by Baen Books
“I will.”
He glanced at the Z-ster. “Yours?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Decent car. I always preferred American muscle to Japanese sportsters, but here I am sellin’ Toyotas, so I guess I should just keep my mouth shut.” He laughed and slapped me on the back. “Come with me. We’ll chat in my office. Jeremy, get out of the man’s car and get back to work.”
He said this last with a growl, but Jeremy was grinning as he climbed out.
I followed Sullivan inside, to a posh office that looked out over the lot. He stepped around his desk to a large leather chair, and indicated that I should take one of the black fabric-covered chairs across from him.
“Let’s start with the bottom line,” he said. “Two-fifty a day plus expenses, right?”
“Yes, sir, with a five hundred dollar initial payment.”
“And do I get half of that back if you solve my problem today?” He asked it with a smile on his lips and a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes, but I could tell that he wanted an answer.
“No, sir. Five hundred dollars is my minimum payment.”
“All right, fair enough.” He leaned forward and pressed a button on his phone. “Maria, please have a check made out to Justis Fearsson Investigations, Inc., in the amount of five hundred dollars.” He spelled “Fearsson” for her, released the button, and sat back. “You’ll have that before you walk out of here today.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now then, I have a problem, and you’re going to fix it for me.”
“I’ll do my best.”
His expression turned flinty. “Five hundred dollars says you’ll do what it takes.”
I didn’t shy away from his gaze, but I also didn’t answer.
“I think one of my employees is stealin’ from me,” he went on after a moment’s silence. “Or else he’s giving people access to the lot after hours. I’ve had six cars stolen in the last week and a half. Only one car on any given night, but they’ve all been Lexus sedans, the high-end ones. I’ve got more than sixty grand in each.”
“What makes you think it’s someone who works here?”
“We have a security system here on the lot. You gotta punch in a number before you can move the gates leadin’ in and out. And there’s nothing to indicate that the system’s been tampered with. Now, by itself that might not mean much, but there’s more.” He stood. “Come with me.”
Mitch led me out of his office, through the showroom, where he greeted customers with smiles and handshakes.
“How’s it goin', folks? They treatin' you right? You got any problems at all, you have 'em call for ole Mitch, ya hear?”
I was watching an old pro work a room, and though I was thankful every day that I didn’t have to bust my butt selling cars, I appreciated talent when I saw it.
Once we were through the showroom, Mitch led me to a flight of stairs.
“The secret to this business,” he said, as we went down past the service area to the basement, “to any business really, is makin’ folks feel that that they’re in control of the situation, even when they’re not. Those people upstairs are goin’ to make me a lot of money today, but they’re goin’ to leave here thinkin’ they put one over on me, got themselves a real good deal. Know what I’m sayin’?”
All I could do was agree.
We reached a gray metal unmarked door that Mitch opened with a key. Inside were a set of black and white monitors and a sophisticated security control console. A brawny African-American man in a security uniform sat watching the monitors, a cup of coffee in one hand. He stood as we walked in.
“Good morning, Mister Sullivan,” he said, in a voice that sounded like a salute.
“Mornin’, Rob. Everything look okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’d like you to run the feed from two nights ago for Mister Fearsson here. Just the part that matters.” Mitch glanced my way, his grin putting me in mind of a wolf. “We don’t want to take up too much of his time, ‘cause every minute’s costin’ me a pretty penny.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rob fiddled with a few buttons and knobs, and one of the monitors went blank. A moment later, it came to life again, but I could see from the dark skies onscreen and the time stamp in the bottom righthand corner that this was recorded.
At first, I saw nothing unusual. Like most car lots, Sullivan’s was well lit at night. But nothing moved. Even the foil banners that stretched between lampposts remained still. There couldn’t have been a breath of wind. The feed continued this way for about two minutes.
Then Mitch said, “Keep an eye on that lower left corner. The open pavement there.”
I nodded, watching the spot. And perhaps ten seconds later, a shadow appeared there. It was in the shape of a person, though elongated by the distance between whoever cast it and the lights behind him or her. I could make out a head, shoulders, arms, and the torso down to about the waist. The rest was cut off by the edge of the screen. One of the arms shifted, as if the person had raised a hand. An instant later, the entire image wavered and went blank again.
“Thanks, Rob.”
I looked at Sullivan. “That’s it?”
“That’s all we’ve got. The figure doesn’t show up on any of the other feeds. This person knew just where to stand to avoid bein’ seen. All of the feeds go dead at the same time. All of them remain dead for precisely the same amount of time: approximately twelve minutes. Then the feed resumes as if nothin’ ever happened. Except that one of my sedans is gone.”
“Can I see it again?”
He turned to Rob and lifted his chin toward the monitor. Rob replayed the clip. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, and even after I’d watched it a second time, I couldn’t say that anything in particular caught my eye.
“You understand now why I brought you in?” Mitch asked, once the feed had cut out a second time. “You of all people?”
I faced him, feeling my gut clench.
Magic. That was why he wanted me. Somehow, he knew I was a weremyste, though I saw on him none of the usual blurring of features that I could see when looking at another of my kind.
Plenty of people knew, at least in the abstract, that weremystes existed, but most of us didn’t advertise the fact that we were runecrafters. The stigma attached to mental illness in this country remained a heavy burden for those who suffered its effects. And many people still viewed anything that resembled “witchcraft” with a healthy dose of skepticism, even fear. Combining that misunderstanding of psychological problems with old prejudices against sorcery produced a dangerous mix. Perhaps if people like me were able to be more honest about the phasings and their effects on us, I’d still have a job with the Phoenix Police Department.
But that wasn’t the world in which we lived. Not yet. I didn’t like the implication of Mitch’s question, and just then I didn’t feel comfortable under his keen gaze.
Maybe he sensed that.
“Rob, why don’t you take a short break, refill that cup of yours and maybe grab a bite to eat. Mister Fearsson and I will keep an eye on the monitors.”
He said it with another grin, but I heard the command behind the words.
So did Rob. He was already reaching for the door when he said, “Yes, sir.”
Once we were alone, Mitch surprised me.
“I’m sorry about that. I should have sent him out before I asked.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “You think someone used magic to disable your security system.”
“Don’t you?”
I shrugged, eyeing the monitor, which Rob had switched back to the live feed. “It’s possible. That might also explain the gate. It might not be an employee after all.”
“I suppose. But still, you can help me find the person responsible, can’t you?”
I didn’t answer right away
Sullivan sat in the vacated chair. “I remember that your old man was a wizard, or whatever the hell you all call
yourselves. That’s why I figured you might be, too.”
“How did you know that about my Dad?”
“I asked him. He came to the airport lookin' for a job after he left the force. I’d known a guy in high school who used magic, and Lee was askin' questions about the flexibility of the schedule, and bein' able to get a few nights off each month. I put two and two together.” He leaned forward, trying to look me in the eye. “I never told anyone. I swear.”
I nodded. “Thank you.” To be honest, I was still trying to get my head around the fact that my Dad had tried to get a job at the airport. I never knew that, though I probably shouldn’t have been so surprised. By that time my Mom had died, and my Dad was well on his way to becoming a full-time drunk. But he still had me, and he would have needed income to support us both.
“So can you help me out?” Sullivan asked.
“I think I can. The first thing I’d want to do is take a look around the dealership, try to see if I can spot a weremyste among your workers.”
“You can tell just by lookin' if a guy’s a . . . what’d you call 'em, a weremyste?”
“Yes, I can. You can’t, unless there’s more to you than you’re letting on, but I can see the magic in others. And they can see it in me. Any weremyste working here is going to spot my magic, just as I can spot his or hers. Having me here could spark a battle of spells.”
“Well, then what do you suggest I do instead?”
It was a good question, one I couldn’t answer. “Let me walk around a bit. I’ll try to stay out of people’s way, and I’ll be as discreet as possible.”
He frowned, his brow creasing. “That doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
“Welcome to the PI business.”
That coaxed a grin from him. “All right, then. I’ll leave you to it. Just holler at me if you need anything.”
We left the security room and climbed the stairs. I hadn’t noticed any weremystes among the salespeople and clerical workers I’d seen in the showroom, so I stepped into the service area, leaving Sullivan to go back to his office. The guy at the service counter, who wasn’t a weremyste, asked me if I needed help, but I said I was waiting for my car to be serviced, and he told me to make myself at home.
A small waiting room sat adjacent to the service reception area. It had several chairs, a coffee maker, and a couple of vending machines stocked with prepackaged pastries and those peanut butter and cheese crackers that are drier than dust. A woman sat near the door, thumbing through a magazine, but otherwise the room was empty. A window at the back end looked out on the garage, and I parked myself in the corner beside it. I could see most of the workers and the cars they were servicing, but the mechanics wouldn’t be able to see me all that clearly.
It didn’t take me long to spot our weremyste. He was a young guy, not one of the chief mechanics, but a helper. He was about my height -- maybe five-ten -- and thin, with dark eyes and long black hair that he wore tied back in a ponytail. His features bore the tell-tale blur that I saw on all weremystes, but the effect wasn’t particularly strong on him. I suppose he was capable of casting a spell that would put the whammy on Sullivan’s security system, but I had seen more powerful mystes in my day. Lots of them.
I stayed where I was, checking out the other people who worked in this part of the dealership. There weren’t a lot of us weremystes in the Phoenix area -- a couple of thousand tops -- but it wasn’t out of the question that Sullivan could have two working for him. Even as I watched for others, though, I kept my eye on the kid, and I tried to stay out of his line of sight.
After another fifteen minutes or so, I had convinced myself that he was the only runecrafter working today’s shift, and I began to contemplate my next move.
Before I could make it, I saw one of the mechanics call him over and speak to him. He nodded and then started in my direction. I muttered a curse to myself, but that was about all I could do. There was only the one entrance to the room; he was going to see me no matter what I did. I made a point of not staring at him, of making it seem that I was just watching the mechanics work.
But I knew the moment he spotted me. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he slowed almost to a stop, and cast a quick look back over his shoulder. Seeming to realize he had no choice, he resumed walking a moment later, though more slowly now. I could tell that he was eyeing me, perhaps searching for some sign that I had noticed him.
For my part, I could ignore him for only so long before my disinterest appeared too studied. He was a weremyste, and just as he knew that I was, he would assume that I could see the magic on him.
So as he drew near, I stared directly at him and made my eyes widen a little, as if in surprise. I followed him with my gaze and turned toward the doorway as he stuck his head in. He glanced at me, but said to the woman, “Missus Pratt?”
She set aside her magazine. “Yes.”
“Your car’s ready.”
“At last. Thank you.”
His dark eyes flicked in my direction again, but he left without another word. As he walked away, he cast another quick look over his shoulder, but I had seen him turning and was already gazing elsewhere.I waited until the mechanic gave him another task and then left the room, took the stairs, and returned to Mitch Sullivan’s office.
He was on the phone when I knocked, but he waved me in and motioned for me to shut the door. He ended the call moments later.
“Well?”
“I don’t know anything yet,” I said. “It’s possible that one of your nonmagical employees is working with a weremyste, and that person disabled the security camera.”
“But?”
I let out a breath. “But you do have a weremyste working for you. A young kid. Long black hair. He looks like he might be from one of the Pueblo communities.”
Sullivan sagged. “Damn. You mean Tommy Strong.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure he’s a weremyste. Like I said, I don’t know anything else for certain. Where does Tommy live?”
“I can have Maria pull his info-- Aw, hell, I’ll do it myself. Fewer questions that way.” He slid his chair up to his desk and began to click through files on his computer, still shaking his head and muttering to himself. After a few minutes, he said, “That’s what I thought. He’s Pima Indian. Lives in Komatke in the Gila River Community.”
He grabbed a pen and a sticky note, jotted down the kid’s name, address, and phone number, and handed the slip of paper to me. “Truth is, I don’t want it to be him. He’s a decent kid, family’s been through a lot.”
“I understand.”
“But you do what you have to. If it is him, I want you to tell me. We clear on that?”
“That was my plan all along. I’d like to talk to him now, if it’s all right with you.”
“Sure, why not? If any of the mechanics give you a hard time about it, tell 'em you cleared it with me.”
“I will.” I folded the paper with Tommy’s address and tucked it into my pocket. “You’ll hear from me as soon as I know something for certain.”
I let myself out of the office and went back downstairs to that cramped waiting room. But when I scanned the garage, I didn’t see Tommy. I walked out into the work area and found the mechanic the kid had spoken to earlier.
The guy was hunched over a diagnostic computer, a scowl on his face. “Can I help you with something?” he asked after a few seconds, his eyes still on the screen.
“I’m looking for a kid who was in here earlier. I think his name’s Tommy?”
“Tommy just left. Said he wasn’t feeling good. Can I help you with something?”
Damn. “No, thanks. I’ll . . . find him another time. It was nothing important.”
I walked away, resisting the urge to look back. My parting line had been a little weak, and I was sure the mechanic was watching me. But that was the least of my concerns. Halfway to the waiting area, I turned and headed out of the garage, hoping I might catch a gli
mpse of the kid before he left the dealership.
I didn’t, but I heard a car start up, not with the smooth hum of a new engine, but with the staccato growl of something old and in need of repair. I ran toward the sound and saw a small blue pickup back out of a space.
“Tommy Strong!” I called.
The truck jerked to a stop and then peeled away with a screech of rubber on pavement.
I started to recite a spell in my head: three elements that would have flattened one of his tires. But before I could cast, I felt magic charge the air.
I tried to shift my spell to a warding, but I didn’t have time enough to cast. Even at a distance, Tommy’s spell hit me with the force of a mule’s kick. I flew backwards, hit the pavement and somersaulted onto my front. I lay still for several seconds, trying to remember how to breathe. I hurt all over, but I didn’t think that I’d broken anything.
When I saw him in the garage, I hadn’t thought there was much to his power, but if that spell was any indication, I’d misjudged him. His spell packed a serious wallop. I wondered if he’d been trying to kill me, or if he had been smart enough to hold back. I wasn’t sure which thought scared me more: that the kid might be so desperate he was willing to kill, or that he was powerful enough to hit me that hard with a restrained casting.
I climbed to my feet, feeling like an old man, and glanced around. Miraculously, no one had seen me go down.
With Tommy gone, I had little reason to stick around the dealership. I staggered back inside to retrieve my check and then limped to my car. Rather than get in, though, I walked to the part of the lot that I had seen in the video.
All magical spells leave a residue, a glow of color on the things they touch, including people. And the color of every runecrafter’s magic is unique. So in theory, I might have been able to identify the person who had cast that spell on the security system, if only I could see something else that he or she had touched with a crafting. The problem was, the glow faded with time, and the more powerful the sorcerer, the more quickly the residue vanished. It had been a day and a half since the last spell was cast on the system, and it being almost noon on a cloudless Arizona day, the sun was bleaching the color out of everything it touched.