by K. J. Emrick
“The Garoul Necklace was gone,” I finished for her. “You know for sure it was there when you went to bed?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it. I put it there myself.”
“Did you check to see if the necklace charm was still in the box before you went to sleep?”
“No, damn it, I didn’t.” Hearing even that mild curse from her is kind of a shock. Contradictions again innocent and foul-mouthed. Leather and lace. “I didn’t check because there’s no way anyone could get into that box without hurting themselves. I put a bunch of spells around it. Just little ones that a pixie witch like me can do. Like, one that will blister the hands of anyone who touches it. One that will turn them blind for a month. One that causes repeated orgasms whenever their eyes are open. One that will make them bleed from their toenails. That sort of thing.”
Wow.
Just…wow.
If Molly’s the kind of witch who can only do little magic, I’d hate to meet a witch who can do big magic. “Okay. Um. So, what you’re saying is I need to find a blind thief with burnt fingers and bloody feet, doubled over and screaming in ecstasy. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Believe me,” Molly grumbles, “that was my first thought. When I found the box was still there and all the spells were gone, and the necklace was gone, I went to everybody we know. Every single one of them. Nobody was suffering the effects of my spells. That isn’t possible, Sidney. I tell you it just isn’t possible.”
“Well, the thief could be someone you don’t know. Or maybe they wore gloves?”
“No. It doesn’t work like that. You can’t protect yourself from a spell by wearing clothes. Not unless the gloves were like, three feet thick. No, the thief would need to know spellwork to get past my magic. That’s the only way it works.”
That was handy information to know. It certainly changed things. “So what I’m actually looking for, is another witch.”
“Or another magic user. Witches aren’t the only ones who can use magic to cast spells.”
“Really? Uh, okay.” Come to think of it, that was kind of what Harry did. He used his genie magic to grant wishes for me or make amazing cups of coffee appear from nowhere or any of the other many things he can do. So my list of suspects had to include witches, genies, and probably every other Person of Magic in Detroit.
Other werewolves too, maybe?
“Molly, I’m going to need you to write me a list. Everyone you can think of who would want to hurt you or Kurt. Can you do that?”
“Well sure. It might take me a bit to think of everyone. I mean, it’s quite a list. I see that now that we’ve talked about it.”
“That’s okay, Molly. It’s going to be my job to find who did this. You just get me that list. I want you to put something else on there, too.”
“You do? What?”
“This one’s going to be hard for you, but I need it. Okay? We were talking about the enemies that Kurt must have made. I need you to make a second list of anyone who was against his ideas to change the way werewolves do things. Anybody. Even if it’s his own family. Can you do that for me?”
She picks up her coffee cup and goes to chug it down, only to realize it’s empty. I get the impression she was looking for something stronger, anyway. Whiskey, maybe.
When she looks back up at me, there’s determination in her eyes. “Yes. I can do that. I’ll get you those names, and then you’ll find who took the necklace, right?’
“I’ll try my best,” I tell her, because in my line of business you learn early on not to promise a result without knowing all the rules of the game first. I obviously don’t know all the rules in this one. I’m going to have to learn as I go. Trying my best is the best I can promise.
It’s good enough for her. She actually jumps up and races around the table and throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sidney! I can’t tell you, there’s just no way to say, you can’t understand what this means, I’m so glad I came here, I knew you were the one to help me, I just knew it!”
Somewhere in there was at least one whole sentence. Probably two. I let her hug me until she’s all hugged out, and then she starts telling me over and over that she’s going to go home and tell Kurt and make those lists and text them to me before the end of the day. We trade cell numbers while I wonder if Kurt will be able to understand anything she tells him. Can werewolves understand human speech when they’re, um, luping? Can they maybe talk like a human with a wolf tongue? Is that how it worked?
Dear God, my head is spinning by the time Molly leaves and I lock the door again. Everything she told me keeps swimming around in there, forming ideas and theories that they sure as hell didn’t cover in the five-hour course I took before getting my P.I. license.
A magical necklace charm that keeps the future king of the werewolves walking around on two legs, so that he can spend all his time with the love of his life. A thief who took a necklace from a box that was protected with spells meant to scare a thief away and do a range of nasty things to them if they actually dared touch it. Not only that, but the box was in a locked apartment. An impossible crime in a lot of ways. Although I guess, really, nothing is impossible when you’re dealing with magic.
I think I’m beginning to hate that word.
“So,” Harry says, popping back into the room with a poof of air and the smell of springtime. “Werewolves, huh?”
I must be getting used to him coming and going the way genies do. I didn’t even jump this time. Not much, anyway. “You know what, Harry, I’m going to revisit the idea of putting a bell around your neck, so help me God. It’s bad enough I was just sitting here with a pixie witch and couldn’t see any of the future when she was here, and now I can’t see you coming until you’re standing here, and damn it, damn it, damn it I don’t like feeling normal!”
By the time I was done letting all that out I was almost panting, and I was surprised to see my hands were shaking. Harry was there in an instant, almost as if magic had moved him across the floor instead of three quick steps. His arms folded around me and he held me to his chest, and I closed my eyes and just let myself get lost in his embrace. I was scared, and realizing that made me even more upset. This wasn’t like me. I don’t break down like this. I’m a tough woman. I’m tough, and independent, and I don’t break down in my guy friends’ arms.
But then it came to me, and I realized what was frightening me. The idea that I could lose my extra sense, my special ability, my future-sense—that was actually terrifying.
I’ve had this unique power since I was born. I’ve hated it, and I’ve learned to live with it, and in all respects, it has set me apart from everyone. It had ruined every serious relationship I’ve had with a man because if you can hear everything your boyfriend is about to say, the words ‘I love you’ aren’t so special anymore. You know when he’s going to say it…and you know when he’s not.
There’s good and there’s bad with this gift of mine but I didn’t realize how much I’ve come to accept it as a part of who I am until right now, in this moment when I realize it could be gone. At least part of it, sometimes. I like being who I am. I like the bizarre way my brain works, seeing the future in a one, two, three count. I like it. I really do. Maybe I didn’t used to, but I’ve grown into a woman I can respect and be proud of and I don’t—I do not—want that to change.
Sidney Stone, weird and wonderful me.
I can hear Harry’s heart beating. I can hear the rumble of breath in his chest and his murmured words of comfort. When I breathe, inhaling deeply, he fills my senses. I am so lucky to have a man like this in my life. A friend that I’ve only known for such a short time, and one who feels like he’s been with me all my life.
With a last shaky breath, I push back against his strong abs—dear God his muscles are sculpted. “Thanks, Harry. I…I’m sorry I broke down like that. I just got spooked, I think.”
He doesn’t let go. His gaze locks with mine, looking down from his greater height,
and I swear that even without my future-sense I can hear his thoughts. They’re reflected in the light of his gold-flecked eyes, and what I see there…kind of sparks a little heat deep within my chest.
“Harry…?”
“My lady,” he says. “I need you to know something.”
I only just had my breath back, and now I feel like I’ve lost it again.
Suddenly the apartment seems even smaller than it was. My hands were molded to his chest now and there’s parts of my body touching parts of his body and I know this should be awkward…but it’s not. It’s me, and it’s Harry. It us.
And he wants to tell me something.
“What?” I ask, that one word very loud in my ears, taking forever to fade away.
His lips move, just a little, but he doesn’t make a sound, and damn it I wish my future-sense worked with him so I could already know what he was about to say. I really needed to hear what he was going to tell me. His body is so, so close to mine, and I swear I can feel an energy coming off his skin.
“Harry…”
Just like that, his eyes drop away and he lets go of me. I stumble to get my balance, it happened so quick. It was like I’d broken whatever magic had started forming between us by talking. I slammed my lips closed and wished silently for him to come back and hold me again and tell me what it was that I felt hanging in the air between us.
Could I do that? Could I make a wish and have him tell me? I could, I told myself. He’s a genie, and I might not like the term, but I am his master. I could force him to tell me. All it would take is a single wish.
Except…I can’t.
I can’t make selfish wishes unless I want to lose Harry forever. Wanting to know what a guy is hiding from me behind his beautiful eyes is just about as selfish as it gets. The reason I don’t do it is so much more than that, though. Harry is my friend. If I force him to tell me something when he doesn’t want to, I’ll be violating that friendship.
I don’t want to ever lose that.
And I mean, let’s face it. Some guys just need to do things in their own time. That whole thing about men being the stronger sex? Yeah. A man must have come up with that one because women know it just isn’t true.
He clears his throat and makes himself busy by collecting the empty coffee cups off the table. All this power at his fingertips and he still prefers to do some things by hand. Actually, it’s kind of nice to see that in a guy.
I wait on him, giving him the time to collect his thoughts. When the cups are in the sink he finally looks back up at me with a smile. “I was just going to say, I want you to know I have enjoyed working with you on our past two stories. I look forward to many more.”
“Cases, Harry, they’re called…never mind. That’s all you wanted to tell me?”
“Yes, my lady. Isn’t that enough?”
Heh. I should have known it was something like that. Just Harry having trouble expressing his feelings. In his day, guys didn’t really do that. It explains why he hesitated so hard a minute ago, when I was in his arms. Sure. That’s all it was.
“All right, big guy. Thanks for holding me while I fell apart. I’m better now, I promise. I’m going to head out for a bit,” I tell him.
At the counter, he picks up one of the coffee cups, and stares into it.
“I might be awhile. I’ve got a few leads to follow up on for Arnie Chen’s statue before Molly gets back to me with those lists I asked for, and then I think I might have to find someone who’s an expert on werewolves. I don’t suppose you know anything about them?”
He picks up the second cup, and stares into it, frowning.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a no. Yeah, so anyway, I’m real busy. The exciting life of a private detective. You know how it is. You want to come with me? I can roll your rug up and bring it down to the car. I swear, I’m going to get a cart to haul that rug around. That thing’s heavy.”
He just stands there, staring into it the cups.
“Okay, well. Good talk. If you’re going to stay here can you feed Spot, please?”
I turn to go, already running through a list of things I need to bring with me. Purse. Lunch money. My pistol.
“My lady,” Harry says abruptly, in a way that makes me stop short. He’s only holding one of the cups now, and it looks so tiny clutched in his huge hand. Somehow, I know that cup is the one I drank out of.
I blow out a breath between my lips, phbbbt. Now I know why he’s been so silent. There’s this thing Harry does where he reads the coffee grinds left over in the bottom of my cup. Turkish coffee leaves the ground up beans in the brew so that you’re not just drinking coffee-flavored water, you’re drinking the coffee itself. The grinds that are left over when you’re done get stuck to the bottom of the cup and, supposedly, they tell your future. I don’t know, it’s something about the way you hold the cup and the way you drink being unique to just you.
He’s done this for me before, and each time my future’s been the same. I don’t have to ask him if it’s changed this time.
“Let me guess,” I say. “I’m going to die.”
He nods his head in a serious way. Just like I thought.
“I don’t suppose it tells you when or where I’m going to bite it?”
And now, he shakes his head no.
“That’s what I thought. Well Harry, unless it gives you my expiration date, you know what I say to you and the coffee?”
“What is that, my lady?”
“I say not today. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Chapter Four
You get to know all kinds of people when you’re a private investigator. I’m personal friends with one of the biggest movie stars in the world, believe it or not. I was in the Governor’s office once, but that wasn’t a very friendly chat. Long story. But, on the other side of things, you also get to know a pretty low class of people. Bad people. Criminal types.
And some of them are really nice.
There’s no way to do a job like mine without being able to gather information. If you want to know who’s dealing in stolen goods, you can’t go knocking door to door asking random people. Most decent, hardworking people in Detroit have no idea who the bad elements in the community are. You know when the police arrest a murderer and the news interviews the neighbors the next day and they’re all like, oh, he was such a nice guy we never suspected anything like this? That’s what I’m talking about.
Good people don’t usually see the bad in others.
So, if you want to know where the bad things are happening, you have to talk to bad people. Every good private investigator knows a few of them on a first-name basis. So do the cops. The police call these people informants. In my trade, we call them ‘snitches.’ You pay them money, they tell you things, and then you both go back to what you were doing. For what I need, I’ve got just the snitch in mind.
The statue that was stolen from Arnie Chen is from ancient China. In other words, it’s valuable. Seriously valuable. A two-foot-tall piece of art, with a jade dragon and an ivory unicorn—a Chinese unicorn, which is not your typical frilly white horse—dancing around each other in an eternal embrace. It represents a Chinese myth about love and devotion. Kind of romantic, if you ask me. And, worth enough money to get the United States out of debt. Probably more.
Any thief in the world would love to get their hands on something like that. Not just any thief would know what to do with it once they had it, though. What I’m looking for is a thief with high-end connections. That’s the kicker, right there. Any idiot can steal. Not just any idiot knows where to sell merchandise like that.
So I need to find a certain kind of thief. One with class. To do that, I need to find a certain kind of snitch.
One with his own sort of class.
It’s almost noon now, which means Parker Broderick is finally up and in his office. He usually has open appointments from now until dusk but the earlier I catch him, the better. Dude’s afraid of the dark. Come sundown he
disappears and holes up in his…well actually, I don’t know where he lives. He doesn’t strike me as the condo type. Maybe he’s got a nice shelter under a bridge somewhere. Yeah. That seems more his style.
I pull Roxy up to a parking space along Library Street, just a few blocks down from the Detroit Opera House, and about the same distance away from the Wahlburgers they built in 2016. I’ve eaten there a few times. Never once seen Donnie or Mark but the food is really, really good. Maybe I’ll get lunch there later.
Locking Roxy’s doors, I put a couple of coins in the meter and set off.
The reason I parked her here is because Parker’s office is right around the corner. There’s a parking structure right next to his office, actually, but when you’re doing a clandestine meeting with a snitch you really don’t want to leave any evidence you were there…like buying a parking pass. I can take the time to walk around the corner. I mean, I’ve won three marathons, back when I had time to do things like run marathons. A little walking isn’t going to kill me, and it isn’t but a minute or two from Roxy to Parker’s office, in the Belt.
Running from Gratiot Ave all the way to Grand River, the Belt is actually an alley that was repurposed into a downtown tourist attraction and performing arts venue a few years ago. It’s right there on Google Maps if you ever want to check it out. There’s street artist paintings on the walls, and benches for people to sit on, and different kinds of potted plants that are struggling out their last few days before autumn turns too cold. There’re art installations as well. Last week the city put in this hideous metal sculpture titled “Birds in Flight” that looks like a giant screwdriver. Don’t ask me. I’ve never understood modern art.