There was so much for Riordan to unpack in Quinn’s summarized story, so many missing gaps that glossed over mortal fear and trauma, over bargains and struggles with identity. It was yet another whisper of similarity, drawing Riordan to Quinn. The death mage was far younger in years, but his spirit was aged beyond his years. He’d seen horrors in those years, seeking out the very sort of experiences that were so haunting Riordan now, all to lay them to rest when no one else could or would. 

 

Was Quinn an image of Riordan’s future then? He had no idea if he really had a future at the moment, which he supposed made him not much different than Quinn at all, but if he did survive this, he didn’t think Mother Bear’s patch would disappear. The spirit had spoken in its way. He was to be a shaman if he lived. What sort of shaman was still very much up in the air, especially if he had other lingering effects from this ordeal like his ghost sight. Riordan shivered, despising the idea of being a pack shaman, hedged in with social responsibilities and expectations that would drive him mad in short order. Yet, the magic itself didn’t disturb him. Even the alien insanity of the spirits themselves drew Riordan in with a strange fascination.

 

He could definitely understand Quinn’s choice then. To be so suddenly thrust into a new world of danger and mystery, given gifts that allowed one to be a hero, was a myth that held great appeal to the adventurous and the curious and the righteous. Riordan’s own immersion started from a place of greater understanding but he was feeling no less drowned for that fact.

 

Riordan realized that Quinn was standing there silently, done brushing and rinsing but still clutching the toothbrush tightly. He waited with a growing tension and a nervous smile for Riordan to pass some sort of judgment on the story he had shared. Riordan inhaled to say something and blew it out wordlessly before trying again, picking each word slowly.

 

“I think I can understand the hunger for magic,” Riordan began, “Even if that hunger is birthed in trauma and loss. Magic makes…” He trailed off, reaching for some ephemeral word that could describe the totality of magic and shook his head. Such a thing was beyond him and he finished lamely with, “Magic is the joy of the world itself.”

 

To his delight, Quinn’s face bloomed with a smile of pure happiness. “Yes,” the man replied, “Seeing and feeling magic makes the world more complete. I was born blind, deaf, and mute to the true depth of existence until magic was granted to me. I rather live like this, a shortened and often violent life, than go back to mundanity knowing what I know now.”

 

A frustrated sigh drew both of their attention to Daniel who just shrugged when they looked at him, his cheeks darkening with a gray blush. “Ignore me,” he said, “I’m just feeling sorry for myself because I don’t have that.”

 

Quinn gave a rough salute, the gesture made even more rough by the fact that he still held the toothbrush. “I get it. As terrible as my life was, you went through almost the same thing and didn’t even get magic to balance it out. Being a ghost can be cool- remind me to tell you some tricks later- but it’s not enough compared to being a mage.”

 

“And what is it with death mages targeting college students?” Daniel asked, his tone exaggerated as he pulled back from the honesty of Quinn’s statement. 

 

“Do you want the serious answer to that?” Quinn asked.

 

Riordan wasn’t surprised that Quinn had one, given his job and experience, but Daniel blinked and then said, “Sure?”

 

“College students can be very careless with safety,” Quinn explained, “They are often in new environments and learning to live on their own for the first time. They are experimenting with new activities and behaviors, not having learned yet how to protect themselves while they do it, and that can make them a vulnerable population. Not as vulnerable as the homeless, elderly, or disabled perhaps, but college students also have a vitality of life that is attractive to death mages trying to make some grand sacrifice.”

 

“Because young people are just tasty monster snacks,” Daniel grumped, throwing his hands up in the air. “I feel a bit called out here.”

 

Quinn looked immediately stricken and started to apologize, but Riordan wasn’t having any of that when Daniel literally asked for it. He cut over Quinn’s beginning apology. “Daniel. You know he’s right, but you also know that you were doing what you thought best and necessary at the time. You were only a few hours from the safe haven you were going to. I was hit at the same time, which meant that it wasn’t because you were the perfect target. You did nothing wrong, given what you had to work with. You just got unlucky.”

 

Daniel froze up, processing all of that, and then nodded. The expression on his face was sad, frustrated, and angry, though Riordan didn’t think that anger was aimed at any of them in particular. Turning to Quinn, the ghost muttered a small, “Sorry, Quinn,” before vanishing. A quick probe of the pack bond reassured Riordan that Daniel had retreated to the spirit glade. He wasn’t sure where else he thought Daniel would go, but it still put him more at ease to be able to know for sure.

 

Quinn stared at the empty air where Daniel had been. He shook his head. “Well, now I feel like shit for saying anything.”

 

“Don’t,” Riordan told him sternly. “Daniel is just dealing with his own shit right now and lashing out when it gets away from him.”

 

“Right. Guess I can’t fault that given he was murdered recently. I’ll try to be more mindful.” Quinn squared up his shoulders, steeling himself to do better in the future. The effect was undermined by the general air of fatigue and illness that still clung to the mage.

 

Riordan prepared to ask Quinn another question, but paused, hearing steps coming down the hallway. The gait and slick sound of dress shoes made Riordan suspect it was Ahlgren. He turned to Quinn one more time. “Your partner is coming, I think. I’d like a chance to talk to you more, one on one, if you can make time. I don’t know enough about death magic and how to work with the ghosts.”

 

“I’ll try to make time,” Quinn replied, his crooked smile returning. He traced his eyes up and down Riordan’s body in an overly flirty manner that Riordan thought was as much a mask for Quinn’s emotions as humor was for Daniel, saying, “You are at least easy on the eyes.”

 

Fortunately, Ahlgren entered the bathroom before Riordan had to come up with a response for that. Flirting usually made him uncomfortable, but Quinn’s flirting didn’t have the same effect, which made Riordan uncomfortable for entirely different reasons. He assumed it was because he could tell that Quinn wasn’t serious about it. Riordan thought that the physical attraction was real, though he was an absolutely terrible judge of that, but Quinn had just laid out how fucked his life and body were. That was hardly the basis for any sort of serious attempt at hooking up or whatever.

 

“Ah, Morrish, there you are,” Agent Ahlgren said by way of greeting. He did give Riordan a more formal acknowledging nod. “Mr. Kincaid. I see you look none the worse for last night’s misadventures.”

 

Riordan considered that dismissive of his lingering aches. He was hardly going to let himself seem vulnerable or weak in front of this man though. Ahlgren was the sort to categorize and hoard weaknesses for a future use. He was also fairly sure that Ahlgren had known exactly where Quinn was and possibly spied on the conversation. Spatial magic would be great for the magical equivalents of trackers and bugs, come to think of it.

 

“Ahlgren,” Riordan replied equally dryly. “I’m feeling fine, thank you. I can be ready to go at a moment’s notice to help with the investigation.”

 

Oh, Ahlgren didn’t like that at all. If Riordan had needed more evidence that he was going to be shut out of most of this investigation, there it was. Vera already didn’t trust Riordan, on account of him being an exile, forgiven by the spirits or not. Frankie and Norris might have been a bit more accepting of him, but they also recognized that Riordan was an essential asset to the death mage at this time and therefore a piece to be protected, not sent out into the field. That assessment of Riordan wasn’t likely to change without either a massive shift in Phenalope’s tactics that showed she didn’t need him anymore or they managed to stop her. They might let him help with the other death mage, Helena, at that point, but Riordan wasn’t going to hold his breath.

 

Ahlgren could go either way, or both. Being a former exile didn’t mean as much to a mage compared to a shifter, but Ahlgren also cultivated a professional distrust of all death mages. Being able to see ghosts seemed to be lumping Riordan into that category, even if he didn’t demonstrate any of the other signs. Ahlgren had taken the stance of being paranoid about it, because someone had to. Riordan could respect that, given how much trouble a death mage infiltrator could cause, but it still sucked being treated like a criminal. Even if he was used to it, he was innocent of that crime.

 

Likewise, it was Ahlgren’s job to stop Phenalope, which means giving her easy access to the sacrifice that is currently disrupting her well-planned ritual would be a poor tactical decision. Riordan could see that calculation in Ahlgren’s shuttered but reluctant expression and decided to save the man the effort of finding a polite way of telling Riordan to go fuck himself.

 

“Of course,” Riordan smiled, “I am happy to help organize your notes here as well. I know that I won’t be much help with the law enforcement interviews and I’m unfortunately distinctive for this region.”

 

The relief that flashed through Ahlgren’s eyes confirmed Riordan’s suspicions, especially since those facts applied to Quinn as well, at least in regards to his counter-culture and unprofessional presentation.

 

“That would be very helpful, Mr. Kincaid,” Ahlgren confirmed, his relief allowing him to unbend enough to offer the smallest of smiles. “I will be heading out shortly with Mr. Culver and Agent Morrish to begin our information gathering. If you could begin to transcribe and collate the notes already collected, that would be very helpful for finding patterns, writing reports, and in the end, informing the victim’s families of their fates.”

 

That was a sobering wake-up call. Riordan had been fooling himself into thinking of the other victims as alive, because he could still interact with them and see them. They were still people to him. All of them were cut off though, unable to ever return to the life they had before. Most of them just wished to be free to pass on, to no longer be constantly reminded of their losses and forced to live a half life as a ghost. Riordan wondered if Daniel wished for that same peace. The young man had parents and an aunt who all loved him, in their own ways. How would they mourn him? Riordan touched the necklace he was wearing, taken from Daniel’s corpse in case he could bring no other momento back for his loved ones, and resolved to do his best at whatever task he was given here.

 

“Guh,” Quinn muttered, “I guess that means I need to pull myself together. I assume I’m running magical surveillance and shielding.”

 

Ahlgren glanced at Riordan again, clearly less than thrilled to discuss this in front of outsiders, but it wasn’t really going to be secret either. The agent nodded. “Yes, the standard magical suite. Depending on how the day proceeds, you may be doing mundane surveillance or questioning, but for the most part, you will be remaining in the car. That should be within your current capabilities.”

 

“Roger that. I’ll go change into real clothes then.” 

 

Quinn covered a large yawn as he wandered out of the room and down towards the agent’s guest room. He seemed more awake than when he’d staggered into the bathroom, but Riordan saw him hiding some of his continued illness under feigned ease. It didn’t surprise him when Quinn was wearing large sunglasses and a hooded vest cloak when he emerged. He had likened his symptoms to a hangover. The stimulus reduction probably made it bearable.

 

True to his word, Ahlgren had Quinn and Billy out in a borrowed SUV, possibly even the one Maudy had used the night before, and on the road within the next fifteen minutes. Norris made sure to provide Quinn with a breakfast burrito, a container of sliced fruit, and two sealed bottles of water before they left, securing a promise from the death mage to eat and drink all of that before they returned and preferably a lunch as well.