that.”
“Okay. My first question’s about gado. I’ve read up about it some.” Not the full, need-to-know classified document, but an abridged version. She could probably get more if she had to, but she’d have to jump through some hoops first. “I’ve got a rough idea of its effects and a partial ingredients list. Apparently gadolinium and wolfbane are two of the key ingredients. I’m having purchases of gadolinium checked, but wolfbane is not regulated. What can you tell me about it?”
“Actually, gado uses a solution of an organic gadolinium complex—Gadopentetate dimeglumine, or Gd-DTPA—rather than pure gadolinium. Presumably the agency that tracks gadolinium sales is aware of this.”
“I’ll check. Can you spell it for me?”
“I’d rather you didn’t. The various agencies that take note of such things are unaware of how much I know about gado, and I’d prefer them to remain ignorant. I did considerable private research on the subject when the government was using gado on the lupi they caught.”
“Right.” Lily considered asking just how much Nettie knew about the manufacture of gado. Best not, she decided. Best if she didn’t actually know.
“Wolfbane, of course, can’t be tracked,” Nettie said. “It’s far too common.”
Wolfbane, aka monkshood, devil’s helmet, or aconite, was a member of the buttercup family scientifically known as aconitum. Lily was an amateur gardener, but she’d looked this particular plant up. “It’s not native to the San Diego area, I think.”
“Not that we know of. It generally prefers wetlands, but one species—Columbian monkshood—is found in many parts of California. Also, the flowers are pretty enough that some landscapers use it, despite the toxicity.”
“It’s a neurotoxin, right? And it interferes with a lupus’s healing.”
“It does. If you’re wondering whether wolfbane could account for the tattoo—”
“I am. The government used gado to tattoo registered lupi, but what I read suggests wolfbane might work, too. I’m also wondering about the fatal wound. Would a lupus heal that before bleeding out without the application of some agent like wolfbane or gado?”
“There’s no way to answer your second question. Lupi healing varies, and I don’t know enough about the wound. What structures were involved? Was the trachea severed as well as the exterior jugular vein? What about the carotid artery?”
Lily grimaced. So far, everything she knew about the case came from Rule’s father and a single newspaper article. The local police had to send the FBI requested material, but if they felt uncooperative, it could take an amazingly long time to process a request. “I don’t know.”
“Until you do, I can’t discuss that meaningfully. As for your other question…hmm.” She considered that a moment. “Are you talking about topical woflbane, or ingested?”
“Either. Both.”
“Applied topically, both wolfbane and gado retard healing in a lupus, but the mechanism and the duration is very different. Wolfbane’s effects are quite brief.”
“Define brief.”
“That would depend on the lupus and the dosage, but most lupi rid themselves of it in two to four minutes. Some, like Rule, are almost unaffected by topical bane.”
“He’s been given bane, then.”
“Certainly. Most clans expose young lupi to it so they’ll recognize the effects. Rule has unusually strong healing, so his system throws off topical wolfbane almost immediately. The ingested bane made him as miserable as any other lupus, though for a briefer time than some.”
“So eating wolfbane works differently than rubbing it on?”
“Oh, yes. With ingested bane, the effects are stronger, more unpleasant, and last longer.”
“An hour? A day?”
“More than an hour. Less than a day. The thing about wolfbane is that it distracts a lupus’s healing. Their magic immediately tries to heal them of it—and since for some reason they can’t rid themselves of it quickly, their systems often focus on it to the exclusion of other, more serious damage. Not in a predictable way, though.”
“Because lupus healing varies.”
“The effect varies even for the same lupus. One time a lupus might heal a wound almost normally soon after ingesting a dose. Another time, the same lupus may fail to heal even a trivial wound.”
Lily was reminded of the mate bond. It, too, was unpredictable. “What about injecting it? Does that make a difference?”
“It can’t be injected—not if you want to affect healing, that is. When wolfbane is altered, the effects change in myriad ways, and there is no key active ingredient that can be extracted. To retard healing, you have to use fresh leaves or flowers.”
“Not the seeds or roots?”
“No. And no, I don’t know why. Either of those will cause a form of bane sickness, but it’s much briefer and doesn’t seem to affect healing.”
“Are the effects the same for all the aconite species?”
“As far as we know, though the severity of the symptoms varies.”