Gregory stared at him, nonplussed, and Cormac relished his confusion. “Can I watch?” he asked finally.
“Yeah. I might need your help.” He went outside to make his next call, to Detective Nielson.
“Mr. Bennett?” she answered.
“Do you trust me, Detective?”
A pause, then, “I can’t say that I do.”
“I can give you Durant. But you have to promise to wait until I give the signal. I have some business with her first.”
“You can give her to me now, or I’ll charge you with obstructing justice,” she said evenly.
Yeah, he should have expected that. “She has something of mine.”
“We can get it from her once we know where to serve the search warrant.”
“It’s not. . .it’s not really a thing, it’s. . .it’s not really tangible. It’s weird, it’s crazy, I can’t explain it. But I just need a little time before you swoop in. Can you give that to me?”
“If what you say about her is true, Isabelle Durant is a very dangerous woman. And you’re just going to, what—ask her nicely?”
Not nicely. More nicely than he wanted, for sure. “We’ll see if that works.”
“If you’re having one over on me, there’ll be consequences. I know that means something to you.”
“Yes ma’am, it does. You know where Tea on the Range is, in the old part of Deadwood?”
She groaned. “For the love of God please don’t tell me you’re arranging a standoff on the streets of Deadwood.”
“Durant will be there out front.” He made a guess. Took a risk. “Ten minutes after midnight.” He had no doubt Nielson and her people would be there long before. He just had to hope that gave him enough time with Durant.
“Well, what have I got to lose, right?”
“You? Nothing. Thanks, Detective.” He hung up.
Gregory was waiting just inside the door, leaning close enough to the glass that Cormac was sure he’d been eavesdropping. His gaze had narrowed and turned appraising. “Are you sure you’re the one setting the trap?”
“I’m the one who knows where all the pieces are. Now, we just have to wait until midnight. I’ll be back around ten till.” He started walk away, when Gregory put up a hand to stop him. He held two cards. The Queen of Swords, and the Ace.
“Take them. For luck.”
More than luck, they might have been a lifeline. Magic was all about symbols and thought. Cormac might need a focus, and that card, the woman with the black hair and determined expression, weapon of choice in her hand, might do it.
His familiar valley was dark, overcast, only the milky light of the moon bleeding through. He could sense trees, imagine wind rustling the leaves. But the image, the scene that was so familiar and so comforting to him, was indistinct. He was losing it. He called out; the sound should have echoed. But his voice fell flat, as if the space had become small. Dead.
He was a better person with Amelia. His mind was a better place. This would work.
The night was warm, dry and sharp, smelling of smoke. Maybe campfires somewhere, or maybe a wildfire was burning up in the hills. It felt dangerous. Or maybe he was projecting.
A couple of old-fashioned streetlamps lit up the corners, that was it. The casinos further up the street were still jumping, but this part of town rolled up the sidewalks after dark. They had the block to themselves.
Gregory spent the last hour before Durant’s arrival walking three circles around his shop and marking all the doors and windows with runes.
“It’s me she’s after,” Cormac said. He was trying for reassuring but it came out sarcastic.
“Can’t be too careful,” Gregory replied.
He wasn’t wrong. The