A Warrant of Wyverns

by Michael Angel

  I was facing McClatchy behind his desk, so I couldn’t see Grayson Archer’s reaction. But I could see Luis Ollivar’s. That hint of a smirk vanished, and a rather confused frown appeared on the man’s face as the Chief of Police ranted on a bit more.

  “But you see, now I’ve got a problem,” McClatchy declared. He swept his hands apart grandly as he spoke. “That means we all have a problem to deal with. I can’t even leave this office for the rest of the day, and it’s all thanks to you, my very own ‘bad penny’.”

  I tried and failed to keep the scowl off my face.

  “Thanks to me? That’s very generous of you,” I said. “One moment you’re regaling me with how great you are and how insignificant I am. The next, I somehow have the power to inconvenience you.”

  He shook his finger at me as he glanced between Archer and Ollivar. “You see? You see, gentlemen? She’s a tricky one. She knows how to twist things.”

  “Undoubtedly.” This from Archer. It didn’t sound sincere.

  “Thanks to you, we all have a brand-new visitor today,” McClatchy said. “A gentleman from Internal Affairs has been sent here all the way from Sacramento to interview me, right after he gets done with statements from Ollivar here. And Archer, of course.”

  “Of course,” Archer agreed smoothly. “Just as soon as my counsel arrives.”

  “That’s all well and good,” I ventured. “But this has nothing to do with me. Even if you want to blame me, that IA agent hasn’t traveled the length of the state on my account. I’ll ask one more time before I walk out of here: What do you want with me?”

  He shrugged and turned his chair halfway to the window. “Since you’ve been so uncooperative, I’ll just let Ollivar explain.”

  The lieutenant shot a glance at his boss’ back that could sour grapes, but he stepped in and conveyed what Bob wanted, and what he had to say hit me like a bombshell.

  “Internal Affairs is coming out here to handle more than just one case,” Ollivar said. “We’ve also had a rather strange…incident.”

  My mouth suddenly felt dry, sour. I had more than a hunch about what was coming next, but I had to ask. After all, I still had to look shocked when I heard about it.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “We’ve got a team of four officers who are under investigation for unauthorized absence. They commandeered a vehicle from the storage lot in the reserve motor pool, then went non-communicative for two hours until they were found. All still in uniform, all out of the vehicle, and all unconscious. It appears that they set fire to a pile of as-yet unidentified substances and then simply…passed out.”

  “Maybe they were doing drugs. Put a whole pile of marijuana on the fire, mixed it up with a shot of angel dust. Any way you slice it, that’s pretty wild.”

  “More than wild,” McClatchy put in. “Suspicious. This all happened at the home of Mose Wainwright, shortly after you’d been put on that investigation.”

  Grayson Archer sat up straight as he heard the news. I had to control my actions beyond a simple nod in response, but I knew better.

  My friends from Andeluvia had joined me at the Wainwright house to search for magic-related evidence. The four officers in question had arrived shortly after us, likely in order to remove the very same items. One quick fight, and one near-death experience for me later, we found that they’d been under control of Damon Harrison and the Ultari.

  McClatchy gave me a look. “You have any thoughts on the matter, Chrissie?”

  “I guess the Wainwright case was more popular than I’d thought,” I said carefully. “Do you have any ideas on why they went AWOL?”

  Ollivar traded a sardonic glance with his boss before answering. “We were hoping that you would have some.”

  “Me? All I can do is test the stuff they were burning to find out if it made them high. Why would I have the slightest idea what caused them to do something like that?”

  “Because three of the officers in question claim that they have no memories of anything since the evening before the incident,” the Lieutenant stated. “As for the fourth…Officer Ronald Clarke has been sent to Beechwoods Psychiatric Hospital out in San Pedro. He’s been placed under moderate security measures, which means padded restraints and light sedation when required.”

  I grimaced as if trying to recall the name. “I’m pretty sure that I’ve met this officer once or twice in the past. He didn’t seem anything but normal to me.”

  “You ‘met’ him once or twice? How long are you talking about?”

  “Only a few seconds in passing,” I said. Which was close enough to the truth for me. “Long enough to recognize his face if I see it again. I don’t think I’ve said more than half-a-dozen words to him, though.”

  McClatchy let out a snort. “I’m impressed, Chrissie. That’s pretty funny. You’re a real wit. A regular crack-up.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Maybe you need to supply the punchline.”

  “You only said a few words to him,” Bob sniggered. “Yet you must have made quite the impression!”

  The hairs on the back of my neck and down along my arms stood on end at that bit of information. Next to me, Archer shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I didn’t know what was worrying him, but I was already thinking the worst. That maybe Clarke had somehow spilled the beans about me and my friends.

  Finally, Ollivar stopped playing games and filled us in.

  “The first reports sounded too crazy to be true,” he said. “The staff at Beechwoods claims that he’s speaking in tongues, like something out of a horror flick. When he finishes doing that, he fights against his restraints, all the while repeating one name, over and over like a broken record.”

  I swallowed. “Whose name?”

  “Who else? Yours.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I gaped at Ollivar. “Are you kidding me?”

  The Lieutenant sullenly shook his head. No.

  “I’m telling you,” I insisted, though it irked me to have to lie, “I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.”

  Then McClatchy surprised me again.

  “Actually,” he said, shifting his weight in his chair with another creak, “I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  “Oh, of course I do. How could I contradict the words of a professional such as yourself? Your poor record of closing cases recently is probably just an aberration. As a matter of fact, that’s why I called you. I’ve gone out of my way to have you assigned to this case, see if it’ll improve your standing.”

  “You’re all heart, Bob,” I said, retaining my perfect poker face.

  He ignored my jab. “I’ve already authorized you to go down to Beechwoods’ secure facility, see if you can figure out what’s going on.”

  Ollivar turned to one side, located a piece of paper from a wall-mounted file sorter, and pulled it out. He leaned across the desk to hand it to me. I stood up and took it. McClatchy’s broadly written signature shone in bright blue ink at the bottom. The same signature that had put Shelly away at the First Samaritan without so much as a hearing in her defense.

  “I was thinking of sending an escort with you when you go down there,” McClatchy continued. “But no one wanted to take the job.”

  “I can handle Clarke on my own,” I said flatly.

  “Well, I hope so, he’s in restraints already.” He gave me a wry look. “You know, I’ve never known a crime scene analyst with such a checkered career at the OME. You’ve got several open cases with your name on all the documents. You’ve gotten one of our most well-liked retirees murdered working for you. Four cops are under investigation for showing up at your crime scene – and one of them is going insane. It makes me wonder, you know. Did you have any friends growing up?”

  Grayson Archer’s phone gave a musical chime. He pulled the device out and read the message on the screen, then he nodded, and his posture relaxed an iota as if in relief.

  “I’m sure you can continue h
aranguing Miss Chrissie some other time,” he said to McClatchy. “My counsel has arrived, and we have some bona fide business to attend to.”

  Bob didn’t seem to hear him.

  “Have fun, Dayna,” McClatchy said. “Internal Affairs should be looking into your files as soon as they’re done with mine. I’m sure that they’re going to have an interesting time. I know I did.”

  I turned and stamped out without another word. My eyes remained fixed forward as I tramped through the halls of the police headquarters. Then instinct must have taken over, as I retraced the long walk through the laid-out walkways that marked the construction taking place between the blocks of the LAPD and the OME building.

  I built up more than a bit of sweat between the fast pace and the humidity, but I hardly noticed. My jaw ached from its firm clench. And all I wanted to do was scream my head off.

  My mind repeated the same thing over and over until it mushed together into a kind of droning sound: Keep it together, keep it together!

  Harrison wasn’t waiting for me in the OME parking lot, thank goodness. Neither did he show up when I went through the security checkpoint. Or the elevator. And he wasn’t in my office, so I threw off my jacket and sank into my chair with something between a moan and a growl. I dug my fingers into my temples, twirling them to dull the pain of a blossoming headache.

  I’d let Bob get to me, even as I had fully steeled myself for his antics. I could have kicked myself for my stupidity. But then again, I hadn’t expected to run into Grayson Archer there, either. Between the man of mystery on one side and the master of aggravation on the other, I’d lost my focus.

  Enough, I sighed to myself. There are bigger fish to fry, as Shelly said. Bigger worlds out there.

  Speaking of Shelly, I’d passed her door on the way back to my office. Her hand carved ‘Gone Fishing’ sign still hung from the doorknob. I got up and started filling out a self-adhesive note to let her know I’d be going back to my place tonight.

  True, I’d had a big enough scare the last time I’d been there. And I did sort of miss my own bedroom, my own digs. Yet my decision went beyond the normal ‘homesickness’ reasons.

  I liked staying at Shelly’s place, but I wasn’t used to living as a long-term house guest. I also didn’t like taking too much advantage of my friend’s hospitality. Most of all though, I worried that my presence was putting her at risk.

  At risk of what, I couldn’t say for sure. But I couldn’t shake a feeling of doom, of dread. Risks involving nightmarish creatures from Andeluvia were nothing to take lightly.

  I finished the note and went to tape it on Shelly’s door. When I got back to my office, I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake loose the stress that had held my muscles together like glue. Or maybe like cement. I’d have paid good money for a Swedish massage right now. Better yet, a massage from my favorite Homicide Detective.

  Just as I was about to fill my head with pleasant images, the phone on my desk rang. I knocked over the highest stack of papers as I reached for the receiver. That helped account for the gruff tone in my voice as I picked it up and answered.

  “Chrissie here,” I said. “Who is it, and what do you want?”

  “Um, it’s Naomi,” came the startled reply. “You know, from Administration? If I’ve caught you at a bad time–”

  I let out a curse under my breath. Between everything else that was happening to me, I didn’t need the department’s admins angry at me. I might never get another package shipped to me ever again, for starters.

  “Sorry, sorry. It’s been one of those days,” I apologized. “It’s…it’s been a tough day.”

  “Well, you have a package that needs a signature. Want me to bring it by after lunch?”

  I considered. “No, I’ll come up. See you in a moment.”

  “Sounds good.”

  After that last conversation, I needed a peace offering. I fished out a brown-sugar ginger snap from my Mad Hatter cookie jar, wrapped it in a paper towel, and brought it up with me. Naomi brightened as I walked up to her cubicle and handed over the prize.

  “Oh!” she said. “You didn’t need to bring this.”

  I tried to smile and halfway succeeded. “I think I did, I was pretty short with you earlier.”

  Naomi put the treat to one side and handed me the signature sheet on a tattered-looking clipboard. She pulled out the package, a plain cardboard box the size of a large, thick hardback book, and held it in her lap while I hunted for a pen in my lapel pocket.

  “Where did this come from?” I asked idly, as my search came up empty. “If it wasn’t in the mail crate at six in the morning, I thought we didn’t get another mail run until four in the afternoon.”

  “Good question.” Showing mercy, Naomi snatched a pen out of her desk caddie and handed it to me. “It just showed up, I wasn’t really paying attention when it arrived.”

  I scribbled out my name and handed the clipboard over.

  The next order came in from my brain at full volume.

  Wait a minute!

  Too late. Naomi placed the package into my hands.

  I froze. The warning system in my gut was waving something like six red flags all at once. The hectic, stressful events of the day had half-scrambled my circuits. Otherwise, I’d have picked up on things before they had gotten this far.

  As if against my will, I forced myself to look down at the package. It was a normal cardboard box, shipped courier style with a transparent plastic sleeve on the front, containing a slip of paper. It listed the destination address, but not my individual mail stop. Instead, it was labeled ‘c/o Dayna Chrissie, CSA’. The return address was smeary, though that might have been from the scuffs on the plastic that covered it.

  Naomi looked up with a frown as she took a bite of the ginger snap I’d brought over. Obviously, she was wondering why I was still loitering in her cubicle. I ignored her glance as I stuck a finger under the open edge of the sleeve and slid the paper out.

  The return address had been smudged to the edge of illegibility. Could it have been deliberate? Or was the slip merely wet from moisture? Curious, I turned the paper over.

  There was a note on the back side. The lettering was horrifyingly familiar. I’d seen it in my nightmares ever since I’d found Max’s remains on my kitchen table.

  My mouth turned dry as dust as I read the message.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The words of the message had been burned into the paper. Burned with the dark black ink of a laser printer with a brand-new cartridge. Burned into my mind from the first time I’d seen a similar message in the dim incandescence of my overhead kitchen light.

  THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE.

  STOP LOOKING FOR ME.

  OR YOU WON’T LIKE WHAT YOU SEE.

  My breath whistled out of my lungs like someone had slugged me in the gut and my knees quivered, as if they’d turned to gelatin. The quiver ran down, then up the length of my body. The package in my arms shook side-to-side for a second.

  A horrible, slick sound came from inside the box.

  A sloshing sound.

  Dozens of nightmarish possibilities cascaded through my mind, one after another. Something wet. Something fleshy. Something dead, dead, dead.

  Or something even worse.

  “Are you all right?” Naomi asked innocently. “You look white as a sheet.”

  I couldn’t answer. Clenching my teeth until they hurt, I forced myself to lock my knees before they started knocking together. Then, I did my best to turn around and exit the cramped confines of Naomi’s cubicle.

  The breakroom table was only eight or nine steps away, up against the far wall. Thankfully, nobody was sitting there yakking away with their friends or taking time for an afternoon coffee fill-up. I felt my heart pounding in my ears as I slide-walked my way over. I didn’t dare jostle the box again.

  That ‘something worse’ could have been a bomb. Less than four years ago, a forensics detective down in Long Beach had been killed by
an anonymously mailed package. The contents had been a timer and a liquid napalm-like explosive contained in a twenty-dollar camping thermos.

  “Dayna,” Naomi called over, “what in the world are you doing?”

  Finally, I managed to set the box down, slowly, as if it were fine china and the table made of soap bubbles. Only after I slid my hands free did I answer.

  “Get out,” I said, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice. When Naomi just looked at me funny, my voice rose to a shout. “Everyone in the admin area, get out! We may have a bomb here!”

  Heads started popping up from the cubicles like a colony of startled prairie dogs. Naomi grabbed her purse and led the way to the stairs, calling to her friends to follow her. Several more people continued to gaze about, looking more confused than anything else.

  Well, there was one way I could get everyone heading for the exit in a hurry.

  I stepped away from the table and went to the closest fire alarm. The big red plaque was marked ‘PULL DOWN’, so I grabbed the handle and did just that. Instantly, the movement triggered flashing lights and a raucous siren everyone was familiar with from the annual fire drill.

  Finally, people got moving. Not as quickly as I’d hoped, but at least they moved. I hightailed it as fast as I could towards the side stairwell, which took me by my office. Pausing just long enough to snatch the phone off my desk, I made a detour to pass by Shelly’s office and make sure that her ‘Gone Fishing’ sign was still up. Only then did I join the line of people hustling down the stairs.

  As soon as I made it outside, I broke away from the crowd and headed for the parking lot. I hit the speed-dial and held the phone to my ear. A couple of quick breaths while it rang was all the respite I was going to get for the next sixty seconds.

  A click as the line was picked up and answered by a gruff voice.

  “Chief McClatchy.”

  “Bob, it’s Dayna.”

  “What do you want? If you can’t find the mental hospital, maybe I need to draw you a–”