Unnatural Acts

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Maximilian Grubb beamed with relief. “There you are! As you can see, the items are protected from the elements. Unharmed. I’ve taken all necessary security precautions. No damage to any jar, no negligence whatsoever on the part of Final Repose . . . no need for your client to include us in the lawsuit.”

  “That remains to be seen,” I said, hiding my relief. While the former necromancer pranced from one foot to the other as if he needed to go to the bathroom, I used my cell phone to call the Hope & Salvation Mission to tell Mrs. Saldana the good news.

  She let out a delighted gasp. “Oh, bless you, Mr. Chambeaux! Bless you! Can we come get them?”

  “And bring Jerry. He’ll have to identify which one is his. They all look alike to me.”

  “A person just knows when he looks into his soul,” Mrs. Saldana said. “We’ll be right down!”

  Robin would get the legal clockwork moving, appeal for Jerry’s rights as the legitimate owner. I didn’t even know the legalities of whether you could buy someone else’s heart and soul.

  After I hung up, the former necromancer looked like a little puppy dog, standing there. “So, it’s all right? I have nothing to worry about?”

  “There’s a chance you may be off the hook, Mr. Grubb.” I ran my gaze across the Mason jars sitting on the shelves. The stirring hearts looked dark and unattractive, nothing at all like what you’d see on a Valentine’s Day card. In fact, they looked like Cupid’s rejects.

  I shook my head. “I wish I knew what Missy Goodfellow wants with all these hearts and souls. What does she intend to do with them?”

  The necromancer blinked at me in surprise. “Oh, no, it’s not Missy. It’s Irwyn.”

  CHAPTER 49

  My phone rang before Max could explain himself, and Robin started talking in my ear. I had never heard her so agitated. “Dan, get back to the office right away! You’re not going to believe this—Mavis Wannovich is here.”

  I stifled a groan. “Today’s not a good day for that.”

  “You have to see the new evidence about Snazz’s murder! Mavis has proof of who killed him.”

  That wasn’t what I expected. “Who? And how did Mavis get it?”

  Robin was like a little kid holding an unpleasant surprise. “Just get over here! I’m calling Officer McGoohan.” She hung up without telling me.

  I gave Max a stern warning as I turned to rush away. “Lock this place up tight and make sure nothing happens to those hearts and souls until I get back. Guard them with your life.”

  The former necromancer groaned, “I don’t have much of a life.” But he promised anyway.

  When I arrived back at our offices, I felt breathless. Or maybe disheveled was a better word. I was putting a lot of mileage on these dead-tired feet today, but if I could wrap up a couple of major cases, then I promised myself I would take time off and reschedule that date with Sheyenne. We hadn’t had very good luck so far.

  The first thing I saw was the sow standing in the middle of our reception area. Mavis paced back and forth in her black dress. The sisters had brought the large crystal ball in its birdbath-sized holder that they’d purchased from the pawnshop liquidation auction.

  When Mavis saw me, her expression melted into one of relief. “We’ve been leaving messages and messages for you, Mr. Chambeaux, but you wouldn’t return our calls! We were going to call the police, but we wanted to talk to you first.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I’ve run myself ragged all week.”

  The witch ran her gaze up and down my form. “Everything about you looks ragged, Mr. Chambeaux. We’ve got spells for that. We can spruce you up, just like we promised.”

  “I’ll take you up on that, Mavis, as soon as we get a free minute.”

  Alma snorted with impatience. Robin and Sheyenne both crowded close to the large crystal ball. “I never would have thought,” Robin said. “Dan, come here and watch.”

  “Allow me.” Mavis went to the ornately carved stand, touching runes carved into the decorative moldings, and the crystal ball sparkled. Images floated inside the glass globe, flickering back and forth. Mavis clucked her tongue. “Sorry . . . I’m still learning how to tune this thing.”

  It turned out the crystal ball that Snazz kept at the pawnshop’s front counter was not just a decorative item that he loved to polish. The crystal ball was also a full-fledged security camera, with its curved surfaces able to record all activities around the shop, 360 degrees. It had allowed Snazz to sit propped on his stool and observe everyone and everything in Timeworn Treasures.

  I felt guilty that I hadn’t called Mavis back right away—not just because we had missed this clue, which might have an impact on several pending cases, but because I owed it to her. I’d given my promise, and she had done me plenty of favors. After this, I would sit down with the Wannovich sisters and their vampire ghostwriter for as long as it took to give them all the background material they needed.

  “Ah, there we are—the correct time stamp,” Mavis said.

  I leaned closer and realized we were about to watch the little gremlin get murdered.

  In the crystal ball, we saw Snazz working alone, well after dark. I wasn’t surprised he had no customers because by now most window-shoppers knew the gremlin couldn’t bear to be parted from his treasures. With an old rag, he polished sparkling gems and a gold amulet; I saw a tarnished old Arabian lamp in the pile of treasures waiting to be polished, and I dreaded what might happen when the pawnbroker started to rub that....

  But Snazz didn’t get the chance. The door opened, and a customer came in—the gremlin’s last customer.

  “Watch this!” Mavis said. “This is it.” The sow snorted and leaned closer, rising up so she could peer into the crystal ball.

  “I’m watching,” I said.

  The crystal ball had no audio, so we couldn’t hear the gremlin’s greetings, or the customer’s response, the loud arguments, the shouted accusations, the escalating violence. The murder had happened some time ago, but it was real and immediate for us to witness it now.

  I watched in horror as the poor, greedy gremlin was attacked and strangled, his furry paws clutching at his neck, beating at his assailant, kicking his little furry feet, all to no avail, until his strangled and broken body was tossed unceremoniously on the floor.

  Irwyn Goodfellow looked annoyed, but not unduly disturbed, by what he had done. He used Snazz’s own polishing rag to wipe his fingerprints from any surface he had touched, then he departed from the dark and silent pawnshop.

  “Looks like Irwyn’s not such a good fellow after all,” I said.

  CHAPTER 50

  Murder is never a cause for celebration, but McGoo was thrilled when I told him we had found the killer. “I promised I’d solve the case, but I’ll let you take the credit. Another gold star on your record, another major crime solved, another reason for your chief to be proud of you.”

  I let him know we were heading to the Final Repose storage unit so we could retrieve Jerry’s heart and soul. Mrs. Saldana was already on her way over, and I wanted to be sure her zombie assistant got what he needed before the Mason jars were confiscated as evidence. Since the Goodfellows could afford the best lawyers, the trial was sure to get tangled in a nightmare of appeals and delays.

  I also knew, however, that the Smile Syndicate might soon be short on funds, thanks to other legal troubles. And Missy had damn well asked for it!

  I smiled when I thought of the wheels I had already set in motion. I was still pissed off—not to mention sore—that Missy Goodfellow had sent her thug demons to rough me up and threaten Robin.

  While Sheyenne and the Wannovich sisters arranged to turn over the crystal-ball security-cam footage, Robin accompanied me out to the storage unit. Maximilian Grubb was already intimidated, but I wanted her along in case we needed to do a little legal bluffing so Jerry could be restored. She agreed. “As long as it’s legal bluffing.”

  When the solution to a case is humming along and build
ing momentum, I always get optimistic, but I should know better by now. We arrived at the Final Repose, hoping that Max had locked the storage unit and kept the hearts and souls safe—only to find the former necromancer murdered in the front office.

  Very murdered.

  He had been shot multiple times with silver bullets, including one through the third eye painted in the middle of his forehead. A wooden stake had been pounded through his heart, and a scribbled deanimation spell had been safety-pinned to his shirt.

  I had seen this sort of thing before. As Robin stood there aghast, I said, “The murderer looked up how to kill a necromancer online and got conflicting information.”

  McGoo drove up in his patrol car and whistled a cheerful tune as he pulled open the office door and stepped inside, said hello to Robin and me, then stared at the body of the thoroughly murdered necromancer. He looked at me and said, “Damn, Shamble, why is it always complicated with you?”

  Then the astonishment wore off enough that another piece clicked into place for me. “We’d better get to the storage unit! Mrs. Saldana might be in trouble.”

  That old woman had devoted her life to helping down-and-out unnaturals. She had been tireless in her dedication, saving brain-addict zombies like Jerry, handing out charity blood packs to starving vampires, giving monsters a second chance when they needed it, despite all of her difficulties in keeping the mission open. As her benefactor, Irwyn Goodfellow had seemed a godsend, providing new hope for all lower-class unnaturals. Now, though, I feared we would find her dead, just like Maximilian Grubb.

  We bolted out of the office, ran between the rows of storage units. I drew my .38 as we approached, and McGoo pulled his service piece—the one loaded with normal bullets, not the silver-jacketed ones. Irwyn Goodfellow was not a monster in the traditional sense, just a very, very bad man.

  The roll-up door to the hearts-and-souls storage unit was open, and I heard rustling sounds inside, clinking jars. We knew what Goodfellow was capable of. I couldn’t forget his demonic expression in the crystal ball as he strangled Snazz, and the numerous wounds on the former former necromancer’s body made the point more clearly than words. “Robin, you’d better stay back where it’s safe,” I whispered.

  Her eyes flared. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Okay, silly suggestion.”

  McGoo and I walked up to the open storage unit, guns drawn.

  Under the light of the single naked bulb, Irwyn Goodfellow was grabbing Mason jars from the shelves, stuffing them into a black duffel bag, and packing dirty socks around the jars so the glass wouldn’t break. He picked up one jar that contained a brown and sluggishly beating heart surrounded by the aura of a contained soul.

  When we yelled “Freeze!” it was like a moment in a cop show.

  Goodfellow froze, as he was told. His face looked haggard; his big once-understanding eyes had more of an edge now. His thick flattop haircut looked like a bristly doormat used for scrubbing mud from the bottom of your shoes. He showed no sign of the smile he had worn during his many benevolent speeches.

  Mrs. Saldana and Jerry lay on the floor inside the unit, both of them tied up with the bungee cords Goodfellow had detached from the shelves. Both had also been gagged with dirty socks stuffed into their mouths—which was disgusting in its own way.

  Goodfellow held the jar in his hand, dangling it above the hard cement floor in a clear threat.

  Jerry mumbled something through the wadded sock in his mouth. Even when his articulation was unimpeded, Jerry’s words were often incomprehensible, and I couldn’t understand a single syllable now. But the conclusion was obvious—Goodfellow was holding Jerry’s heart and soul hostage.

  “Put the soul down, Goodfellow,” McGoo said. “Gently. No sudden moves.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m very sorry, but I have to think of the benefit of the whole Unnatural Quarter. And since I’m doing so much good work here, it’s important that I stay out of jail.” Now the sincere, warm smile returned to his face. “You understand.”

  He glanced at the old woman, who struggled against her stretchy bungee cords but made little progress. “Even Mrs. Saldana knows what I’m talking about. I feel very bad about having to kill her, because she’s such a nice lady who has her heart in the right place, but I need to cover my tracks.”

  “We know what you did, Goodfellow,” I said. McGoo and I both kept our weapons aimed directly at him. “We’ve got crystal-ball security camera footage that proves you murdered Snazz the gremlin, and we know you killed Maximilian Grubb in the office.”

  “Yes, I killed them, but it was for a good cause.” Goodfellow blinked at us, apparently baffled that we didn’t understand. “You aren’t seeing the forest for the trees here.”

  I spoke for all of us. “I’m confused.”

  Still ready to smash Jerry’s heart and soul on the cement, Goodfellow said, “The gremlin would have revealed that I’d bought all the hearts and souls if you tempted him enough. I couldn’t allow myself to be in that position. The whole Quarter would suffer if people stopped thinking of me as a good person. Do you believe altruism, benevolence, and philanthropy comes easy to a person? What kind of freak do you think I am?”

  Mrs. Saldana squirmed and tried to shout something through the sock. Her face was screwed up in an expression of distaste, either from the sour foot sweat or from the revelations Irwyn Goodfellow was making.

  “You have to understand,” he continued, “I’m really a rotten guy inside—bad blood, you might say—but I just didn’t like myself. After the falling piano almost killed me, I vowed to change. There’s no law against self-improvement. I should be commended.”

  Considering the murders Goodfellow had already committed, I was glad I’d never met the unimproved version.

  “But I masked my predilections by buying up other people’s hearts and souls, which gives me all the kindness and generosity I need. I’m an artificially good person, but a good person nevertheless.”

  Robin was appalled. “You can’t just buy kindness and generosity from other people! That has to come from inside yourself.”

  “That’s what the books say, but I didn’t have time for that. I’m a busy, important man. I needed a shortcut. After my epiphany, I knew I needed to do good works—I really did!—but altruism and good intentions weren’t enough. I needed to stack the deck.” He snickered. “Missy was so embarrassed, she convinced me to use her assistant Angela as a proxy, a buffer so that I wouldn’t put another white mark on our family name. And Angela didn’t mind the overtime.”

  He gave us his warm-fuzzy smile. “After I bought the first heart-and-soul combo pack from the pawnshop, I felt so positive, so happy with a rush of kindness! I realized that was the key. And look at all the good I’ve done since then. I put in a standing order with Snazz and started buying all the hearts and souls I could get my hands on. That way, I truly felt the joy of giving.”

  McGoo kept his revolver pointed at Goodfellow as he stepped into the storage unit. “Well, the joy’s over. You’re under arrest for the murder of Snazz the gremlin, the murder of Maximilian Grubb, and kidnapping—for starters.”

  “I can come up with a lot more,” Robin said. “Give me a few minutes.”

  Goodfellow let out an exasperated sigh, growing more impatient with how thickheaded we were. “But those other people didn’t deserve their hearts and souls. They pawned them—they were practically new, barely used!”

  “Jerry pawned his heart and soul so that Mrs. Saldana could do good work,” I said. “And now he wants them back.”

  Goodfellow’s face twisted with rage that we could be so dense as to continue threatening him. “Well, he won’t get it back if I smash this jar on the floor! You are going to let me walk out of here, free. Give me a small plane so I can fly off to a small country that doesn’t extradite . . .”

  “Yeah, we’ll get right on that,” I said with a snort.

  “Oh, never mind, that’s too much trouble. I’ll just use
one of the Smile Syndicate travel agents to set it up. But either way, you can’t stop me. I am getting out of here.”

  “Not gonna happen, Goodfellow,” McGoo said.

  “Then I’ll shatter the jar—and you know what happens when you suddenly release a contained soul?” His eyes glittered. “There’ll be nothing left of this whole storage complex except a giant glassy crater.”

  McGoo hesitated and glanced at me. “Is he right?”

  I shrugged. “Hell if I know.” I looked at Robin. She didn’t know, either.

  The corrugated metal wall in the back of the unit split open, and a large shape battered through as if the wall were no more than wrapping paper. Bill the golem, wearing his brand-new security guard uniform, lumbered into the unit. “Stop right there!”

  Goodfellow whirled—and the glass jar slipped from his hands.

  I was already diving forward. I sprawled on the concrete pad, scraping off patches of dead skin, but I didn’t feel it. None of that mattered. Somehow, the Mason jar holding Jerry’s heart and possibly explosive soul landed on my chest and rumpled sport coat. I caught the jar before it could bounce off and break.

  Bill seized Irwyn Goodfellow in a firm clay grip. “I am making a citizen’s arrest.” He did look dashing in his new dark uniform, with a badge on his chest and a neat cap on his head. “And I am a citizen, just like any other unnatural.”

  “This is your new job?” I said.

  “I patrol the grounds. All day long, all night long.”

  “I can’t believe you’d work for Maximus Max after he kept all your people as slaves,” Robin said as McGoo slapped handcuffs on Goodfellow.

  “He was trying to atone. Offered me a job, a real job. Paid well.” His clay face smiled. “Good benefits.”

  Robin and I unfastened the bungee cord hooks to release Mrs. Saldana and Jerry. They yanked the socks out of their mouths, gagging and spitting. Jerry said in a slurred voice, “Tastes foul.”